“If he hasn’t already become a Heaven Soldier,” Serra admitted. “Nobody’s come after Hadjar for three nights, remember?”
“Do you often watch my tent at night?” Hadjar grinned, but saw only a skeptical look in return.
“You aren’t very good at bawdy jokes, Officer,” Serra said and nodded in Nero’s direction. “That’s his prerogative.”
Nero muttered something indistinct. But, as he didn’t want to spend a night in Hadjar’s tent, he didn’t repeat it out loud. Usually, Nero and Serra got along well; she didn’t often get angry with him. Especially at night. Those were the times when Hadjar had to go to the training ground to avoid the endless moaning.
Of course, he wasn’t against extra training. In his opinion, there was no such thing as ‘extra’ training. However, he sometimes wished he could get enough sleep. That way, he wouldn’t have to gulp down the Healer’s potion the following morning.
In cultivation, post-training recovery was just as important as the training itself.
“We need a plan.” Hadjar nodded, crawling out of the bushes and brushing any dirt off his clothes.
“Really? You think so?” Serra asked mockingly.
Hadjar was aware that, to an outsider, Serra might come across as a bit of a bitch, when, in fact, she just didn’t know how to express her feelings. Every time she behaved like this, Nero and Hadjar understood that she was just worried. For both of them. She worried about Nero’s wellbeing more, of course, but she still worried about Hadjar as well. She was a good friend to them both.
While they were walking back to camp, Hadjar recalled the caster’s story. He was interested in it because, apart from living in Lidus, he hadn’t really known anything else. There was a huge world beyond the valleys and rivers.
Serra had lived in a city that was located near a large oasis. It was ruled by the wise, old Shah Al-Badin. He welcomed all scholars, as well as any sects and clans to his city. He built golden streets for ordinary citizens, and he paid for the training of many talented young men and women.
He wasn’t a holy man. He was just old, decrepit and slowly dying. He wasn’t outstanding, and he wasn’t smart, good-natured, or handsome. So, why would people remember him? Who would sing songs about him thousands of years later? Upon realizing this, he’d become determined to leave behind a worthy legacy to ensure his name would be remembered forever.
Serra came from the family of an ordinary shopkeeper. They traded silk threads. They bought them for ten silver coins in the ‘sand port’—the place where the caravans arrived, and then sold them on for fifteen coins, living off the profit. They hadn’t been poor, but had still been far from rich.
The equivalent of the medieval middle class, you could say.
Soon enough, Serra had demonstrated her talent. By the age of six, she could write and read... in five languages. She could read the formulas her father used for observing the motion of the stars, and she also helped her mother keep a basic account book.
Such talent had been noticed not just by the schools in the city, but also by an itinerant Scholar. He’d suggested that Serra and her family should accompany him to the enchanted Underworld City.
The residents of the valley kingdoms had never heard of such a place, but the inhabitants of the Sea of Sand had been brought up on legends about the wonderful city and its wise Master. The Master, who knew a thousand and one languages and could speak to the wind and birds alike; who knew the names of all the stars and could cast spells that made oases spring up out of the sand, made it rain, and even produced a white substance called ‘snow’.
Serra’s parents hadn’t believed the wanderer at first, so he showed them several magic talismans and their abilities. Needless to say, the very next day, they were standing at the city gates with their possessions. But they never left...
The Shah was very old, but he was still clinging to life, battling his own infirm body to see each new day as his plans to improve the city were put into practice. His grandson became more miserable with every day that he didn’t spend on the throne. So, on the very day that Serra was supposed to begin her new life, he started a revolt. A revolt which burnt down half of the city and took Serra’s family with it...
She somehow made her way to the Underworld City. The girl, who had been accustomed to hearing only good reports on her progress, was suddenly among other rather smart disciples. She had to work long and hard to keep up, forgoing rest and communication with her peers. Eventually, she succeeded, and five years later, reached the rank of Master.
After another ten years of studying, she went on her first journey with one of the other Masters and some disciples. They crossed the Sea of Sand and arrived in the territory of the nomads.
Hadjar knew the rest of her story. He could understand why the girl was so introverted and bitchy sometimes. It honestly felt like he was the only one who actually understood why Serra hadn’t returned to the desert yet.
Neither Serra nor the stubborn Nero seemed to realize it.
“It’s hectic today,” Nero said, walking arm in arm with the dark-skinned girl.
The three of them had just crossed the central street of Spring Town. It was always busy here—people were constantly trading, discussing something loudly, or hurrying somewhere. But right now, it was simply overcrowded.
“I’m not surprised that taskmasters such as you two don’t know anything.”
“We aren’t taskmasters,” Nero replied.
“And we do know something,” Hadjar added. “A festival will be held here soon, right?”
Serra turned to Hadjar and gave him a warm smile.
“Well, at least one of you is civilized,” she said. “Yes. Everyone is preparing for the Rain Festival.”
Of course! In this region, a long drought alternated with a protracted period of rainfall, instead of winter. Something like the rainy season in the north, only it was slightly shorter in duration.
“For the Festival, you say,” Hadjar repeated quietly.
