Hadjar’s power had amazed the other cultivators. The roaring dragon with a blue pattern gleaming on its midnight-black scales made many of the warriors tighten their grip on their weapons. They were afraid of this odd Heaven Soldier, afraid of the possibility that his attacks might truly be equal to that of a Lord’s. They’d heard tales about such monsters… But still, their desire to acquire the power of the ancient Masters helped them overcome their fears.
The dragon collided with the spear-covered wall of brown energy.
However, the explosion that followed wasn’t due to the collision of those two Techniques, but a natural consequence of the four bombs that had been placed in the corners of the ‘battlefield’ going off.
Hadjar smiled to himself.
Einen had understood his plan without so much as a word being spoken between them. They’d known that the Dinos siblings, Dora, and the Eternal Mountain clan were strong and that there was no chance that they’d failed their trials. Therefore, Hadjar had been certain that they would come after them. Had the circumstances been different, forcing him to fight fairly, he was sure that he and Einen wouldn’t have gotten to see another dawn.
He knew that he’d be strong enough to face any foe with his sword alone one day. But the mind was also a weapon, the greatest one of them all, in fact. Therefore, as long as he couldn’t clear his way with just his sword, he’d do so with his wits.
His battle against Proximo hadn’t been about him killing the spearman and getting out of here. He’d dueled the man with the intent of buying Einen enough time to plant the bombs without being noticed.
“What’s going on?”
“Where did those explosions come from?”
“Fucking hell! What’s happening to the World River?”
The simultaneous explosions had created such violent turbulence in the streams of the World River that they’d cut the cultivators off from their energy source.
The dragon and the wall disappeared the moment they came together. Not because they were equal in power, but because the disturbance in the energy flows wouldn’t allow either of the two warriors to maintain their Techniques.
“What the-” Proximo looked down at his hands in surprise and disbelief. They still held his spear, but he could no longer feel any power in them.
Screams and shouts could be heard coming from the herd of cultivators running toward them. Because they’d been racing to reach the two warriors, they’d all used movement Techniques. And since they were now unable to access their energy, they lost all momentum. Most of them managed to get their bearings and land on the stairs, or at least grab the railings or the edges of the staircases. Some, however, plummeted into the chasm below, failing to react in time. Judging by their fading voices, it was a long, long way down.
“Fucking barbarian!” Tom shouted in anger. He’d landed several flights away, on the opposite side of the staircase that Hadjar and Proximo were standing on.
“Proximo!” Hadjar called out, grinning like a wild animal. “Our fight isn’t over yet!”
The spearman dusted himself off, his eyes flashing with determination. He nodded his agreement.
“I don’t know what you did, Darkhan, but I-”
He didn’t get to finish talking. Instead, he just gurgled.
Hadjar was fast. Some of the people who were still watching their fight thought that he was somehow using a movement Technique. In reality, all he was doing was using brute force. He’d pushed away from the steps with such explosive power that he’d left an imprint on the ground.
However, Proximo had managed to react. When Hadjar had taken off, he’d placed his spear in front of him. Unlike Anise, he’d done so clumsily. It was clear that he had no experience in simple combat. He possessed truly powerful Techniques, there was no denying that. He used the power of the World River with great expertise and his energy body was really strong. But despite all of that, Proximo, who’d been brought up on alchemical concoctions and who’d used several shortcuts to get to where he was today, had an even weaker foundation than Hadjar did.
They both had no formal style, nor had they been taught by wise and experienced Masters. But while Proximo had won a handful of battles before today, Hadjar had survived many wars and the horrors that followed after them.
Halting abruptly in front of the spear, Hadjar had used the momentum of his strike to kick it aside, then he’d somersaulted and landed with his knee on Proximo’s weapon. There’d been a loud crunch. Deprived of energy, the spear hadn’t been able to withstand Hadjar’s kick. If he’d been a regular cultivator, he would’ve broken his knee. But he had a dragon’s heart and a body strengthened by the Wolf Broth.
