“Seventeen million, one hundred and thirty-two thousand, fifty-three... fifty-two... fifty-one.” A thin, childish voice responded.
Both Hadjar and Einen started when they heard it. While the others assumed defensive stances, they looked around carefully. Ahead of them, on one of the shelves, stood a little girl. She was staring at a book floating inside a blue sphere.
“Serra?” Hadjar’s voice trembled.
Tilis looked at him in surprise.
“No,” the girl said without turning around, “I’m her sister, Erra. The Keeper of Knowledge. Since you’re standing here, you’ve passed all the tests and are worthy of receiving the knowledge that suits you. I’ll be very happy to help you with that. What would you like to know?”
Chapter 402
The squad members looked at each other. There was excitement and greed in their eyes. Ordinary practitioners had just been given the chance to peruse the library of an ancient, powerful civilization! However, Hadjar remained calm. Remembering the sorceress, he knew that the library had a very different kind of value. Future magicians and sorceresses had been taught the truly vital knowledge by some of the ‘wisest’. The library was more like a simple database of information. It was a kind of living history of the nation. And this nation had treasured wisdom, its history recorded in a variety of books and scrolls.
However, even if the people of that mighty civilization had once come here purely to stow books on a shelf, for the citizens of Underworld City, the Sea of Sand in general, and even the outskirts of the Empire, not to mention the barbarian kingdoms, this place was still mythical, mysterious, and desirable.
“Erra-”
“List,” the little golem interrupted Ramukhan. “Call me List. That’s what I was called back when I was created. The names Erra and Serra were given to us by the man in black. He liked them.”
Hadjar started. No one noticed it, except Einen, who was standing in a dark corner. With his eyes still half-closed, he observed what was happening intently.
“Honorable List,” the sorcerer saluted the girl in the manner of the Sea of Sand, “I, as well as my companions, would first like to know the full... list of books in the library.”
“The full list?” Erra’s smile was much more lifeless than her sister’s. “It would take a thousand years to go through it. Besides, I feel someone with bad intentions coming here. His power is great. His trials were far worse than yours, but my sister is leading him. They’ll be here soon.”
Glen slammed his fist against the wall, and the others frowned.
“Damned Sunshine Sankesh,” the Baliumian hissed. “How much time do we have, List?”
She closed her eyes. Her simple, beige dress fluttered in a nonexistent wind. She looked terribly ancient and terribly defenseless: an abandoned, lonely fragment of the distant past. For some reason, Hadjar felt a pang of sadness, but it was as if it were someone else’s sorrow.
“No more than a quarter of an hour,” the girl said.
“A quarter of an hour!”
“Damn it!”
“Only a quarter of an hour!”
The witches and the sorcerer stared at the treasure trove of information with the kind of horrified expressions Hadjar would have on his face while watching a ship full of Imperial level swords sinking.
“Can you help us, E- I mean, List?” He asked.
The little golem turned to Hadjar and looked into his eyes. Hadjar shuddered. The ageless, timeless quality in her lifeless eyes was even more suffocating to witness than the look in the sorceress’ Shadow’s eyes had been.
List was older than most of the stars in the sky. She’d appeared in the library the second the first clay tablet had been stored here. It had happened so long ago that by the time Mage City fell, no one who remembered this moment had still been alive. Hadjar was rarely so afraid that the rotten part of him wanted to turn around and run away. But now, he was as afraid as he’d ever been.
“You’ve passed the tests that were made for you,” she said, “and one who bears the weight of a Name on his shoulders is with you. Yes, I can help you.”
She waved her hand, and five replicas of her appeared beside her. They jumped off the balcony in unison. They fluttered their dresses until the golems hovered in the air. The girls froze in front of every squad member. The children’s pale hands reached out toward their cheeks. Hadjar plunged once more into the bottomless ocean of List’s eyes, and then found himself in front of an endless array of shelves. He stood in the middle of bright, white light, surrounded by the shelves filled with scrolls and books.
