Hadjar, still slowly approaching the Master, looked at the dark wave approaching him. He could feel the death buried within it.
“Calm Wind.” He swung his blade, and the air around him swirled in a tranquil dance.
The wave, which, just moments ago, had looked like an unstoppable force of pure destructive power, was unable to even touch the edges of Hadjar’s clothing. Spinning around the General in a black vortex, the energy quickly dispersed into the air. Hadjar, like a swift spring wind, moved across the ground, reaching the Master in a mere moment.
His sword moved like a fleeing bird’s wing, cutting into his foe’s right wrist. Large drops of blood ran over the Master’s dark skin.
The Master growled and attacked a second time. The black energy crushed stones yet again, but, same as before, it couldn’t hurt Hadjar.
Everyone watching could only spot a slight trace of the wind and a blurry, hazy silhouette— it was as if Hadjar wasn’t made of flesh, but ink that had been thrown into water.
He suddenly materialized on the opposite side of his foe. He glared at him, his expression steely, and then the sectarian’s left wrist bled as it was also cut open.
The Master, shaking his prodigious belly, growled like a wounded bison. He sent black wave after black wave flying toward the General, gradually turning their battlefield into something that resembled a volcanic crater, but no matter how hard he tried, Hadjar was always faster. Despite the fact that the power of his sword was significantly inferior to the halberd, the halberd couldn’t even ruffle his clothes, and Hadjar’s sword found its target with each swift strike. The sword left only scratches each time, but there were soon enough of them to cover the giant completely.
People watched as the shadowy silhouette circled around the Master. He moved as smoothly and beautifully as a feather thrown into the current of a spring wind, as a bird soaring through the sky, or a water lily floating on the surface of a lake.
And yet, his sword glittered like a savage beast’s fang.
He answered every attack of the halberd with a simple, easy half step. Moving away from the deadly and ruinous black wave at the last moment each time, he would only swing his sword once in response, and another stream of scarlet blood would stain the ground.
“Stand and fight me!” The sectarian roared.
His hands and feet were now covered in a grid of red scratches and cuts. Sweat dripped down his forehead, and his hands kept gripping the halberd, just not as tightly as they had previously.
Hadjar was also noticeably slowing in his counter-attacks.
When, after another collision, they stumbled back from each other, the soldiers noticed their General’s state: his heavy breathing and the numerous bruises that littered his body. Just being in such dangerous proximity to the powerful strikes of the halberd had been enough to cause him real harm.
One clean hit would’ve been enough to turn his bones into dust, but his body had suffered enough even without being hit directly.
“You fight like a coward!” the Master spat.
Hadjar once again ignored the mediocre provocation of his enemy.
What kind of idiot would fight a bear with a knife if he could arm himself with a slingshot? Well, except Dogar…
But Dogar was dead, and Hadjar still lived, carrying on his legacy.
“Let’s finish this game of catch!” The Master roared, moving his halberd back once again.
He put his index and middle fingers to his chin, whispered something inaudible, and then began to swing the halberd around himself at a breakneck speed. Two shadows emerged from the black vortex formed by the weapon. They continued to solidify until three Masters stood before Hadjar, instead of just one. Two of these three Masters looked like clouds of black smoke.
Hadjar knew without a doubt that this smoke was dense enough to kill him.
The wind tore chunks out of them, however, they immediately appeared again, like smoke from a fire or steam from a pot of boiling water.
The trio of Masters charged him as one, roaring like a wounded elephant that had lost its mind. The earth shook from the original Master’s steps, and the hearts of the people watching clenched in terror at the sight of the two black figures as they raced at his side.
Hadjar stood still.
He assumed his low stance, placed his blade back in its scabbard, and put his hand on the hilt of the sword.
He was like the wind, sometimes quick and elusive, sometimes violent and sweeping away everything in its path. His blade flashed once as he pulled it out again, and a loud explosion resounded. Everyone heard the sound of the sword.
A long, thin beam shot out from the tip of his sword and pierced through the air.
Chapter 110
At first, the Master only grinned when he saw the beam. After all, his opponent was a mere practitioner at the Formation stage. Having to battle such an ‘enemy’ was an insult to him.
But the closer the beam got to him, the more the Master felt the icy fingers of death tightening around his throat.
Sensing the rapidly approaching danger, he managed to wave his hand at the last moment. His two dark clones stepped in front of him and put their halberds in the beam’s path. He had previously stopped an angry bear the size of a mountain that had been at the Alpha stage like this.
The beam crashed into the first clone. Light, as if reflected off steel, passed through the black fog, and the first clone disappeared with a loud clap, causing the Master’s eyes to widen slightly.
He quickly put his hand on the back of the second clone and roared. It seemed to condense immediately, the stone under its feet cracking, and the wind no longer plucked ghostly scraps from its body. However, the beam, which had slowed down and lost some its power after the first collision, still struck this second clone.
Its decreased speed seemed to have little effect on its potency as it tore through the clone's chest like a dragon’s fang.
The master cried out in surprise rather than pain as two bloody holes appeared in his right palm and shoulder. His hands immediately grew weaker, and the halberd clattered to the ground, causing a web of cracks to spread all around him.
