“Honorable elf King.” Hadjar saluted. “Lady Hera. I’ll be honest with you. I’m fucking exhausted and in no mood for your riddles.”
The elves grimaced at his cursing. The King was the first to recover. After looking at the tree they were standing on, he turned to Hadjar. There was still hatred in his eyes, but something was holding it back.
“What do you know about the Enemy, human?” He asked.
Even Helmer and the Spirit of the Kurkhadan oasis hadn’t pronounced the word ‘human’ like this, like it was a dirty and vulgar obscenity, an insult for which he ought to have immediately challenged the King to a duel, or he would otherwise have to live with his dishonor forever. The elf’s hand rested on the hilt of his blade, so it was easy to guess that the King had just tried to provoke Hadjar. If he tried to draw his blade right now, he would be sent to his forefathers immediately.
“Not much.”
Hadjar told them what he knew about the Enemy. Of course, he concealed some facts. For example, he didn’t tell them that he could summon the Black Blade, or that he’d recently had a conversation with the ancient Spirit. The elves, however, already knew about the latter.
“Sooner or later, every single one of the Enemy’s descendants gets to meet him.” The undisguised disgust was clear in the King’s voice. “The virus affects all of them.”
“I don’t really want to defend my infamous ancestor, but I don’t go around calling pointy ears a virus.”
Anger flared in the King’s eyes, but Hera put her hand on his shoulder, calming him down. The two exchanged words in a language Hadjar didn’t know. Judging by Hera’s reaction, it was clearly an unpleasant discussion.
“We use the word ‘descendant’,” her voice, in contrast to her brother’s, was calm, “in order to make it easier for you to understand us, little warrior. In all honesty, it’s impossible to compare us, the descendants of the Great Forest, to you.”
“It’s humiliating,” the King added.
Hera gave him a look and continued.
“We are true descendants of a Spirit. A part of it once divided itself in two and merged with our Great Ancestor.”
Hadjar looked down at the branch he was standing on, and then at the treetops. He had heard the King address the fallen leaf as ‘Great Ancestor’…
“That’s right, little warrior.” Hera nodded. “Every elf that dies of old age turns into a tree. You stand not only in our sanctuary, but also our cemetery.”
Hadjar swallowed. Einen had told him that the elves eventually returned to their original, arboreal form. And now he’d seen proof of that with his own eyes.
The realization was both frightening and exciting. He wondered how old this particular tree was. Was it the first of the elves? The thought of them having such a long history impressed him.
“But didn’t the elves come to Dahanatan only a few hundred thousand years ago?” Hadjar suddenly remembered.
“Not quite,” Hera said, smiling like only a wise person could. “Our Great Ancestor came here. He, along with the elves who’d been in the sanctuary at the time, moved to Dahanatan.”
“Are you planning to tell this human our people’s entire history, sister?”
The King sheathed his sword. At the same time, the bark covering his hair crumbled to green dust. His wooden skin returned to normal, and the hollows in his face filled with whites and green pupils. In just a few seconds, the creature transformed into a stately old man with long, gray hair.
“You’re right, we should focus on the original topic of our conversation.” Hera nodded, completely ignoring Hadjar’s surprised expression. “You see, we are descendants of the Great Forest. By Spirit and by blood. Just as you are a descendant of a dragon, by Spirit and by blood.”
Hadjar didn’t ask how Hera had learned that he was related to the Dark Storm clan. After all, if she really was an ancient being, she might even know how to decipher his tattoos. Hadjar had one depicting a dragon on his chest.
“But when it comes to the Enemy,” she continued with a sigh, “as my brother said, you can’t kill someone who wasn’t even born. After the Great War, when the Enemy nearly destroyed the Heavens and half the planet, the gods couldn’t kill him. They had created a truly immortal monster. Having absorbed a bit of the power of all beings, he could only die…”
“...when all other beings died,” Hadjar finished. “Then why is he trying to destroy the world? He’d also die...”
