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

by Kirill Klevanski

“General Hadjar!” Echoed through the rocks.

  Chapter 93

  Hadjar looked at Azrea, running and jumping around in their new house. The General’s tent looked much better than the Officer’s had. Still, that had been the best housing available to them at the time.

  Hadjar walked across the wooden floor to a large bed. It still smelled like General Leen. Her hair ribbons, the only decoration that the deceased General had been able to afford, were still on the nightstand beside the bed.

  Removing the leather strap from his hair, Hadjar took a white ribbon and tied his own ponytail with it. It was a tribute to the woman who had given her life so that hundreds of thousands of others wouldn’t have to do the same.

  “Damn it,” Hadjar hunched over because of the severe pain coursing through his shoulder.

  His bandages were covered in red spots again. Despite the best efforts of the healer, the wound left by Deren’s blade would take at least a month to properly heal. Fortunately, this month would be dedicated not to fighting, but to administrative issues.

  Changing the General of an Army wasn’t as simple as merely transferring a medallion from the former commander to the new one. Confirmation from the General Headquarters was required. Therefore, Hadjar was currently just the acting General, and not yet confirmed as the official successor.

  “Where shall we put it?” The bodyguards, which now served him, asked.

  They were holding the silver spear and the heavy sword covered in golden runes in their hands.

  “Over there,” Hadjar waved his hand toward a spot where a chest full of different items had previously been. Apparently, Leen hadn’t known how to say goodbye to useless things. It was a sign of a childhood spent in poverty. Hadjar had no such habits; with Nero’s help, he had quickly taken all the unnecessary ‘junk’ from the tent and disposed of it.

  Although Nero had done most of the work for once and Hadjar had been the one goofing off.

  Only three days had passed since the battle, and Hadjar performed his daily duties only because he had the help of the healer’s drugs. He wanted to go to sleep for a week, a desire that grew stronger by the hour. But he couldn’t because a multitude of administrative problems still awaited him.

  The guards placed the spear and sword on a special stand, saluted, and went outside, where they continued to perform their duties.

  Sitting down at the table that had the huge map on it, Hadjar sighed heavily.

  They were still positioned near the gorge. The enemy army, damn them all to hell, was still on the other side of the pass. It couldn’t be said that the Senior Officer who was running the army after Deren’s death didn’t respect the old laws, but... for some reason, they still hadn’t retreated, although they’d raised white flags and didn’t seem like they were going to attack.

  Of course, Hadjar didn’t believe they’d stay peaceful, so he’d sent a group of scouts to observe their activities. The engineers had already put traps in the gorge at his request, and the archers had chosen the best positions to set up in.

  After spending ten years as a slave, Hadjar hadn’t lost all of his faith in people, but there was no denying that he had a lot less of it now. It was no wonder he’d decided to be prepared, just in case.

  Hadjar had also given his former Senior Officer medallion to Nero. Fortunately, this hadn’t caused any protests or accusations of nepotism amongst his army. The soldiers of his army both respected and feared their new General in equal measure. They believed in his decisions and had no intention of questioning any of them.

  After receiving the medallion, Nero had immediately hurried to choose a junior officer and assistant. Serra had declined the position. She refused to form a squad of casters as well, explaining that no one would be able to learn anything of note, and that the soldiers in that squad would be useless without the required knowledge...

  Many scrolls were then brought to Hadjar. Detailed information about the budget of the army, their food supplies, the number of troops, and the ‘quality’ of said troops were all contained within. The saddest thing was that the army of the Moon General, according to these scrolls, was on the verge of absolute ruin.

  They had enough arrows for half an hour of battle. The carts transporting the food were almost empty. Hunger would be an issue soon, and there were some problems with discipline, if not outright lawlessness. Hadjar knew that stories were often told about how soldiers would be reduced to roadside banditry because they couldn’t get food otherwise.

