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

by Kirill Klevanski

  Hadjar knew that feeling well…

  After all, it was the same thing he’d experienced upon dying on the operating table.

  ***

  “Everything is okay, my darling. Everything’s okay.”

  Hadjar opened his eyes and then closed them immediately.

  The bright midday sun was shining, and his skin was being pleasantly caressed by the cool, refreshing wind. Hadjar winced slightly when cold splatters fell on him.

  He heard girlish laughter nearby.

  “You were having a nightmare,” the same voice said. It was very dear and familiar to him. “Everything’s okay now. It was just a nightmare.”

  He opened his eyes again, and his heart skipped a beat.

  The wind was trying to blow her dark, almost black hair over her face. Because it was tied in a heavy, tight plait, however, it mostly lay on her satin shoulder as her warm, green eyes smiled at him. Her gentle hands caressed his cheek, and he no longer felt the loneliness, darkness, or silence.

  Elizabeth was sitting on the grass next to him.

  His mother.

  “Mom,” Hadjar gasped, his own voice sounding strange to him.

  He looked down at his hands. They had no scars, no calluses. His skin wasn’t rough and tanned, and his fingers weren’t knotty and long.

  He saw his face reflected in her dear eyes. The face of a six-year-old boy. Happy and serene.

  “It was a nightmare,” Elizabeth repeated as she gazed into his eyes. “Just a nightmare.”

  “Mom,” Hadjar choked out.

  He hugged her so hard that she cried out in surprise. Then, laughing, she held her son against her chest. Hadjar missed this feeling of warmth and tranquility. He missed the smell of her hair, the smell of his home, and the scent of the flower meadows beyond it.

  In her hands, he felt as if the weight of the whole world had been lifted from his shoulders. His heart calmed, and the heavy silence gave way to a feeling of inner peace. In his mother’s arms, he felt as if he were flying high in the sky, covered only by a blanket of soft clouds.

  “You’ll strangle me,” Elizabeth laughed. “Let me go, my darling.”

  Hadjar only shook his head, burrowing deeper into her hair.

  “Well, what has my brave knight so scared?”

  And Hadjar told her all about his dream, still clinging tightly to her as he did so. He told her about how they’d been betrayed by Uncle Primus. That he‘d seen her die. That he’d been turned into a cripple, and then a slave. That he’d met the captive dragon and joined the army.

  He told her about Stepha, about Eina, and about Dogar.

  He told her about the Moon General, Leen, and Dragon Tooth. About how much they’d loved each other, and how they’d felt guilty about each other’s death, and yet had still found peace in those same deaths.

  She laughed loudly as she listened to his narrative about his adventures with Nero and Serra.

  She stroked his hair, and with every movement, the memory of the nightmare gradually faded, covered with a veil, disappearing into the depths of his consciousness somewhere.

  “What’s going on here?” Another dear voice asked.

  “Your son had a nightmare.”

  Hadjar loosened his grip on his mother. In front of him, shielding him from the rays of the sun, stood his father—King Haver. He was alive and healthy, cheerful, and as powerful as ever. To Hadjar, he looked like an impregnable mountain that could hold the sky itself on its shoulders.

  “Dad!”

  The boy hugged his father around the waist, squeezing him as hard as he could.

  “Well, son,” a heavy palm ruffled his long hair, “a man shouldn’t be afraid of nightmares.”

  “Yes, Dad.” Hadjar nodded, releasing his father and walking away.

  As it had sometimes happened, they gathered in the garden on the shore of the lake. The east wind was almost a full-blown gale, playing with the young girl’s long, dark hair. Wearing a nice dress, Elaine splashed in the water. His sister laughed, kicked the water, and rejoiced in the spray as it shined in the sun’s rays, resembling a scattering of precious stones.

  His sister. Alive and well. With him once more.

  Hadjar turned around.

  He smiled at his mother and father. They told him to go and play with his sister, but he couldn’t take his eyes off them. His parents were alive, he could love them again, and bask in their love in turn.

