Land of Magic

by Kirill Klevanski

  “We have to stop the fight,” Markin almost stammered. “This isn’t in accordance with the rules of ‘The Holy Sky’ School. The vice-rector will be furious when he finds out!”

  “Gern doesn’t care about commoners.” Orune’s voice was full of menace. “As long as Dinos is safe, he won’t mind if half the outer circle disciples are killed.”

  Jean hated to hear it, but he knew that Orune was right. If not for Jean and his careful enforcement of the rules, most of the ordinary disciples here wouldn’t have survived their first month.

  “Ha!” Orune suddenly shouted, drawing everyone’s attention to the arena where something strange was happening. A tendril of black energy writhed around Hadjar, reminiscent of the way his energy had moved when he’d used his powerful offensive Technique. According to Orune, it was akin to the one the islander had possessed. In Hadjar’s hands, it was at the Heaven level, but each of the Lords felt that, with some refinement, it had the potential to reach the Imperial level.

  Within the vortex of black energy, blue threads suddenly began to emerge. They emanated the energy of the wind. And although the energy was faint, it was most definitely there.

  “Has the boy been marked by the Sword Spirit?”

  An inhumanly deep growl shook the walls of the arena. The pain contained in that single sound made the hearts of some of the spectators skip a beat. Some even clenched their fists.

  A tattoo glowed brightly, visible through the cloak of black fog. Its pattern looked like a beetle drawn with sword strokes. Only Orune recognized that it was an ancient hieroglyph. In ancient manuscripts, it was used to denote an acolyte of the Sword Spirit.

  “He must be a fool to accept such a mark,” Orune whispered to himself. “Or desperate for power. Giving up the whole rest of the world for it is…”

  Exuding an ocean of pain, Hadjar was trying to break the Sword’s seal. Not with the help of energy or some other Technique (Orune briefly wondered how he’d managed to find such a powerful Technique, as ‘Spirit Initiation’ was quite rare and potent, in a backwater village like Lidus), but his raw willpower.

  Orune saw that the boy didn’t have much talent for cultivation. What’s more, it was limited. But what amazed Orune was the strength of Hadjar’s will.

  With another loud cry, another part of the tattoo disappeared. More blue threads appeared.

  “Black Wind!”

  The darkness was now full of blue threads. Its power increased so much that Jean noticed.

  “Is that even possible?” Jean whispered.

  “Only if the boy’s true talent doesn’t lie in the realm of pure Sword Spirit.”

  Neither Jean nor Markin, who weren’t experts in the field, understood what Orune meant. All they could do was wait and see the outcome of the fight.

  Chapter 523

  Hadjar saw Tom disappear. His thoughts raced. He knew that he didn’t have any energy left for the fight, and that he’d die if he didn’t do something. He doubted that his forefathers would be happy if he lost to a Dinos and failed to save his friend.

  As he thought of Einen, the memory of his brother being stabbed by the Imperial Governor flashed through his mind once again. Back then, the man had seemed like a demigod to Hadjar: a Spirit Knight at the initial stage. But now… Devoid of any talents and abilities, only armed with a simple artifact, Hadjar would still need just a couple of attacks to kill him.

  Unfortunately, no one had power over time. There was no going back to the past. Even the Enemy hadn’t been able to escape his fate and had been chained to the Mountain of Skulls.

  Hadjar held up his sword, gripping the hilt as if his life depended on him holding on. Even in the face of certain death, he wouldn’t give up. He would rather die than bow his head. If he had to die, he’d die on his feet with honor, like a true warrior. He would fight to the very end, never succumbing to weakness. As long as his heart kept beating, he would continue to fight. No matter what.

  Tom appeared on his left and thrust his sword forward sharply. The scarlet lightning bolts had long since disappeared, but it was still dangerous. Not only did the blade easily go through Hadjar, but it also went through the wall behind him.

  Overcoming the pain, Hadjar tried to use his Defensive Technique, but couldn’t. There was no energy left in him, save for a few sparks in his core, small bits of power that weren’t enough to fuel any Technique. But what he didn’t lack was willpower, which burned as strongly as ever in Hadjar’s eyes and soul. Given enough time, he’d take down the Heavens. However, time wasn’t something he had a lot of right now.