The moment the first splinters had flown upward, Hadjar had already placed the Black Blade in front of him. Cutting through the air, it had also sliced into Proximo’s Adam’s apple. Choking on his own blood, the nobleman fell back, landing with a heavy thud. He stared up at the ceiling with glassy eyes. His body slowly turned pale and limp.
“Close my... eyes…” he gurgled. “I want to... see... the sky one last time.”
Hadjar had only started leaning down to touch his face when he’d heard an alarmed cry coming from behind him.
“Hadjar! To your right!”
Reacting to Einen’s shout, he turned and saw a flaming arrow. The one that had managed to sort of stand up to even Ana’Bree’s attack.
That fucker Tom had had another artifact up his sleeve this whole time!
With a wide grin, the junior heir of the Predatory Blades clan hurled it straight at Hadjar. The latter, knowing full well that he wouldn’t be able to use any energy due to the state of the World River around them, only managed to raise his sword in front of him. It wouldn’t save him, but he wasn’t planning to go down without a fight.
Suddenly, Einen leapt out of the shadows in front of him, which should’ve been impossible in these circumstances. With his arms outstretched, he prepared to shield his friend from the firestorm with his own body. Hadjar reached out to push him aside, but he couldn’t even lift a finger. A mysterious blue light surrounded him.
He felt something pulling him backwards, but not quickly enough to avoid Tom’s artifact killing him.
“No!”
To Hadjar’s surprise, he wasn’t the one who’d let out that cry.
Einen screamed, his voice the pure embodiment of anguish. Locks of snow-white hair fluttered in the wind. Dora, who’d jumped in front of him, had protected Einen from the artifact.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered through bloodied lips, then she slid down the islander’s torso.
The last thing Hadjar saw were the tears trickling from those purple eyes. Einen, without saying a word, lowered Dora to the ground. A crimson stain bloomed beneath her, blood gushing out from the fist-sized hole in her chest.
Chapter 727
H adjar’s hand, drenched in blood, slid down the stone wall that separated him from the previous hall.
“Congratulations, young warrior, you-”
“Shut up!” Hadjar growled. Without turning around, he slammed his fist into the stone barrier, breaking his knuckles. “Shut up and let me out of here!”
There was a moment of silence, followed by an eerie, hollow laugh. It sounded as if someone was banging a bunch of bones together.
Hadjar turned involuntarily. His hand, still clenched into a bleeding fist, hovered in the air. What he saw made him rather uneasy. He’d already seen the living dead once. But those had just been puppets of the Dah’Khasses, nothing more than the hollow shells of the people they’d once been. But what stood before him now was a true representative of the undead.
On a throne placed upon a pedestal situated between two flaming urns, sat a skeleton clad in battered, Imperial level armor, a seven-pronged crown adorning its head. It stared at Hadjar with its empty eye sockets. With its left hand, it gripped the armrest of the throne, and with its right, it leaned on a broadsword with a long crossguard.
Hadj
ar had no idea who the skeleton had once been, but he recognized the sword, or rather, the symbols that formed an elegant pattern along its broad blade.
He’d heard of it before, in the stories of bards and minstrels that gathered in taverns and around campfires. Strumming their lutes, they’d sing about the sword that was as famous as its owner, named The Wailing of Cities — the mighty weapon of Emperor Decater. It was a Divine level artifact. Even hundreds of thousands of years after Decater’s death, the disciples of ‘The Holy Sky’ School had continued to search the Wastelands, hoping to find it and harness its power. According to the legends, a single swing of that sword, even if it was being wielded by an average Spirit Knight, would be able to kill a hundred opponents.
Hadjar hadn’t believed the stories as he’d never been one to put much faith in legends, but now, after seeing The Wailing of Cities in person, and being able to sense the power contained within it, he suspected that they were all true for once. The weapon, which had been infused with an Imperial level Technique, could destroy a flying battleship with just a couple of attacks.
