Dragon Heart: Iron Will. LitRPG Wuxia Series: Book 2

by Kirill Klevanski

  “But I’m not talking about that,” Serra continued. “About levels, that is…”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that this Immortal, Helmer, he’s not an ordinary man.”

  “We understand that.”

  “No, you don’t. You really don’t. Oh, gods… The Nightmare Lord is a demon!”

  Nero and Hadjar looked at each other. Admittedly, it hadn’t been the most pleasant creature, but…

  “Oh, how can you two be so damn uneducated?” Serra rolled her eyes. “The term ‘Demon’ isn’t simply a saying or a curse word. They do exist, and Helmer is one of them.”

  “The heart of a demon,” Hadjar recalled. “That’s what the Immortal called the stone artifact. Now I understand why I saw a red glow... It was demonic energy!”

  “What kind of demonic energy?” Nero asked.

  Serra looked at them as though they were a pair of hillbillies. When she thought about it, the inhabitants of the Kingdom of the Valley had probably once been perceived the very same way by everyone else.

  “Many energies exist,” she explained. “The simplest and the most widespread of them is the energy of the world. We all absorb and produce it. In fact, our cultivation happens thanks to it. But there are other, more concentrated energies. For example: the energy of water, or the energy of stone, or the sword energy… anything, in fact.”

  Hadjar listened carefully. The Master had explained something like this to him, though he had presented it as more of a guess. Serra was a lot more certain of what she was talking about.

  “There are more ephemeral energies as well, but they are no less concentrated. Imagine what would happen if a Spirit Knight decided to attack our Kingdom.”

  “They would most likely kill most of the population.”

  “They would kill almost everyone, yes.” Serra nodded. “And what would all the dying people experience before they passed away?”

  “Anger, fear, horror…”

  “Right, they would feel all sorts of negative emotions. All of this would generate a huge amount of negative energy. The energy would be very strong, but, at the same time, it would be inherently evil and destructive. It would be almost impossible to control... decomposing and devouring any cultivator who dared to touch it. But, according to the Master, there are entire sects and clans devoted to practicing the Techniques that allow them to harness it. And those who can reach unprecedented heights in the absorption and management of such energy cease to be humans. Instead, they become demons.”

  “Damn it! ‘Demons’ isn’t just a simple word.”

  Serra sighed. She turned her bottle over, made sure that nothing was dripping out of it, and then she threw it onto the pile of bottles that already littered the floor of the tent.

  “There are no such sects and clans in the Empires, as there are no references to them in the Master’s scrolls.”

  Hadjar remembered South Wind’s map, where these very Empires had been marked with very small points.

  Now he understood why.

  “I don’t know if it’s a good or bad thing that Helmer didn’t kill you.”

  “He said we would meet again,” Hadjar said quietly.

  Chapter 83

  Memories of their ill-fated invasion of Larvie’s castle ceased to be frightening after a week. Everyone dealt with what had happened in their own way. Nero and Serra were in their tent most of the time, though, of course, they were only alone after the squad’s training was over.

  Soldiers had to see that their officers were not only shedding sweat and blood with them, but that they could and would do it while bearing much greater weight on their backs. It was the only way that they could earn the respect and recognition of those below them.

  Hadjar also devoted himself entirely to meditation and personal training during this period. He was still attempting to master the first level of the ‘Ten Ravens’ Technique, but so far, it was proving more than difficult. He was talented when it came to sword practice, but everything else was hard for him. After a week, he was still only able to get twelve feathers out of the seventy-six.

  It was a hugely impressive result considering that the Technique could only be taught over a period of years in normal circumstances. But, for Hadjar, it was still proving to be too damn slow. He’d seen the far horizons he needed to reach, and he understood that he would remain just a microbe on the back of an ant if he continued to advance in his cultivation with such a perceived lack of speed.

