Stone Will

by Kirill Klevanski

  The approving whispers irritated Colin. He’d imagined this fight going differently. How is this bug still fighting me? Why wasn’t it defeated after the first strike? This isn’t how things were supposed to go!

  He was Colin Larvie, the son of General Larvie! The whole world was his to do with as he pleased. He was a king. He was a swordsman!

  The adjutant growled. He fought off another one of Hadjar’s strikes and pushed him in the chest to create some distance between them.

  He turned around sharply and swung his blade in a wide arc, sending out three green stingers. Two of the stingers plunged into the sand, and the third one was stuck in Hadjar’s chest.

  The audience held their breath.

  Nero sniffed nervously.

  Dogar closed his eyes.

  But…

  Nothing happened. There was no blood, no pained groans, and no smell of burning flesh.

  Hadjar, even after taking a dozen steps back, was still upright. His injured leg seemed to be bothering him a bit, and the cuts on his hands and shoulders were bleeding. Otherwise, he seemed to be unharmed.

  He held his sword in front of his chest. It wasn’t shining or glowing, but its blade had protected Hadjar from the stinger.

  Hadjar waved his hand and the green petals of flame fell to the sand with a hiss.

  His scabbard fell to the sand as well, almost inaudibly.

  Suddenly, the banners and tents started to flutter in the wind. This new wind was blowing through the General’s hair, and the spectators had to hold onto their coats which seemed like they’d come alive.

  “The first stance… The Wind Rises,” Hadjar said, and his blade pierced through the space between him and his foe.

  [Host is using... an offensive energy structure. The power level is 2.1 Energy Points]

  Chapter 54

  There were seven stances in Traves’ ‘Sword of the Light Breeze’ Technique. The first of them, the ‘Rising Wind’, demanded that Hadjar apply all he knew about the sword and all the skills that he had picked up over the years. It was their quintessence and demanded only his honing of the skills that he already had available to him.

  The second stance was so mystical, ephemeral, and fickle that Hadjar couldn’t even understand its foundations. He’d managed to improve his skill with the first stance over the course of last night and he could now use it twice.

  He had neither the strength nor the energy to use it more than two times. Despite the fact that his ability to use the first stance had grown and changed for the better, it was still insufficient for anything more than that.

  After Hadjar swung his blade, a vortex rushed toward Colin. If a simple swordsman who had been lucky enough to learn Traves’ Technique had used it, the vortex would have remained as just a razor-sharp wind…

  The adjutant had to protect himself not only from the wind, which was able to cut through stone but also from the ghostly blades hidden within it.

  The audience witnessed something incredible—a practitioner at the Formation level was making a man who stood a whole level above him fall back and desperately scramble to protect himself. It was as if Hadjar was a hero from the old legends and not an ordinary officer.

  Colin, even if he had been thrown five steps back, was still able to dispel the Technique he’d been struck by. His face was covered in bleeding cuts, his hands were a scarlet mess, and his whole body had been badly wounded.

  He shouted something, but Hadjar didn't pay it any mind.

  He rushed in once again. He could probably avoid the green sting but Hadjar wasn’t sure that he would be able to repel it a second time, which meant the fight needed to end. Besides, Hadjar had only one minute of energy left, if not less.

  Colin most likely had enough to keep fighting for much longer than that.

  Hadjar slashed at Colin's wrist. Colin blocked and the sound rang out as he deflected the blade, almost making Hadjar drop it. Using the inertia of the block, Hadjar whirled like a dervish and crouched down, going for Colin’s feet.

  Colin jumped into the air and launched a ‘Scorpion sting’ from above. It was immediately bisected by a ghostly strike that was now a little more distinct than it had been before.

  Their fight resembled a chess game.

  Each strike was met with a strike in turn. Every move was countered.

  Sparks flew as the blades crashed against each other dozens of times within the span of a few seconds. The bodies of both fighters were covered in wounds, and the splashes of blood glittered like rubies as they filled the air.