Thank the gods that there were only about ten such swords in all the Seven Empires, and most of them were either made up or hidden somewhere.
“Decater?” Hadjar said. Then, catching himself, he gave a salute and bowed low. “Greetings, your Majesty. Please forgive my rudeness, but could you bring me back?”
“Back?” The skeleton spoke without moving its jaw. Then again, given that it had no vocal cords, no lips, and no tongue, it didn’t need to. The voice coming from the skull sounded almost human. “You’re a strange little warrior. No one I can recall has ever asked to go back to the staircases. On the contrary, they were deathly afraid of that place. They feared it even more than the Soul Maze.”
“Soul Maze?”
“The infinite hallway of endless turns,” it explained, “which opens its doors only when you pay a blood toll. The creator of this place believed that cultivators were most reluctant to part with their own blood. And he was right. Arrogant bastards…”
The skeleton laughed. Hadjar realized that he wasn’t the first visitor it had had. And if it was still sitting on that throne, then... It was like that guardian, a puppet bound by an oath to perform its duty.
“Bring me back,” Hadjar demanded, almost using a commanding tone.
The empty eye sockets, as well as the marble floor of the gigantic room, flashed blue. Hadjar tried to ignore the fact that the skeleton had no eyes. For some reason, he found that more unsettling than anything else that was going on around him.
“You, a mewling weakling, dare to order me around?” The skeleton’s roared, making the flames in the urns flicker and quiver. “How dare you even think that-”
“My friend is in trouble,” Hadjar interrupted it and his eyes narrowed. “I don’t care if you’re an Emperor, a god, or a demon; I demand that you take me back!”
The skeleton leaned back in its throne and stared at him.
“And you’d trade my Master’s gifts for your friend’s life?” It asked, half disgusted, half interested.
“Once, for the sake of a friend, I gave up the Inheritance of an Immortal Swordsman,” Hadjar replied in a steely tone of voice. “What’s your Master’s Inheritance to me, Nameless Emperor?”
Even the great Decater himself hadn’t been able to break through the shackles of the Nameless level. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have been here, locked up and deprived of his freedom, forever doomed to be a skeleton.
His response made the undead laugh again. This time, it even threw back its skull and twitched its jawbone.
“I’m sorry, little warrior, but I can’t send you back,” it finally replied, “As you may have already guessed, I’ve been put here to do my Master’s bidding, may the most horrific creatures of the abyss devour his soul. May his name be forever lost in the ages. May-”
While Hadjar tried to come up with a way to get out of this room and help Einen, the skeleton continued to curse its Master. Apparently, their relationship hadn’t been the best.
“You mean Erhard?” Hadjar asked.
“Erhard…” The skeleton spat out air as it didn’t have any saliva. “One of the most damned of all fools. However, lover boy suffered a fate much worse than those of us who were left here to greet new idiots.”
“What are you talking about?”
The skeleton’s fingers gripped the throne’s armrests with such force that the marble cracked under the pressure.
“About this! I’ve been sitting on this damned throne for ages, forced to deal with one power-hungry idiot after another! I’ll tell you this much, nothing in this world is free! Everything has a price!”
Hadjar looked at the skeleton’s battered armor and sword.
“And the price you had to pay was this throne?” He guessed.
The skeleton nodded.
“I couldn’t fulfill my end of the bargain. So, to repay him, I took my place among the other 116 of the Master’s disciples, all of which are now stuck here like me and greeting those who’ve passed the previous three trials: the trial of the Wandering Soul, Wandering Heart, and Wandering Power. And, now, for the last trial — the trial of the Wandering Will. Only those who pass all four can enter the treasury.”
“I don’t care about any of that. I need to go back, right now!”
“As I’ve already told you, you stupid commoner, that’s impossible!” The blue light flickered again in the skeleton’s eye sockets. Then it settled in the right one, seemingly looking at something. “You can calm down, though. Your friend is with Kiy Doriask.”