That gave him an idea...
Chapter 78
While the city was preparing for the celebration, and General Larvie still wasn’t showing any signs of life (which was especially unnerving), Hadjar didn’t just sit around, waiting. First, he’d saddled his squad with intensive extra training. Then, after delegating the rest of his duties to Nero and Serra, he’d gone to his personal training ground.
He wasn’t antisocial, but most of his training required him to be calm and able to focus. That’s why he had cleared a small place, uprooted a few stumps, and covered the ground with sand. He needed a personal parade ground in order to improve his skills.
People said cultivators often found suitable caves and spent a hundred years or more in them. Hadjar didn’t really believe these stories, but it was possible.
Now, beneath the midday sun, he read the ‘Ten Ravens’ scroll carefully. The Technique wasn’t very strong—not even above the Mortal level, so it would become useless to him as soon as he set foot on the path of the Heaven Soldier.
The neuronet confirmed it.
Object: The ‘Ten Ravens’ Technique scroll
Energy cost
0.05/sec
However, he only had the first volume. He hoped that the later ones contained much deeper knowledge, like with the ‘Fried Sparrow’ (‘Scorched Falcon’). He thought about this as he read the Technique’s description.
It said that a person who mastered it could turn into the Ten Ravens. Their movements would become similar to the birds’ own—they would be fast and almost invisible to the naked eye. Especially at night.
Hadjar smiled.
The Technique was certainly best suited for assassins or thieves, with its advantages coming to the fore in the shadows and in the darkness of the night. However, Hadjar couldn’t find a method that would allow him to turn into a cloud of darkness. He felt that this had been Delaha’s most impressive ability, and it was the one he was most keen to learn.
Per
haps the ‘Ten Ravens’ Technique wasn’t connected with that cloud ability? She could’ve had several artifacts—Hadjar had brought the ribbon and daggers straight to General Leen. Maybe the cloud had been something like the ghostly strikes of his ‘One with the Sword’ mastery?
Hadjar didn’t know anything for sure, but he didn’t intend to rack his brain, either. He really wanted to become stronger, which meant he needed to focus solely on increasing his speed for now.
Delaha had been right.
His sword was often quicker than his body’s own movements. Because of this, he usually had to slow his blade down. Previously, he had done it well enough. Now, however, when he held a real artifact of the Spirit level—the sword he’d named ‘The Moon Beam’—in his hands, he couldn’t slow it down effectively enough to use in battle.
Everything he knew about swordsmanship was embodied in this blade. It suited him much better than the typical, simple weapon given to an officer.
His attacks had gradually become stronger and faster. Even without reaching the stage of ‘One with the World’, he could hit a target at a distance of twenty-two steps, thanks to the artifact.
Hadjar smiled, remembering Serra’s calm gaze. When he and Nero had enthusiastically showed her their new blades, she’d inspected them as if she were an experienced merchant and delivered her verdict—they were at the Initial Stage of the Spirit level.
Hadjar didn’t know what that meant, but he figured that the Empire had deceived them—it was unlikely that the weapons, which didn’t possess any additional properties, except for their high quality, could possibly have been made from the Ancient Tigresses’ fangs.
However, you should never look a gift horse in the mouth. Hadjar wasn’t going to complain about his fate and the deception of the Darnassians.
Using the tip of his blade, he drew several circles in front of him. The distance between the circles and the radius of each circle were different.
Then, taking an armful of feathers, Hadjar carefully placed them in the center of each circle. He looked through the scroll again and noticed that, if he hadn’t been at the Formation Stage, this training would’ve been harmful to him.
He was required to circulate energy through his body, especially his legs, in a special way. He would master the initial level of the ‘Ten Ravens’ when he could step on each feather in less than two heartbeats without any of them being pressed into the sand. His movements would have to be far swifter and more precise than ever before.
Fortunately, the scroll contained detailed instructions and a description of the Technique, otherwise, Hadjar would’ve considered such training to be not just impossible, but absurd to even attempt.
Like a kangaroo, he kept jumping in and out of the circles until nightfall, re-drawing them and putting new feathers down again and again. Seven hours later, he finally managed to ‘fly’ correctly over one feather... out of 76.
Noticing that there was dangerously little energy left in his body and realizing that a member of the Ax clan could come after him tonight, Hadjar collected the feathers and returned to camp. Surprisingly, Nero and Serra’s tent was quiet. That was strange. They either loved each other loudly, or they argued even louder.
Thinking that the couple had gone off somewhere, Hadjar returned to his tent.
“We’ve been waiting for you,” Nero’s voice greeted him as he entered.
Serra and Nero sat at his table. They were freshly washed and dressed luxuriously. Serra had applied her makeup so skillfully that even Hadjar was amazed.
But what surprised him the most was the other person in his tent...
“My General.” Hadjar punched his chest and sank to one knee.
“At ease, Senior Officer.” General Leen nodded.
She was wearing her favorite armored corset and a three-toothed, steel hoop framed her golden hair, which was almost long enough to reach her hips. She wore only one gauntlet—the second one was no longer needed.
