Stone Will

by Kirill Klevanski

  “It's all because a lot of people know about you and me,” Nero said, placing one more dummy on their parade ground.

  The place where about a thousand trainees had once used to suffer and train now belonged to the two friends. A feeling of loneliness sometimes came over them because of that fact, but more often than not, they were calmed by it.

  And they’d had to cut some new logs. The old pieces of wood had gotten covered in grass during their absence.

  “How could they know?” Hadjar waved his friend’s words away.

  He was carrying something like a huge plow on his back. Only instead of digging up the ground, this tool was used to remove the soil altogether. They would then have to bring some sand in and make a completely new training ground.

  “What about all the songs praising our deeds in battle? Do you know how many songs there are about us?”

  “Nope.”

  “I don't know either, but it’s a lot. Especially considering that you and I covered the withdrawal of the army from the Fort.”

  “Yeah, we sure did,” Hadjar smiled wryly. “You and I were saving our own asses and weren't covering the retreat of the army at all.”

  “Well, the bards aren't very interested in those details,” Nero shrugged. He fanned himself with a towel and leaned on the dummy he’d been working on. “In addition, we blew up forty cannons, flew across the sky on a reptile, burned down a siege tower, killed two monsters, and you also sent the nomad general to the endless prairies.”

  “Plains,” Hadjar corrected.

  “Same difference. Let's rest a bit.”

  Hadjar agreed. They hadn't yet recovered their strength enough after such an exhausting battle, and they often needed smoke breaks. Quite literal ones, in fact. After getting back to the city, they’d bought some medicinal tobacco from the healers and now filled their pipes with it often.

  It was tasty and healthy.

  Sitting on a pyramid of logs, they each lit a cigarette.

  Someone meowed. Hadjar stretched out his palm and Azrea jumped on it immediately. She grabbed a piece of dried meat out of habit and climbed into her customary spot against Hadjar's bosom.

  “Do you think she’s gotten bigger?” Nero asked, blowing a ring of smoke into the sky.

  “Of course she has,” Hadjar replied.

  Azrea had used to fit on his palm with room to spare. Nowadays, while she could still fit, it was getting a bit too small for her.

  “I can't wait for our weapons to be forged.”

  After returning to Spring Town, Hadjar and Nero had brought the fangs of the Ancient Tiger to the artifactor who’d come from the Empire. He'd taken too long to get there and Hadjar suspected that it was somehow related to the librarian. But only demons knew the true reason. He was more worried about forging his new sword, which had already taken three months by now.

  “Have you been arguing with Serra again?”

  “What makes you say that?”

  Hadjar smiled. His friend was quite predictable.

  “When you two quarrel, not only does your tent start to burn, but you also begin to talk about weapons all the time.”

  Nero grunted, and then sighed sadly.

  “It’s just that... When we’re together, we argue constantly. And yet, when we’re apart... I immediately feel awful.”

  “That’s love... I guess.”

  “You should also find someone, Hadjar. Oh, right, I forgot you don’t have to look for a woman, you just need to crook your finger and half of Spring Town will come to you.”

  Hadjar smiled.

  “I only need him,” the Prince pointed at the messenger hurrying toward the parade ground.

  “You have bad taste,” Nero commented, grinning at his friend.

  “Go to hell, officer Nero.”

  By that time, the general's messenger had already reached the pyramid of logs.

  “Senior officer Hadjar,” he saluted. “You and your assistant are being summoned to the War Council.”

  “Thanks. You're free to go.”

  The messenger saluted once again and rushed off in the opposite direction.

  “You could have made someone else your assistant,” Nero jumped off the pyramid. “Senior officer Hadjar.”

  “Don't be cranky, officer Nero.”

  They exchanged playful strikes (which could’ve sent any practitioner below the level of the Bodily Rivers to their forefathers) and went to the General's tent.

  Along the way, Hadjar nodded at numerous greetings and salutes. He had to admit, he’d probably become at least somewhat famous after the battle.

  And yet, no matter how paradoxical it may have seemed, he’d also become stronger. After such an exhausting battle, one that had pushed him to the limit of his abilities, Hadjar realized that he had touched on certain truths. They were still mystical and mysterious truths, but now they were somewhat closer to him.

  He hadn’t managed to become ‘One with the World’, but the Honor Points he’d received had been enough to buy numerous ingredients. Thanks to them, Hadjar made relatively easy progress to the next stage of the ‘Formation’.

  Last night, he’d been able to break his Seed into Fragments. And he’d not only broken the Seed, but, more importantly, kept the Fragments from falling apart.

  Status, Hadjar ordered mentally, nodding at a man passing by.

  Name

  Hadjar

  Level of cultivation

  Formation (Fragment Stage)

  Strength

  2.2

  Dexterity

  2.56

  Physique

  2.16

  Energy points

  4.2

  Of course, the numbers were important, but not exactly very accurate. In fact, Hadjar could now pick up six logs and run with them on his back for almost four hours. And when sparring, he had to fight against at least five practitioners at the last stages of the Bodily Rivers at once to get any effect.