Hadjar put his sword back in its sheath again. He assumed a low stance and brought his hand above the handle once more. Six months ago, he had been able to master the second of the seven stances of the ‘Light Breeze’ Technique.
At that point, his knowledge and skills hadn’t been enough for him to even attempt to understand the third stance. Now, however, he had mastered this Technique so well that he could use a simplified version of it in battle.
The first stance of the technique was destructive, but it was used for large-scale battles. The second one was defensive—it didn’t weaken the enemy’s strikes, but rather, redirected them.
The third stance had only one purpose: to pierce the enemy’s defenses as soon as possible by concentrating all of the user’s power and speed into one sharp point, allowing them to launch a single strike that could pierce even the clouds above.
The ‘Spring Wind’—that’s what Traves had called it.
The Master watched as whirlwinds of power swirled around Hadjar. He couldn't use this Technique too often, and he was now gathering energy for a final attack.
The fat man fell to his knees. He had neither the strength nor the desire to continue this fight.
He had lost to a mere practitioner at the Formation stage. He’d never thought such a thing was even possible.
“I’ll take you to the abyss with me, General!” The Master roared like a wounded animal as he plunged his hand into his own chest.
He pulled his still-beating heart out and bit into it, screaming as he did so.
Hadjar and the soldiers looked at the scene before them with their mouths hanging open. The disciples of the sect cried out not just in shock, but sheer fright as well, their hearts freezing in terror. Somehow, this feeling was familiar to every person there, not due to their own experiences, but because of a
ncestral memory from a time long ago, when defenseless people, wrapped in skins, had used to hide in caves at night and wait for the inevitable arrival of death.
This primeval horror could be heard in the cries of all the people witnessing the gruesome sight.
With his last breath, the Master mocked Hadjar one final time before he fell limply to the ground, which was now painted a crimson color. His chewed up heart rolled out from his palm but, contrary to any common sense, it gradually seeped through the stone, lower and lower.
Until it completely disappeared from sight.
What the…
Hadjar didn’t have time to finish this thought.
The earth trembled and began to move like the waves of the sea. Some of the people standing close to Hadjar fell to their knees; some were able to keep their footing. Hadjar, however, plunged his sword into the paving stones and looked down at the place where the heart had disappeared. Suddenly, a huge, clawed paw made its way up through the pile of stones.
The disciples of the sect dropped to all fours in unison and started to bang their heads against the rocks.
“Great Defender!” They wailed. “Great Defender!”
The gigantic figure gradually rose from the ground. Its paws, covered with emerald-gold armor, appeared first, followed by a fanged, catlike face. Its steel fangs reflected the light of the winter sun, and an ancient rage and insatiable thirst for blood were reflected in the darkness of its eyes. The wind ruffled the figure’s golden hair, exposing red plate armor that covered part of the creature’s skull.
Nine feet wide at the shoulders, and fifteen feet long from its muzzle to its tail, the Defender of the sixth pavilion, wearing emerald-gold armor and summoned by the Master, appeared in front of Hadjar. It was clearly beyond Alpha stage. While not as tall as Azrea’s mother had been, it could still turn half of Hadjar’s army into nothing more than a bloody memory with just one swipe of its paw.
“Serra, take Nero and get the troops out of here,” Hadjar growled, not breaking eye contact with the mighty tiger before him.
“But-”
“Hurry!”
Hadjar knew that as soon as he stopped looking into the tiger’s eyes, the creature would attack. The only reason why the beast hadn’t done so yet was the fact that it had only just now awoken from its recent slumber. Its paws weren’t ready yet and its muscles hadn’t limbered up. The beast had slept for thousands of years and had only been awakened a mere moment ago. It was still dozing.
Ignoring the slowly retreating soldiers around him, Hadjar tensed his whole body. He felt his blood pumping as his muscles creaked.
He planted his feet and began harnessing all of the power that the five Fragments within his soul were capable of producing. A vortex of energy, invisible to the naked eye, sprang up around Hadjar’s body. It condensed around his palm and sword with each new cycle, picking up speed as it did so.
The tiger shook its head, getting rid of the remnants of a thousand years of sleep, and Hadjar knew he had to act. He drew his blade so quickly that nobody even noticed his hand move. A moment later, everyone heard a familiar sound—the sound of a great impact.
However, it wasn’t steel light that rushed toward the tiger. The strongest among the soldiers observing the fight could distinguish the silhouette of a dragon hovering in the sky, encased and hidden in a rapid beam of light. This barely visible, ephemeral dragon opened its mouth and plunged its fangs into the tiger’s eye.
The tiger roared, making the surrounding area tremble with its might, and bringing whole avalanches of stones and snow down.
The remaining disciples of the sect cried out in both fear and terror as hot drops of the beast’s blood fell to the ground around them. They were so hot that they melted through the ground as they landed, plumes of steam rising up from the holes.
Hadjar dropped to one knee and leaned on his sword. Blood flowed down his hand—his mortal flesh couldn’t stand to channel such incredible force.