“The sword isn’t the most popular weapon in Mage City,” her voice sounded. Hadjar turned and saw the girl standing nearby. “Moreover, the true path of cultivation despises all weapons. All the power that should be harnessed is in our hearts.”
Hadjar presumed that he had just been given a hint, but he didn’t understand what the advice meant.
“I’m not looking for the Sword in your library-”
“I know what you’re looking for, Darkhan,” she interrupted him. “The same as any other person brought here by a northern wind. However, that knowledge is no longer in my possession.”
For a brief moment, Hadjar saw an image in his mind: a completely smashed and burned bookshelf, the charred fragments of ancient treatises scattered around it.
“But you have to remember them. You’re the Keeper of Knowledge.”
“I just keep track of the knowledge,” she said, shaking her head. “The Keeper was killed long ago.”
Hadjar’s suspicions only deepened.
“Show me,” he said.
He saw a memory, much more muddy and indistinct than what the Shadow had shown him. Through the haze of time, he could only make out silhouettes and fragments of voices. A golden-robed figure walked across the shards of mist that had enveloped the beautiful buildings of Mage City, heading toward a clump of black smoke.
“I... you... that... destroy…”
“…murderer…”
Then the vision changed. The same figure, wrapped in a golden light, walked over to a little girl lying on the floor of the library. Hadjar couldn’t hear what they were talking about. At the last moment, he saw the face of the creature lying at the feet of the golden monster. It looked just like Erra and Serra.
“She was your sister,” Hadjar breathed out.
The girl nodded.
“Who killed her?”
“I don’t know. It happened immediately after the destruction of the city. I still wonder why the creature didn’t destroy the library itself. There are many books here, Darkhan, but I can open none of them. I only have the knowledge of what they are, but their contents are an eternal mystery to me.”
Hadjar couldn’t even comprehend the torture that the little golem had endured. For ages, she’d been stuck in a place full of knowledge, but had had only one way to pass the time — reliving the day her sister had died over and over again.
Hadjar was sure of one thing — the entity that the Black General had fought against was the one who had destroyed the city and killed the library’s third golem. They’d certainly been very powerful because they’d managed to endure the onslaught of the wounded General of the God of War himself!
“I think these would be best suited to you, Darkhan.”
Hadjar felt her cold, lifeless hand touch his shoulder again. He wondered why little Serra’s hand was so different.
“Here is the scroll of the ‘Three Sword Rays’ Technique.”
Hadjar saw a vision again. On the edge of a hill somewhere, a white-robed Master stood. He was training with a sword. He transitioned smoothly from one stance to the next. Suddenly, his sword caught a ray of sunlight, and then the Master lunged. The captured beam burst from the tip of his blade. It was bright and thin, but insanely fast. Its power was so concentrated that it easily pierced through the mountain in front of the Master... The Master continued his training. He began to move with greater purpose, going
even faster, and caught another ray of sunlight, a scarlet one this time. The Master made a wide swing, and the red crescent of the unleashed beam of light cut off the distant peak of that same mountain.
The Master merged the scarlet and golden rays. The new, orange ray combined the penetrating power of the first stance and the cutting power of the second one. With a roar, kicking up a tsunami of dust, the mountain crumbled, cut into thousands of boulders.
“Or the ‘Movement of the Soft Grass’ scroll.”
The Master with the sword-beam bowed and disappeared, replaced by another. After demonstrating several movements, he made an elusive gesture and... Seemed to move a mile to the side, launching another mighty attack that left a trench several yards deep in the ground.
In less than five minutes, hundreds of Masters appeared and disappeared in Hadjar’s mind. They showed Hadjar such a level of proficiency with the sword that he looked like a silly boy brandishing a wooden sword by comparison.
“What level of swordsmanship did these Masters reach?” Hadjar asked, stopping the endless stream of images.