  He could stay here.

  Stay here forever.

  But he knew better…

  In his blue eyes, his unwavering will still shone, and no illusion could lead him astray.

  His friend was dying.

  “I’m sorry, Mom,” Hadjar whispered, like he had many years ago. “Please, forgive me…”

  With each word, the image of the six-year-old boy changed. His arms and legs grew, his skin became tougher and covered with scars, and the look in his eyes became more intense. It was the mighty General who now stood on the lake shore with his sword unsheathed.

  Hadjar raised Moon Beam above his head and gathered all his energy for one strike. One incredibly powerful attack he would use to break through the illusion.

  Before the dragon’s roar dispelled the deception, Hadjar noticed a warm smile on his mother’s face. Maybe it only seemed like it to him, but he thought he saw pride in his parents’ eyes. However, it was most likely a trick of his imagination.

  Chapter 118

  Hadjar now found himself in a cave. Or rather, what was supposed to be a cave. In fact, under his feet, there was a wide, stone-paved road. The dome, decorated with various writing and hieroglyphs, was lit by the flickering light of torches. Hadjar didn’t know how they still burned after spending thousands of years deep below the surface.

  The ceiling was supported by broad columns leaning against the hewn walls, and numerous scenes from the cultivator’s life were depicted on them.

  But Hadjar wasn’t interested in any of this right now.

  Fury, the likes of which he’d never felt before in his entire life, raged within him. At that moment, he wanted to destroy the whole damned tomb, not just get to its center. Only the fact that Nero’s life depended on him stopped Hadjar from doing something reckless and jeopardizing the whole plan.

  “The first test has been passed,” a voice thundered, seemingly emanating from every stone of this unending road. “Your will is strong, and your heart firm.”

  Hadjar wanted to say something snide or tell the voice to get bent, but, alas, he couldn’t afford to.

  “Hello, venerable Adept.” Hadjar bowed.

  However, an ocean of hatred and anger still raged in his eyes.

  “Just call me Spirit,” the voice said. “I’m merely a shadow, a fragment of energy left behind to guard the place where my path ended.”

  “What you showed me, Spirit... Was any of it real?”

  The torches flickered, and from somewhere in the depths of the cave, a strange echo came.

  “It was real to you,” the invisible ‘shadow’ answered. “You could stay there, if you wish?”

  Stay with his mom and dad? Maybe that wasn’t such a bad idea.

  “However, I don’t think your little paradise would last too long,” the Spirit continued. “Your body would have to lie on these stones while your mind wandered among the illusions. And judging by your power, your body wouldn’t last for more than a week without your mind. Then you would die, together with your paradise. Just like a lot of people before you have.”

  Hadjar, whose eyes were now accustomed to the oppressive gloom, looked around. There were a lot of skulls and bones littering the path at his feet. What Hadjar had initially thought to be a small hill turned out to be a pile of human remains.

  Well, it had been stupid to assume that he was the first person that had found the tomb. Apparently, thousands of other practitioners had also reached the entrance before him. After all, everyone had their own secrets and mysteries. Maybe some of them had gotten
lucky, while others had made use of special artifacts or something similar to locate the tomb.

  “You have passed the first of three tests,” the Spirit announced.

  Hadjar winced slightly. Why did it have to be so trite—three tests? Why not five, or better yet… just one? Why, in all the stories that he’d heard, was it always the number ‘three’ that ended up being used? Sometimes it was ‘seven’, though, he mused. Could’ve been worse.

  “But I warn you, Warrior,” the Spirit’s voice continued, “your power isn’t enough for the second test. Your sword is strong, but it will not be strong enough. You’re only at the Formation Stage, while even thousands of practitioners who had been on the cusp of becoming a Heaven Soldier have died here.”

  Hadjar looked at the side of the road where it dropped down into a tunnel. What awaited him there? Judging by the echo, nothing good. It sounded like an entire army was marching around down there.