  Hadjar decided to take a break after trampling the thirteenth feather into the ground once again. He untied a wooden bottle from his belt and sipped some of the healer’s fragrant brew.

  Wiping his lips, Hadjar sat down in a lotus position. He tried to get rid of his unsolicited thoughts for a few minutes—such as thinking about how he could progress much faster if he were in one of the Imperial Academies or sects. But all of that was just a vain fantasy.

  He couldn’t leave Lidus. Not yet, at least.

  By calming his mind and pacifying his heart, which was hungry for power and freedom, Hadjar took his sword from his belt and laid it out in front of him. This time, while breathing in the energy of the world, he attempted to try and pick out the slight flows of the sword energy within it.

  It had never occurred to Hadjar to make such an attempt before. He hadn’t wanted to waste his time on the Scholar’s guesses. After talking to Serra, however, he’d realized that it hadn’t just been speculation. The sword energy really did turn into knowledge.

  Hadjar knew that the sword energy was waiting for him somewhere in the depths of the universe, behind the veil of the world energy. He still didn’t know what to do with it, and he was far from understanding how it could help him. He just wanted to find it, for no other reason than to ensure his ability to see how truly huge this world was.

  But, try as he might, he didn’t achieve any significant results in a whole week.

  He didn’t find anything new in the whirling energy of the world, which was so easy to find and ‘collect’. He felt neither the power of the stones lying around him, nor the wind playing with his long hair, nor the sword lying at his feet.

  “Senior Officer.”

  The strange voice pulled Hadjar out of his period of deep meditation. He turned toward the sound with displeasure. The last soldier who’d decided to interrupt his meditation had been given extra training for a whole week afterward.

  What if he’d been experiencing enlightenment at that exact instant? What if he had found a way to sense the sword energy at that very moment, but then lost it because he’d been so rudely interrupted?

  The private chosen to carry out this assignment suddenly turned very pale.

  Hadjar pulled himself together and calmed down before he said anything.

  “Speak, Private.”

  “You’ve been summoned by the General, sir.”

  “Thank you.” Hadjar nodded. “You are free to go.”

  The recruit saluted and hurried away from Hadjar’s tent. He was in such a hurry that he almost lost his badly affixed scabbard and sword. Hadjar watched him sorrowfully.

  How can the Generals send these guys into war with Balium? It’ll be a miracle if they even survive the first battle. And that’s if they can even endure a week’s march before we reach the eventual battleground.

  Hadjar was confident in his own squad, but there was no denying the fact that the training of most of the army certainly needed to be improved. In the best case scenario, the training consisted of an hour of warm-up in the morning and a few sessions of sparring afterward. The commanders spent the rest of the time on close order drills.

  Sometimes, they were taught to just stand in line, occasionally putting up a wall of shields, but more often than not, they were instructed to simply follow the orders they were given.

  The soldiers weren’t being taught how to fight. Instead, they were being trained like dogs.

  Hadjar couldn’t tell General Leen about this. She woul
dn’t understand him, and nothing would change. It was a common practice in all the kingdoms, and perhaps even in the Empire itself. A simple law existed among practitioners when it came to being in the army—if you wanted to survive, you needed to do everything yourself: Here’s the library. Here are the Honor points. Come on, get to it.

  Hadjar went to the camp in his plain, patched up clothes, his belt a solitary, sorry-looking rope.

  He was welcomed and saluted by everyone again, and he habitually answered by nodding, rarely recalling someone’s name as they greeted him.

  When he reached the General’s tent, he barely looked at the soldiers on duty outside.

  Upon entering it, however, he saw exactly what he’d expected…

  About ten people were standing inside, except for the Moon General, who was sitting at the table. Serra stood to one side with Nero. The seven soldiers in the golden-colored armor of the personal corps of his Majesty were, at the same time, being utilized as sidekicks by the investigators.

