He had to get involved in the race for resources. Without them, he would never be able to contend with those who’d been fortunate enough to be born in the Empire or in the country whose residents were capable of creating the stele that tested a practitioner’s level of talent.
Paris, of course, hadn’t made this proposal out of altruism. He definitely had his own angle for this enterprise, both as a person and as a researcher. So, there wasn’t any need to delude oneself about his kindness. It would be a mutually beneficial deal, nothing more. What could Hadjar lose, besides his life? Nothing. Thus, it wasn’t even really a choice for him.
“I agree,” Hadjar and Einen said simultaneously.
Each step of a practitioner walking along the path of cultivation was an endless struggle of life against death. If a person was afraid of the latter, then they should never take up arms. Only those willing to risk everything could truly succeed.
“I was sure you’d accept,” Paris smiled. “In about a month, the group currently exploring the sands will return. I’ll recommend you for the vacant spots.”
“Why are you so sure-”
Hadjar abruptly stopped talking. Paris’ significant look clearly conveyed that there would certainly be spots to fill. Apparently, there always were.
For the next half hour, they talked about the little things again. However, Paris did share some important information about the city with them: where they mustn’t go, where they could get things cheaply or calmly meditate; where they were welcome and where they should avoid going, even under the threat of death.
After saying their goodbyes, Hadjar and Einen hurried back to the barracks — the lanterns had started turning red, which meant that night would come soon. The friends weren’t afraid, but didn’t intend to actively seek out trouble.
This time, the ferryman wasn’t even surprised when the two of them, after stripping down to the waist, jumped into the water. Once they’d crossed the river and brushed off their clothes, they moved on and quickly reached the barracks. Light, music, and shouting were still pouring out from the open door.
“Don’t you want to join me?” Hadjar pointed to the high ledge which they’d noticed that morning. It was ideal for deep meditation, as no one would disturb them there.
“No,” Einen shook his head. “I don’t think today is the best day for me to meditate. I’ll probably just go to bed. There’s a lot to think about.”
Hadjar looked toward the barracks.
“Don’t worry, Northerner,” the islander smiled widely for the first time in many months. “I’m a warrior, not a little kid. I can take care of myself and be on my own for a bit. You are my friend, not my nanny. I’ll handle anything that comes up myself, if I have to.”
Hadjar nodded and saluted in the manner of the islands: he pressed his palms together in the shape of a boat and nodded slightly.
“I’m sorry if I’ve offended you.”
“That’s okay.” Einen patted Hadjar on the shoulder and went over to the barracks. “You’re a barbarian, there’s no helping that.”
They parted. Hadjar climbed up to the ledge and spent about three hours in deep meditation. Then he spent another hour or so trying to whistle Azrea’s favorite tune. He had no idea how, but every time the tigress had gone off for a walk on her own before, she’d immediately returned as soon as she’d heard that tune. Unfortunately, it didn’t happen this time.
Hadjar wished the tiger cub good luck with her hunt. Maybe his fluffy friend had already grown up and could now truly live on her own and would only return when she wanted to. As with any other woman, he shouldn’t try to force her to stay with him. Nero had used to repeat that advice endlessly.
As he walked back to the barracks, Hadjar didn’t immediately realize why he was so alarmed. Then it hit him. It was too quiet... No one was singing or dancing. No shouts could be heard.
When he entered the building, Hadjar immediately drew his blade.
On the wall, nailed to it by daggers, Einen hung, crucified. He was sighing heavily and constantly spitting out blood. A slave collar was around his neck, covered in frozen blood. How else would these bastards have been able to defeat the islander?
“It would seem it’s time for us to talk, Northerner,” Glen grinned wryly, toying with a second collar in his hands.
A dozen men surrounded Hadjar. Emboldened by their own numerical superiority, they didn’t immediately notice the dragon awakening in his blue eyes. By the time they saw it, it was already too late.
