“What do you mean by that?”
“There are a total of forty guns on the walls,” the official muttered. “We haven’t sent out any patrols for almost ten years. Only twenty-seven thousand soldiers are left in the entire Fort.”
“Where are the others, Sirius? Where?”
Leen's palm lit up with a steel light and she swung it down.
The official curled up and raised his hands above his head. He looked so pathetic that many became uncomfortable with not only having to look at him but even having to be around this miserable waste of flesh.
“There are no other soldiers! Some of them were dismissed, some became mercenaries …”
“Really now!” She swung again.
“The mine! I sold them to the mine!”
The tent was silent.
Forty guns and twenty-seven thousand soldiers... that meant they couldn't count on the Fort's support. General Leen’s army was alone, facing a horde of nomads that had been trained and equipped by the Lascanians.
“I saw many people in the Fort, far more than twenty-seven thousand.”
“They are simple civilians,” the once-celebrated general whined.
High positions disfigured people. South Wind had said that it was very rare for a high-ranking official to remain a good person and not become the embodiment of greed and weakness. On the outside, they looked important and unapproachable, like a mountain, but inside, everything had long since rotted away.
“That is treason, Sirius,” the General sighed, leaning heavily against the edge of the table. “It’s high treason.”
“I wanted to build a city, Leen. A real city. I had such plans…”
“What plans? Plans on how to decorate yourself with gold and how to make your own palace by taking from the fortress? I've seen it—you have stained glass in your bathrooms, Sirius. Gods damned stained glass!”
“Do you think it's easy?” The official shrieked suddenly. “Do you think it’s easy to live for forty years in a military fortification, to always be around sweaty and smelly soldiers? There are no streets, no squares—only the parade grounds and training. I could smell the stink of gunpowder in my dreams at night... I wanted to live, Leen. Live! Not simply exist.”
“Everyone wants that.”
“Everyone does, and I had the opportunity to make it a reality. And I did! Or do you think I have a bad life? It’s great! We have a bustling industry, we paved the streets, built houses, built the Central Square. We built taverns, schools, and pubs. Circuses come to our town! Or do you think the soldier's families can have a lot of fun in the garrison? They lose their children when they’re still young, sending them to study in the city, knowing that they would never come back.”
Some of the people, feeling disgusted, turned their backs to Sirius.
“Yeah, I got my share of the profits,” the official continued. “But who didn’t get a share? Everybody did! Even the king, I'm sure, has appropriated a portion of the proceeds! That's life. If you want to do something good for people, you have to sacrifice something.”
“And you sacrificed your soul.”
“My soul?” Sirius got up and straightened his back. He wiped his face and smoothed out his clothes. For a moment, looking at this hog, Hadjar caught a glimpse of the general that had earned an award the King had presented him with personally.
“You’re a fool, Leen. And all of you are fools if you think you can stand up to this horde! You have to negotiate! Maybe you'll give them a part of your army. Maybe it’ll be something else…”
“You're crazy.”
“They’re just puppets,” the official laughed hysterically, “If you die, the army won’t exist. You are senior officers. A simple soldier can always be replaced.”
Hadjar looked at the General. He met her steely, grey gaze. She nodded slowly.
“This is treason, Sirius,” she repeated. “Burn in the abyss.”
“You’re a foo-”
Before the pompous fool could finish his sentence, his head fell from his shoulders and rolled across the boards.
Hadjar placed the sword of the soldier who was being held by Dogar back into its scabbard. He had no intention of staining his own blade with such blood.
“Now… As for you,” Leen said slowly, turning to the human rat.
“Ye-ye-yes, my General,” he fell to his knees and began beating his head against the floor.
“You're the new garrison commander. I don't care how you do it, I don't care where you find them, but in two weeks, there better be a hundred guns on the walls. Do you understand me?”
The rat kept banging his head against the floor.
“Do you understand me?” She roared.
“Yes, my General,” he wailed. “That's how it will be, my General.”
“Get out.”
He literally ran out of the tent, stumbling and getting tangled up in his expensive clothes. The limping soldiers, whose collarbones had seemingly been broken by Dogar, followed after him.
“Are these meetings always so much fun?” Nero whispered in Hadjar’s ear.
“You have no idea,” Hadjar nodded.
Chapter 64
“It’s rather strange…” Tim, the spymaster, gestured to the ridge with a pointer. “Why is everything so complicated? If a Spirit Knight is really there, he could’ve just used a protective spell and we would have never found them at all.”
“Don’t you believe my people, Tim?” Dogar could hardly keep from growling.
“I do believe them, it’s just…”
“Simply put, if he had used such a spell,” the tent flaps moved aside and the old librarian entered the War Council. “I would’ve sensed them. I would have had to make a report to the Empire and then…”
“And then something that neither of the Empires wants would’ve happened,” Leen concluded.
The librarian nodded.
“Tell me, venerable adept,” the General squeezed her pointer and turned slightly pale. “Will he intervene in our battle?”