  They were something like servants of the law, or rather, advocates of the interests of the nobility and the officials. If anyone faced corruption, class injustice, or anything like that, it was the investigators who accused those very people of being guilty—whether they’d committed treason, conspired, or engaged in bribery.

  The culprits, once found guilty, were sent to the dungeons, and then they would be burned, stoned or hung in the main city square.

  The three investigators looked calm and relaxed. They didn’t care that they were standing in the center of an army that, although smaller than before, was still one of the most famous armies in the whole Kingdom.

  They were two men and one woman in rather ordinary, bureaucratic blue robes—all three with swords at their belts. Damn it all! Hadjar could’ve bought enough ingredients to finish studying the Techniques that would enable him to strengthen his body if he could’ve just sold the handle of one of those swords!

  “Senior Officer,” one of the men greeted him with a slight sneer in his voice.

  Short, sweaty, and clearly sporting several chins, he was the most unpleasant-looking of the three investigators. A well-groomed, brown-haired girl with emerald eyes and a sleek man standing next to her completed the trio.

  Message to host...

  Hadjar dismissed it. He didn’t need the help of his neuro-chip for this...

  Completely ignoring the Generals’ dogs, Hadjar turned to his commander.

  “My General, you’ve sent for me.”

  “At ease, Senior Officer Hadjar.” Leen nodded. “The Investigators of the Generals wanted to interview you, Officer. Nero and the caster, too.”

  “Interrogate them,” the short, overweight man corrected in a smarmy voice. “We wanted to interrogate them, Moon General, not merely ask a few questions.”

  Leen’s gaze was steely, but she didn’t argue. At times like this, she resembled Akela from the stories back on Earth—a proud but already old wolf. And it seemed as though many would patiently wait for Akela to make a mistake.

  “We’ve already talked with the officer and the lady,” the fat man said as he dropped into a chair. Normally, few people could afford to do such a thing without Leen’s permission, but things had changed since the battle.

  “My General?”

  “Sit down, Officer.”

  Hadjar had asked this question because, unlike the fat, sweaty excuse for a man before him, he still had his dignity. There were few people in this world that he respected as much as he did the General.

  “What did you want to know?” he asked.

  “Mister Investigator,” the fat man added, smiling.

  Hadjar remained silent.

  “What did you want to know, Mister Investigator?” the simpering dog of the Generals completed his phrase.

  “You must be confused.” Hadjar demonstratively took his hands off his sword. “You’re the investigator, not me. Anyway, I’m not going to learn anything from you.”

  All fawning instantly disappeared from the plump investigator’s voice and appearance.

  “What do you think you are doing, Officer?” he asked, his tone more aggressive now.

  “Senior Officer,” Hadjar corrected him. “Taking into account the fact that you carry on your person the medallion of a junior investigator of the corps, I’m your senior by a rank.”

  “Peasant!” The lady snorted.

  “Perhaps I did something wrong, Miss Investigator? Maybe you are here today because you wish to take your revenge?”

  The soldiers in golden armor all stepped forward at the same time.

  Hadjar continued to calmly sit there. He was sure that he would be able to, if necessary, send all ten soldiers to hell faster than they could truly understand the fact that, although Akela was surely old, he was still the leader of the pack. Nobody in this pack would be allowed to look down on the Commander.

  “I think we’re getting slightly overexcited here.” The fat man smiled again. “Senior Officer, sir, we just wanted to talk to you about General Larvie.”

  The period of questioning that followed lasted almost half an hour. Hadjar responded exactly as they had all rehearsed many times. They’d known that this would be the most likely outcome after the recent events at the castle.

  He had fought Colin, and it was Colin who’d demanded that the terms be ‘to the death.’ General Larvie had then threatened him. He didn’t know anything about the castle. Where was he during the party? At first, he’d been at the War Council. General Leen could confirm this. Where was he later? He and his friends had been at the festival, and pretty much the entire city had witnessed their presence there.

  The same questions were repeated over and over for half an hour.

