Now, about my offer. An old friend of mine lives in Fort Darigon, on the western border we share with Lascan, near the Valley of Flowers. He has recently obtained a scroll with ancient writings. He was able to get only a small fragment of it to me via messenger bird (he’s afraid of Lascanian spies intercepting the scroll and stealing it). Me and Jean deciphered it and concluded that the scroll is related to the Wastelands.
My request is as follows: go to the western border, take the scroll, and bring it back to me so that we can finish deciphering it. If you’re successful, I’ll pay you 80,000 Glory points. That is a fifth of the amount you’ll need to take the inner circle exam.
P.S. The trip there and back on a brig will take about a month. So, if you don’t want to waste time, don’t skimp on transport.
Heaving another sigh, Hadjar stored the letter that bore Orune’s personal seal. He would need it upon his arrival in Darigon, to prove to the old man’s friend that he really was an acquaintance of his.
There were several things about the letter that rubbed Hadjar the wrong way.
First of all, it had been written on the day he’d fought Tom, which meant that Orune had been watching their battle.
Second, Orune was way too familiar with how injured Hadjar was, as he had attached a Pure Stream pill to the letter. The mere sight of this alchemical miracle had made Dora twitch nervously. It cost as much as a Heaven level artifact, but Orune had given it away as if it were a piece of candy.
Per the man’s instructions, Hadjar had immediately swallowed the pill. Since he’d been diligently treated by healers for several days beforehand, it had taken the medicine only an hour to heal all his wounds. It had even replenished the energy reserve in his core. What was strange about that, you might ask? The fact that the letter had been written a few days ago, which meant Orune had cared enough to estimate what he’d need and when…
Third, scrolls concerning ancient tombs were very rare and valuable. For example, one of the Imperial level Techniques which was now stored on the seventh floor of the Treasure Tower had been found in an ancient tomb. Entrusting the retrieval of such a valuable item to a fully-fledged student was strange. Such a task would be more fitting for a personal disciple at the Spirit Knight level. Then again, Orune was an antisocial person, and there were many rumors about him floating around. One of them being that he’d never had a personal disciple and that the only person he communicated with was Jean, who was his childhood friend or something like that.
But what confused Hadjar the most was the fact that Orune had sent him on a suicide mission. He’d have to go through a battlefield to get to his destination, for heaven’s sake!
“Damn it!” Hadjar swore angrily, drawing the attention of several nobles riding alongside him. They were about to say something, but decided not to when they noticed his golden token. Unlike the inner circle disciples, fully-fledged ones weren’t considered elites, but they did have a high enough social standing all the same. A baron that had bought their land and title bowed to anyone who wore the golden token of ‘The Holy Sky’ School.
“I hate intrigue!” He cried out in frustration. “Orune didn’t look like a subtle manipulator...”
Emphasis on the ‘subtle’. Having lived a long life as a Lord, Orune might’ve been somewhat cunning, but definitely not insidious. So, it was time to put aside his paranoia and look at the situation more critically. Orune wanted to make him his personal disciple, which meant that he valued him and wanted to keep him safe. Hadjar wondered what kind of danger had to be lurking in the heart of the Empire, and ‘The Holy Sky’ School especially, if Mentor Orune thought that it’d be safer for him to be caught right between two enraged giants rather than stay there.
By the High Heavens! At times like these, he really missed the analytical capabilities of his neural network.
[33 days, 22 hours, 13 minutes and 43...42...41 seconds remaining until the update is completed.]
A whole month... He hoped that, after the update, he’d be able to find some other use for the network, as he was already able to perform most of its original functions himself. After all, a cultivator’s mind grew stronger along with their body.
When they reached the port, Hadjar went to the Manager, who lived in a tall building. The entrance to the building was decorated with tacky statues of nymphs. The official’s taste clearly wasn’t very refined.
Ignoring the queue, Hadjar went inside and almost kicked open the door of the man’s spacious office.
“What do you think you’re doing?” A fat official sitting behind a big desk asked indignantly.
