Their feet would sink into the soft, wet moss slightly as they walked as if they were walking across an expensive carpet, and not on the ground.
The smell of the swamp that was coming from the west was slightly unnerving, but they got used to it quickly.
“Watch. Two eyes. Four sides.” Hadjar signaled, warning his comrade to be careful.
“Prey. Alive.” Nero signaled.
Hadjar thought. Did they need a so-called ‘tongue’, a person who would tell them something about the nomads? Hadjar didn’t know the savage language, and he doubted that Nero knew it.
It was worth checking to make sure.
He realized that he didn’t know the right sign. The sign language of Robin and the other hunters from the Valley of Stream village was suitable for the pursuit of an animal, but not a human. This language had no signs necessary for explaining things in such a situation.
After thinking about it, Hadjar showed his tongue hanging out and pointed at Nero.
It took Nero only a few seconds to understand what his friend was asking him about.
He showed him the sign for “No.”
As expected, Nero also didn’t know the savage language. They didn’t even have just one, but a hundred different dialects. There were so many tribes in the southeastern steppes that it would’ve been easier to hang themselves than to try and count them all. For example, there was the D’Zah’nura-Fura-Lura-Gura-Zumra tribe...
Something like that.
The names tended to be a real tongue twister.
“Prey. Dead.” Hadjar signaled.
For the next ten hours, they moved through the forest quietly. Every time they saw an animal, even if it was weak and old, clearly easy prey, they didn’t hunt it.
This time, they’d come to the forest seeking other prey. The beasts’ paths were just a signal that they needed to change direction. Alas, even after spending so long searching, they didn’t find a single hint of other people in the forest.
By evening, they’d managed to cover quite a decent distance. Before they tied themselves to the upper branches of a tree, they climbed to the top to assess the situation.
The sun was already moving to the west, trying to disappear into the Sea of Dreams. This sea was larger than the total size of all the oceans back on Earth, according to the map South Wind had shown him. One of those big organizations that controlled several empires was beyond it.
But who was controlling Darnassus?
Such thoughts disappeared from his mind as soon as Hadjar spotted the mountain range. He looked like a captive beast beneath the scarlet gold sky, ready to rise above the ground and tear the heavens apart at any moment.
The mountains seemed so close that one could think that they were only a day's ride away.
Hadjar knew that they had to keep going for at least two more days. It was just an optical illusion. The bigger the mountain was, the closer it seemed, no matter how odd that sounded.
They fell asleep quickly, having tied themselves to some branches for the night. They didn’t need to set up a watch rotation. Their senses were so developed at the Formation stage that they would wake up if someone else was nearby.
In the morning, they had to cover themselves with dirt again. It couldn’t serve as a substitute for a shower, as the amount of dirt on their bodies only increased, but at least the smell of sweat gradually disappeared.
Hiding among the elusive shadows for four hours, they moved through the woods. A normal scout most likely only moved at night, but Hadjar didn't want to risk it. There were too many predators prowling in the night, both bipeds and quadrupeds, that could jeopardize the mission.
Their goal wasn’t to catch a ‘spy’ (whom they would not even have been able to deliver back to the camp), but to count the enemy troops.
Man plans and the gods laugh.
They noticed a group of nomads at the foot of the mountains by the end of the second day, around sunset. It was difficult to determine whether they were lookouts or ‘partners of fate’, as they themselves were.
Hadjar saw real savages for the first time in his life. They looked like ordinary, heavily tanned, black-haired people. They were tall men with flat noses and massive lower jaws. Their hair had been tied into several braids decorated with colorful beads. The color and number of the beads varied depending on their rank.
Their women were petite, coming up to just above Hadjar’s lower ribs. They were all dressed in makeshift jackets and pants made from the hides and skins of animals. The savages had slanted eyes, high foreheads, and bronze skin, probably because it had been exposed to the sun of the steppes a lot.
“Loot”, Hadjar gave the signal to Nero and began sneaking to get into position.
They immediately hid in the nearest ditch. Nero pulled out his pocket spyglass, covered the lens with his palm (to avoid any reflected sunlight possibly giving them away), and stared.
“They are weak,” he signaled after a while. “Perhaps at the level of ‘Awakening of Power’. It was a good idea to equate human stages to animal stages. At least now the language of the hunters could help them out a little.
‘Awakening of Power’ was equal to the human level of the ‘Bodily Nodes’. What did nine practitioners of the ‘Bodily Nodes’ level mean to two people at the ‘Formation’ level? It was akin to a handful of ants getting in their way.
“Hunt”, Hadjar showed.
“Why?”
“We’re going back. Our house. Way. Prey is coming. It’s bad.”
Nero thought on those signals for a moment and then nodded. It was best not to leave any enemy forces behind them, even weak ones such as this.
“We’re surrounding,” Hadjar gestured. “On my signal. Bird's cry”
They went in different directions. Hiding in the bushes like predators, they circled around the enemy squad. When the moment was right, Hadjar imitated a bird call, drew his blade, and rushed in to attack.