A moment ago, they’d been standing around a tall man, but now they were facing a dangerous beast. Many of them turned pale when they couldn’t comprehend whether this creature had drawn a sword or fangs against them.
“Time to talk?” Hadjar’s voice was inhuman. “No, it’s time to die.”
A column of blue energy erupted around him, and miniature black sparks could clearly be seen floating in the energy.
Chapter 348
Three men attacked Hadjar simultaneously. They wielded heavy, massive axes that were capable of chopping through even the strongest armor. Surrounded by multicolored streams of energies, each of them was a strong practitioner at the Transformation level. Like shooting stars, they rained down, right on their enemy. Hadjar didn’t move. He extended his right hand calmly, using his sword like a shield. When the three axes hit the blade, it didn’t even twitch. A streak of light that resembled the gleam of a sword being swung flashed outward from Mountain Wind.
That light easily passed through the other fighters’ multicolored energy. Cutting through their ax blades, it first touched the attackers’ wrists, then grazed their chests, seemingly harmless.
The trio didn’t even have time to cry out. First, their chopped off hands fell to the ground. Still clenched into fists, they rolled across the floor. A millisecond later, their bodies collapsed next to them. A fountain of blood shot up, plugging a wide gap in the ceiling, which had been left behind by the strip of light, for a moment.
“No retreat!” Glen shouted.
After fastening the slave collar to his belt, he bared a dagger and a narrow saber. Accompanied by hooting, and howling eerily similar to a jackal’s, his attack rushed forward. Like a pack of dogs, his Technique circled around Hadjar, standing in the bloody rain.
Suddenly, a bowstring sang. A female practitioner, down on one knee on the table, sent an arrow flying. It turned into the beak of a bird of prey. Closing the distance in less than a second, to the accompaniment of joyful cries, it touched Hadjar’s chest... but then, with a sharp zipping noise, it pierced the wall. Motes of energy sank to the floor like black feathers. Hadjar, turning into a shadow of the Six Ravens, pressed the attack.
Everything around him slowed down. Drops of blood, previously falling like rain, now seemed to crawl through the air, like paint gliding along silk threads.
Grabbing a boy standing nearby, Hadjar threw him at the archer. After blocking the girl’s line of sight, he slashed down swiftly. He added a bit of energy to it, but didn’t even pause to observe how a semitransparent blade, seemingly conjured from thin air, first cut through the boy, and then the archer. Another fountain of blood struck the gap in the ceiling, but Hadjar didn’t care. He continued his flight of death.
The ravens’ shadow flashed among fifty attackers. Every time Hadjar slowed down enough to take on a human form, Mountain Wind shone, and two, or even three, attackers would fall.
While an enemy was swinging, Hadjar managed to cut into him multiple times, then, pushing himself off the floor, he used the Ten Ravens Technique to move to another attacker. Like the spirit of death itself, he rushed around the barracks, culling the weakest foes so that they wouldn’t interfere in the fight later.
“Guram!” Glen cried out, driving his saber into the floor in front of him. A golden protective sphere sprang up around him, occasionally getting hit by the echoes of Hadjar’s attacks.
“On it!” An obese, pot-bellied practitioner answered.
&nb
sp; He wielded a mace and looked like an elephant. Out of the corner of his eye, Hadjar paid close attention to this warrior. He looked a bit like the Heaven Soldier whom Hadjar had had to fight beneath the walls of Kurkhadan.
As if to confirm this impression, the man brandished his mace, sending out an attack that assumed the form of an elephant’s head. The pressure of his power was so great that the floor cracked and the walls shook like they were being buffeted by a strong wind. Those unlucky enough to find themselves in the way were swept away. Their crumpled bodies were swept aside by the elephant’s tusks as the attack charged its target.
Hadjar, realizing that he could neither dodge nor stop the attack while running, froze. Again, black ‘feathers’ of energy fell to the floor around him. In recent months, Hadjar had managed to reach the sixth level of the Technique, but now he understood that he couldn’t progress any further without special resources.