The General had used up all of his strength, all the energy stored in the depths of his very soul. All he could now do was breathe hard and watch the beast, deprived of its eyes, shake its head furiously.
Hadjar’s power, all of his skill, had only been enough to take the beast’s eyesight, but not its life.
Finally, the beast calmed down. Streams of blood still flowed from its right eye socket, but it no longer growled, using its tail to hit the ground instead.
Its claws shone with a golden glow, and Hadjar, unable to even draw breath, rose slowly to his feet. He was going to meet his death as befit the man and the General that he was: on his feet, with a weapon in his hand.
Just as Leen and Dragon Tooth had met theirs before him.
He raised his sword with a trembling hand, praying to the gods, hoping that Serra would manage to get Nero and the soldiers to safety.
The beast was ready to attack him.
Hadjar was going to die.
But…
None of that happened.
A small, white, fluffy kitten jumped out from the furs that surrounded Hadjar’s chest. She had grown a little, but she was still tiny enough to fit in the palm of his hand.
Azrea calmly and very gracefully walked over to the huge tiger. She looked at it with her pure blue eyes, and they both stood still for a few moments. Hadjar did not understand what was happening, but it looked like the two beasts... were talking.
After no more than ten heartbeats, Azrea yawned, turned around and returned with a few quick jumps to Hadjar. Her claws clinging at his clothes, she climbed back inside his clothing and curled up, soon peacefully asleep once again.
To be honest, Hadjar didn’t even notice her climbing back into his clothes. He didn’t feel her heat and body due to the fur clothing he was wearing. And the General could’ve sworn he had left her in the tent that morning.
However, right now, that wasn’t important at all.
The wind blew, and the beast, its claws flashing for the last time, gradually melted away like a mirage in the desert, covered with a veil that vibrated the air around Hadjar. The veil, in turn, sank back into the cracks in the ground. The cracks sealed up with a crash, and the rocks threw the gnawed heart of the Master back to the surface.
For a few seconds, everything was quiet on the plateau.
Hadjar broke the silence first.
Sinking to his knees, he started laughing, and the cheering army around him quickly joined in.
That didn't last long, however, as after a short while, the soldiers began to fuss over their comrades. The wounded were carried to the healers, and Serra followed after them, supporting the weak, wheezing form of Nero.
The realization that his friend needed his help made the previously helpless Hadjar rise forcefully to his feet.
Leaning on his sword, he hobbled over to where the white-haired commander had been carried on a stretcher.
Chapter 111
Serra, who was greatly worried because of her lover’s serious injuries, handled the task of fortifying the pavilion much faster than had initially been planned. She was able to cast a spell on the barrier in just three days, which meant that from then on, it would protect them instead of the ‘Black Gates’ sect.
After their victory, they had managed to move the entire army to the pavilion in less than a day. Thankfully, there was a lot of space available. Of course, it was still crowded—the disciples’ rooms hadn’t been designed to accommodate so many people—but the soldiers had already gotten used to a certain level of discomfort.
The bunk beds were built without any issues. The rooms, in fact, were numerous caves carved out in the rocks where the disciples had lived in seclusion before their pavilion had been conquered. These caves were hollowed out even farther and then turned into barracks for the Moon Army.
About a hundred soldiers were placed in each of them. Despite the cramped conditions and inconvenience, it was better than staying on the other side of the protective barrier, where there was
a very real danger of being torn apart by sectarians, beasts, and the cold alike.
The officers stayed in the stone buildings on the plateau. Hadjar had been offered the two-story house where the Elders had lived before, but he’d refused—he was happy enough with his tent—and had ordered the doctors and wounded to take the house instead.
He chose to convene the Military Council on the third day. As usual, all the commanders, except for Nero, gathered within the tent. The doctor had said that it would take him a week, or perhaps a week and a half, to heal up enough to attend a council again.
The wound hadn’t been too deep, and the commander, luckily, wasn’t a weak practitioner. His body was capable of surviving great injuries, and there was always a chance to save a practitioner if their heart and brain hadn’t been directly harmed.
The stronger a practitioner was, the more likely they were to recover from any injury.
Hadjar was sitting on a chair and stroking the sleeping Azrea as she lie in his lap. He had no idea how the kitten had saved their lives, and the fluffy bundle of sass, of course, couldn’t answer the question. She merely continued to sleep and eat all the time, sometimes changing the order up—eating and then sleeping.
“Report, Simon!” Hadjar ordered the rotund supplier.
Simon was no longer dressed in his previous warm fur clothing, but was instead already adorned in silk capes, apparently taken from the Elders’ house. However, Hadjar didn’t see the point in worrying about it too much.
Simon could feel free to indulge himself. The most important thing was that the army and the Treasury didn’t suffer for his actions. It was reasonable to assume that Simon treasured his life enough not to risk it by doing anything stupid.
“Yes, my General,” the logistics officer coughed. He stood, took out a massive scroll, and began to read: “We've restocked our supplies. But, according to the intelligence we’ve received, the news of our recent victory is gradually spreading throughout Balium. So, accordingly, the army will soon grow larger once more.”
Dragon Heart: Iron Will. LitRPG Wuxia Series: Book 2 Page 20