“Why only eight years?”
“Because, little warrior, if you can’t succeed, if you can’t become a Lord within seven years, this pill will turn from medicine to poison and instantly kill you.”
Hera waved her hands, materializing a cauldron from her spatial artifact. It hovered in the air, supported by the violet flames that had flared up beneath it. Removing the small lid, she threw a variety of ingredients and different kinds of water into it. Hadjar was pretty sure she even used some weird, glowing gems.
All these precious ingredients any commoner would’ve sold their soul to attain, she used as freely as a child used sand to build a fort. She stirred the potion with the branch she’d broken off, channeling her energy through it as she did so. Gradually, the color of the flame changed: it went from purple to green, then to red, then to orange, and finally, to white. The process took only a few minutes. Closing the lid, Hera uttered a few words that vaguely resembled the language of the Sea of Sand. A rainbow pill slid down a small chute that came out just below the cauldron’s neck.
“It’s called the Seven-Colored Poison” Hera explained, handing Hadjar his ‘ticket’ to his forefathers. “Each year has its own color. The last year, the eighth, is colorless, because death has no color.”
Hera made a blood oath that she meant no harm to Hadjar and that the pill only had the properties she had already listed. She also said that it would strengthen his body a little and cleanse his blood and meridians of impurities. Hadjar had no idea what she meant by ‘impurities.’ However, he’d heard that the heads of noble families paid a lot of money for their children to undergo such a cleansing.
Hadjar picked up the pill and held it between his thumb and forefinger. Bringing it up to his eyes, he stared at the light reflected across its surface.
“Well, if I can’t do this in seven years, the result will be the same.” Hadjar put the poison in his mouth.
Surprisingly, it tasted good. Apparently, his thoughts were reflected in his expression, because Hera explained the taste to him with sadness in her voice:
“All medicines taste bad, but poisons don’t. They, on the contrary, promise you pleasure.”
There must’ve been some deeper meaning in those words, but Hadjar didn’t care about that right now. He could feel time slipping through his fingers.
“Will I have to come to you for an antidote in seven years?”
“No.” Hera shook her head. “As soon as you reach the Lord level, it’ll disappear from your body. If you succeed, then, unlike all other cultivators, you will have energy as pure as a child’s tear.”
Hadjar nodded and walked away from the sanctuary of the elves.
“I could-”
“No, thank you,” Hadjar interrupted her without turning around. “I’ll find my friend myself.”
When he was about two flights down, he added quietly:
“I’ve had enough of elves for today.”
Little did he know that this was just the beginning of his association with the elves.
Chapter 508
The elves’ cemetery, which also served as their sanctuary, looked like an ordinary forest. At least by the standards of Earth. It was a deciduous forest without any giant trees (except for the Great Ancestor Tree), or incredible plants, carnivorous bushes, crazy mushrooms… not even wild animals.
If Hadjar had found himself in a place like this in his past life, he would’ve thought that he was in a park. Of course, he’d never visited the parks himself. He had merely seen them on a screen or through the window.
As he walked along the stone-paved paths, Hadjar tried to tame the wild current of his thoughts. Had anything truly changed in his life? He’d always fought death for a chance to snatch the next dawn from its bony clutches. Nothing had really changed, except for the fact that he was now aware of how much time he had left and his limits. On one hand, it was depressing. But on the other hand, it was a great incentive for him to kick things into high gear.
“Where are you, my cunning friend?” Hadjar grumbled, taking a small amulet out of his ring.
The amulet looked like a handkerchief with an embroidered arrow on it. It was one of the few trinkets that Einen had made. He could already use external energy, so he would probably have more luck reaching the Lord level than Hadjar. That damned baldy could probably navigate the so-called true path of cultivation quite successfully.
“Show me Einen,” Hadjar said, and directed a little bit of his power into the handkerchief.
Nothing happened at first, but a moment later, the arrow came to life. The golden knots and seams that made up the image began to move along the blue silk of the handkerchief until the arrow was pointing south-east.
“Wow!” Hadjar said. “It really works.”
Einen had the same kind of handkerchief, but his would lead to Hadjar. To be more precise, the artifacts didn’t exactly look for Hadjar or Einen. According to the islander, they could only find one thing in the entire world — the other handkerchief. The distance between them or protective spells cast on the area where the second handkerchief was didn’t matter. No matter what forces tried to get between them, as long as the fabric of the universe itself wasn’t broken, the artifacts would find each other.
Einen had explained the spell to him as a simple bit of sympathetic magic: the threads and the piece of silk were once part of a single whole that he had separated by using a spell he’d created. Hadjar had gotten confused at first, but then Einen had said that these spells allowed him to preserve the memory of things from when they were a unified whole. That was why the handkerchiefs didn’t look for each other, either, but instead tried to merge once again. Now Hadjar saw it as a metaphor, the hidden meaning of which never ceased to torment his mind. Perhaps if he solved the mystery, it would help him understand the Black General’s motives better.
