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

by Kirill Klevanski

  Hadjar was certain that they would prefer the ‘forefathers’ option.

  He threw back the skins and stood up. His whole body ached. Yesterday, he’d managed to overcome the twentieth feather, but this training was proving far from easy for him. He’d literally crawled back to the camp as rivers of blood had flowed from his knees.

  The healer had spent half the night nursing him back to health.

  He’d cursed as he’d worked and had said that Hadjar wouldn’t live till the war with Balium. More likely, the young man would end up dying during this reckless training of his.

  Almost two weeks had passed since the initial meeting with the investigators, and all that time, the fat man, the Earl, and the haughty lady had been coming to the military camp daily, as if it were their home. Hadjar had to accept the fact that the Investigation Assistant felt that something was wrong with the night in question. However, he could do absolutely nothing about it without any proof to back up his suspicions.

  The suspects all had airtight alibis. The General’s word couldn’t be doubted because of her status. And it was highly unlikely that the Chief Investigator would get his ass off his comfortable chair in the capital and come to such a backwater as this. He had his own work to do.

  Somewhere in the mountains, a huge rebel army was gathering. There were constant riots at the mine, and it was even rumored that the workers had managed to hang the imperial overseer. As a result, the legion had drowned one of the mineshafts in the blood of the slaves.

  Primus had apologized to the Governor, almost bowing to him... The King of Lidus... That title sounded ridiculous these days. The Kingdom was now ruled by officials, their families, and money. It had been that way for a long time. Corruption was now rooted so deeply in every aspect of society that it was perceived by the people as something completely natural.

  Even in the Moon General’s army, it was possible to buy a position. Of course, you couldn’t go about it directly. Instead, you needed to do it stealthily, through the General Headquarters.

  “Everything goes up in flames eventually. Don’t you agree, Azrea?” Hadjar smiled, giving a piece of dried meat to the fluffy kitten as it reclined at his feet.

  The kitten’s white, funny little muzzle came out of the skins, and she snatched the meat and dragged it back into the depths of her ‘cave’. It was strange how small she still was. An ordinary kitten would have already become a strong adult cat after half a year. But not Azrea.

  She had grown a little but was still a kitten. And she slept all the time.

  Hadjar understood that he had probably done something wrong along the way and wasn’t rearing the kitten properly, but he had no one to consult. He had never even heard of taming wild animals in Lidus. Even Serra, who came from a much more developed civilization, didn’t know a thing about it.

  Only Nero had mentioned that he’d once heard about the existence of a whole market for such animals. This was in the Empire, of course. Not in its suburban parts, but rather, in the capital city itself. The rumors, he’d explained, had said that the price of one animal was often absurdly high.

  Nero often joked about how, if he’d sold the Ancient Tigress’ cub, Hadjar could have bought himself a palace in the capital of Darnassus by now.

  He heard a discontented sniff from the depths of the skins.

  “No one is going to sell you.” Hadjar laughed.

  He suppressed the pain and fatigue with a potion provided by the healer, then he stood and walked over to his small chest. Opening the lid, Hadjar examined the contents. There were dozens of different bags of herbs and bottles inside.

  Taking a pinch from several containers, Hadjar mixed the ingredients together, poured them into a special solution, and then began to smear it over his body. At the same time, he circulated energy in a special way along his meridians.

  Compared to all the other Techniques currently known to him, the one for strengthening his body was the simplest one. At the same time, it was also the most expensive. He had only a week’s worth of herbs and powders remaining, and he hadn’t even completed half of the bloody ‘Ten Raven’ Technique yet.

  Fortunately, his body was already strong enough to withstand not only an attack from a weak practitioner’s weapon but also a clean shot from a bow.

  After applying the ointments to his body, Hadjar put on some underpants and left the tent. The camp was slowly coming to life around him. The fires had already been lit somewhere, and the tart smell of the soldiers’ ‘porridge’ was beginning to spread. Usually, they threw everything they could find into this mess. It was no wonder that it sometimes contained pieces of meat, various cereals, vegetables, and even the odd medicinal herb.