  It soon became clear to Hadjar that Leen had really sacrificed herself for the sake of the army. More precisely, she’d done so to let the army return to Spring Town, where it could, at least, be saved from this oncoming severe food shortage.

  The neural network was already actively processing data, trying to provide at least some kind of realistic solution to Hadjar’s issues. He thought about this and the many other complications nonstop.

  Where could he get a hundred thousand sets of armor? It turned out that a seventh of his army were wearing what they’d brought with them to their exam. The exam itself was a sideshow. After the battle of Blue Wind ridge, everybody had been admitted into the army. Judging by the papers, no less than forty thousand ordinary ‘mortals’ had been recruited into his army! These were people that hadn’t even reached the level of the ‘Bodily Nodes’!

  Those poor people were nothing more than cannon fodder.

  Aside from the lack of armor, the army had neither gunpowder nor cannonballs. On top of that, they would also have to buy tens of millions of arrows, but their available funds were almost equal to zero.

  “Lady Luck doesn’t seem to like me.” Hadjar sighed, stroking Azrea as she slept on the table beside him.

  The kitten wasn’t interested in the problems of people. She stole another piece of jerky, lay down on the map, and snorted sleepily.

  “General Hadjar, may I come in?”

  It was the old Librarian. He was the same as before: deceptively kind and calm, wearing expensive but still somehow rather ordinary-looking clothes. His whole appearance was intentionally crafted to make him likeable, when, in fact, the soul of this particular Heaven Soldier was darker than the deepest, darkest pits of hell.

  He makes my skin crawl!

  “Come in, Venerable adept,” Hadjar nodded.

  The old man entered, looked around, and smiled faintly.

  “You’ve changed a lot in here,” he said, sitting down at the table.

  “I just did some cleaning and cleared a few things out.” Hadjar shrugged. “I don’t mean to disrespect you, Venerable adept, but, if you’ll excuse me, I have a lot on my plate, so…”

  “Let’s get to the point, then. I like your approach to things, General. Leen, let the gods be gracious to her, was a woman. She was strong, powerful...but a woman nonetheless. She just didn’t have a male approach to solving problems and sometimes, because of this, things ended up very delayed…”

  The Librarian would’ve continued to talk about the different genders as he perceived them, but Hadjar’s look stopped him cold.

  “Well, let’s get to it,” he pulled out a small box and put it on the table before Hadjar. “A full copy of the scroll of meditation you once rented, General.”

  “I don’t think I have enough money to buy this,” Hadjar explained sadly.

  “You don’t need to buy it.” The smile on the Librarian’s face grew even wider. “We give this Technique to every General on behalf of the Empire. That way, we can reward you for your services.”

  Hadjar mentally cursed both the Empire and the duplicitous Librarian. Well, of course they’d want to make sure that the best of the best—the generals—would never reach any significant heights. Thus, they would give them a slave meditation Technique, both to limit their growth and protect themselves from possible problems in the future that might arise because of the growth of their commanders.

  Damn Darnassians! Damn Lascanians!

  They deserve each other.
>
  “I have the utmost respect for you, Venerable adept, but I have to refuse your gift. I’m not a General yet, I’m just the acting one.”

  The smile on the Librarian’s face became more... snaky.

  “Well, I’ll leave this scroll with you regardless,” he said, rising and bowing. “Consider this my personal contribution to your future achievements, acting General. Something tells me you won’t give up the General’s medallion that easily. Thank you for your time, I won’t keep you any longer.”

  “Thank you, Honorable adept. Have a nice day.”

  They said their goodbyes, and the Librarian left the tent. Hadjar, without even opening it, moved the chest containing the scroll to the farthest corner of his tent. Out of sight, out of mind.

  Cursing the cultivator, he’d at first planned to burn it, but it would’ve been too suspicious if he’d done that. So he decided to bide his time before doing so.

  “Hadjar!” Nero rushed into the tent “The Baliumians!”