To be completely honest, he didn’t really believe the elves. Hadjar knew that they were right about at least a couple of things, though. He shouldn’t make any deals with the Enemy. It didn’t matter whether the ancient Enemy intended to devour him or not. The very act of trying to stick one’s head in the mouth of a hungry lion showed that the person just had an empty, hollow cave for a head to begin with. Furthermore, he believed that the Enemy couldn’t be killed. All the vestiges of ancient history Hadjar had collected confirmed that the first Darkhan was still alive.
What was the metaphor of the handkerchief? The scraps of fabric and thread would try to merge, while the fragments of the actual soul of one of the most powerful beings to ever live wouldn’t. According to the elves, these fragments only sought to destroy everything in existence. In essence, to commit suicide. If the world died, the Enemy would also die with it. As long as the world existed, the Enemy would remain alive, in one form or another.
“Calm down, Hadjar,” he said to himself. He walked along the paths, feeling the elves’ gazes on him, although he couldn’t see them. Surely, the King couldn’t let someone as dangerous as him, the Enemy’s descendant, wander around without anyone keeping an eye on him. “Even if you spend the next seven years trying to figure it out, you won’t solve the riddle.”
All of this, despite being a very intriguing story, didn’t have any special meaning or significance to Hadjar. A fragment of the Enemy’s soul was sealed inside him. Well, it was sealed inside half of Hadjar’s own soul. However, he only saw this as another bump in the road. The Mad General couldn’t be stopped by any obstacles, he would simply demolish them and move on.
“I’m more concerned about the Raven Sect,” Hadjar drawled, recalling the assassin’s words. “If they’re working together, what’s their goal? To destroy the world? Nonsense…”
Raven Wing hadn’t given him the impression of someone who wanted to destroy everything. No, during his talk with the Patriarch of ‘The Black Gates’ sect, it had become clear that he was guided by a very pragmatic goal: attaining more power.
“He’s a Lord now.” Hadjar recalled. “I don
’t think he remembers me. And if they’re after the Enemy’s descendants, why didn’t he kill me back then?”
Perhaps Raven Wing hadn’t been able to sense that he was a descendant of the Black General? However, if he were to believe the elves, a part of the Enemy had been with him since his birth, as it had been passed on to him by his mother’s blood.
At the same time, the Black Blade inside his soul had appeared only after his visit to the mountain where the Tree of Life resided.
“By the High Heavens, what is the Parade of Demons?” Hadjar exclaimed nervously once he remembered that particular bit.
During his conversation with the Patriarch, Raven Wing had been most interested in the Parade of Demons. Moreover, by using some simple mathematics, he’d calculated that this parade would be happening around the same time the Tournament of Twelve would be going on.
“Isn’t that what Helmer was interested in?”
By the High Heavens! Hadjar was used to the fact that, after a battle against a strong opponent, he would be given a warm bed that he could share with a beautiful woman. Not secrets, riddles, and intrigue, all of which he hated. The simpler life was, the better Hadjar felt about it. He preferred having a good sword in his hands and an obvious enemy to fight. He pushed the image of Anise out of his mind and walked to the edge of the cemetery.
“Oh, by the Evening Stars, the Great Turtle, and the High Heavens!” Hadjar gasped.
He stood on the top of a hill overlooking the elf district. By the Great Forest, if Hadjar hadn’t known that he was still in Dahanatan, he would’ve thought that he’d been moved to another place entirely. The view that he was treated to was completely different than the one he’d been looking at for the past six weeks.
Chapter 509
Coming out of the forest, Hadjar found himself on the edge of... another forest. Of course. Many incredibly huge trees reached toward the sky. Every representative of the elven fauna was larger than even the Primeval Giant that the disciples of ‘The Holy Sky’ School had fought against. They were also so wide that the entire garden of the ‘Heaven’s Pond’ could’ve fit within their circumference with ease. But that wasn’t where the surprises ended.
All the trees served as the foundation for several houses. Carved into the trunks, they had high roofs and sharp spires. These multistory ‘buildings’ were supported by giant roots that wound into wide avenues and long streets. Carriages drawn by winged horses or griffons rode along them. There were a lot of elves walking around, clad in clothes made from all sorts of materials and in a dazzling variety of colors. They traded, sang, and laughed. Somewhere in the distance, one of the guards whistled.
Hadjar had once again found himself in such an amazing place that he couldn’t have imagined such a thing before seeing it.
Two buildings in particular stood out.
In the center of the district was a huge, white tree. Three floors of some insignificant buildings had been carved into its trunk, but a real Palace stood at the bottom. It was light, elevated, with numerous towers, columns, arches, and bridges that seemed to almost hover in the air itself.
Hadjar checked the arrow on his handkerchief and breathed a sigh of relief. He was afraid that Einen might’ve been kept in the Royal Palace. Getting his friend out of such a place would’ve been difficult. Thank the High Heavens that Einen was on the other side of the area. After checking the compass-handkerchief once more, the joy disappeared from Hadjar’s eyes.
The arrow was pointing at the other strange building. If all the other houses and structures had been carved into the trees, this one had been built a little farther away, at the very edge of the district, separated from the rest of the residential area by a tangle of root-streets and avenues. Built on a hill that stood far from the trees, it looked like a small castle: it had the same pointed roofs and columns the other houses did, except they were covered in grass and moss. A yellow-green light could be seen glowing in the windows. The left part of the castle, instead of a spire, had a huge, crescent-shaped structure, inside which a sphere of blue energy spun and glowed.