  Hadjar breathed in what little fresh air remained and headed over to the nearest wooden water tank. The weather hadn’t been particularly pleasant these last few days, and so it was presently filled to the brim with cold rainwater.

  Hadjar poured some over himself and shook it off like a dog. Aided by the cold, vigor and strength returned rapidly to his previously sleepy body.

  Since the morning’s gentle warmth had already dried him off, Hadjar had planned on throwing on a shirt and heading over to the parade ground just as a soldier ran up to him.

  “Senior Officer!” He was in a hurry, so he didn’t salute. “They’re... They’re…”

  Fear and determination mingled in the soldier’s eyes as he struggled to get his words out.

  “Calm down, soldier!” Hadjar didn’t know why his voice was so powerful. However, it helped. “What’s happening, Private?”

  “The Investigators are torturing our comrades, Officer.”

  The soldier looked up at the commander of the ‘fierce bears’ (the nickname given to the squad of one thousand madmen Hadjar had recently admitted into the army), and was dumbfounded. For a moment, the soldier had felt like he was talking not to a man, but to a wild animal, one that was very unhappy with the news he had just given it.

  Hadjar ignored the civil ‘our comrades’ bit, and instead chose to take action.

  “Lead me to them!” He ordered.

  The soldier nodded and ran back, going deep into the camp. Hadjar hurried after him—barefoot and wearing only his underpants, his sword gripped tightly in his hand.

  Chapter 85

  “Please hurry, Officer!” the soldier repeated.

  They passed several rows of tents as they ran. Sleepy, dumbfounded soldiers looked out from inside the tents. At first, they tried to salute the Senior Officer, but then they began to wake up. The people saw a soldier and Officer Hadjar, wearing only his underpants, running somewhere. It was unlikely that they were playing any type of game, so the soldiers took up arms and quickly followed after them.

  Within fifteen minutes, at least several thousand soldiers were running behind Hadjar. The farther they moved away from the center of the camp and toward the southern borders, the sharper their roars became—despite the soldiers not having a clue about what they were even running toward.

  Finally, they came to a clearing, and a thin, almost animalistic cry immediately assaulted their ears.

  Hadjar was greeted by the sight of several bare-chested soldiers tied to wooden posts, all of whom were screaming. Two girls and three boys. Their backs had already been ruined by the lashes they’d taken, rivers of red running down their legs and pooling on the ground beneath them, but the whip kept whistling through the air, removing another layer of skin and muscle with each new lash.

  Hadjar felt his grip on his sword become even tighter.

  He remembered this whistling vividly, and he knew just how painful such a torture could be if inflicted by a skilled person. His overseer in the Palace dungeon hadn’t just been able, but extremely talented. One lash from him could leave such a wound on Hadjar’s back that the prisoner would writhe in pain for weeks, almost swallowing his own tongue due to the screams that tore from his chest.

  The female investigator, wearing enormous earrings and a sadis
tic smile, kept lashing the soldiers with her whip that had several ‘tails’. The soldiers’ backs were being ‘caressed’ by seven thongs at once, and each of them had a small, steel barb at the end.

  If they hadn’t been practitioners, but ordinary people instead, even the slightest lash from such a weapon would’ve sent them to the skies.

  The investigator swung again, but this time, the whip froze in the air.

  Blood ran over Hadjar’s arm and down his shoulder, which hurt like it had been scalded with boiling water or bitten by seven snakes at once.

  He stood in front of his soldiers, holding the whip in his hand.

  The clearing became silent as Hadjar suddenly realized that the investigator wasn’t so weak after all. She wouldn’t have been able to hurt him at all if she hadn’t been at the Initial Stage of the Bodily Rivers at least. Considering her self-confidence, she most likely stood at a level similar to his own.

