“You were deceived. I understand your rage. I understand it, but I can’t forgive you. The people would see it as a sign of weakness… The Emperor can’t be weak. Adviser!”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” the second voice sneered.
“Which of our vassal empires did the Traves family establish itself in?”
Traves thrashed around. There was only one thought going through his mind: he had a family? Not the Dark Storm tribe, but a true family? But how? Then he remembered the young human girl he’d almost forgotten after thousands of years of wandering.
“In the Empire of Darnassus, my Lord. It’s one of our seven subordinates.”
“That’s perfect. Use the Emperor’s Crypt Formation and imprison him somewhere near them.”
“For how long, my Lord?”
“For as long as Traves wants. He can kill himself whenever he pleases.”
“It will be done, my Lord…”
***
Hadjar opened his eyes. The first thing he saw was a man’s face. It was harsh, but somehow handsome, with a thick beard and sharp eyes.
“Well hello there, disciple. I am Mentor Orune and I-”
Rage flared up inside Hadjar. The Black Blade appeared in his hand.
“I already have a Master!” He shouted and held the blade to Orune’s throat.
Chapter 528
Hadjar didn’t immediately figure out that he was no longer in the dream world. He had been so immersed in Traves’ memories that it took him a moment to realize that he was now back in reality. He was surprised to find himself lying on a bed with his blade at someone else’s throat.
“Mentor!” Hadjar instantly dismissed the Black Blade and tried to stand up in order to bow low, but couldn’t.
Hissing through clenched teeth, Hadjar slumped back against the pillows. His body ached as if a herd of Frogohorses had trampled him.
“Your Master…” Orune sat on the edge of the bed, “did you dream about him?”
He looked a bit different from what Hadjar had imagined after hearing Jean’s stories. Hadjar had thought that Orune would be like the other swordsmen of the Empire, like the Dinos family for example — dignified and imposing. They carried their swords with a haughty air. Hadjar didn’t blame them. He was even envious of their confidence. Then again, the sword was the King of all Weapons, which made swordsmen a cut above the other cultivators.
“Yes.” Hadjar answered.
Orune nodded.
Unlike the Dinos siblings, especially Tom, he didn’t look overly prideful or arrogant. Even the expensive clothes he wore still looked shabby. Mentor Orune looked like a wild beast ready to attack at any moment. His sword, which he wore tucked into his belt despite having a spatial artifact, looked like a long fang. Everything about Orune screamed that it would be better to stay on his good side. He emanated true power and justified superiority.
“Sometimes, I dream about mine, too.” The swordsman sighed, involuntarily gripping the hilt of his weapon. “He usually shouted things like: ‘Orune! You’re a disgrace! We’re on a battlefield, not in a ballroom!’ That old fart... I used to hate him, but when he died…”
“...you felt lonely.” Hadjar finished for Orune.
Hadjar hadn’t spoken to anyone about how he felt now, after Traves’ passing. He’d doubted that anyone could ever understand him.
“He was my fourth Master,” Orune continued. “I respected the others as well, but I only called that old fart Master with a capital M.”
Hadjar said nothing. South Wind’s face, and that of the Master from the Royal Palace of Lidus, appeared before him. Had he respected them? Certainly. However, after they had parted, he’d just remembered the Master kindly, but without any particular fondness. The same was true for the Shadow of the Immortal swordsman he had encountered in the Black Mountains. The Shadow of that once-great warrior had been his Master for a year, but never his true Master… Even so, Hadjar had sworn that he would visit the House of Blade Fury in the Land of the Immortals and bow before their stele, honoring the Shadow’s teachings, which would allow the Immortal to finally rest in peace.
It was all a bit different from what he felt about the dragon. He had more appreciation and respect for Traves than anyone else who had ever taught him.
“We meet many Mentors and Masters in our lives that show us the way.” Orune turned to Hadjar. His gaze was interested and respectful. “But only one of them remains in our memory as our true Master. By the gods, I won’t try to claim that title, but even if that’s the way things are, I don’t mind just being your Mentor, young warrior.”