  He and Nero often sparred, but their fights looked more like chess games these days. They knew each other’s tactics too well.

  Finding other practitioners in the camp who were at the Formation Stage wasn’t a trivial task.

  They approached the General’s tent. The guards at the entrance immediately hit their iron gloves against their breastplates.

  “Senior officer Hadjar,” they greeted. “Officer Nero.”

  “At ease,” Hadjar nodded and went inside.

  All the commanders of the army had already gathered in here. Astonished, Hadjar had recently discovered that he was now one of them. He’d learned about it after the General had handed him the medallion of a Senior Officer.

  “Commander Hadjar,” the Moon General nodded. “We’ve been waiting for you. Now we can begin.”

  Hadjar felt a bit of déjà vu. He remembered how, until quite recently, she would greet Dogar like this... May he rest in peace.

  Several people had already gathered at the table. Helion, the commander of the cavalry, looked more serious… without an eye. The beautiful Lian, the head of the archers, stood next to him. She had a broken leg, but that wasn’t much of a problem for the strong practitioner.

  Tim, the spymaster, was... dead. Instead of him, a tall, lean, middle-aged man was attending the meeting. He didn’t have a sword or saber, but two curved, long daggers. He looked at people a little strangely, as if he saw not the people themselves, but through them. It was the look of a professional killer.

  And rather creepy.

  Hadjar greeted the new spymaster with a nod.

  Simon was a good man with a difficult past. He and Hadjar often chatted.

  Tuur, the chief engineer, now walked with a crutch. His leg had been cut off by a healer. However, the most important thing for the chief engineer was that he’d kept his brain, as he could work even while missing a leg.

  “I want all of you to listen to the report from the Generals.”

  The General, who was now covered with scars, pointed at a
figure hidden in the shadows with the wooden prosthesis that had replaced her left hand. The woman she’d gestured toward looked like a shitty person at first glance.

  Wearing a light leather jacket and high-heeled boots, she stood ramrod straight and constantly adjusted her brown hair.

  “By the order of the Highest Generals, the army of the Moon General Leen must be at the border with the Kingdom of Balium in two months.”

  The commanders looked at each other. Damn it! Why were they being sent to the cursed north again? To the border they shared with a kingdom Lidus had never fought against before. What could Balium, the birthplace of ‘The Black Gates’ sect, ever need from such a backwater as Lidus?

  And now the situation had been turned completely around. What did Lidus, aided by the knowledge and resources of the Empire, need from such a ‘beggar’ as Balium?

  “You’ll camp there and wait for further instructions from the Generals.”

  Helion suddenly banged his fist on the table.

  “Fuck you with your ‘wait for further instructions’. You’re sending us to war!”

  “I hasten to remind you, Senior officer, that you are a subject of the King. As the King decrees, so it shall be. The orders of the Generals are the King’s orders.”

  “Does the King know that we have less than half a million soldiers?” Hadjar asked. “More than a hundred thousand of them are untrained recruits. We don’t even have enough ammunition, or supplies, or even carts to load it all on!”

  The messenger of the General Headquarters turned around and gave him an icy look.

  “You’re Senior officer Hadjar, if I’m not mistaken. Is the medal you received for your actions at the battle of Blue Wind Ridge too heavy for you?”

  “I’ll have to sell this medal to buy food and armor for my soldiers!”

  “Then do it,” the messenger answered calmly. “Orders aren’t up for debate, Senior officer. I’m surprised I need to remind you of that.”

  Immediately, all the commanders started shouting at once. They suggested the messenger do several... Highly uncomfortable things.

  “Easy!” Leen said, and they all fell silent.

  The General turned toward the unpleasant woman, who shuddered slightly in response. The Moon General, even after losing a hand, was feared and respected by all. And as for the few who didn’t respect or fear her—they were either dead or a fool. The latter meant being dangerously close to becoming the former.

  “Does the King know about our poor condition? How drastically we suffered in that battle? Or did you just give him some papers and tell him some stories?”

  The messenger twitched as if she’d been slapped, then snorted again and threw several scrolls on the table.

  “Here is the order. On the first day of the third month, you must be encamped near the border with Balium, otherwise… It’ll be treason.”

  Looking at them haughtily, she left the tent.

  “Bloody officials!” Helion struck the table again. “This is suicide!”

  “No, it’s an order, Helion,” Leen took the scrolls and handed them to the others. “We’re once again going to war.”

  Chapter 73

  Hadjar and Nero came out of the tent. They saw hundreds of young, carefree men and women walking through the camp. The fresh recruits were trying on armor and testing the balance of their weapons. They looked like kids who’d decided to play ‘knights and demons’, running around, laughing and without a care in the world.

  They didn’t look like soldiers. They weren’t ready to die.

  “Senior officer Hadjar,” everyone around them said reverentially.

  He was saluted and people bowed to him. Hadjar tried not to look into their eyes—he didn’t want to remember those who would soon be taken by the grim reaper.

  Going past the general camp, Hadjar and Nero returned to their own camp. Where there’d once been a thousand tents, not to mention Dogar’s own marquee, now only two tents remained. The larger tent belonged to the senior officer, the other, more colorful tent belonged to his assistant.