The King spoke again:
“Stupid boy, do you think it’s possible to understand the Enemy’s motives?” The King spat in annoyance.
Hadjar didn’t reply. He was sure that suicide wasn’t the Black General’s end goal.
“After the gods worked together and managed to imprison the Enemy,” Hera continued.
“Within the Mountain of Skulls.” Hadjar recalled.
“Yes. Well... After they captured him, they asked the Great Ancestor for help. However, the Enemy was distantly related to the Spirit of the Great Forest.”
Hadjar mulled that over. The Black General had been born from a dead tree growing in dead ground, so they really could’ve been related.
“The Great Ancestor sacrificed his life and managed to split the Enemy’s soul into innumerable, tiny fragments. The largest of them remained forever imprisoned in the Mountain of Skulls. The rest of them... Most of the gods wanted to lock them up in a dungeon, one which the Enemy’s soul fragments would never escape from, but the Jasper Emperor chose a different option. In order to maintain balance, he scattered these fragments all over the world. The bloodlines they ended up in became descendants of the Enemy. Including your mother’s family.”
Chapter 506
Hadjar’s eyes widened in astonishment.
“So, what you’re trying to say, my Lady, is that inside me-”
“There is a fragment of the Black General’s soul, yes.” Hera nodded. “And it’s very big. There probably aren’t more than ten such fragments in the whole world. The rest are hundreds of times smaller than yours.”
That explained why his ‘cousin’ hadn’t been able to summon the Black Blade into the physical world.
“But what amazes me the most is the fact that someone...” Hera walked over to Hadjar and once again tried to touch his hair. Just like before, she immediately pulled back. “Someone, I can’t even guess who, managed to separate a part of your soul from the rest of it.”
Hadjar stared at her in surprise.
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t quite understand it myself.” Hera shook her head. “It was someone incredibly powerful. So powerful, in fact, that they understand souls even better than the Great Ancestor. They tore off a part of your soul. Using it, they made the seal that holds the fragment of the Enemy’s own soul locked away. If not for it, such a powerful entity would’ve absorbed your essence and taken your body over long ago.”
“What would’ve happened to me?” Hadjar asked, even though he already knew the answer.
“The Enemy would’ve devoured you. On top of that, the fragment has grown bigger for some reason.” Hadjar knew the reason: he had killed the Spirit Knight who had also had one of the Enemy’s fragments within her. “That’s why he was able to get into your mind.”
“Did the Enemy offer you anything, boy?” The elf King asked.
“Power.” Hadjar shrugged. “Knowledge. But I refused.”
“Refused?” The elf seemed to be truly amazed. “A simple Heaven Soldier refused the Black General’s power?”
“Paranoia.” Hadjar spread his arms out. “I’ve never gotten anything for free in my life... So, I figured that it was a trick and refused.”
“Your paranoia saved your life,” Hera said, smiling. “Yours and most likely all of ours. The power of your fragment would’ve been enough to destroy the entirety of Dahanatan. I’m afraid that the sect-”
“Hera!” The King interrupted her. “You forget yourself. That’s not a topic we can discuss with j
ust anyone.”
Falling silent, Hera frowned but nodded. However, Hadjar had still managed to get some information. Though, at the moment, he was more concerned with something else.
“You’re a healer, aren’t you, Lady Hera?”
“You’re very observant.” She nodded. “How did you guess, little warrior?”
“I’ve often seen the same expression you have right now on the faces of healers dealing with the doomed. So, please, be honest with me. What’s wrong with me?”
“What’s wrong with you, boy?” The King almost turned red with anger. “You have a fragment of the creature responsible for the death of my ancestor inside you!”
The King’s rage was subdued by another pink leaf that landed on his shoulder. Out of respect for the Great Ancestor, he fell silent.
“The seal, little warrior. The seal.”
Something cold gripped Hadjar’s heart. It became difficult to breathe.
“How long do I have?”
“It’s too early to say. The seal is strong. Perhaps the strongest seal that ever existed.”