Chapter 59
Hadjar had decided to go around the nomads and attack them only after making sure the wind would be blowing toward him. He did this out of habit, not because he was afraid that the barbarians had a sense of smell as good as animals’. All professional hunters used the wind to cover up their scent because then the prey was less likely to escape.
Admittedly, practitioners at the ‘Bodily Nodes’ level hardly had any chance to begin with.
Hadjar quickly and silently dealt with the man walking at the back of their camp. He came out of the bushes as gracefully and silently as an owl hunting for a vole. Hadjar gripped the nomad's mouth and nose and slashed his knife across the man’s throat, immediately tilting his head forward and slightly lowering the body.
The nomad didn’t get a chance to cry out or make any noise at all. The Prince had made sure to not let the body fall or any blood gush out and alert the others.
Hadjar had cut through the man’s aorta, muscles, and the vertebrae. It was as easy as a knife going through butter with his strength.
Gently placing the body down on the ground, Hadjar drew out his sword. He was sneaking up to the girl with the whip. A steel string had been inserted into the handle of the branching whip. It certainly wasn’t used to herd cattle. It would be possible to remove several layers of skin with just one its strikes.
Hadjar knew this weapon well— he’d been beaten with such a whip a couple of times in the dungeon. The scars left by those lashes were so deep that, even after his rebirth, they could still be seen on his back.
Hadjar moved noiselessly, almost like a shadow, as he moved away from the cover of the tree. But, alas, bad luck can counter even the greatest skill.
The nomad turned around.
Maybe she’d felt something or she’d wanted to check and make sure there was a fellow nomad warrior at her back. Maybe... maybe she’d just turned around.
Her amazing, black eyes met the clear and blue eyes of Hadjar.
She was beautiful enough to make a man's heart beat faster, but
not enough to delay Hadjar’s sword. His attack was swift and brutal.
As she fell, she couldn’t understand what had happened, and then the darkness swept over her…
Hadjar didn’t stop. He’d killed the nomad messily, making a lot of noise in the process, and the remaining seven turned toward the sound. They drew their curved swords as they walked, but it was too late. Their opponent already had his sword out. Even if the weapon had still been in its scabbard, they still wouldn't have had a chance.
Hadjar moved quickly. He seemed like a blur to his foes who were only at the Bodily Rivers. They barely noticed the flashes of metal and the two blue eyes peeking out of the darkness.
Hadjar swung his blade, slicing a nomad’s hand off, and immediately jumped to the side. Two arrows pierced through the spot where Hadjar had been standing moments ago. But since he was now gone, the arrows flew further until they hit the nomad who was screaming in pain. Still holding his bleeding stump, he fell to the ground. Twitching and choking on his blood, he couldn’t decide what he should grab first—the arrows or the stump.
Hadjar took in this scene only out of the corner of his eye.
His sword continued its bloody dance.
Moving almost like a child trying to spin around to get a rush, Hadjar blocked two arrows and then plunged the blade into the belly of his enemy. He could no longer make out any faces or the gender of their prey. Right now, everything was simple in his world—he had an enemy in front of him and he had his sword: either he would kill them all or he would be killed.
Turning his blade, Hadjar pushed the body it had been stuck in away with his foot. The nomad waved his hands as he fell, trying to somehow keep his entrails from falling out. He failed.
Only six enemies were left. Two archers that had moved back a little and four swordfighters. Their short, curved swords were shining with a predatory glow. But they all paled in comparison to the majestic radiance of Hadjar’s sword.
While the sword wielders tried to surround Hadjar, the archers were already pulling the strings on their bows back. They felt the wind and the rustle of the grass and aimed without looking. Hadjar was moving so quickly that it was almost impossible to see him. So, they were going to shoot not where their opponent was, but where he seemed like he was going to be.
The sound of the bowstring was heard and four arrows... Flew into the bushes.
Hadjar didn't even flinch, but two of the nomads were already collapsing, dropping their swords as the life left their eyes.
A ghostly strike produced by his blade had cut through his opponents. They couldn’t believe what had happened—they had been at a distance of twelve steps from the enemy! Despite that, his attack had still reached them.
Their numb legs remained standing. The rest of their bodies slid to the ground with horrific slowness. They didn’t die immediately and still had time to experience horror and panic. They didn’t feel pain. Their lives ended too quickly to feel any.
Hadjar turned his back to the archers. They couldn’t believe their luck as they pulled back the bowstrings once again.
In the next moment, they fell to the ground in chunks, as if torn apart by a bear that had been forcibly woken up during winter. Nero, holding his massive, five-foot sword, came out from behind the bushes. He looked like a bloody beast while in battle, the hunger for slaughter clear in his gaze.
“They’re mine,” he said as he approached his friend.
“As you wish,” Hadjar shrugged.
He cleaned all the blood on his sword with a single movement and sheathed it once again.
With only one slash, Nero sent two nomads to the vast prairie of their ancestors, where the eternal feast and hunt awaited them. The rest of their group were already there, ready to meet them.
The fight hadn’t taken ten seconds. Everything ended almost silently and almost too quickly. Only some birds made noise, leaving their trees and flying away from the danger.
“You know, back when you talked about the savages, I’d thought you were hinting at taking them to bed,” Nero sighed, cleaning his sword and putting it back into its scabbard.