  This was immediately confirmed by a scan from the neural network.

  Name

  Gnary

  Level of cultivation

  Formation (Seed)

  Strength

  0.9

  Dexterity

  1.6

  Physique

  1.2

  Energy Points

  1.98

  “What the hell are you doing?” Gnary screamed.

  That was her name—Gnary. She had an upland name and appearance—thick, brown hair, a lean body, and loose-fitting clothes.

  Behind the investigator, her colleagues looked up from their chess game. Ten armored warriors stepped forward, and from the corner of his eye, Hadjar saw several thousand soldiers unsheathe their weapons all at once. They formed a ring around their wounded and moaning comrades.

  “Untie these soldiers and bring them to the healer of my squad,” he ordered.

  The soldiers rushed to carry out their Officer’s order.

  “Don’t you dare!” The interrogator shrieked.

  She pulled at her whip, but Hadjar’s grip was much more powerful than a simple practitioner at the Formation Stage could overcome. Because of the progress he’d made so far, Hadjar was able to fight against those who were at the Transformation of the Spirit Stage. In other words, those who were on the verge of becoming true cultivators.

  The soldiers flinched and stopped trying to untie the strong knots.

  Hadjar didn’t utter a word. He just turned to them and met their gazes.

  It was enough for the soldiers to get back to business, completely ignoring Gnary’s continued screeching in their direction.

  “How dare you, Officer,” the woman hissed, unable to pull the whip out of the man’s grip, despite her continued attempts.

  “You’ve crossed a line here, lady investigator,” Hadjar said calmly. However, this apparent composure alerted Gnary’s colleagues, and the soldiers in the golden armor unsheathed their weapons.

  Those who weren’t busy helping their comrades-in-arms got ready to fight. They stood behind Hadjar, and he knew that just one word from him would be enough to make sure that neither the golden-armored soldiers nor the ‘dogs’ of the General Headquarters left this clearing alive. And it was unlikely that someone from the army would run to the city center to report these events.

  The march to the border they shared with Balium was incredibly close now, and all the soldiers knew that they would soon be able to rely only on their companions.

  During such days and weeks in the army, the friend or foe mentality was especially potent. Never more so than right now.

  “They dared contradict me,” Gnary tried to pull back the whip once more, but Hadjar’s hand didn’t even twitch in the direction of the woman’s ineffectual tugging. “They are my juniors in rank and status, but they have dared to sneer at my questions! It’s a violation of the Statute!” she screamed.

  “At the moment, it’s you who is violating the Statute. I’m superior to you now, Mrs. Gnary.”

  As the lady attempted to pull the whip again, Hadjar unclenched his fingers, releasing it, and the woman fell back into the mud. She stood up, blushing with anger and the awareness of her own impotence as she tried to wipe the mud from her clothes, merely smearing it in further in the process. The lady was about to say something when the rotund man came forward.

  His name was Eliot. Or something like that. The name was very soft and ‘fat’—just like its owner.

  “Senior Officer,” he said, keeping his voice ingratiating. “You know you’re in the wrong currently, don’t you?”

  “The punishment that is due for such a transgression is one lash. During the time it took me to run over here, I heard no less than seven. And that doesn’t take into account the fact that the soldier who’d initially seen all this happening had to run and find me first.” Hadjar cracked his neck and put his hand on the hilt of his sword. “This isn’t just an excessive punishment, Mr. Investigator. This is an attack on my army.”

  Hadjar didn’t take a step forward; he didn’t even move a single muscle. He only imagined the pleasure he would feel if he were to chop the head of this ‘dog’ clean off. It was enough to flatten the grass around his legs, and the fat man recoiled, swallowing nervously. It seemed to him like a hungry beast was roaring in his face. A mighty and ferocious predator, staring him down.

  Seeing their boss’ state, the golden-armored soldiers simultaneously took half a step forward. One glance at Hadjar’s sky blue eyes, however, and they paused midstep, unsure of whether to keep going.