  “Are you telling me to leave?”

  “Not empty-handed, Warrior. You’ve passed the first of my tests, so I’ll grant you one gift: one of the artifacts from my Treasury.”

  “Is there a black stone flower there?”

  Hadjar felt the Spirit laugh—the torches shook and the rocks rumbled.

  “Such a valuable prize will be available only to the one who inherits my legacy. But, as I’ve already said, you’re not strong enough.”

  “Then I’m not interested.”

  “Don’t be hasty, Warrior. In my Treasury, there are boats that can soar across the sky at the speed of a spring wind coming through the valley, there are spatial rings into which you can fit a house, and there are swords that make yours seem like nothing more than a rusty toothpick. Think about it, Warrior.”

  His blue eyes glittered, and the light of the torches recoiled from the unwavering will reflected in them.

  “I’m not interested,” Hadjar repeated. “And as you know from the songs, the General never asks three times, so shall we move this along?”

  “Then go meet your doom, Warrior.”

  The feeling of the stranger’s presence disappeared. The ancient torches flared, and the shadows cast by their flames stopped trying to merge into the mysterious figure.

  Putting his palm on the hilt of his sword, Hadjar walked along the corridor. Every step he took echoed, which immediately merged with the sounds coming from the darkness beyond. Hadjar kept walking. He didn’t know how much time had passed, but the stone road didn’t appear to have an end. There were columns supporting the distant arch on both sides, and torches hung on the walls. From the darkness, the echoes of an army numbering in the millions sounded.

  He began to feel trepidation. What awaited him behind the next turn? Would it be the same battle that Traves had put him through? Only this time, Hadjar was sure that if he lost, he wouldn’t miraculously enter the dragon’s palace. This time, defeat would mean certain death. Not only his, but also Nero’s.

  Walking down the corridor, Hadjar didn’t realize that the Spirit was watching him. It looked down at the figure of the brave man. How many valorous men had it seen over the many thousands of years that it had waited for its heir? At least a hundred thousand practitioners had found the entrance to the tomb over the centuries. Most of them hadn’t even been able to resist the temptation of their own personal paradise.

  The mountain of their remains was at the entrance to its tomb—a bed of bones for those who would come here. But if the first test challenged one’s heart and willpower, the second test was designed to gauge their power. The Spirit was sure that it hadn’t seen a will stronger than this man’s, but his power...

  He was still at the Formation Stage, and only someone on the verge of becoming a true cultivator would be able to survive the path of power.

  The first hundred steps were easy for the warrior. They would only stop someone who hadn’t yet reached the Bodily Nodes. The second set of one hundred steps slowed him, but they were intended to stop the Bodily Rivers.

  The third set was a different matter…

  After a while, Hadjar felt the air around him thicken further. With each new step, he could feel the space around him resisting his advance. The echo, coming from the darkness, sounded louder, closer and more dangerous with every step he took. It gripped his heart, and Hadjar remembered what fear was.

  Yes, it was fear that held him and slowed his steps.

  Clenching his teeth, Hadjar still moved his leaden feet forward, step by step. His chest shook, and he inhaled greedily, savoring every breath.

  The Spirit watched the warrior as he walked through the barrier. He slowly made his way past what should have killed him—as it had killed all those who’d previously succumbed to fear and decided to flee from the advancing terror. Now they were forever enclosed in stone coffins, looking like they were supporting the arch columns that held up the roof of the tomb.

  And yet, the man kept going. Inexorably, despite drowning in fear, pain, and horror, he walked as if through a wind that beat mercilessly against his face. He crouched down, putting his hands forward, but still, he didn’t stop moving. Step by step, he overcame his own limitations.

  He got past the third set of steps, despite the fact that this shouldn’t have been possible for a practitioner at the Formation Stage.

  The Spirit watched the man with interest now.