One of the creatures they’d fought had bitten off her left arm, and now the General either wore a wooden prosthesis or occasionally… she left the empty sleeve as is, swaying slightly.
“When were you going to tell me about everything that’s been going on, Senior Officer?” she asked sternly.
Hadjar looked at his comrades, but they looked away. No, she could hardly have learned anything specific from them. Honestly, he could scarcely expect to send an assassin on the eternal voyage almost every night without someone being aware. Well, maybe he could, but certainly not while he was in the camp of General Leen, albeit at a considerable distance from its center.
“May I ask, my General, what you’re referring to, exactly?”
“Do you have multiple secrets, Hadjar?” Leen arched her eyebrows slightly. Then, with a loud bang, she leaned forward and slammed a bundle of the Ax clan medallions on the chest/table. These were swiftly followed by the daggers and the red ribbon.
Damn...
“How long have you been going on dates with Ax assassins, Officer?”
Hadjar sighed. Well, if she only knew about this, then all wasn’t lost.
“About a month now, my General.”
“A month?” Leen didn’t even have to raise her voice, her tone alone was threatening enough. “For a month, Ax clan assassins have been skulking around my camp and you stayed silent? You’ve gotten impudent, Senior Officer! You are no longer an assistant. You are one of my commanders and cannot afford to be so irresponsible!”
“I know, my General,” Hadjar replied.
“Then why am I finding out about this only now?!”
Hadjar sighed and, with her silent permission, he sat down on a chair.
“It’s because of General Larvie. Rather, because of what I did to his son and your former adjutant.”
“I wouldn’t be a general, Officer Hadjar, if I were that stupid,” Leen said suddenly. “I understand that much.”
Hadjar was about to ask why she had come, in that case, but then he took in the General’s stern look. Previously, it could’ve bent not only Hadjar’s back but also split a rock in half. Now, however, there was clear fatigue behind the Moon General’s eyes.
Of course, she looked like she was only twenty years old, but in fact... In fact, she had spent much of her life in battle. She was tired. She’d lost her arm, and she’d lost close friends. No wonder she looked the way she did.
The battle at the Blue Wind ridge had broken something in her soul. Something very important and fundamental to her very being.
Then why had she come?
It was simple.
A year ago, upon learning that one of her commanders had been the target of several assassination attempts, she would’ve immediately taken up her spear. She would have laid siege to General Larvie’s castle and then put his severed head on a spike in the center of the city.
All that she could now do was aid them with their plan.
“Thank you, my General.” Hadjar stood and bowed.
“All four of us held a small War Council tonight,” she said. “This is what the general investigators will hear from me. The rest is up to you now, Officer.”
Hadjar gestured to his friends, and they immediately left the tent. He followed after them.
“Senior Officer!” The General called after him.
Hadjar stopped for a moment.
“Good luck.”
Chapter 79
Despite the late hour, everything was as clear and bright in the city as it had been in the afternoon.
Everywhere they looked, lights shone down from a variety of sources. The three friends were surrounded by burning torches, lamps hanging on hooks, and paper lanterns that had a small flame inside them. They were dangerous and highly flammable, but still insanely beautiful things.
The people were all having fun. They drank wine and beer, danced in the streets, and laughed and hugged each other with abandon. The fireworks seemed like they’d never stop, and flower petals floated through the air
, covering the cobblestones with a colorful and sweet-smelling carpet.
Ladies wore their best dresses and handsome gentlemen walked along the streets with them, arm in arm.
“Officer Hadjar!” Many of them called out upon seeing him.
“Officer!”
He was often welcomed not only by soldiers of the Moon Army but also by the ordinary residents of the city. It was kind of funny, because seven years ago, they hadn’t even known his name. And when he had finally settled in ‘Innocent Meadow’, he’d walked around the city like an outcast, hidden away under a black veil. He vividly remembered the time a passer-by had seen his face under the cloak—they’d screamed in horror and run across the road, to the other side of the street.
Now, he was given flowers, and girls scurried around him, trying to convince him to dance with them or drag him in the direction of another tavern.
“Have a drink with me, Officer.”
“Let’s dance!”
“Let’s go watch the fireworks!”
They rubbed against him like cats, and Hadjar was glad that he had left Azrea, the white kitten, behind, sleeping among the skins in the back of his tent. If anyone was jealous, it was Azrea. Suddenly, Hadjar realized that General Leen had been left alone in his tent with the sleeping kitten. Fortunately, it was unlikely that the kitten would feel anything negative toward the one-armed General. And Leen probably wouldn’t lay on his ‘bed’ and disturb the sleeping animal. At least he certainly hoped she wouldn’t.
Suddenly, something elastic brushed against his arm and he felt a fleeting, feathery touch on his groin—an area that hadn’t seen any use since his meeting with Stepha.
“Come with me,” someone whispered in his ear passionately.
Hadjar turned toward the speaker, and a girl with a deep neckline, clearly demonstrating the magnificence of her body, was standing in front of him.
Dragon Heart: Iron Will. LitRPG Wuxia Series: Book 2 Page 3