Chapter 403
“I don’t know, Darkhan.” It was odd, but she kept calling him by his Name, the one given to him by the Bedouin shaman. Although Hadjar now presumed that the Bedouin had fished it out of the World River and hadn’t actually come up with it. The red tattoo on his arm, where his Name was forever imprinted, confirmed his theory.
“I would advise you to choose the ‘Half-moon Sword’ scroll.”
Hadjar remembered the Master who, with a single swing of his sword, had cut through the moonlight. With one attack, he’d cut through all the defenses and armor of every warrior he’d faced. It was a short, light swing that contained so much speed and power that it left even the ‘Three Sword Rays’ Technique in the dust. The latter was a ranged attack, while the ‘Half-moon Sword’ was intended for use in melee, which is why it might’ve been less appealing to some.
By the Evening Stars, if List had suggested it only a week ago, Hadjar would’ve agreed without hesitation. Of course, what he’d seen amazed him. It even opened new horizons for his understanding of the Way of the Sword Spirit. But at the same time, he felt disappointed.
In his spatial ring, he had a scroll that depicted, as Hadjar now knew, the Black General. An ordinary swing, devoid of any grace or Technique, of the Enemy’s sword contained more power, speed, and essence of the Sword Spirit than all the Techniques Hadjar had seen combined.
“I know what you really want, Darkhan.” The girl sighed a little sadly.
This time, no new Master or Technique appeared in Hadjar’s mind. Instead, the girl handed him a small clay tablet. It was covered in strange patterns and exuded eternity itself. Such an inconspicuous artifact could’ve easily been the ‘grandfather’ of the library’s three golems, it was so ancient.
“I don’t know this language,” Hadjar said, running his fingers along the patterns, “and I don’t think there’s anyone alive who can translate it for me.”
“If you choose this tablet, I can. It’s my task to help you choose what information you want and then provide access to it.”
Hadjar looked into Erra’s eyes, but he couldn’t bear the pressure of time itself staring back at him. Even for him, it was too much.
“What is it?”
“Nothing special,” List shrugged. “You could learn this in any decent school of swordsmanship.”
“Then why should I pick it?” Hadjar asked. “I’m going to such a school anyway.”
“Because, Darkhan, true knowledge is something you teach yourself. There’s something in this scroll I can’t explain. It’s a very simple, but at the same time, amazing way of meditation. It’ll help you see beyond what is visible to the naked eye in the Sword Spirit’s realm. It’ll help you not only absorb the knowledge gained during your battles, but also allow you to improve through observation.”
“I can already do that,” Hadjar insisted. “Just like any other practitioner. Even without the help of schools or sects.”
“Yes, but can you deepen your understanding of the sword just by looking at a statue or... a painting?”
Erra squinted at Hadjar’s ring.
“This Technique has no name,” she added.
“What about its creator?”
“Who knows?” Erra shrugged. “The language of this tablet is older than the air you breathe. The one who created it was at the pinnacle of wisdom. Only the priests can tell you about those times, Darkhan. Only the priests of the gods have records so ancient that they can pierce through the veil of time itself.”
Again, Hadjar was being directed toward the Land of the Immortals. Fate had mocked him from the very beginning of his journey, nudging him toward the land of all-powerful cultivators with amusement.
If Hadjar had been a simple, everyday practitioner, he would’ve refused the ‘pig in a poke’ and opted for one of the powerful Techniques he’d already been shown. However, Hadjar… gripped the hilt of his sword tightly and held out his hand. For most of his life, all he’d had was his sword and his word. By the Evening Stars, it would be difficult to say which was stronger — Hadjar’s word or the steel in his hands. Whatever the obstacle was, be it a lack of knowledge or money, fate interfering, or enemies he had to deal with, he would conquer everything with his own hands and his sword. He could find Sword Techniques in the Empire. If he found none there, he would go to the Land of the Immortals. If even that proved pointless, he would create them himself. Even if it took millennia, he wouldn’t be stopped by anything until he reached his goal. Nothing would ever make his willpower waver, or halt his stride. No demons, no gods, no ancient mysteries.
“I choose the nameless tablet.”