The elephant rushed toward Hadjar, scattering the furniture and people in its path. Bone chips and blood scattered all around it.
“Arch!” Hadjar cried out, gathering the streams of his energy around him. They soared around him like a column, and a moment later, flew into his body.
Hadjar extended his left palm forward. Glen and Guram watched in disbelief as Hadjar, just like that — with his bare hand — stopped the elephant. The pressure of the Technique only managed to move him a foot or so, but did nothing else.
Making a fist with his hand, Hadjar made the Technique disappear. There was a pop, a light whirlwind of energy, and nothing was left of the attack that had taken the lives of three of Glen’s allies, but hadn’t harmed Hadjar in the slightest.
Shaking off his palm, Hadjar gripped Mountain Wind with both hands. The blade, several times heavier than its counterparts, felt pleasantly balanced in his grip. Hadjar had only recently gotten fully used to his new ‘comrade’.
Energy soared around his legs. Miniature black sparks dancing across blue reflections could be seen in it. Mentally, Hadjar attached the imaginary black blade, located somewhere in the depths of his soul, to his real one. That very instant, wisps of black fog began to emanate from Mountain Wind.
He imagined two leaves falling on Guram’s and Glen’s necks. His two swings were so quick it appeared as if Hadjar had only swung his blade once.
“Falling Leaf!”
The sword, so heavy that it could’ve crushed the chest of a weak practitioner with ease, created a stream of wind that launched the attackers away from Hadjar. They scattered several yards away. The weakest ones landed in puddles of their own blood as long, deep wounds, inflicted by invisible blades, spread across their bodies.
Hadjar’s swings turned into two ghostly black dragons. Opening their fanged maws, their blue eyes shining menacingly, they charged their prey, swaying and dancing around each other.
Guram set his mace in front of him. He shouted something, and armor flared into being around him, resembling the armor of a war elephant. The first dragon crashed into the protective Technique. Multicolored sparks fell to the floor and covered the walls. The man was dragged a few yards across the ground, and every second, his defenses grew duller. His armor was covered in cracks, which originated from where the dragon had struck him and spread out to the very edges of his armor.
At some point, Guram couldn’t stand the pressure. With a cry, he brandished his mace, trying to repel the attack, but his formidable, bulky weapon couldn’t match the quick sword.
First, his cut off hand fell to the floor. Guram staggered for a while, trying to staunch the flow of blood, but then fell to his knees. There was a hole in his chest the size of a child’s fist. Through it, a similar hole in the bone wall of the barracks was visible.
“Damn it!” Glen shouted.
Whispering something, he broke a stone die that he’d pulled out of his pocket. Transparent steel threads enveloped his golden sphere. Whirling around in a crazy dance, they turned Hadjar’s attack into dust as they collided. However, as soon as they repulsed the attack, they disappeared as well, turning into a haze.
“That seal cost me two coins!” Glen shouted. “Gods and demons, I’ll rip your heart out, Northerner!”
Gods and dDemons... it had been a long time since Hadjar had heard the Balium dialect.
“Remember your ancestors’ names,” Hadjar answered in Glen’s native language.
The man flinched and rushed in to launch a crazy attack. His saber flashed with golden energy and the air thickened behind him, forming dozens of the same blades. Just like with Guram, this was a rather familiar Technique as well.
Hadjar, grabbing his blade with both hands, was about to respond with his best trick — a symbiosis of the ‘Falling Leaf’ and ‘Spring Wind’ stances.
“What’s going on here?” Karissa’s voice cut through the air.
At the same time, all those present in the barracks, those who were still alive and conscious anyway, collapsed from terrible pain. Glen swayed, fighting against it, but then fell to his knees. He clutched his head and howled like a wounded dog.
Hadjar tried to resist. It felt like every cell in his body was being immolated in the fires of the abyss, and then pierced by needles. And yet, he stayed on his feet. Blood flowed from his nose and ears as he fought against the amulet.