  Sometimes, the ‘fragments’ of their Techniques and the sheer force of their sword strikes would ripple out. They tore into the banners and even struck the soldiers’ shields.

  Hadjar went for the throat, and then, the very next moment, he was forced to dodge a strike aimed at his stomach.

  Colin tried to hook Hadjar’s shoulder but was forced to scramble back to avoid the slash that had been aimed at his face.

  They were fencing at the speed of a mongoose chasing a snake. Their blades fluttered gracefully but with a lethal swiftness. They moved smoothly but with deadly and cold brutality behind every action.

  Many of the ordinary soldiers did not dare to even blink, lest they miss a single moment of the fight. Thanks to this amazing duel, they would be able to learn something new and get inspired, maybe even move forward to the next stage of their cultivation.

  Still, Colin kept pressing Hadjar. Hadjar slammed into the soldiers’ shields after each new collision, with each new spark or drop of blood.

  The adjutant felt the excitement and the fire of self-confidence flare up inside him. He had long since forgotten that he was fighting a ‘peasant at the Transformation level.’ On the contrary, he was facing an opponent that he had to defeat in order to become stronger and survive.

  He wasted a little more energy with each new strike. He became more and more entangled in Hadjar’s web of careful deceit every time he felt that his enemy was weakening, with each new movement that was just a bit more wasteful than the previous one had been.

  And when Colin finally made a mistake, Hadjar took a low stance once again.

  His palm lay over the blade, and his legs were slightly bent at the knees. He looked like a bird getting ready to swoop down on its hapless prey.

  “Rising Wind!”

  A whirlwind of swords overwhelmed Colin as he was about to attack. The whirlwind lifted Colin, who was unable to defend himself, into the air, spun him around, and then threw him to the ground.

  Colin suddenly found himself in a position that was much worse than his opponent’s: he was bloodied and wounded. Hadjar was breathing heavily and limping on his burned leg, wiping blood and sweat off his face.

  Colin had been beaten black and blue. This time, Hadjar’s strikes had damaged him severely.

  “Filthy, filthy peasant,” Colin whispered, suddenly ‘remembering’ who his enemy was. “Damn you! Bastard! You’re nothing but the son of slaves! How dare you...How dare you even breathe in my presence!”

  “Young master,” the old servant whispered. “What are you doing, young master?”

  Colin took something out of his pocket. Something red, glowing, about the size of a nut.

  “Stop, adjutant!” The General cried out suddenly, but it was too late.

  Colin roared, but the tone of it was strange. His body throbbed with agony as he screamed and his veins reddened. It was like he was getting bigger. His armor creaked under the pressure of his swelling muscles. The handle of his sword cracked under the force of the black claws that were replacing the previously normal nails.

  “No… Young master.” The old man put his hands over his mouth, horrified.

  “Spear!” The General held out her hand, but…

  Colin was turning into a red-skinned, inhuman creature. It happened surprisingly fast and was seemingly a simple process. There was a bang and a small pit formed where he was standing. Colin rose up, roared, opened his maw, and st
arted to attack Hadjar from above.

  The strike looked like it could destroy the city wall, let alone some old clothing and flesh.

  Hadjar managed to block the strike with his blade and felt as if a truck had run him over. Colin’s hit forced all the air out of his lungs and tossed Hadjar a good ten yards into the air.

  A new bang was heard and the red creature, which had been Colin until recently, was once more next to Hadjar.

  It was hard to say whether they were falling or flying. The only obvious thing was that the blade, held by a clawed paw, was coming down, toward Hadjar.

  Hadjar didn’t have any time to react. He wouldn’t have been able to block it anyway, but he didn’t even see the strike as it landed.

  Hadjar could only look at a sparrow flying through the air. The sparrow was small, defenseless, but proud and fast. It mocked the ground every time it flapped its wings. It was conquering heaven with every second it remained in the sky.

