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

by Kirill Klevanski

  Having massaged some feeling back into his numb neck, the General stood up. He, along with the two officers, had been put in a guest house—a relatively small building that stood near the village’s main tower.

  Hadjar began to warm up once he was outside the tower. He stretched his body and muscles, and once that was done, he took out his sword. He practiced a number of smooth and sharp sword strikes while avoiding the attacks of imaginary enemies.

  Every time the General trained, the situation in the village grew tense. By the third day, husbands didn’t dare risk sending their wives shopping during it, and fathers tried to keep their daughters inside their houses. But, nevertheless, women would come to look at the General as he practiced.

  Hadjar didn’t care. He was just happy to see that strength was finally returning to his hands and feet. It had taken him two days to recover from the effects of traveling into the body of an unknown beast. If Nehen and her wolves had been around, Hadjar might’ve demanded compensation for the emotional damage she’d inflicted upon him.

  As a child, he had always dreamed of having a cloak made from the skin of a white wolf.

  Back then, something like that had seemed worthy of only the most illustrious of heroes.

  Hadjar trained and meditated until nightfall. Shirtless, he competed with the frost, snow, and the strong winds that battered him. Helion and Lian, basking under some thick skins, would look at their General as though he were a mad demon that had crawled out of the depths of the abyss.

  Hadjar understood that, as well as strengthening their sword, a warrior also had to build up their body. Yes, armor was useful, but nothing could replace the warrior’s own body.

  In the evening, when the lights lit up the village and people were getting ready to enjoy the last night of the festival, Hadjar stopped his training. He put on his simple clothes and lay a cloak of animal skins across his shoulders.

  Strengthening one’s body was useful, but excessive training could harm his cultivation.

  Therefore, sages said that a practitioner should explore not only the various dangers of the outside world, but also all of its pleasures. After all, the fuller and more eventful their life was, the sooner they would get the experience they needed. This, in turn, would allow them to cross the thresholds between stages.

  Once again, after leaving their weapons with the guards, the two Officers and the General entered the hall. They greeted the guests and nodded to them. They’d managed to get acquainted with many of the villagers during the past couple of days.

  Hadjar, despite all their disagreements, often talked to Darius during the seemingly never-ending feast. They rarely discussed anything besides the upcoming peril, but even these conversations had allowed him to learn a lot about the Chief.

  Like any ruler, Darius cared for the prosperity of his people, and was ready to do anything to safeguard it. In a display of honesty, he’d even confessed that he’d honestly thought about calling the assassins of ‘The Black Gates’ to the village. Thank the gods, he’d realized in time that the Moon Army would be a more reliable ally in the upcoming fight against the beasts than the sect ever would.

  They sat together at the head of the table. Night fell, torches and stars lit up, and the final part of the celebration began. On this night, all the men and women had to sleep with someone. And, apparently, the gods would look the other way tonight. There was no other explanation for marriages and other obligations being so blatantly disregarded.

  “The dancing will begin soon, honored General.” The drunken Darius smiled. “You won’t see its like anywhere else.”

  As if confirming the words of the Chief, young girls walked into the hall crowded with people. Like nymphs, they flew over carpets and skins. Their bodies bent like the branches of young trees, and their naked forms, covered with torn capes, awakened the most secret fantasies of all present. Simple, rhythmic music sounded, and they swayed to it, approaching the men, dancing with their fingers so close to their faces that the men could feel their imaginary touch arousing their very souls. Reality was out of the question. Fantasies were the only important thing here.

  Hadjar then noticed that the girls weren’t completely naked, and that the torn capes covered the most sacred parts of their body regardless of how they moved. Sometimes, they would turn their backs to the audience and allow the capes to slide down; however, only their slender backs were visible, and no more. Everyone’s imaginations were working overtime.

  Then everything changed...

  The girl entered the hall. She was as beautiful as a goddess and as passionate as the devil’s wife. Her black hair was arranged in a tight braid woven with blue threads; her skin was the color of wet bronze, and kings would’ve waged wars because of her figure. Strong, slender, long legs stepped onto the carpet.

  Then she was spinning, arching her body in the most improbable ways. One second, she danced like a spring stream, and then a moment later, like a freshly kindled fire. Passion gave way to icy calm, then back again, over and over.

  She came so close to Hadjar that he was afraid he’d forget how to breathe. She turned around and let the ritualistic, ragged cloak slide lower, all the way to her narrow waist, and the terrific dimple below… Hadjar had a strong will and mind. He could’ve resisted her charms, but... he didn't want to.

  She took him with her, in full view of everyone.

  They were soon in the guest house.

  Her icy breath burned his skin, and he was drowning in her black eyes and the stars shining in them.

  He took her right there against the wall, and she gave herself to him completely and irrevocably. They loved each other’s bodies standing up, sitting, and lying down. It was like they’d fused together, their thoughts carried away so far that even the gods’ own messengers wouldn’t be able to find them.

  An hour later, they lay wrapped in skins, looking into each other’s eyes.