Hadjar looked into Hera’s beautiful, ancient eyes. He saw nothing but regret in them.
“How long?” Hadjar repeated, more quietly this time.
Hera turned away, refusing to look at him. In his experience, gained from both this one and previous lives, Hadjar knew that that didn’t bode well.
“Ten years.” The words were as heavy as an executioner’s axe. “Give or take a year. The stronger the fragment becomes, the less time you’ll have.”
Ten years... All this time, Hadjar had been living with a ticking time bomb inside of him, unaware that his time was slowly running out.
“In ten years, boy, you’ll become a monster that’ll be almost impossible to destroy. Only it won’t be you, but a fragment of the Enemy’s consciousness. He’ll kill everyone you care about, and raze your homeland to the ground. He’ll destroy everything around you. If you don’t want to suffer such a fate, accept my sword and go with honor to your forefathers.”
Hadjar looked at the King. He emanated such intense hatred that it was almost tangible. Revenge was a bittersweet dish, but… It looked like this was something that the King didn’t just want to do, but rather had to.
Hadjar was used to the bitterness. He’d lived with it for a long time.
“Tell me, healer, is this the fragment?” Hadjar asked and summoned the Black Blade into the physical world.
The leaves rustled. The tree creaked under Hadjar’s feet. The elves recoiled, and the King almost drew his sword.
“No,” Hera said with slight hesitation. “That isn’t the fragment. If I’m not mistaken, what you’re holding is very similar to a Spirit Weapon.”
“Is it some kind of artifact, then?”
“By the Great Forest, he doesn’t even know what a Spirit Weapon is.” The King went over to one of the branches and began to stroke it.
Gradually, the excitement faded and the atmosphere grew lighter.
“Very strong generals that have a Spirit ancestor sometimes acquire Spirit Weapons. It’s a bit like our Inheritance, but also different at the same time. I must admit that I’ve never seen one with my own eyes, as it’s very rare for anyone to have them. There’s only one person in all of Darnassus who wields one.”
“Hera,” the King said warningly.
“I know, brother.”
“So… This Spirit Weapon has nothing to do with the Black General?”
“Surprisingly, no,” Hera said, shaking her head. “Although… It’s hard not to recognize the Black Blade of the Enemy in it. And yet, I’m sure that the Enemy didn’t have any blood descendants. That’s the only way Spirit Weapons can be passed down.”
Hadjar returned the Black Blade to its ‘sheath’ — the depths of his own soul. If what Hera had just said was true, then it made sense that the Black General hadn’t been able to force Hadjar to lower it. What pleased him even more was the fact that if he continued to strengthen the Black Blade, it wouldn’t reduce his already short lifespan.
Being told about their imminent death would’ve probably upset anyone else and perhaps even opened a soul wound. However, Hadjar had wandered so often between life and death that he’d gotten used to it. He lived in the present, never knowing if he would get to see the coming dawn. He had his goal. However, he was well aware of the fact that his chances of reaching it were slim.
Did that weaken his resolve? No, he was more determined now than ever! No matter what fate threw at him, he would survive any hardship and overcome any obstacle. Because that was his path. That was his sword. Not the Black General’s sword, but his.
For the first time, Hadjar thought about giving the Black Blade a Name. A real one, which would connect them with a bond stronger than any other.
“Tell me, Lady Hera, is there any chance of reducing the fragment’s influence and giving me more time?”
The elf thought for a moment that felt like an eternity to Hadjar.
“Perhaps,” she said at last. “It’s possible that the stronger you get, the less the fragment will affect the seal. But in order to test that theory, you first have to become a Lord. Only by combining the two types of energy will it be possible to understand whether your advancement has produced any results.”
“Become a Lord? In ten years?” The King almost choked on the absurdity of her words. “I’ve lived a long life, but I’ve never heard of anyone doing that. Even legendary heroes, prodigies, and demigods need at least a century to reach that level, and that’s while using the rarest and most valuable resources.”