  Everyone fights in this world, my Prince… His mentor's voice sounded in his head. The fisherman fights the fish and the ocean, a blacksmith fights the fire and iron, the farmer fights the weather and earth, but only the adepts fight their own destinies.

  Time slowed down. Hadjar suddenly understood what had been eluding him all this time.

  While fighting the enemy, he’d forgotten the most important thing. His feet still tread along the ground, fighting its power. His blade cut through the air, trying to overcome its resistance. The steel in his hands warmed with each strike. His blood covered the grass.

  He’d been fighting the enemy while somehow forgetting about the outside world. It had struggled against him too, since the day of his birth, from his very first breath. The crying newborn was rushing to make a long jump toward the grave. A jump filled with endless struggle.

  But why? Why did his sword fight against the whole world, when he had only one enemy? Why couldn't he direct the world to his advantage? What was stopping him?

  The answer was a little sparrow, piercing through an inaccessible sky.

  Nothing.

  The General, after getting her spear, did not rush in to intervene.

  All the soldiers, looking up at where the fight was still raging, couldn't believe their eyes.

  The creature’s sword fell toward Hadjar’s head, and he... seemed to have changed a little. It was as if his blade had merged with the wind, parrying the strike easily. Although… ‘parrying’ wasn’t quite the right word. He’d flung the creature aside as easily as a lion kicking away a naughty kitten.

  The creature fell from the sky with a roar, and when it got out of the ravine it had made upon impact, it saw Hadjar waiting for it, his back straight.

  He seemed to have merged with the outside world. He wasn't fighting it anymore, instead, he was cooperating with it.

  “One with the World,” the audience whispered.

  “He became ‘One with the World’ during a battle.”

  “Is he a genius?”

  “No…”

  “He’s a monster.”

  Well, they were... somewhat wrong. Hadjar still hadn’t reached the level of ‘One with the World’, but he was close to it. As close as he’d ever been. But even this amount of progress was enough for his strike, which had previously only had a range of five steps, to now be able to reach as far as seventeen steps.

  The attack launched from his blade was no longer ghostly or shimmering. It was a transparent strike of the sword, clearly visible even to a mere mortal.

  Hadjar’s attack, which was ten feet long and ten inches wide, easily split Colin’s blade.

  The creature howled when Hadjar's strike also tore through the thick, red crust that had replaced its skin.

  A blue light flashed and a pale, emaciated, and even aged Colin lay on the ground. He prostrated himself and began muttering something. Miserable and broken, all he could do was endlessly repeat: “Have mercy, have mercy.”

  Hadjar hobbled in his direction with the relentlessness of a servant of the God of death. He was leaning on his sword, blood had covered his eyes, but he kept walking forward, getting closer to his goal, to Eina’s peace.

  He finally reached the adjutant. He stood above him and raised his sword above his head.

  “Stop!” A voice thundered.

  Almost the whole army turned toward the thundering cry. A tall man with a scarred face and an inhumanly cruel and ferocious look stood on a hill, wearing crimson, almost bloody armor.

  “Sir,” the old servant fell to his knees.

  “Do you know who you’re fighting, peasant?” General Larvie bellowed. “He is my son! Stop, or you will suffer such a terrible fate that children will be scared by the tale of it for a thousand years!”

  “Do I know who I’m fighting?” Hadjar spoke through busted, bleeding lips. “A coward. A rapist. A killer.”

  His sword whizzed through the air.

  As his head rolled away, Colin didn’t have time to say one last,

  “Have mercy.”

  The General on the hill growled like a wounded beast and picked up his war hammer.

  Hadjar didn’t see anything else. He collapsed, falling asleep as blissfully and calmly as he had in the Palace, all those years ago.

  His heart had finally calmed a bit. At least he’d managed to get justice for someone.

  Now Eina could finally rest peacefully…

  Chapter 55

  He was having an amazing dream. He was dressed in fine silk clothes and sitting in his room in the ‘Innocent Meadow’. A pipe full of fragrant tobacco lay on a small table in front of him. Water was boiling in a pot somewhere nearby, spreading a sweet tea aroma around the room.