  At some point, Hadjar fell to all fours. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. His very soul was gripped by a chilling terror as the air in front of him turned into a stone wall. He could neither raise his hands nor push off with his feet. Like a beaten dog, he froze on all fours, unable to move on. And, worst of all, he somehow knew that, if he turned around, he would instantly be saved.

  He’d be able to breathe again; his heart would resume beating quietly.

  If he left this terrible path, this insurmountable obstacle, he would be saved. He wouldn’t have to suffer.

  The Spirit looked at the man as he knelt there. Apparently, a miracle wouldn’t be happening here today. The dome would be supported by yet another column. He might visit it sometimes to remember the brave practitioner.

  The shadow of the long-deceased master turned away from what was happening as soon the monolithic arch shook. Stones fell on the columns and the floor with a loud crack as the echo of the marching army fought against the echo of an animalistic roar.

  The Spirit turned to see the man get up slowly, trembling, growling, and sweating. His blue eyes glinted, and all around his body, a silhouette spun. The silhouette of a dragon charging into battle.

  Impossible, the shadow thought, this can’t be happening.

  Contrary to common sense, the laws of the universe, his own limits, and the will of Heaven itself, the warrior continued on his way. With each step, he growled louder still, and his every movement made the image of the dragon more tangible.

  A practitioner who was only at the Formation Stage, with his unbreakable will and unwavering heart alone, had been able to conquer the path that had killed thousands of others, people who’d almost been true cultivators.

  Eventually, Hadjar fell to the ground.

  The gloomy corridor remained behind him, however. He was now on a cliff in the center of a huge cave.

  Chapter 119

  Hadjar rose to his feet, catching his breath, and immediately froze. What he had at first mistaken for a cave was, in fact, a space that could easily accommodate the whole of Spring Town, possibly with room to spare.

  Hadjar now stood on an actual hill, covered with real grass. On each side of him, there were two stone statues depicting demonic dogs, their fanged jaws wide open, and protecting the entrance to the tomb.

  What had seemed like a wall at first glance turned out to be a dragon’s body. Hundreds of yards long, it curled around a giant turtle. Made from stone, and covered with green grass and emerald plates, it served as the foundation for an amazing, beautiful palace. The red walls and golden roofs glittered. Where was this bright and warm light coming
from?

  Looking up, Hadjar realized that the source of the light was a huge fireball hovering over the palace, and it was attached to the mosaic that covered the ‘stone sky’. The vault, now clearly in sight, seemed so far away. This glowing ball seemed to draw in the giant dragon statue. Coiled around the turtle, it was forever frozen in a violent leap, trying either to destroy the palace or absorb the ball of fire.

  But, in opposition to the dragon, a huge white stork had spread its wings. It had seemingly rushed to protect the palace and the miniature sun that populated the stone sky above. The two statues ‘circled’ around the turtle and the palace. Their eyes looked greedily at a small statue standing on the very crown of the turtle.

  Hadjar blinked a couple of times and looked at the walls of the cave. In fact, there were also nine huge statues depicting a figure that was familiar to Hadjar, spaced equidistantly around the walls.

  It was the God of War—Derger. Hadjar’s former commander Dogar had been named after him, and he had grown to be as mighty as his patron. The statues here depicted the God in various poses: one showed him holding a sword, his fanged face disfigured by rage, and another showed him looking at infinity.

  He was half naked and wearing only a steel kilt of sorts and a belt, fastened by a buckle and the muzzles of various animals.

  Four columns stood in front of these statues. The columns held the vault within them, which seemed to be the sky itself. They were also red and gold. They forever captured the battle between the dragon and the stork.

  “You’ve surprised me, Warrior.”

  Hadjar turned around. A man stood behind him. Judging by his appearance, he had very few human features. His skin was a pinkish-bronze, and his white hair couldn’t hide his pointed ears. His golden eyes gleamed; a blue tattoo depicting a crescent moon shone on his forehead and he had two drawn, red lines on his cheekbones.

  He wore white clothes and armor over them. The heavy breastplate, topped with numerous spikes, caught and absorbed the glare of the light.