  She ran her fingers through Hadjar's hair, and he thought that the witch looked so much more desirable without her wolves around.

  “You’re like coal,” Nehen said. “Black on the outside and red hot on the inside.”

  Hadjar couldn't find an answer to that. He simply ran his fingers over the curves of her body, not wanting to think about what was waiting for him in the future.

  “Did you leave the wolves in the woods?”

  “They aren’t my servants,” the witch said again. “They come when they want and they can leave whenever they like.”

  “But they follow your orders.”

  “They oblige my requests. It's different.”

  Hadjar moved his fingers away and turned to lie on his back. Nehen was clearly unhappy that he’d stopped caressing her but said nothing.

  “If you had just explained it to me-” Hadjar’s voice was severe.

  “You wouldn't have believed me,” she interjected.

  “And that’s why you decided to endanger the lives of all the soldier in my army.”

  An angry fire flashed in the witch’s black eyes.

  “If I hadn't done that...” The flame grew brighter. “I would’ve endangered not only the lives of your soldiers, but all the inhabitants of this village as well. We can't escape without your help, Hadjar.”

  Hadjar was about to snap at her, but Nehen threw the skins aside, exposing her body. She put her palm on Hadjar’s chest forcefully and moved so she was over him in one fluid motion. She squeezed his waist with her hips and leaned down close enough for him to feel her breath against his face.

  “Do you want to continue arguing or-”

  She didn’t get to finish asking her question.

  Chapter 140

  Hadjar took the skins and covered the sleeping Nehen with them. A full moon was shining in the sky. It was a beautiful night for love or for meditation. He dressed, girded himself, and left the house.

  Helion and Lian hadn’t come back to the house. Either they didn’t want to disturb the General’s privacy, or they’d found m
ore pleasant company. The latter option seemed more likely to Hadjar.

  Outside, he took a deep breath of the fresh, frosty air. The moon illuminated his path, but the lanterns that stood at the edges of the streets dispersed the darkness even without it.

  After checking that his sword was in its sheath, Hadjar headed toward the foot of the mountain that this strange pass ended with.

  Hadjar thought that the riverbed must have been situated in the place where the village was now for a long time. He was also certain that it wasn’t the villagers who had originally carved the face of the God of War into the rock.

  The General found himself being drawn toward the sculpture, for some reason. As if he could find answers to his questions there. What was the sword energy? How could he get to it and not die in the process? The formidable face of Derger promised to give him answers. It resembled a human face a little, but it made one’s heart beat faster and their hands reach for a weapon.

  Perhaps the village hadn’t submitted to the sect of the Black Gates mountains thanks to the statue that watched over them.

  Hadjar left his temporary home and the central tower behind him. He walked up the stairs hollowed out in the rock, climbing higher and higher. The lanterns illuminated his way, and his heart called out for him to go farther, but in his mind, he returned to the guest house, to the woman he’d left sleeping under the skins.

  The General couldn’t deny that he was more attracted to Nehen than he’d been to any other woman in his past. The witch was the second woman he’d gotten to know intimately, and... there was something about her. Something that roused Hadjar’s carnal desires almost unstoppably—drawing him to her like a moth to the flame.

  His thoughts about the witch, her curves, her beauty, and, even more desirable, her character and temper, were interrupted by a strange voice.

  “Good evening, General.”

  Hadjar turned around sharply, unsheathing his blade. Not many people could get near him without being seen. And even fewer people could do so because he had the neuronet. But this man had done just that.

  The practitioner was a few yards away from Hadjar, on top of a lantern. He was squatting down, looking like a cat ready to jump. He held a long, narrow sword that looked more like a giant's needle in his right hand, and he gripped the hilt of a dagger that closely resembled a beast’s fang in his left.

  Wearing all black, with a face half-hidden by a hood, he had almost no armor. He had pants made from a light fabric and a sling holding a dagger on his thigh. His torso was covered with the same clothes, under which his leather armor was hidden. The only metal armor Hadjar could actually see were the black plates on his arms that formed parts of his ‘sleeves’.

  A couple of medallions attached to the man’s shoulder pads swayed slightly in the wind.

  Hadjar recognized them both at once.

  One belonged to ‘The Black Gates’ sect and the other to the Ax clan. It was not uncommon for clans to send their children to various sects. That way, they strengthened relations and could gather knowledge not guarded by oaths of blood.

  “Scan,” the General ordered quietly.

  The neural network clicked and produced its analysis:

  Name

  ???

  Level of Cultivation

  ???

  Strength

  3

  Dexterity

  3.6

  Physique

  2.6

  Energy points

  ???

  Hadjar didn’t know what had happened to his neuronet, but after visiting the adept's tomb, its abilities had grown.

  It still couldn’t determine the stage of cultivation and energy points of practitioners who were a higher level than Hadjar. But! It was now able to calculate their basic stats and present them to him.

  The General could’ve easily made some assumptions. For example, that the assassin standing in front of him was almost on the verge of becoming a Heaven Soldier.