The typical obese and pathetic official with the faint aura of a Heaven Soldier sat in a wide chair. Next to him, a young girl was feverishly adjusting her skirt and her hair. She was a practitioner at the Transformation of the Mortal Shell stage. In the Empire, someone like her was as weak as a mortal in Lidus.
“Oh, forgive my short temper, honorable fully-fledged disciple of ‘The Holy Sky’ School,” the official babbled, covering his body and the organ that dangled beneath his huge belly. “Ahem, what can I do for you?”
“I want to be on the next brig to Darigon.” Hadjar said coldly.
“Yes, of course, right away,” he said and dove into a pile of papers in front of him. Hadjar could bet that they’d been sitting there, unchecked, for months. Bureaucracy was a virus that infected all countries.
“The next brig going to Darigon is a vessel under the command of Viscount Abrax, an initial stage Lord. It’s called ‘Rukh’s Wings’.”
“Great. How much does a passenger ticket cost?”
“Well, you see-” the man stuttered.
“Get to the point,” Hadjar snapped.
“Of course, of course.” He cleared his throat and fixed his collar. “It’s a warship, you see. The next civilian vessel will be leaving in six days and-”
Hadjar waved his hand, silencing the man. He didn’t have six days to spare. He’d already spent four days in the infirmary. He had a ‘bomb’ inside him, so every hour counted.
“A warship is fine. Where do I sign up?”
Chapter 531
After leaving the administrative building, Hadjar went to the docks. Sailors and common soldiers (most of which were, appropriately, at the Heaven Soldier level) walked past him, carrying backpacks and crates. Spatial artifacts were so expensive that only a few people could afford them. If it hadn’t been for Dora, Hadjar was certain that he would’ve had to save up for at least a year to replace the Patriarch’s ring.
The port itself looked impressive. Ramps came out of the wide pavement made out of gray stone and rose into the sky. Servants, sailors, and soldiers walked along them briskly. The forever-dissatisfied shouts of boatswains and captains could be heard everywhere.
Ranging from heavy, five-masted monsters with seven decks that vaguely resembled battleships, all the way to light, two-masted brigs, the port boasted a variety of vessels. There were only a few civilians present at the docks, seeing off and reuniting with their friends and loved ones. The military port didn’t seem to be as popular and crowded as the civilian one. It was a little farther away, hidden behind a veil with a massive hieroglyph in its center and guarded by a squad of mid-stage Spirit Knights.
Fortunately, each vessel had a sign with its name next to it. Some were in languages he didn’t even recognize. Hadjar, walking along the pier, observed the beautiful vessels with white and blue sails, hoping that his voyage would take place on one of them. However, he was soon disappointed to learn that wouldn’t be the case.
‘Rukh’s Wings’ was docked at the very end of the pier and it didn’t look very presentable compared to the other ships. In fact, it looked like it had been cobbled together from various garbage, with mended sails, and didn’t give the impression of a ‘worthy ship’ at all. The magical artifacts that kept it afloat looked like oars topped with feathers. From a distance, the ship really appeared to have wings.
The ladder that led to
the upper deck, where the young sailors were mounting guns, looked ready to fall apart. If Hadjar had been a mere mortal, he would’ve never risked climbing it.
“Well, if this is the fastest way to get to the fort…”
Hadjar shook his head; he had no business judging anyone for being poor. He wasn’t all that different from this ship, wearing tattered clothes that he hadn’t mended since leaving Lidus.
“Did you come here looking for us?”
Hadjar raised his head. A cultivator was looking down at him, in more ways than one, from the first deck. The ship had three in total. He was a huge man with a square face and a massive jaw. His muscular arms were covered in thick, black hair that looked more like the fur of a wild animal. He had a lot of scars and cold eyes, and was dressed in a sort of uniform with an officer’s medallion. As far as Hadjar knew, every officer in the Darnassus Army had two artifacts at their disposal for the duration of their service: a Heaven level weapon and set of armor. Although not at the Imperial level, they could still turn into pieces of jewelry for convenient storage.
“Captain Abrax?” Hadjar guessed.
To his surprise, the man snorted.