“Probably not,” the Darnassian shook his head. “We, the cultivators, are prohibited from participating in the wars of mortals. We can fight only in the general, large scale battles of the Empires, but such battles are not very similar to what you are doing here.”
“I’ve heard that…” The commander of the archers suddenly spoke. “Heaven Soldiers are killed by the hundreds of thousands during battles between Empires…”
The librarian smiled.
“That's right, my dear. We Heaven Soldiers are just pawns in the wars of the Empires.”
Everyone fell silent. Any cultivator was almost like an inhabitant of the heavens compared to them.
“Besides, taking into account the report of officer Hadjar, I can assume that a Spirit Knight of only the initial stage is helping the nomads. He's much stronger than me, but far weaker than most of the officers in the Empire’s army.”
Hadjar imagined an officer corps consisting of ten thousand cultivators who were stronger than the flying man. It would be interesting to see what a battle of their armies would look like if that flying man had almost destroyed part of the mountain by just touching the grip of his sword.
“And why have you come here, venerable adept?” The General squinted at him.
“I think you already know why, General Leen.”
The General nodded.
“You've already sent your report and received a reply. If the Lascanian cultivator helps the nomads, then you were asked to help us.”
“They didn't ask me to do so, they ordered it. That means I'm yours to command. I will help however I can.”
“And what can a single cultivator do to help us?” Tuur asked.
“I can do a few things,” the old man responded vaguely. “But I see you have a scholar and magic caster now.”
Everyone turned to Serra. She was not a citizen of Lidus and was not obliged to risk her life.
“Lady Serra, I understand this will be a very br
azen request, but…”
“They killed my teacher and my fellow students,” the girl almost hissed. “I’m with you, General, and I’ll do everything I can.”
“Thank you.” Leen said sincerely.
“Then let me take this lovely lady with me. We have something to discuss.”
And the librarian took her out of the tent. Nero watched them go with longing.
“I think I’m in love,” he whispered.
“You’ll forget her in two days,” Hadjar assured him.
“No, my friend,” Nero sighed sorrowfully. “This time, it’s serious…”
They all stared at the map silently for a while, looking for a solution. Hadjar tried to use the neuronet at full power, but it could not find an optimal solution in which the life of the host wouldn’t be in great danger.
Each of the proposed options had a red threat level. Such a color meant that the probability of Hadjar’s death was more than fifty percent.
“We need to send for reinforcements,” Helion, the commander of the cavalry, broke the silence. “We can’t do it alone.”
Leen listened to his words and then turned in the opposite direction.
“How long will the rain delay them for, Officer Hadjar?” the General asked.
“Two weeks. Maybe a little more. Maybe a little less.”
“Plus, taking into account your success with the sabotage, alongside private Nero…” the chief engineer, Tuur, mumbled pensively. “It's unlikely that you've burned down a significant part of their horses and provisions, but the total damage should still delay them.”
“Overall, we have two weeks,” Leen finished. “We'll proceed with that figure as a baseline. We'll immediately send a report to the General Staff, but…”
“But the nearest army will have to travel for at least a month to get to us,” Tim finished the sentence for the General.
“If we bog them down in protracted battles,” Lian suggested, “then we can buy enough time for the reinforcements to arrive.”
“There'll be no protracted battles,” the general pushed all the figurines from the ridge over to the plain. “They know that we know the state of affairs. Moreover, a Lascanian Spirit Knight is with them. He wouldn't risk a chance to interrupt the supply of Solar Ore. They will hit us right away. No probing battles and minor hassles. A decisive battle. Everything'll be decided in one day.”
“That damn coward was right,” the cavalryman hit the table angrily. “We won't be able to fight them. They have five million people. Cannons. Horse archers. Trebuchets and even monsters that we don't know anything about.”
“Are you suggesting we retreat?”
“No, my general,” Helion snarled. “I propose we figure out how we can sell our lives at a higher price so that these creatures don't break through to the interior of the country.”
The General looked around sternly. No one faltered under her gaze and not a single person flinched. Nobody mentioned running or trying to negotiate. Each of the people standing at that table loved their homeland. Somewhere out there, among the meadows and fields, their families were waiting for them. Yes, they might never see them again, but the sky itself would collapse before they allowed a horde of savages to ruin their land. To kill their children and spouses.
As long as they drew breath, they would fight for their homeland. Not for the king, officials, or because of orders, but so their loved ones could sleep peacefully and not have to take up arms.
“Alright. Let's think about how we can do the most damage to the horde.”
The discussion continued for six long hours. Contrary to the statute, the right to speak was given to anyone who wanted to do so. Nero spoke a couple of times. He suggested simple, but very sensible ideas. For example, digging trenches and filling them with fuel in order to divide the opponents' flanks.
Hadjar didn't lag behind either. Even without the neural network's prompting, he remembered the anti-tank barriers that had been used to stop tanks in his old world. There were no tanks here, but no one had said that such barriers couldn’t be utilized to prevent the enemy cavalry from destroying the infantry with its famous wedge formation.