  A girl with multicolored eyes and hair that had been kissed by fire was sitting in front of him and smiling.

  “Play some more.” She requested, looking at him fondly.

  “As you say.”

  And Hadjar played his best song for his best friend. He played like he had never played before and would never play again. He played only for her, for the girl he hadn’t loved because he couldn't love. For a girl, he would never get to love because she was already dead.

  “You’re a liar, Hadjar,” Eina spoke at last.

  “Why?”

  “You once said you would never turn into a handsome man. That you would always be a monster.”

  They were sitting so close together that he could feel her breath on his face.

  Turn into a handsome man?

  The young man raised a hand before his face. It was no longer covered in ulcers, scabs, and warts. No, it was normal, tanned skin, maybe just slightly rough on the palms.

  “What?” Hadjar couldn’t understand what had happened to him until fragments of obscure memories began to emerge in his mind.

  Cave. Dragon. Army. Adjutant.

  “Eina,” Hadjar said.

  “I'll miss you, Hadjar,” the girl smiled, tears rolling down her cheeks.

  “Eina…”

  He tried to grab her hand, but his fingers caught only elusive fog. The room melted away and the entire scene disappeared.

  Hadjar fell into the void. He shouted, trying to grab onto anything he could, but only ended up falling faster into the dark abyss.

  Suddenly, bright, white light flooded in, illuminating everything around him, and he heard: “Thank you, Hadjar. Thank you, and goodbye.”

  ***

  “Hey, hey! Calm down, calm down, I said!”

  Strong hands pressed Hadjar's head into a pillow.

  “It’s me, Hadj. It's Nero. Everything's ok. It's all right, buddy.”

  Hadjar opened his eyes. The sun's rays made their way through the cracks of the boards that served as the ceiling. The creaking of heavy wheels, the neighing of horses, and the clanging of metal—those were all the sounds he could hear. Well, Nero’s voice was another sound, but Hadjar had already gotten used to it.

  The room Hadjar was in swayed from side to side. Some ropes hung on the walls, all
the way down to the floor, and the bed had been built out of bales of hay. The wounded Prince had been placed on it and covered with a patchy blanket. That was a good sign.

  “What happened with the General?” Hadjar croaked out.

  His throat felt like a desert. He coughed and gratefully took a bowl of fragrant, apparently healing liquid from Nero and greedily sipped from it, but that only made things worse. The desert had been replaced by the pain of a blacksmith's hammer striking his throat repeatedly…

  He only quenched his thirst on the third attempt, with Nero’s help. He held both the bowl and his friend’s head up, letting Hadjar drink properly.

  “What General?”

  “General Larvie,” Hadjar said. “Or have we already been captured and are currently being dragged to his dungeons?”

  Nero grinned and moved the always sleeping Azrea from a bale over to Hadjar’s chest. The kitten stretched, yawned, meowed, and then curled into a tight ball.

  She’s so warm…

  “No, buddy, we're marching, moving toward the border Fort.”

  Well, yes. That makes sense. This explained both the sounds and the cart, which was serving as Hadjar’s refuge.

  Judging by the flashing lights alone, the cart was moving at the speed of a train, if not faster.

  Honestly, there’s no other way for the army to travel so far…

  The common soldiers probably have it especially hard—they have to not just ‘march’, but... run. Each world has its own quirks, I suppose.

  “And this... Larvie,” Nero was clearly finding it unpleasant to remember the General of Spring Town. “You should have seen how furious he’d been. He was out of his mind with how badly he wanted to end your life. He decided to kill you on the spot. And you were so injured that if it hadn’t been for the healers, you'd be dead.”

  “Thank you.”

  “No need to thank me,” Nero coughed bashfully. “Well...he charged at you, and then General Leen appeared with her spear. I swear to you, if I had ever thought of choosing a wife, it would’ve been Leen.”