Orune, one of Darnassus’ greatest swordsmen, held out his hand to Hadjar. The young man looked into the old warrior’s dark eyes. When he noticed the scarlet Name tattoos on his shoulders, he squinted, but finally returned the gesture. They gripped each other’s forearms.
“However...” Orune stood up and went to the exit. “You need to become a disciple of the inner circle first. To do that, you’ll have to get a token from the fourth floor. With that, and the recommendation of one of the Mentors or Masters, you can take the exam. If you succeed, I’ll instruct you in the Way of the Sword Spirit.”
“Thank you, Mentor Orune. I’ll try to live up to your expectations.”
“Oh, my future disciple, I have no doubt you will,” Orune said and smiled unsettlingly, as if he were looking forward to passing down all the ‘lessons’ that his Master had once taught him.
Now that he was alone, Hadjar stared at the high ceiling. It was white, decorated with stucco and tacky ornaments. The dorm of the fully-fledged disciples was visible from the window. It was crowded with people who were discussing the duel between the Dinos and Tarez heirs. Surprisingly, the latter had won. No one had expected for a senior heir of such a warlike clan to lose to a Tarez who had specialized in trading and financial speculation.
Well, at least one Dinos lost their duel, Hadjar thought with a half-smile.
He knew perfectly well that he had completely and utterly lost to Tom. Of course, he could’ve lied to himself and justified it by pointing out how Dinos had used Imperial level artifacts and Heaven level battle Techniques, but that was also a part of any cultivator’s power. In a real fight, Hadjar wouldn’t ask a foe to not use their Techniques or armor just because they were better than his own. After all, Hadjar had his Call, the dragon’s heart, and the Black Blade of the Enemy himself. Everyone in this world had their trump cards. Hadjar’s had simply proven worse this time.
I wonder, Hadjar thought as he struggled out of bed, how many years has it been since I lost a fight? In all the years that Hadjar had wielded a blade, he had almost never lost a battle. His defeats could be counted on the fingers of one hand. Sages said that failure was the forge of victory. Only those who learned from their mistakes would achieve true greatness.
Hadjar hobbled over to the chair where his clothes and a sleeping kitten lay.
“Azrea!” Hadjar exclaimed delightedly.
He picked up the tigress and raised her to face level. Smiling, he gave her a little shake.
“Where have you been, you furry bandit?” Hadjar asked.
The only response he got was a sleepy sniff. Azrea didn’t even open her eyes. Her claws popped out slightly and she tapped Hadjar’s chest like she was trying to get into his shirt.
“Got it.” He placed the tigress back down on the chair. “You’ll tell me all about it later, little traveler. I want to know what you saw and where you were.”
Hadjar got dressed and picked the kitten up so she could nestle against him inside his shirt. Then, using the chair as a walker, he went out into the street. The bright sunlight made him close his eyes. He took a deep breath. After his conversation with Mentor Orune, he felt like a heavy weight had been lifted from his shoulders.
“You’re recovering surprisingly quickly, Hadjar Darkhan, Prince of Lidus.”
Hadjar turned around and saw Anise leaning against a wall. Dressed in the same clothes
she’d worn back at the arena, she kept her hand on the hilt of her sword.
“Anise.” Hadjar nodded in greeting.
“It’s curious... The Prince of Lidus, also known as the Mad General, has been a wanted man for almost five years now for rebelling and staging a coup against the Empire. He ought to be thirty by now...”
Hadjar wouldn’t have been Hadjar if he’d allowed himself to panic. Anise, powerful as she was, was still just a young girl. One that Hadjar liked very much.
“What do you mean?”
Anise narrowed her eyes at him. The two of them stared at each other for a while.
“I don’t know. You’re a disciple of ‘The Holy Sky’ School, so you passed the age test. No one has ever been able to fool it, so it’s unlikely that you’re the Mad General. I just don’t understand why you pretend to be him.”