  “What?”

  “The traitorous Baliumians are attacking us!”

  Hadjar swore once again. He grabbed for his sword, and, in doing so, he bent over double from the pain. Straightening up with a wince, they jumped out of the tent and Hadjar called out to one of his bodyguards: “Blow the horn! We’re under attack!”

  Chapter 94

  The entire army moved as one to the gorge. Hadjar, together with his commanders, stood at the forefront. Bandaged up and dressed in simple, torn clothes held up by a rope belt, Hadjar didn’t look like much like a general. And yet, there was something invisible to the naked eye that made it clear—a real General was leading this army.

  Hadjar was, for the first time, at the front of the army. Due to the support of hundreds of thousands of soldiers, he felt a certain strength behind him, which was very deceptive, because it wasn’t his strength at all, but instead, that of his army.

  Nero was right, and the Baliumians had really made a move. However, their march was very strange. The bigger part of the army, numbering several million soldiers, was going north, toward the interior of their country. At the same time, two hundred or perhaps two hundred and fifty thousand soldiers marched along the pass with assorted personal weapons, wearing almost no armor, dragging several wagons and empty quivers with them.

  “What the hell?” The one-eyed Helion said, unable to hide the surprise in his voice.

  “Let’s ask them,” Hadjar demonstratively tied the ribbon around the handle of his sword and went forward.

  All his commanders followed him. Each of them recognized the primacy of this once simple recruit. They already believed in him as much as they’d once believed in the Moon General. Perhaps even more so, after all the recent events and battles.

  Several men moved away from the Balium army and approached them. A short, stocky man led the group of negotiators. His left ear was missing and his right wrist was completely burned.

  The two groups stopped roughly in the middle of the gorge.

  “Hello, General Hadjar,” the one-eared soldier bowed.

  “I don’t have the honor of knowing…”

  “Senior Officer Lergon,” the negotiator introduced himself.

  “Hello, Officer Lergon.” Hadjar nodded. “I noticed that you’re going in the wrong direction. Your army is going north, and yet you’re moving to the south.”

  The officer shook his head.

  “We’re going in the right direction, General,” he said, and he suddenly fell to his right knee and punched his chest.

  Hundreds of people behind his back did the same.

  Hadjar and the commanders looked at each other. None of them understood what was going on and what he meant by that.

  “General,” Lergon said, still holding his fist to his heart. “The soldiers that you see before you wish to surrender and leave their fate in your hands…”

  “You’re surrendering?”

  “According to the old laws, after the battle of the generals, the losing army surrenders to the mercy of the winner. Is that not so, General Hadjar?”

  “There was a different deal between the two generals,” Hadjar explained to the man who was still kneeling before him. “Go back to your men, Officer Lergon. There’s no point in honoring the beautiful rituals of the past.”

  Hadjar turned to walk away, but something that sounded like the cry of a wounded beast called out to him.

  “These are not my men, mighty General!” Lergon said as he and the soldiers rose to their feet as one. Rage, drowning in pain, was clear in their eyes. “We know about the deal between the Moon General and Dragon Tooth, General. But it wasn’t Leen who won! There was no such agreement with you.”

  “Yeah, sure. Pure semantics. But I still don’t understand why you’re surrendering to me.”

  “Because you’re not just pointlessly standing on this border. Soon, you’ll go to war with Balium, and we’ll go with you, under your standards and your flags. Please grant us the honor of accepting me and the two hundred thousand soldiers behind me into your army.”

  “What nonsense...” Helion started to protest, but he fell silent as soon as Hadjar waved his hand to signal for quiet.

  Hadjar looked at these people. Now he could see the numerous scars on their faces and bodies, their gazes so similar to those of the survivors of the battle at the ridge.

  Experienced soldiers that had evidently survived more than one or two battles were standing in front of him.

  “Why are you doing this, Officer? Why do you wish to fight against your own country?”