“Damn it,” Hadjar hissed and started following the direction the arrow was pointing in.
He knew who lived on the outskirts of any village, town, or city: blacksmiths, alchemists, and healers. No matter how enlightened the people using their services were, they were rarely seen as something more than a necessary evil. People respected them, but preferred not to deal with them.
After dealing with Hera, Hadjar had hoped that he wouldn’t have to see her ever again. He felt like she was far more dangerous than the elf King. The King, a creature of great power, was a familiar kind of foe to Hadjar — he would use his blade and just wanted to take Hadjar’s life without any tricks. He was simple and honest.
Hera... wasn’t as simple. Believing her word would be a little less stupid than trying to snatch a piece of coal out of the fire. So, Hadjar definitely didn’t want to see the King’s sister ever again.
“I hope you’re all right, my friend.”
The poison that had brought Einen low and killed Price Geran was the improved version of the poison ‘The Black Gates’ sect’s Patriarch had used. Hadjar had had to find a special flower to expel that poison from Nero’s body. For Einen’s sake, he was ready to look for the antidote again, even if it took him what little time he had left to find it.
He hoped that Hera, the best healer in all of Dahanatan, had been able to help him.
As he approached the building, Hadjar hoped that the arrow would turn and point in a different direction. However, it didn’t. It steadfastly kept pointing at the building with the crescent and blue sphere.
Surprised that there were no guards at the entrance, Hadjar silently thanked the locals for their prejudices. As Hera’s house was on the outskirts, there were few elves around. The ones Hadjar came across along the way didn’t look for long ears under his long hair. The passers-by didn’t care.
Once inside, Hadjar found himself in a spacious hall. The floor and walls were made of some very expensive-looking wood that he couldn’t identify. Suppressing a momentary urge to get a knife and try to scrape some shavings off, he continued down the hallway. The closer he got to Einen, the more accurately the arrow could point in the direction of the second handkerchief, so it was impossible to get lost.
The wooden hall was replaced by a hall made of rare stones. Hadjar recognized only one of them, Yellow Stone, because he and Einen had passed by a jewelry store on their first day in the city.
One ring, decorated with just a small, faceted Yellow Stone, cost about seven hundred Imperial coins. And there were hundreds of pounds of it in here.
“Showoffs,” Hadjar grunted.
Still, the Marnils were a noble clan. Luxury was an integral part of their life.
Walking past the rows of empty beds covered in precious silks, Hadjar searched for his friend and found him almost at the end of the hall. Einen was reclining on a bed and reading a manuscript. Where had he managed to get that? Well, he did have what they called ‘sticky fingers,’ like any true descendant of smugglers and pirates…
“My barbarian friend!” Einen exclaimed upon seeing Hadjar, and put down the manuscript. The lower half of his body was hidden under a blanket. “You don’t look that great. Did you sleep well?”
They shook hands.
“I could ask you the same thing.”
“What do you mean?”
“You don’t look so hot yourself.” Hadjar said jokingly. “You’re the one lying in bed, after all, not me.”
Einen smiled and looked behind his companion, in the direction he’d come from.
“Are we leaving?” The islander asked.
Hadjar nodded.
“Quietly, I hope?” He added, a bit worried.
Without hesitation, Einen threw off the blanket and picked up his spear-staff hidden under it. It turned out that the islander had long ago put on his full combat gear and was treating this like he was in enemy territory
. Hadjar respected his friend’s ability to find a reason to be paranoid in any situation.
“How are you feeling?” Hadjar asked as they made their way to the exit.
“To be honest,” Einen said, a little surprised by his own words. “I’ve never felt so good in my life…”
Opening the doors, the friends found themselves in the hall made of wood. Hadjar could’ve sworn that no one had been there a moment ago, but they were now facing dozens of spears, swords, hammers, axes, and nocked arrows. Enora came forward. Wearing her armor and with a glowing spear in hand, she didn’t look like the friendliest person ever.
“You aren’t going anywhere.” She proclaimed authoritatively.
“So much for keeping things quiet,” Hadjar grumbled, summoning the Black Blade into the physical world.
“Yep.” Einen smiled madly as a spearhead popped out of the end of his staff.
Chapter 510
“Put your weapons away and take a step back,” Enora commanded.
“Enora Marnil, right?” Hadjar asked.
“Yes.” The elf nodded. “I, the head of House Marnil guard, order you, fully-fledged disciples of ‘The Holy Sky’ School, to immediately put away your weapons and return to the infirmary.”
Hadjar looked around. He saw at least three different escape routes, but the hundred or so Spirit Knights made them all fairly risky. In addition, Enora, even though she was just a Spirit Knight at the peak stage, gave him the impression of being able to fight against Lords on equal terms. Hadjar and Einen had no chance of getting away.
“Got a plan?” Hadjar whispered to his friend.
The islander nodded. “You’ll like it. It’s completely insane.”
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