  Tom’s blade was slowly coming closer. Just like long ago, when Traves’ claw had descended upon him, time seemed to stop.

  “Great ancestor, forgive me…”

  Suddenly, Hadjar felt something… Something long forgotten, but still dear to him. Like the touch of an old friend that he hadn’t seen for many years, but whom he had never forgotten. Like the embrace of a brother he’d been separated from by oceans, but had still remained closer to than anyone else in the whole world. The wind played with Hadjar’s hair, making the ornaments tinkle.

  Wind! My old friend! Flashed through Hadjar’s mind. I’m sorry, but I can’t hear you.

  How many years had passed since they’d last ‘chatted’? Since Hadjar had been able to listen to its stories about distant countries? For so long, there had only been fragments that would instantly disappear from his memory. However, this feeling of closeness and compassion had still helped protect him from dark thoughts.

  Sometimes, in the moments when he advanced to the next stage or level of cultivation, Hadjar could hear the wind’s whispers and feel its presence. Despite that, ever since he’d received the mark of the Sword Spirit, he could no longer hear its stories. The sense of freedom and wide open spaces that his invisible friend had once given him had no longer been there. After he’d received the Sword Spirit tattoo, the world around Hadjar had kept growing smaller. Once immensely huge, containing an untold number of mysteries, it had thinned to the width of a Sword, one much like the blade that was now trying to end his life.

  Dinos’ sword had almost touched Hadjar’s chest before he’d felt himself falling into the darkness, deeper and deeper, until he landed in the middle of a green meadow. Tall grass stretched out in all directions as far as the eye could see. In the middle of it all, on a hill, was a rock upon which a man sat in a lotus position. His back was to Hadjar.

  “Master?”

  Azure silk robes fluttered in the light breeze. Black hair danced around the man’s long horns.

  “But I-”

  “If you can see me, my disciple, that means that it’s time for your final lesson.”

  Traves’ voice sounded muffled and distant. Hadjar tried to touch him, but his hand passed through his silhouette, leaving only ripples behind, as if he’d touched the surface of a lake. All that remained of the once mighty dragon was a memory stored inside Hadjar’s soul, and it had been biding its time. It was time for him to hear his Master’s last words.

  Hadjar fell to his knees and pressed his forehead against the ground.

  “We’ll meet again soon, great ancestor. Forgive me…”

  “I left this memory behind in case death ever got close to you,” the dragon continued. “Not because your enemy is stronger than you — that has always been the case — but because you have given in to despair. Now tell me, what made Hadjar Darkhan give up?”

  “I didn’t give up!” Hadjar objected, still keeping his forehead pressed to the ground. “I’m still fighting.”

  “If that were true, you wouldn’t be here.”

  Hadjar looked up. Traves towered over him like a great mountain; not because he was tall, but because his wisdom and confidence made him the greatest, most impressive man Hadjar had ever met.

  “Tell me, Hadjar, what distinguishes the wind from the cliff?”

  It was a simple question.

  “Freedom.”

  “Nothing, ac
tually.” Traves turned back to the horizon. “Both of them, despite being doomed to fail, strive for the sky. Neither is destined to reach its goal, but they don’t stop until time destroys them. Tell me, disciple, is it time that’s destroying you right now?”

  “No, Master.”

  “Then don’t stop. Be like your faithful wind that blindly follows you everywhere. Never stop for anything. Otherwise, how else will you defeat the Dragon Emperor and plant a tree where the Dark Storm tribe once lived?”

  Hadjar’s eyes widened.

  “Yes, my disciple.” Traves nodded. “That’s the price of my heart — the life of the Dragon Emperor and the tree. One day, you’ll find out which of the two is more valuable. Now get up and push on!”

  “But the wind-”

  “How can you take the light from a star while the star itself is still alive? How can you take the water from an ocean while it still exists? Your wind, my disciple, has always been with you, but you were separated by a wall. And when the Mad General encounters a wall, what does he do?”