  “My own country?” Lergon said slowly and with a noticeable tinge of sadness in his voice. “Tell me, mighty General, does your own country sell its citizens into slavery? Does your own country take children away from their mothers to serve them, treating them like mere animals? Will your own country drink from the hands of ‘The Black Gates’ sect?”

  Hadjar knew the answer to these questions, but he didn’t want to answer them. There were mines somewhere far in the south, and thousands of his countrymen were dying there for the benefit of a foreign country.

  “My son was taken to the sect twenty years ago. I haven’t seen him since.” Lergon pointed to an officer standing nearby. “His wife was dragged away by the disciples of the sect and they had fun with her and left her to die in the street. She was pregnant and didn’t survive the night.”

  Lergon pointed to another soldier.

  “His mother was beaten simply because she’d dared to speak too loudly in front of the sect’s disciples.”

  Then he pointed to others. “His children were taken into slavery, and his grandfather was beaten to death for walking too slowly down the street. And his-”

  “Enough,” Hadjar said quietly. “I understand you, Officer. And I understand your rage. But I’m not even the General of this army. I’m only carrying out my duties until the General staff decides on the appointment, and I highly doubt their decision will be in my favor.”

  Lergon took a step forward.

  The commanders behind Hadjar drew their blades but never used them as another imperious wave of Hadjar’s hand stopped them in their tracks.

  “The songs about you, mighty General, are sung even across our lands. They sing about Officer Hadjar and Officer Nero, who fought together against almost a hundred thousand nomads. They sing about a person who beat a practitioner at the Transformation Stage when he was still one full level below him. They sing about how you blew up the castle of General Larvie and avoided retaliation, about how you endured fifty lashes in the place of ordinary soldiers and then killed the investigator with one strike. And today, our whole army saw that these songs aren’t mere fairy tales. And you, mighty General, say that you don’t rightfully hold your office?”

  “Songs really just embellish reality.”

  “Let them and this reality go to hell!” Lergon exclaimed. “Just as I clearly see the boundless sky above me, I see you before me, mighty General. I hear war in your s
teps, and I feel the rage in every slash of your sword. You won’t give that medallion to anyone, and you’ll go to war with Balium and ‘The Black Gates’. I know it, and you know it. I’ll go to war alongside you, or you’ll have to kill me—here and now, where I stand.”

  Lergon took off his shirt, revealing a mighty chest covered with scars from hot irons, whips, chains, and beatings, scars that were so familiar to Hadjar.

  “Two hundred thousand soldiers await your decision, mighty General.”

  Hadjar looked behind Lergon. These people had nothing but their hatred for the sect and Balium. They were even poorer and perhaps also weaker than the current soldiers of the Moon army.

  “We have no arrows and no gunpowder,” Hadjar began to list suddenly. This information shocked even his own commanders.

  “We don’t have enough armor, and we don’t have carts. There is no money, and we will soon be starving. Do you still want to join my army? Do you still want to fight a war where you’re probably going to die?”

  “I’ll die,” Lergon nodded. “But if I get an opportunity to take at least one disciple of the sect with me, I’ll die with honor and go to the gods in peace.”

  “And you?!” Hadjar amplified his voice with so much energy that it was heard by even the most distant rows of soldiers. “Are you ready to go to war alongside me?”

  “General Hadjar!” Thousands of voices shouted at the same time instead of answering. “General Hadjar!”

  Hadjar looked at the two hundred thousand soldiers once more.

  “Commander Nero.”

  “Yes, my General?”

  “Did you wish to increase the size of the bear squad?”

  Nero hiccupped and came close to him. “What are you doing, Hadj,” he whispered so that no one except his friend could hear him. “Do you have any idea how many sect spies are likely hidden among them?”

  “I can easily imagine,” Hadjar nodded. “Each of those spies will be very easy to find during our training, though.”

  “And you want me to do the weeding?” Nero guessed.