“The captain is in his cabin. He’s… resting,” he said with a sneer.
“And you are?”
“Boatswain Frig, Spirit Knight at the initial stage,” the man introduced himself. “And now a question for you: how did an honorable fully-fledged disciple of ‘The Holy Sky’ School end up here?” He asked a bit mockingly.
He seemed to loathe ‘The Holy Sky’ School almost as much as he loathed his own captain.
“I came to apply for a job on your ship.”
“Why would you, honorable disciple, want to serve with us common folk?”
Hadjar decided that it was better to answer honestly. After all, there was no sense in trying to deceive a Spirit Knight — their understanding of the world was at a much higher level than that of a Heaven Soldier. This meant that if a Knight paid attention to the words of someone at a lower level than them, they could always easily determine if they were telling the truth or not.
“I need to go to Darigon,” Hadjar tried to keep his tone as neutral as possible. “And your brig is the next ship bound for it.”
The boatswain chuckled. He took out an old pipe from the folds of his tattered, patched-up clothes. He filled it with cheap tobacco and lit it, puffing out clouds of acrid, almost black smoke. Life in the Empire was anything but easy for ordinary Spirit Knights without a family or tribe to support them, or any special talents.
Perhaps, after his mandatory century of service to Darnassus came to an end, boatswain Frig would be given a title and start his own family. But something told Hadjar that the boatswain probably wouldn’t live to see that beautiful day.
Puffing out another cloud of smoke, Frig pointed toward the expensive and elegant ramps which led to the huge, eight-masted giants with twelve decks. “Try finding passage there, boy. The civilian ships go all the way to the City of Three Streams and it takes them a month to get there as well. It’s a three-day ride to Darigon from there. You’ll lose hardly any time at all.”
“How much does it cost?”
“The cheapest ticket is seven hundred coins.”
Hadjar grunted in astonishment and shook his head. For that amount of money, he could buy about two dozen energy-restoring pills!
“I can’t afford that.”
“Seven hundred coins is too expensive for a disciple of ‘The Holy Sky’ School?” The boatswain was clearly enjoying their conversation. “Well, then you’ll have to wait for the next civilian ship to Darigon. It’ll bring you there by the beginning of the next month and charge you ten times less.”
“Why don’t you just hire me?”
“What can you even do?” Frig asked and pointed with his pipe at one of the many ropes. “Do you know what that is?”
“Rope?” Hadjar made the most obvious assumption.
“Any sailor would tie a rope under your keel for saying that.” Waving the smoke away, Fig put his pipe back in his mouth.
Hadjar got fed up with the exchange.
“I may not be fit to be a sailor,” he said, fully aware of how true the words were, “But I can be a soldier.”
Now Frig was the one grunting in astonishment. He’d expected Hadjar to say something along the lines of: ‘If you don’t take me with you, the School will punish you!’ However, he hadn’t expected an honorary nobleman to volunteer to be a soldier under his command.
“You aren’t the type who takes ‘no’ for an answer, are you?”
“Not at all,” Hadjar shrugged.
The boatswain sighed and waved his pipe vaguely in the air.
“Do you have a sweetheart in Darigon?”
“Maybe,” Hadjar said as he climbed the ramp.
Chapter 532
Sitting on the outrigger, Hadjar listened to the conversations of the sailors on the fore-topmast, which was anchored to the foremast and…
“Damn it!” He cursed.
A week and a half had already gone by. At first, it had been rather exciting. The warship rarely rose above the clouds, but it was usually so close to them that Hadjar could touch the white, fluffy clouds while standing on the topgallant mast.
“Damn it!” Hadjar swore again. “Where did I pick that up?”
Underneath them were endless lakes and forests, plains and hills. Sometimes, they skirted high mountains, and the cries of majestic beasts sounded from the mountaintops. Hadjar had gotten bored of contemplating such things on the third day of the journey. They were flying too fast for him to have any real time to enjoy the view.