Ten bodies lay among the trees. The blood flowing downhill merged into a thin stream. Hadjar stared at them and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He’d already killed women before. They had been attacking his mother. And these women…
Hadjar looked at them.
How many mothers and children would’ve been killed by these women if they had managed to go through the Fort and into the country? There is no difference between the genders in this world if one disregards what’s in people’s pants.
“What took you so long?” Hadjar asked as he leaned over the first victim.
He grabbed the man’s pack and dumped the contents on the ground.
“I was trying to come up with a way to capture those female archers.”
“Why, we still don't know the language, right?”
“I wasn't going to talk to them,” Nero shrugged. “Oh, fine, stop looking at me like that. I just figured that, if you and I could do some pantomime, we could communicate with them. I don't know, they could’ve drawn something on the ground for us.”
Hadjar thought about it and decided that his companion was right, they’d rushed things a bit. Considering the fact that they were not very experienced in intelligence gathering, it was understandable. It was difficult to think about every contingency and to predict everything without any prior training.
It’s too late to implement his good idea now. The savages have been killed. If we meet anyone else, we'll try to interrogate them.
Suddenly, Hadjar staggered back as if a snake had bit him. Although, if there had been any ordinary snakes around here, they would’ve fled from a practitioner of the Formation Stage.
“What's up?” Nero walked over. He hadn’t found anything unusual in the packs he’d inspected. Two metal collars with mystical inscriptions were lying on the ground in front of Hadjar. He’d already seen these kinds of collars before. He hadn’t only seen them, but had worn one for five years.
“Damn it,” he said. “They’re not scouts.”
“Definitely a strange decoration… Would people even buy this sort of thing?” Nero picked up one of the items from the ground.
“It's not an ornament,” Hadjar shook his head. “It’s a slave collar. It completely cuts off all the energy in a person’s body and makes a mere mortal out of even the strongest practitioner.”
“Demons and gods!” Nero dropped the ‘decoration’ as if he’d been holding burning hot metal.
Such devices were one of the worst nightmares of any practitioner. They took away their two most important possessions—their freedom and strength.
“Why do the nomad scouts need these…” Nero carefully put the collars back into the pack. “Artifacts?”
“They must’ve been capturing prisoners from the nearest villages.”
“Do you think so? There should be some patrols from the garrison walking around. It’s unlikely that even a hundred savages would be able to defeat one such patrol.”
“You haven't met the head of the Fort. I'm sure there are no patrols. Anyway, I seriously doubt that the garrison mentioned in the documents exists. There’s probably less than half that number stationed in the Fort.”
“Do you think they share the salaries of the non-existent soldiers?”
“I'm sure of it,” Hadjar nodded.
“Damn officials,” Nero cursed. “My father always said that they cause more harm than good.”
Hadjar considered the situation.
Why do the nomads need slaves? It would be understandable if the scouts were trying to capture other scouts or soldiers. But they’re clearly killing them instead, on the spot... None ever get taken back to camp.
It turns out that the savages are hunting ordinary people and, at the same time, avoiding the notice of the Lidus army. Only people who are up to something and trying to conceal it would behave like that. But what could ordin
ary, seasonal bandits be hiding, even if they’re wandering around in large groups?
“I don't like this at all.”
“Me neither,” Nero pulled out a leather pouch he’d found.
He untied the ribbons holding it closed and pulled out a few beautiful coins made from a green metal. They had interesting patterns on them and a square hole in the middle.
“The nomads have no currency,” Hadjar said thoughtfully, examining the coins. “Especially such deftly forged coinage.”
“Take into account the fact that this is money from the Lascan Empire,” Nero supplied. “My father showed it to me once”.
Hadjar and Nero looked at each other. Where had the simple savages found coins from a country that was at war with the Darnassus Empire?
“Damn it!” They said in chorus.
“We've got to hurry, buddy. Something tells me you and I are in a bit of trouble.” Nero added
“We’re in big trouble,” Hadjar nodded.
They threw the bodies into a ditch, covered them with branches, took the green coins, and then went into the mountains.
Something felt off about this situation; the first peals of thunder were heard from the east. The seasonal rains had begun.
Chapter 60
Two days later, fighting against the wind that kept growing stronger, Hadjar and Nero were climbing up a cliff. The wind tried to tear off their cloaks. They looked like tiny bugs crawling across an endless, gray space.
There was a deep abyss underneath them. It was covered with a carpet of green treetops.
Lightning flashed. There was a crash that sounded like the very sky was being rent apart. Hadjar clung to the cliff and held his breath. A huge cobblestone tumbled down and passed near him.
Avoiding the mountain paths, he and Nero had decided to climb up a precipice. For an ordinary person, this might’ve been an impossible task, but it wasn’t difficult for them. Their fingers easily found even the thinnest cracks and clung to them like a steel vise.
In just three hours, despite the rainstorm, among the flashes of draconic shapes made up of white lightning, they managed to climb almost three miles— which was a monstrous distance for a mortal’s standards, but an ordinary, everyday bit of exercise for practitioners at the ‘Formation’ level. Their bodies were mighty and their energy was strong.
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