For the most part, however, the senior officers were the ones who spoke. Their extensive knowledge and, most importantly, their experience with military affairs, helped them. In the end, they even managed to briefly discuss a plan that would allow them to defeat a foe that had more than twice their numbers.
The plan was stupid and defiant, almost childishly stubborn, but even stranger things sometimes happened. A person faced with their inevitable death was ready to resort to any kind of madness, if only to put off the hour when they had to plunge into the abyss and go on to their rebirth.
In this world, people sincerely believed that a person would be born again after their death. They'd have a new destiny, and a new body, but without their old memories. No matter how silly it sounded, Hadjar could believe in such a circle of reincarnation. After all, he himself was a kind of living proof of such a faith having merit. However, by some miracle, he’d retained all of his memories.
After the Council ended, they went back to their camps and units. After they had a good, long rest, accompanied by the rain drumming against the tents’ fabric, lots of hard work awaited them. They all had their own tasks and assignments.
Nero and Hadjar, who had both also received several orders, were now sitting on the hill near which the bloody battle would soon be fought.
They smoked pipes, breathing out rings of smoke and looked into the distance.
“Well, she sure is beautiful, huh?”
“Who?”
“Serra,” a dreamy smile appeared on Nero's face. “Brave and beautiful.”
Hadjar looked at his friend’s glittering eyes and listened to his pent-up sighs.
“You’ve fallen in love,” Hadjar stated.
“I already told you that.”
A white, fluffy muzzle poked out from under Hadjar's clothes. The kitten yawned, then she meowed, demanding some food. Hadjar offered a piece of dried meat to his “pet”. Azrea grabbed it with her teeth and ducked back into the warmth and comfort beneath Hadjar’s clothes. She soon fell asleep again.
“What about your love of twins?” Hadjar asked. “Or is that in the past now?”
“Well, what if Serra has a sister?” Nero shrugged.
They were silent for a moment and then broke out into laughter, which soon gave way to the oppressive silence from before.
“We'll survive, Hadj. We'll survive for sure.”
“We'll get medals.”
“And all the girls will be ours.”
“I seem to recall you saying you were in love.”
“Well, okay, all the girls will be yours.”
Nero gave his friend’s shoulder a nudge and they continued to smoke.
Despite the upcoming battle, their souls were at peace.
Chapter 65
Standing in the pouring rain, Hadjar trained.
A week had already passed since the most idiotic and therefore the most viable plan had been approved by the War Council. Every soldier had been given a specific task. Hadjar had also been given an assignment, but his commanding officer had freed him from that dull obligation and had ordered him to train instead.
Because, according to Dogar, if he were to become ‘One with the World’, he would be worth hundreds of nomads in the upcoming battle. And they could not afford to lose such an advantage.
And so, Hadjar trained. Every day, he fenced with the wind, rain, earth, and fire. He tried to recapture the feeling that he’d had during his fight with Colin. That same moment of enlightenment, when it had seemed like he had touched on some mystery of the world. When he’d seen the edge of the true essence, which was usually safely hidden from the eyes of mere mortals.
And yet, he was missing something. Something elusive, ghostly, ephemeral, but still incredibly important.
Hadjar could still feel the earth and how it gave st
rength to his steps. He felt the wind, whose currents directed his blade. He felt the fire from which his sword had been born and felt the water pouring from the heavens. But it wasn’t enough.
He was still missing something.
His sword strikes were quick and smooth. He moved in the rain, battling with hundreds of invisible foes. He did it so gracefully it was beautiful to behold. So elegantly that, had there been an artist around, he would have surely been inspired and produced a masterpiece.
But Hadjar fought alone in the rain.
His every attack was filled with energy and always found its goal. The strikes cut through the thousands of drops falling from the sky. Drenched in sweat and rain, Hadjar was able to cut through at least ten drops every time. He didn't just batter them, but cut them so quickly and neatly that one drop would turn into two.
As he trained, concentrating on his battle with the rain, Hadjar recalled the ‘Light Breeze’ scroll. The first of its stances, the Strong Wind, was like a storm descending into a calm valley from atop the high mountains.
Hadjar made a particularly sharp attack with his sword and the rain cut through the wind.
The stance was just as wild, savage, and fierce as a storm in the darkened sky.
The second stance was too mystical and Hadjar couldn't understand it. He lacked the skills and knowledge required, both in the path of the sword and in the elements of the wind, in order to comprehend the secrets of the ‘Calm Wind’, the second stance of the Technique Traves had left him.
Unable to grasp the secrets of the Technique, nor the secrets of ‘One with the World’, Hadjar continued his senseless and endless battle with the rain.
Raindrops that had been cut in half were falling to the ground. But each of those drops was quickly replaced by a myriad of others.
It was said that a practitioner shouldn't meditate and study all the time. They also had to participate in life and interact with the outside world. Travel. Fight. Live.
Only then would they be able to acquire knowledge, which would coalesce in a rush of insight when the moment came and the cultivator would be able to comprehend something new. A deeper, more mystical secret.
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