“Brother, the time constraints aren’t even the biggest problem. Without a part of his soul, he can’t control external energy. The way to the Lord level is forever closed to him.”
“Did you hear that, boy? Let’s settle everything here and now. You won’t really be able to accomplish anything before you die, anyway.”
“Funny are the ways of fate...” Hadjar sighed.
The torn off piece of his soul that made it impossible for him to become a Lord was also the seal that held back the Enemy. Furthermore, the Black General would kill his host if he could, and thus end his only, slim chance at salvation, which would entail becoming a Lord…
Suddenly, Hadjar smiled. They didn’t call him the Mad General for nothing!
“So be it.” He laughed. “To reach my goal, I need power that’s hundreds of times greater than that of any Lord. If I can’t become one in ten years, my determination and willpower are worthless. As the greatest Master of all once said: ‘A warrior’s strength is determined not by their power or Techniques, but by their heart.’ My heart is worthy. Ten years? Ha! I’ll do it in seven!”
Chapter 507
“Seven years? Seven years?” Hadjar was afraid that the old elf’s heart might fail him — he looked both shocked and offended at the same time. “You wouldn’t be able to reach the middle stage of the Spirit Knight level in seven centuries!”
“Maybe you’re right.” Hadjar nodded. With a salute, he turned and headed for the staircase that wound around the huge trunk of the Great Ancestor Tree. “But, as you already know, time isn’t on my side, so I’m in a hurry.”
Hadjar was about to take his first step toward the exit when Hera blocked his path.
“I’m sorry, little warrior, but my brother has a point.”
“I’m glad you finally understand!” The King drew his blade. “The Great Forest has breathed the voice of reason into you.”
This time, Hadjar wasn’t going to give up so easily. Before the King even took a step, Hadjar was enveloped in the cloak of black fog, the black gauntlets covered his arms, and his hands were gripping the Black Blade.
“Are you actually going to fight me, you puny ant?” The elf King wasn’t offended. He was mostly shocked.
“I-”
“No one will fight anyone!” Hera’s voice was stern. “We’ve had enough bloodshed today. The Lascanians are knocking at the gates of
the Empire. We mustn’t fight each other as well.”
The King sheathed his weapon.
“The war draws near,” he said sadly. He glanced at Hadjar and left, his parting words ominous: “You’re on your own.”
Hadjar was left alone with Hera. Had their encounter happened years ago and under different, more pleasant, circumstances, he probably wouldn’t have been able to take his eyes off her amazing beauty. However, right now, he didn’t see a beautiful woman in front of him, but a foe he had no chance of defeating. There were only a few trump cards left in Hadjar’s sleeve, but they all required preparation and cunning. His greatest trump card had been a drop of the elixir of the gods, and he’d already used it.
“I won’t lie to you, little warrior.” Hera sighed. “The fact I like you isn’t why I didn’t let my brother kill you.”
“I thought the Great Ancestor stopped his sword.”
Hera smiled. She made a subtle gesture with her hand, and several pink leaves landed on Hadjar’s shoulders.
“Einen would love that trick,” he muttered.
“We could debate whether I stopped him or whether it was the Great Ancestor who’d guided my hand until sunrise.” She came up to him, but he recoiled, as he didn’t trust the elves. “But that isn’t the point right now. My brother is right, little warrior. If you fail, or if my theory is proven wrong, thousands of lives will be lost. Possibly millions. I can’t let that happen.”
“I’m not going to just sit in a cage,” Hadjar said firmly. “Better death than life in slavery.”
“Life is always better than death... Someday, you’ll understand that. But that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about.”
Hadjar tilted his head to the side. He looked into Hera’s eyes and saw drops of both fear and hope in the ocean of sympathy contained within them.
“What, then?”
“I’m a skilled healer, that much is true, but every healer is also a powerful alchemist.” Hera chanted something in an unknown language and broke off a small branch from the tree. “I’ll make you a pill that’ll strengthen your seal for eight years. You’ll continue losing yourself, but at a slower pace.”
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