  Hadjar’s eyes flashed with such a bright and undying fire that, for a moment, it seemed as if the illusory sky would crack.

  “That’s better.”

  The memory faded. Hadjar, after bowing one final time to the rock, took a deep breath. All these years, he’d assumed that his enemy was in the outer world when the first person he should’ve defeated was himself. With that thought in mind, Hadjar plunged into the depths of his soul.

  Chapter 524

  The illusory world disappeared. Hadjar found himself in the midst of boundless darkness, within the very depths of his soul. The dragon of his Call and the Black Blade dwelled here.

  “Show yourself!” He shouted into the depths of his own soul.

  In this place, which a person normally couldn’t reach even with their thoughts, lurked their biggest hopes and darkest fears. If Hadjar’s hope was freedom, then his fear…

  “Show yourself!”

  The void quivered, and then a huge hieroglyph appeared, bathed in a bright, white light. It looked like a strange beetle that had been drawn with hundreds of sword strikes. This was Hadjar’s weakness, which had taken away a part of him. Before the battle with ‘The Black Gates’ sect, Hadjar had gone out of his way to allow the weakness to prevail and had sold a piece of himself for power. But power had never been Hadjar’s goal. It had never been his true path. This weakness was like a worm eating away at him.

  “I respect the Sword,” Hadjar bowed low to the hieroglyph, “but I won’t let you keep the whole world away from me any longer.”

  Reaching out, he focused all the mental strength he had at the hieroglyph. A wave of azure energy struck it. It shivered, glowed even brighter, and a wave of pain washed over Hadjar, so crushing that he almost drowned in it. It looked like pure, white light, and it threatened to tear his soul asunder. Standing in the center of this ocean of white energy, Hadjar roared and continued to push against the hieroglyph. He refused to give in, even if that was the last thing he ever did. Hadjar refused to show fear to anyone, be they gods, demons, or the Sword Spirit itself. He wasn’t a coward. He wasn’t even fighting the Sword Spirit’s seal directly, but the manifestation of his own weakness.

  Before the flood of white light threw Hadjar back into the physical world, he focused all his willpower into a single attack. A stream of blue light lashed out at the thinnest of the hieroglyph’s lines, making it snap like a taut string. Hadjar nearly fainted from the pain, feeling as if a part of his own soul had just shattered. When his awareness came back to the physical world, he felt Dinos’ sword pierce his right side.

  “Got you!” Hadjar snarled.

  Like a reckless madman, his eyes glittering, he seized Tom’s hand and blade. Ignoring the pain, Hadjar focused on a distant, almost imperceptible whisper. It fanned the last embers of energy inside his core into a raging inferno. Blue and black, it poured into his hands, flowing like lava along his meridians, and then surged into his blade.

  “Black Wind!”

  The attack, a little faster and stronger than before, slammed into Tom. The young man screamed, flew several yards back, and landed on the sand, his breastplate cut open and bent inward. Blood trickled through the gaps in his armor. The ‘Black Wind’ could now break through Imperial level armor and wound Dinos’ fortified body. The wound was superficial, true, but it was still the most damage Hadjar had been able to inflict during the battle. Unfortunately, it wasn’t enough to stop Tom.

  “Damn it,” Hadjar gasped as he watched his opponent get back up.

  He had no strength left. Hadjar stumbled back. He lost consciousness before his body even hit the ground.

  Tom stared in disbelief at his palm, which had come away bloody when he’d inspected his armor, and felt the fire of all-consuming anger ignite in his chest. That damned dog had managed to bite him! Using what little energy he had left, he rose to his feet and strode toward his unconscious foe. He didn’t see what was happening in the stands, or notice how pale Anise seemed to be. All he wanted at that moment was to take the life of this impudent bastard. He walked over to him and raised his sword.

  ***

  “That’s definitely not a pure Sword Spirit,” Orune whispered. “Who would have thought...? He isn’t even from a clan of swordsmen. Where did he get it?”

  “Let me out, Orune!” Markin shouted. “Dinos is going to kill him.”