As soon as he said the words, Hadjar realized he was standing on the cold stone floor of the library. The ocean of white light evaporated and was replaced by the lake of blue light that illuminated the ancient books. He was back on the balcony, staring at a book spinning in a sphere of light.
“And where-”
Hadjar didn’t even get to ask about the tablet. The realization that it was in his spatial ring came as abruptly as the knowledge of its contents. It was indeed a very simple way of meditation.
The writing on the tablet began with this phrase:
‘A swordsman holds the hilt of a sword and follows its path. All they see before them is that path. Everything they carry in their heart, they carry with them as they walk along this path.’
Hadjar sensed that this was wisdom beyond his reach, so he decided to focus on the meditation itself. Fortunately, the next paragraph had a very simple and concise explanation of what one needed to do to be able to ‘bite off’ a piece of knowledge that could be found in everything.
The author of the text explained that a real ‘wielder of the sword’ would be able to feel the presence of the Sword Spirit even in the flap of a swallow’s wing. At some point, they would no longer need any teachers or masters, as there was no better teacher than the world itself and the person who contemplated it.
Einen had also received his ‘award’. He’d even managed to sit down in a lotus position and was now breathing in and out slowly.
“How much time do we have?” Hadjar asked.
“Seven minutes,” Erra said without turning around. “Then the sun will rise and the battle between light and darkness will begin.”
Without bothering to delve into the deeper meaning of the ancient creature’s allegory, Hadjar followed his friend’s example. He sat down in a lotus position and visualized the scroll depicting the Black General.
Hadjar didn’t risk taking it out and observing the actual scroll. Last time he’d done so, he’d almost died. He didn’t want to check whether anything had changed thanks to the help of the unnamed Technique.
Of course, seven minutes wasn’t enough to properly study the Technique and the scroll. Hadjar doubted he could finish studying them in less than a year and a half. But he still had enough time to re
ach the most basic level of understanding.
Using the nameless Technique, Hadjar focused on the image of the Black General. Deep within himself, he was going through one of the most difficult trials of his life. Every mental glance he took at the black silhouette was like walking on a thin, sharp edge, with yawning abysses on either side.
Hadjar didn’t hear the crow rejoicing deep within his soul, nor the sad sigh of the old dragon who’d been unable to save his disciple from his terrible fate. Hadjar didn’t see Erra’s smile — it was the kind of grin a murderer usually gave to their victims before making the final, fatal blow.
In the library, the last few quiet moments were coming to an end. Erra didn’t seem to care. Quite the opposite, in fact. The golem seemed to be waiting for the arrival of Sunshine Sankesh. He didn’t keep them waiting long.
Chapter 404
Sankesh didn’t appear like Hadjar’s group had. He didn’t enter through the magic door, didn’t climb out of a trapdoor or a secret passageway. No. Sankesh and his people just appeared in the middle of the room.
“Get ready.” Ramukhan extended his glowing staff toward the new arrivals.
Hadjar stared at the growing bubble of orange light. It swelled rapidly, taking up more and more space. Gripping the hilt of his sword until his knuckles cracked, Hadjar tried to see the people inside the bubble of light, but all he could discern was the dim dance of shadows. Suddenly, there was a deafening bang. The bubble burst, revealing the people inside it.
Hadjar didn’t recognize three of them. Judging by their uniforms, they were soldiers of Sankesh’s army. Exhausted, wounded, and bandaged up, they didn’t look like the brave warriors Hadjar had seen back at the camp in the Stone Trees oasis.
He recognized the old northerner. His once golden hair was now a rusty shade of blonde, and his skin had turned gray.
Arliksha, Sankesh’s daughter, looked the same: she had tattoos across her face, three purple spheres swirling around her, and a saber tucked into her belt.
Sunshine Sankesh stood in the center of his group. The powerful giant with bulging muscles was leaning on his giant halberd whose broad blade could give most axes a run for their money. It was an absolutely monstrous, frightening weapon.
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