  Hadjar moved the tent flap aside and went in. Unlike the General’s tent, the ground in his dwelling was covered with old, shabby mats, and not with planks. He’d inherited them from Dogar.

  Some scrolls, maps, and medallions lay on the numerous boxes that were being used as tables. It looked like a scientist, not a soldier, lived here. Serra often joked about that.

  The newly minted and only caster in the army’s ranks could’ve had her own tent. But she lived together with Nero, and because of this, their tent would often go up in flames. Then they’d be laughing and hugging, fixing it together and patching it up, and that’s why their tent was so colorful.

  “I don't believe that the King would have sent us to the border,” Nero grumbled and then sat down on a bunch of skins, rags, and mats.

  This pile of refuse was what passed for Hadjar’s bed.

  “He would’ve sent us,” Hadjar objected. “If he had no idea how unprepared we were.”

  “How could he not know? People have been singing songs about it all over the Kingdom for three months now!”

  “Ordinary people sing those songs, but the ass of his Majesty sits in a high tower in the Palace. The voices of the common folk are never heard up there.”

  Nero snorted. He took out his pipe and filled it with tobacco. He patted his clothes and found no flint. Hadjar filled his own simple, carved pipe with tobacco as well. His pipe was dear to him; it was a memento. He used his flint, lit it, and then threw an extra flint he had at Nero.

  They both inhaled and exhaled thick puffs of smoke.

  “Should we send a messenger?”

  “If you don’t regret spending the money,” Hadjar shrugged.

  “I don’t give the healers all my money, unlike you.”

  Hadjar only smiled. He was, as always, broke. He always gave the doctors and scientists his entire salary, buying a variety of ingredients needed for the Technique that strengthened his body. It was worth noting that the result had been quite noticeable thus far.

  His skin was almost as strong as stone. In any case, even the strongest strikes from practitioners below the level of the Bodily Rivers left no trace on him. The warriors who’d managed to cultivate meridians in their bodies could leave deep cuts.

  Even Nero's punches felt much weaker now. They were still deadly, but Hadjar could feel his progress.

  “Do you think it’ll be a waste of time?” Nero asked.

  “Absolutely,” Hadjar nodded. “Why do you think the King doesn't know the whole story and is sending us to war? And why we’re at war with The Black Gates in the first place?”

  “With Balium,” Nero corrected.

  “Don't be so naive, buddy. Balium is the cash cow of The Black Gates. If you start a war with that kingdom, you will have to fight the sect as well.”

  Nero thought about it for a moment and then shrugged.

  “I won’t argue with that,” he said, producing another ring of smoke. “If it turns out that the generals have forged the message...They'll be staked alive, at best.”

  “If they did it and it’s found out, sure,” Hadjar added. “I have a feeling the king’s going to have a lot of trouble on his hands soon, regardless.”

  The friends looked at each other. People were afraid to say it out loud, but rumors had spread throughout the Kingdom that a rebel army had appeared in the mountains to the northwest. Some had presumed that they would be led by the ‘true king’—Prince Hadjar. But most figured that one of the friends and generals of the late King Haver was in charge.

  They were most likely going to try and conquer the capital.

  Perhaps Hadjar should have joined them, but... he was going to seek his justice in a different way. And his path required something more than the iron medallion of a senior officer.

  He was waiting to receive a General's jade medallion. That would be the next step on his path to vengeance.

  “I smell…”
Nero pretended to sniff. “The Lascanians’ involvement in this sordid mess.”

  “I'm not gonna argue with you. I'm sure they’ve bribed some of the generals.”

  “Definitely. Besides, Balium is situated a bit too close to the nomads,” Nero suddenly jumped up and nearly dumped his tobacco onto Hadjar’s bed. “I think, my friend, that our Spirit Knight intends to take revenge. He's probably responsible for all of this.”

  “The Lascanian wouldn’t dare fight us while we have the librarian.”

  “I don't trust the Darnassian, either. He's a very unreliable old man.”

  “Everyone loves him,” Hadjar reminded his friend.

  Nero looked at his friend sternly and then grinned knowingly.

  “Except you, buddy. Except you.”

  “I don't like the way he looks at me,” Hadjar replied evasively.

  “Do you think our good-natured old man is not interested in women?”

  “I think…”

  Hadjar didn’t finish his sentence because he’d heard the noise of his tent flap being opened.

  When Serra, the dark-skinned beauty wearing light clothes, came inside, she immediately froze. Two steel daggers, glittering in the lamplight, were at her throat.

  Hadjar and Nero stood shoulder to shoulder, ready to strike down whoever had dared to come inside.

  “If you don't want to sleep with me, all you have to do is say so,” she shrugged and was about to leave, but Nero caught her by the elbow.

  “Sunshine of my life,” he said, imitating the accent of the merchants from the southern seas. “I'm ready to love you without stopping, until the harvest festival begins, and love you everywhere, even here.”

  “Not here,” Hadjar interjected dryly.