  “There are some inconsistencies in your story.” The fat man said with a smile. “You say that General Larvie threatened you. According to our information, the assassins of the Ax clan visited you many times in the days that followed Colin’s demise.”

  “In that case, Mr. Investigator," Hadjar replied with a grin, “You should look for a den of assassins, and stop trying to blame me for the murder of General Larvie.”

  “Nobody’s accusing you of anything. We just want to find out the truth. Perhaps this terrible crime was committed by murderers sent by Balium.”

  So, he was hinting to Hadjar that he was going to accuse him of treason.

  “Is our conversation over? I still have a lot to do. Our army is marching to the border with Balium in only a month’s time, Mr. Investigator. Perhaps you’re already aware of this fact.”

  “This conversation is over,” the short, rotund man continued to smile. He turned to General Leen. “We’re going to stay in Spring Town for the next month. The Crown requires that we carry out a thorough investigation, and so, according to their wishes, we are going to do just that. We hope that we’ll have permanent access to your camp during this time.”

  “Of course,” the General nodded.

  “Goodbye, then. I’m pleased I got a chance to talk with such fine folk heroes such as yourselves today. You may not be aware of it, but a song about Officers Hadjar and Nero is sung even in the capital.”

  The obese man stood up, dusted himself off, and walked out. The golden-armored soldiers and the lady followed him out. Only the sleek, pale man slightly delayed his departure in order to speak to Hadjar. He came so close that Hadjar could smell his lady’s perfume.

  “This might be a strange question, but ... have we met before, Officer Hadjar?” He asked in a whisper.

  “I believe that I’ve had no such honor,” Hadjar replied, feigning ignorance.

  The investigator stood still for a second, then he nodded, saluted to the General (he was the only one who’d done so), and then left.

  Hadjar stared at his back and added: “... Earl Vaslia.” Then a beastly smile appeared on his face for a fleeting moment as he watched the man depart.

  Chapter 84

  Hadjar woke up because his lips kept repeati
ng: “Duke Velen, Earl Vaslia, Primus, the Governor, the Viscount...”

  It was his second year in the army, and he had almost forgotten that he’d once fallen asleep every night while repeating these words, his own mantra. The list of names that justice was waiting for. Surprisingly, one of the people had come to him.

  Earl Vaslia had, at one time, been in charge of the entire General Intelligence Investigator corps. Hadjar had no doubt that the head of the local secret police had to have known about the ore and the conspiracy. Why hadn’t he informed the King? That was the question. Either Primus had bribed him or he had threatened him. Most likely, in Hadjar’s opinion, he had found some kind of dirt on Vaslia and blackmailed him.

  Otherwise, why would Vaslia now be running errands for the fat, young investigator? Surely, he would’ve just continued to sit inside his luxurious building that wasn’t far from the Palace, back at the capital.

  Hadjar understood Primus and why he had set this particular chain of events in motion. He knew it would be dangerous to kill such a person. The King could never be sure who Vaslia had told something to or how damaging it might be, or how to protect himself. He didn’t want to keep him around. No ruler loved traitors—especially ones who were close at hand. And no matter who they’d betrayed, if they had dared to put a knife in the back of the previous ruler, then who could possibly assure the King that Vaslia wouldn’t do the same to the current one as well?

  So, Vaslia had kept his life, but he had been demoted to the very last link in the chain. The Earl probably understood exactly why this had happened. It was funny that the ‘Earl’ now ran errands for a commoner.

  Hadjar wouldn’t be surprised to find out that Primus used the situation for his own purposes.

  It was very convenient to propagandize his ‘equal opportunities for everyone’ regime with this example. And, sometimes, when life became quite hard, the people were more than ready to believe it. Until the next riot. Until the city guards ended their lives with their blades. Not because they were monsters, but because they would otherwise be sent either to the mine or to join their forefathers. Only the slaves in the mines could determine which of these was the worst option.