Hadjar doubted the infallibility of the test. If both he and Einen had been able to get around it, someone else could’ve also done so.
“Commoners who have nothing sometimes need to have idols.” Hadjar shrugged. “It just so happens that the Mad General and I are namesakes.”
“So Hadjar Darkhan and the Mad General are two different people?” Anise asked pointedly.
Hadjar looked northward. There, above Dahanatan’s military port, ships were soaring. Frigates, battleships, galleons, caravels, brigs, and countless other smaller boats sailed through the blue skies.
Without answering her, Hadjar went to look for Einen.
Chapter 529
As he was dragging himself over to the inner circle disciple dormitory, which looked more like an Imperial inn than a dorm, Hadjar ran into Dora.
“Good morning,” Hadjar grunted, leaning heavily on the chair.
The elf girl looked tired. For a cultivator of her level, dark circles under one’s eyes were a sign of extreme stress. Her shoulders were slumped, and her gaze was lost somewhere in the distance.
“Good morning, Hadjar,” she said. “Einen’s all right... today.”
Hadjar remembered that he’d been unconscious for at least four days.
“Did Hera heal him?” He asked.
“Yes, she-” Dora paused and looked at Hadjar, her brows furrowed. “How did you know?”
Hadjar just stared at her. By the High Heavens and the Evening Stars, Einen was one lucky bastard. However, despite the good news, Hadjar felt his heart sink. Einen had fallen in love with their mutual friend... It reminded him of… It was as if someone had just run a hand over an old scar.
“I woke up alone in the medical wing,” Hadjar explained.
“Oh, that’s right.” Dora nodded. “Yes, you’re right.”
Hadjar immediately began to calculate how much Hera’s services would cost them.
“Don’t worry,” Dora’s smile was also tired. “I asked her to treat him. Hera won’t accept a single coin from him.”
“There’s really no need for you to do this...” Hadjar began.
He wasn’t being coy. He simply didn’t want to be indebted to the elves. It didn’t feel right to owe people who knew more about him than any other living being. Especially since they’d put a ‘ticking time bomb’ inside him…
“Enough,” Dora said. “She doesn’t like Tom Dinos. As soon as she heard how Einen got injured, she immediately came to take care of him. But…”
Dora shook her head. Hadjar remembered the wound his friend had received. It was a miracle that he was still alive.
“He’s been stable since yesterday. He was delirious up until then. If it hadn’t been for Hera…”
Dora trailed off, but Hadjar understood. He would’ve had to continue his journey alone had it not been for her kindness. Another memento would’ve been added to his wallet, which he always carried on his belt.
“Eldest heiress of House Marnil, I, Hadjar Darkhan, give you my word that I’ll repay this debt one day.”
He didn’t need to swear a blood oath. He had given his word, which meant that he’d put his honor on the line.
“That’s not necessary, Hadjar.”
“And yet…”
They walked in silence for a while, attracting the curious gazes of the other disciples.
Hadjar didn’t know what Dora was thinking about. He looked around and thought of the Tarez servant. A week and a half had passed since they’d met in the Forest of Knowledge, but the servant hadn’t shown up again. He wondered what the man was waiting for.
“Hera said that Einen would recover in half a month…”
Hadjar suppressed a gasp of surprise. Over the years, he’d gotten used to Einen always being around. They’d been through thick and thin together, so the thought of not having anyone to watch his back for two weeks made Hadjar look around more often.
“By the Great Forest, I need to relax.” Dora sighed and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Would you like to go on a mission with me, Hadjar? That will give us an opportunity to get to know each other better.”
Hadjar looked at her. She kept stumbling. She didn’t need a mission, but a good rest instead. However, telling another cultivator what to do was considered an insult. Any free man (or elf) had the right to decide their own fate.
“I don’t think I’ll be of much use to you,” Hadjar said, trying to politely refuse. “I’m just a disciple of the outer... I’m just a fully-fledged disciple.”