So, Hadjar entertained himself by talking to the sailors. There were only seventy of them, but each had their own story to tell. All of them were at the Transformation of the Awakened Soul stage. They were very strong practitioners, but from a cultivator’s point of view, they were practically equal to mortals.
The ship, thanks to the boatswain’s sharp commands and generous helping of punitive smacks and shouts, worked like a well-oiled machine.
Oddly enough, apart from the boatswain, Hadjar hadn’t met any other officers, except for the coxswain and navigator, who didn’t talk to anyone but each other.
After four days, the names of the ship’s numerous parts had been firmly imprinted in his memory. Despite its modest appearance, the ship flew at a very decent speed and maneuvered well.
Once, the coxswain had fallen asleep during his night shift (he had later lost some teeth because of it), and they’d had to tack between the peaks of a mountain range, a maneuver which had been as fascinating as it had been frightening.
“Hadjar!” Someone shouted from the deck. “Come here! Let’s play!”
Soldiers didn’t help maintain or fly the ship. All they did was sleep, drink, and gamble. The five soldiers who’d invited him to join them had put aside their simple Heaven level weapons, and were now throwing dice and playing cards, laughing at the sailors as they went about their business. Someone was always scurrying about the deck, tending to this or that.
Hadjar served as a watchman. He didn’t need coin or food, as he could live without food and water for a month thanks to his abilities.
As for the other soldiers, they were either at the initial or middle stages of the Heaven Soldier level.
“No, thank you!” Hadjar shouted back, hoping that he would be heard over the constant whistling of the wind.
If not for the magical veil that surrounded the ship, they would’ve been blown overboard long ago. The veil, unfortunately, didn’t dampen the hellish noise.
The commander of the two hundred soldiers was a Spirit Knight at the advanced stage. He’d been born in the central region of the Empire, and had a name that was difficult to pronounce and remember. The only time Hadjar had seen him was when Frig had gone to the captain’s cabin and dragged out a scrawny man of indeterminate age by the scruff of his neck.
The man had reeked of alcohol
so much that the birds flying behind the ship had begun to wobble and fall to their deaths. He hadn’t been able to string two coherent words together to save his life, but his gestures had meant that he didn’t mind the way he was being treated.
“Look, Azrea,” Hadjar took the kitten out of his shirt and held her up. She hadn’t woken up since their departure. “There, several thousand miles away, is the other Empire. Lascan.”
They had finally reached the border that morning. Well, truth be told, there was no definitive border between the two Empires. The outposts and forts of Lascan and Darnassus were sometimes located in the same areas, so traversing this region alone, without carrying the insignia of one of the Empires, was rather dangerous. However, even if a person did have some sort of insignia (like Hadjar’s golden token, for example), that didn’t guarantee them safe passage. The two armies, like any martial arts school, had their own rules, and one they both shared was that murdering someone from the enemy Empire was considered an honorable act. Hadjar really didn’t want to become someone’s prey…
An unusual feeling snapped him out of his contemplation. Rising to his feet while holding on to the... tackle (Heavens damn it all!), Hadjar summoned his inner dragon. The cloak of black fog fell over his shoulders, and his arms were now completely encased in armor made of the same material.
“Hadjar, what are you-”
Hadjar interrupted the soldier with a sharp wave of his hand.
“Do you hear that?” He asked.
The soldiers exchanged glances. They put down their cards and dice, then drew their weapons closer, just in case.
“No,” one of them answered.
“That’s what I mean,” Hadjar nodded. “I don’t hear the wind anymore…”
The soldiers listened.
“He’s right.”
“I don’t hear its whistling…”
“Maybe we’re in an air pocket…?”
At that moment, Frig climbed up to the deck. He was on his way to the captain’s cabin when a crossbow bolt pierced one of the sails. Enveloped in gray energy at the Earth level, it easily pierced through the cloth and sank into the Spirit Knight’s shoulder. Clutching the wound, the boatswain fell down the stairs, his blood spurting out of his shoulder. Another bolt pierced the coxswain’s throat and he collapsed, soaking the creaky boards in his life essence. There was a moment of silence, and then Frig’s shout overpowered the thunder of the enemy’s guns.
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