  Another year, and he would’ve probably been able to become a true cultivator.

  Hadjar, who had taken up the ‘Strong wind’ stance without wasting any time, had already raised his sword over his shoulder, angling the blade parallel to the ground. But the storm full of hidden blades wasn’t yet formed.

  The killer didn't even move.

  “Why are you here?” Hadjar asked.

  This night was good not only for making love and meditating, but deadly battles as well. The General wasn’t at all opposed to clashing with an enemy in such a duel, but if there was an opportunity to resolve the issue in peace, he wouldn’t hesitate to resort to the second option. At least as long as he was responsible for the lives of millions of people.

  “To fight you, General,” the assassin replied as if there could be no other reason.

  “Then you should start getting ready.”

  “I believe you won’t attack me until I give you a reason to do so.”

  In fact, Hadjar was already able to use the first stance of the ‘Light Breeze’ Technique. But if he really got angry, the villagers at the foot of the hill could end up being casualties as well.

  The assassin hadn’t done anything yet, and Hadjar wondered how he could avoid harming the civilians below.

  “I wonder why the sect didn't want me to come after you, General. Just a Formation Stage practitioner... What kind of artifact did you use to capture the sixth pavilion, I wonder?

  “The one I’m holding.”

  The man squinted.

  “A Spirit level blade? Well, I’ll make sure to put it in my brother's grave. Just so you know, General, I came here to soothe the soul of a sect disciple you killed. A student who never wanted to harm anyone. He’d just learned the way of cultivation, and you took his life, stealing the light from my mother's eyes as well... I'll kill you so my mother can sleep peacefully, and my brother can appear before the court of our forefathers without any regrets…”

  Another foe seeking revenge? Had fate decided to mock the General…?

  Hadjar didn't have time to think about it. All his instincts warned him of danger coming from behind, but his eyes and neuronet saw the killer in front of him. And in that moment of mortal peril, the General decided to trust his instincts.

  He turned and swung his blade. He was so fast that he resembled a shadow, and his movements looked like black fog carried by the wind, but still, the enemy had the advantage for a brief moment. An advantage that Hadjar wasn’t able to sufficiently overcome.

  Steel slashed across his chest, and the General immediately pushed off the ground. He jumped a few yards and found himself under the same lantern the assassin had been sitting on until recently. The man’s silhouette, similar to a light haze, disappeared, and the figure hidden by shadows, holding a dagger and sword, was now where he’d been moments ago.

  “Interesting Technique,” Hadjar admitted.

  Scarlet streaks flowed down his chest, drops of blood falling on the white snow at his feet like small rubies. They were painting it crimson, and his foe came out of the shadows. He hadn’t been sitting on the lantern this whole time, he’d been behind the General. Preparing his killing strike.

  “You’re too fast for a practitioner at the Formation Stage.” The man swung his dagger to shake the blood off it. “Stop hiding your level of cultivation.”

  “I’m not hiding anything.” A predatory grin appeared on the General’s face.

  After a year of training under the Immortal’s shadow, he’d never crossed blades with anyone in a deadly battle. Hadjar was glad for the opportunity to test how much stronger he’d become. He was definitely going to make the most of it.

  “Strong wind!”

  Chapter 141

  Hadjar’s blade created a storm surge ten feet high and fifteen feet wide. After forming into a snowstorm, it flew toward his enemy. The blades hidden inside it left long, deep gouges in the ground, and the air seemed to tremble under the onslaught of his attack.

  But there was no co
llision, no scream of pain, and no flash of a protective Technique. A black shadow flashed, and the blade of a very long sword appeared before him. Hadjar reacted quickly and blocked the attack.

  The storm surge hit a large stone, leaving a complex pattern of cuts across its surface. The assassin stood close to the General. He pressed down on his blade with all his weight, and Hadjar held Moon Beam out before him, feeling like a giant tiger was trying to step on him with its mighty paw.

  After all, his enemy was a whole level of cultivation ahead of him.

  While Hadjar was trying to hold back the enemy’s blade and prevent it from slicing into the artery in his neck, a dagger flew through the sky. It was heading straight toward the General’s stomach.

  Hadjar pushed the killer away from him, growling like an animal. For the second time that night, the dagger wounded him, leaving a long, shallow, red cut behind. It was enough to wake the dragon that slumbered inside the General.

  The heat of battle excited Hadjar. He was moving around his would-be assassin at full speed. To his foe, Hadjar's movements appeared quick, almost too blurry to make out, but he could still discern where his rapidly moving arms and legs were. If he’d been a mere mortal or a weak practitioner, he would’ve only seen a crow-shaped shadow circling around a black silhouette.

  Hadjar sheathed his sword and immediately pulled it out again; his strike was like a dragon suddenly exploding outward in a fury. His opponent’s eyes widened in surprise and turned into a cloud of black smoke that was already familiar to the General. Even then, he barely managed to avoid the attack. The vengeful killer, leaving behind a trail of blood, crashed into the mountain, leaving a deep hole in it.