“You fought Tom Dinos on almost equal terms,” Dora spat. Mentioning Tom made her sick. “You’ll need a lot more Glory points now. The fourth floor’s prices are sky high, not to mention the fifth and sixth.”
“Have you already visited the sixth floor?” Hadjar asked in surprise.
“If I were Anise, I’d be offended by your question.” Dora smiled. “Yes, I passed the sixth floor test just recently. In order to buy even the cheapest scroll there, I’ll have to save up for the next six months. Luckily, I found a task related to the Storm Mountain.”
Hadjar was impressed. The Storm Mountain was considered the most dangerous place in the Empire. Only the most desperate and powerful cultivators risked going there to train or hunt. The terrible mountain could become the final resting place of even a Lord.
“I’ve always wanted to see the Wastelands.”
“There’s nothing there except for old graves and tombs. That’s why it’s called the Wastelands.”
Chatting the whole way there, Dora and Hadjar reached the Hall of Fame. As always, it was overcrowded.
The prewar fever had subsided, and the Emperor hadn’t imposed martial law, which meant everyone had calmed down and settled back into their everyday routine. Students gathered to hunt monsters, collect herbs, or cut down special types of trees. Everyone worked for the benefit of ‘The Holy Sky’ School, hoping to earn a little of its favor in the form of Glory points.
“I saw one task-”
Dora was interrupted by a tall, stately student with an emerald token on his chest. He was also an inner circle disciple like her.
“Hadjar Darkhan?” He asked.
“How may I help you, senior disciple?” Hadjar nodded politely.
“This is for you.”
Thrusting a scroll into Hadjar’s hands, he greeted Dora and went about his business. Hadjar observed the scroll in his hands for a while, unrolled it, and read it over carefully.
“What is it?” Dora asked, seeing the dumbfounded look on his face.
“Mentor Orune is suggesting that I go on a mission to the Lascanian border.”
***
“Demons... Demons!”
Markin paced nervously around his lab. Over the past few days, he’d been feeling as if he were once again a beardless young Heaven Soldier who had just been told that he’d never reach the lofty heights of true cultivation. The day he’d heard those words had been the turning point in his life.
“You had a simple task: track Hadjar and bring him to me.”
From the shadows of the room, which was filled with various flasks, bottles, cauldrons, manuscripts,
and drawings came a muffled, clearly altered voice.
“No, I don’t want to hear your excuses!” Markin slammed his fist against the wall, cracking it. “How could you fail such a simple task? You useless moron! Demons... Demons! Bring him to me immediately! I have to take his Name!”
A moment later, Markin was once again alone in the lab. He swept like a hurricane through the various ingredients, then walked over to a cauldron and lit a fire under it.
“Orune... How long are you going to keep getting in my way?” Markin filled a bottle with special water and began to practice illegal alchemy. “Never mind... Mighty swordsman Orune, I’ll get even with you soon enough, and when I’m done with you, there won’t even be any dust left from your soul!”
Chapter 530
Sitting astride a shaggy centipede that was as tall as a house and thirty feet long, Hadjar looked at the military port. He couldn’t shake off the uneasy feeling that had come over him the moment he’d left the School grounds.
Dora, of course, had warned him not to do this, saying that the border was far too dangerous at the moment. Skirmishes with Lascanians, which had previously happened a few times a month, now happened on an almost daily basis. The tension between the two Empires was so great that the smallest spark would be enough to ignite the fires of war. However, real life wasn’t a simple game of chess. Fighting on enemy territory was a clear disadvantage, which is why both sides had decided to continue gathering their forces. They both wanted to settle this in one fell swoop.
At the pace they were going, however, it’d take them several more centuries before they decided to finally attack.
Sighing, Hadjar took the letter the messenger had given him out of his spatial ring.
Hello, my future disciple. I believe that you would have managed to accumulate Glory points even without my help but, unfortunately, I don’t have several years to spare. So, I’ll offer you a deal. As you know, the toughest steel needs a lot of tempering. I think you’ve been in Darnassus for far too long…
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