  “One more step and I’ll end you all. I swear it by the endless sky.”

  The only other people Hadjar hated this much were the Royal corps. In particular, the Royal bodyguards. Those who had betrayed his mother and father and had been directly involved in his mother’s death.

  “I-I-I… wi-wi-ill...” the fat man stuttered.

  He had returned to his natural state—a downtrodden, terrified coward. Such people didn’t tend to join the army, but, still desiring a position of authority, they looked for other ways to get it. Apparently, this disgusting, sweaty excuse for a man had deemed this charade a viable route.

  Hadjar turned toward him and feinted to step forward. That and a second glance were enough for Eliot to repeat his colleague’s embarrassing mishap. Recoiling in fear, he ended up entangled in his long, rich robes and fell to the ground.

  The soldiers behind Hadjar laughed.

  “We’re finished here,” Hadjar said, causing the laughter to quickly die down.

  He had already turned his back on the ‘dogs’ when the Earl, still seated at the chessboard, spoke up.

  “Don’t be in such a hurry, Senior Officer,” he said quietly, but still loudly enough to be heard by everyone. “Gnary was right.”

  “What are you talking about, Earl?” Hadjar growled. “She’s violated-”

  “My colleagues haven’t violated anything,” Vaslia interrupted. “Besides the initial altercation, your soldiers also insulted her several times. Someone even offered to warm her bed.”

  Hadjar looked at the soldier who’d run to him for help. The young man lowered his gaze and turned away.

  Hadjar sighed heavily.

  “Tell me, Senior Officer, how many lashes must be given for such an offense?”

  Hadjar didn’t need to rack his brain. The Statute was in the database of the neuronet, and, therefore, was always available to him in full.

  “Thirty-two.”

  Not because anyone cared that much about insults or the honor of women. No, it was simply that, if they were allowed to indulge in such behavior, then, soon enough, the atmosphere wouldn’t have been healthy in the mixed-gender army.

  Therefore, ‘sexual harassment’ was punished at once and severely in order to prevent the emergence of such desires. If they became commonplace, there would be huge issues ahead.

  Hadjar looked at Gnary. Standing up straight and with her head held high, she didn’t look all that offended. No, she looked like a cunning fox that had
run into the chicken coop, eaten several hens, and then made a nearby watchdog take the blame for her actions.

  There was no doubt that she was the one who had provoked the soldiers.

  “What’s going on here?” a familiar voice sounded.

  The Moon General came into the clearing, wearing her half-armor. In her hand, she carried her long, white spear. Nero, Serra, the squad commanders, and her huge bodyguards followed the General into the clearing.

  “My General.” Hadjar immediately fell to his knee. The several thousand warriors behind him did the same in unison.

  “Lady Leen,” the Earl bowed. “Let me tell…”

  It didn’t take much time to catch her up.

  The General shook her head and turned to Hadjar.

  “They are right, Senior Officer,” she said softly.

  Hadjar saw how tightly she was gripping her spear and how eager her bodyguards were to fight. But she was too tired. She hadn’t been her old self after the battle at the Ridge. Leen was no longer the Moon General who’d been feared and respected throughout the Kingdom. She was only a shadow of her former self.

  The real General had stayed with her friends on that field of death, never to return.

  “Bring me the guilty soldiers!” Gnary shouted.

  The soldiers looked at the General. She nodded, and several dozen soldiers started walking toward Hadjar’s camp. But a few moments later, not believing their eyes, they paused.

  The ferocious senior officer, whose sword had been immortalized in a thousand songs, had suddenly dropped his weapon on the ground.

  “These five soldiers survived the battle with the nomads. They fought on the Fort walls to let you, Lady Investigator, sleep peacefully and spin your petty intrigues.” Hadjar took off the shirt that Nero had brought with him. “In a month, they’ll march to the border with Balium. Once there, they’ll spill their blood so that you won’t have to warm the bed of foreigners.”