  “He’s right, my friend,” Jean agreed with the frantic Markin. “‘The Holy Sky’ School needs these two talented disciples. If we don’t intervene now, we’ll lose them both.”

  “Why should we help them?” Orune asked. “They chose to do this. It was their own decision. They must take full responsibility for their actions.”

  “But-”

  “There are thousands of geniuses in this world, Jean, who die before they even take up their first weapon. This is their fate. Furthermore-”

  The veil above the arena was suddenly struck by a bright, white lightning bolt that went through it and slammed into the ground in front of Dinos. Then the walls shook with a bestial roar.

  “By the demons and gods! Put a normal veil over the training grounds!” Orune shouted as he dismissed his barrier made up of the Sword Spirit’s mysteries and covered a distance of several miles in a split second.

  ***

  Tom Dinos had been close to killing his opponent when, acting on instinct, he jumped back to avoid a huge tigress that suddenly appeared in front of him. Towering above him, she growled and whipped the ground with her tail. Standing over Hadjar, she bared her teeth at him. Her black and white fur arced with lightning bolts.

  “Gods and demons!” Dinos breathed out.

  He could feel her power. She was at the beginning of the Ancient Stage, a power comparable to that of a peak Spirit Knight. Even in his Imperial armor, tired as he was, Dinos wouldn’t be able to handle her.

  The tigress jumped. Her fangs, surging with lightning, latched onto flesh, but failed to pierce it. Startled, she let out an odd whine.

  “Be a good kitty now.” Orune smiled. With a single blow, he sent the beast flying.

  The spectators gasped when the powerful beast, after flying a hundred yards through the air, crashed into the wall of the arena, leaving an enormous hole in it.

  “Who are you?” Dinos gasped, his whole life flashing before his eyes.

  “Mentor Orune!” The man’s deep voice boomed out. “And you were about to kill my future personal disciple!”

  Jean groaned wearily. When he had to, Orune could forget what he’d said just half a minute ago. Markin, the most indignant of the trio, bit his lip.

  “His Name will be mine,” he murmured. “I’ll kill Orune and Jean if I have to. The Darkhan Name will be mine!”

  Chapter 525

  Hadjar was dreaming. Before becoming a Heaven Soldier, he hadn’t been able to distinguish reality from a dream, but thanks to his advancement, he could now sense that what was happening was part of a
dream. He was back in someone else’s memories.

  A tall man wearing a gray, patched cloak walked along a rural road. Despite the heavy rain, he wasn’t wearing a hat. He couldn’t simply put one on, either, because of the long horns that jutted out of his long, black hair.

  “Master!” Hadjar shouted, falling to the ground and pressing his forehead to it. Even in someone else’s memory, he needed to show respect to the old dragon.

  Hadjar wouldn’t get another chance. This way, he could show his respect and reverence for the great Master one final time, honoring his venerable ancestor who had given his life so that Hadjar could live. Alas, this was the most he could do. Hadjar couldn’t break through the veil of time that separated him from his ancestor, in whose house he would one day stand trial. All his deeds would be considered then and his fate would be determined.

  “Stop!” shouted one of the four men that appeared in front of the traveler.

  The aura they radiated was comparable to the aura of a peak stage Spirit Knight. And although they walked on two legs, they weren’t human. Their muscular bodies were encased in yellow armor, and their hands clutched swords and shields, but their eyes…

  Yellow and green, with long, snakelike pupils, they peered at Traves from behind the visors of their helmets. Horns could be seen through the slits made in the metal of the helmets...

  “These are forbidden lands, wanderer.” The leader, and the one with the strongest aura, stepped forward. “No one is allowed to go past this point.”

  Traves stopped. Pushing back the oddly shaped hood of his cloak, he tilted his head back and let the rain fall on his face. For the first time, Hadjar saw the true visage of his ancestor. When his Shadow had appeared in his dreams, he’d assumed an idealized appearance — he had looked like a handsome young man. But now, a middle-aged man stood before him. His face was covered in hideous scars, and he stared at the sky with indifference.