Slowly, he turned toward the entrance. There, on the threshold of the wide-open door, stood Karissa. The pages of her book were rustling, and red shadows in ragged, hooded robes were flying around the witch. She emanated power that was beyond just the initial stages of the Heaven Soldier level.
Damned true path…
Chapter 349
The torture continued for about five more seconds. Five very long seconds, filled with agony. Throughout all of it, Hadjar remained upright. His back didn’t bend, his hands didn’t flinch. Only blood flowed down his face, merging with the drops of his foes’ blood. It landed on the floor in loud, echoing splats.
“I’ll ask again.” Karissa then obviously did something, because the pain disappeared. The cries of despair were replaced by moans and occasional sobs. “What’s going on here?”
Glen slowly rose to his feet. His face was bleeding too, but much less than Hadjar’s. Their damned blue amulets seemingly weren’t as harsh to those who submitted to the will of their overseer.
The instigator of the fight looked at Hadjar, and then turned to the witch.
“Nothing, honorable lady,” he answered, bowing slightly. “A small misunderstanding, a minor brawl, nothing more.”
“Nothing?”
Karissa carefully examined the barracks: the broken furniture and utensils; the corpses lying on the floor; the body parts strewn everywhere; the blood covering the floor; Einen, crucified to the wall, who had, unexpectedly, been spared the torture of the amulet. It was unlikely that he would’ve survived it in his current state.
“Well, if that’s the case, then I have nothing to say, except that you need to clean everything up before the morning.”
“Of course, honorable lady.” Glen bowed once more.
This time, he didn’t dare flirt with the witch. Apparently, the situation was more than serious enough for him to hold back.
Karissa once again looked around the room and then went outside. The shadows followed her faithfully. Their robes dragged along the pavement, leaving behind a black scorch mark. It was easy to imagine what would happen to a person’s flesh if they so much as touched it.
“Take care of your friend and I’ll do the rest.” Glen said it calmly, as if they hadn’t been trying to kill each other mere moments ago. However, in the world of martial arts, that was to be expected. One second, you might be fighting against each other, and the next — you were calmly discussing things. Such was the nature of this mad world.
Hadjar nodded, scabbarded his sword, and walked over to Einen. In a single leap, along with a wave of his hand, he cut the chains and, catching his friend, placed him on the floor. After carrying the heavily breathing islander over t
o their bunk, Hadjar carefully removed the slave collar around the man’s neck. He knew very well what sort of pain any unnecessary movement could cause during this process. The poisoned spike, if it touched one’s nerves, tortured them worse than the blue amulet.
As soon as the poison left Einen’s body, he started breathing more evenly. His bleeding stopped and his wounds began to close. Hadjar felt the healing processes start up in the islander’s body. Fortunately, Einen hadn’t spared any time or resources when he’d studied the Technique for Strengthening the Body. This was unusual for practitioners. It took a lot of time and energy, and it brought almost no benefit during the initial steps of one’s cultivation path. Armor was more than enough protection in those early stages.
Turning to the bedside table, Hadjar took out a small box with various bottles and flasks. He did something with powders and ointments, and then even poured a potion down his friend’s throat.
A few hours later, Einen was sleeping. Hadjar had bandaged him up and now he looked a bit like a mummy. That was actually how the desert dwellers buried their dead — swaddled in white cloth and buried beneath the sand. They never burned them. Fuel for a fire was as valuable around here as water.
Hadjar spent the night immersed in light meditation. He sat in a lotus position at the foot of Einen’s bed. Mountain Wind lay across his lap.
Part of Hadjar’s mind was in the World River, from where it scooped up energy and poured it into his body. Another, smaller, but nonetheless attentive part observed what was happening. It listened to the other residents as they cleaned the floor, patching up the walls and their wounded comrades. The strongest practitioners quarreled, trying to distribute the belongings left behind by the dead. As a result, Glen always ended up mediating these disputes, taking a share of everyone’s belongings as his due.
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