Hadjar recognized that name. Kiy Doriask was one of the legendary heroes of Lascan. He’d become famous for his skill with a spear-staff.
“That means…”
“That during the trial of Wandering Power, you proved yourself to be a swordsman’s apprentice. Although, if it had been up to me, I would’ve made you stay at least a spitting distance away from the secrets and Techniques-”
“Why so close?” Hadjar asked.
“What?”
“You have no saliva, you can’t really spit. At least not far, right?”
“...”
“I mean-”
“Shut your mouth and let’s begin your final trial already. By the gods and demons, I hope you fail.”
Decater rose from his throne and raised his sword above his head. His heavy sabatons made a hollow echo. Hadjar tried to summon the Black Blade but realized that he couldn’t even move. His energy flows had been cut off and the neural network was malfunctioning.
What’s going on here? He thought, panicking a little as he watched the skeleton draw closer.
Chapter 728
“I t’s one of the simplest but most difficult trials, little warrior,” the skeleton said. “Only your willpower will be tested here.”
Hadjar continued staring at his hands in bewilderment. He’d lost his connection to the World River. Whoever had created this world had been the absolute master of it. The energy just flowed around the great hall, and no one, not even the most powerful of Immortals, would’ve been able to touch it.
The skeleton’s fingers closed around the hilt of its sword.
“If your willpower is strong enough, my sword will stop before it reaches you.” It chuckled. “If it isn’t, your wish will come true and you’ll leave this room. You won’t die. You’ll only be thrown out of this world. You won’t be able to tell anyone about what you saw here or find the entrance ever again, even if it’s right in front of you. You’ll be banished from this place. You have only one chance, you fool. And if you have any brains in that head of yours, you’ll fail.”
As the skeleton spoke, Hadjar sensed that he was losing his connection to the Sword and its mysteries, followed shortly by the ability to enter his soul. He didn’t sense his Call, the Black Blade, or the Quetzal bird. Even the Spirit’s mark on his back disappeared.
Hadjar was completely alone against The Wailing of Cities, the mi
ghtiest blade he’d ever seen in person. He was as alone as he’d been many years ago, when, small and utterly weak, he’d decided that he would grow stronger.
All he’d ever wanted was to explore this magical world, find out all its secrets, solve all its riddles, and figure out if it had an end, and where that end was.
He’d wanted to run and jump around, enjoying his new, healthy body. He’d wanted to love, to lose, to worry, to find, to meet, to be happy, to be sad. He had wanted to live a free, fulfilling life.
But those days were long gone, drowned in a river of blood, and lost in the endless struggle to see the new dawn. He’d built so many walls around himself. But the creator of this amazing and frightening place had easily broken them all down.
Staring up with azure eyes full of uncertainty, Hadjar watched the sword fall toward his head. Was his willpower truly unyielding?
What had the skeleton actually offered him? It had said nothing about the power that lurked in the treasury. It had, however, mentioned something about what every cultivator who aspired to reach the peak of cultivation deprived themselves of. And what any dying person at the very bottom of that very staircase regretted and wished for in the end...
Proximo... His only request when faced with death had been for Hadjar to close his eyes so he could see the sky one final time and return to when he’d been happy…
…not because he’d been stronger than others, but because… Well, because of whatever had once brought him joy. It could’ve been his home, his friends, a dish he’d liked to eat, the person he’d loved most of all… Anything. But not power, no.
Hadjar hadn’t known Proximo well, but he knew that power had never brought him happiness. It had never brought Hadjar happiness, either. On the contrary, the more power he’d accumulated, the more misfortune he’d suffered. It was as if every grain of power he acquired meant a drop of blood that had to be spilled, along with another death to pave his way. When was the last time he’d been happy without his happiness being connected to his sword? A long, long time ago… Back when he’d been a little boy, back when he’d been Prince Hadjar Duran of Lidus…
Dragon Heart: Land of The Enemy. LitRPG Wuxia Series: Book 8 Page 37