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

by Kirill Klevanski

  Legends were different. Serra often told stories when it was her turn to entertain the audience in the evenings. However, her stories were more like songs as old as the desert itself.

  Usually, the song was about spirits and genies that came out of the sand and wandered among the people for thousands of years. They didn’t come from parents, but from the world itself, and they possessed unique abilities; their children became great heroes.

  Hadjar stood at a distance from the camp and watched the soldiers training on the parade ground. A rumor had spread through the army that the General had gathered a group he would be personally leading into the mountains.

  Of the two million people that made up the Moon Army, almost all of them wished to accompany Hadjar on his mission. However, most of the soldiers ended up not being selected.

  Practitioners had to be at the Formation Stage at least to participate in this great hunt for the White Apes. It would be better still if they were at the Transformation Stage. Alas, no more than a few dozen people at the Transformation Stage were in the army—including all the senior officers and their assistants. Hadjar couldn’t afford to leave his army without leaders, so he’d chosen only a few soldiers at the lower ranks.

  The main part of the group he’d selected was at the Formation level, at the Stage of Fragments or Core. And, despite the fact that the army was a single and coherent mechanism, there was always an elite unit which had gotten used to acting independently and spontaneously. This had led to a very unexpected problem for Hadjar, one he was hoping to solve with this unusual approach.

  Ordinary soldiers were able to participate in military exercises, form a shield wall in seconds, form ranks instantly upon being commanded, but... the strong practitioners weren’t able to do so. Each officer used them as their secret weapon instead, allowing them to act at their own discretion.

  As a result, five hundred people were now gathered on the parade ground. Five hundred people that didn’t know what it meant to work together. They were all very impressive individually, but as a unit, they were a bunch of rabble that interfered with each other rather than fighting together.

  It was a good thing that this had all come to Hadjar’s attention before he’d led them to attack the fifth or fourth pavilion.

  For the second day in a row, all five hundred of these people were on the parade ground, training under Helion’s command. No one knew what real teamwork meant better than a cavalryman. His soldiers not only had to cooperate with each other but also their horses as well.

  “Are you sure they can handle it?” Nero asked.

  He had replaced his favorite heavy armor with a set of thick furs and skins, and he now wore high boots to avoid drowning in the snow.

  Of course, Hadjar and Nero weren't prominent experts when it came to hunting. Not like the old man, Robin, from the village in the Valley of Streams had been. However, they knew more about it than others in the army. When Helion finished his drill, they would have to teach people the language of hand gestures.

  It was important enough in the forest, but in the mountains, where the echo of a simple whisper could carry for many miles, it was a necessity.

  “I don’t know,” Hadjar admitted honestly.

  At that moment, while the soldiers were practicing their hunting skills, one of the swordsmen accidentally hit a friend standing nearby with his weapon and almost cut off his hand. Then came the screams, curses, healers running toward the man like headless chickens, and the clink of the pottery in their heavy bags.

  “I don’t know either,” Nero, looking at all that splendor, admitted to his friend.

  Serra was in the hospital as usual. She could practice her spells, talk to scientists, and tend to the injured there. She mostly spent time with her lover in the evenings and during the late night hours, and she spent time with her friend, Hadjar, every few days.

  She was always invited to the War Council meetings, but she never came to them. The affairs of Balium and Lidus held no real interest for a woman from the Sea of Sand.

  “You miss her,” Nero said, not even asking if he was right.

  He noticed his friend give a quick, barely perceptible glance in the direction of the village at the foot of the mountain range. The witch who’d managed to touch the iron heart of the General lived somewhere down there.

  “Don't you think it's strange that we’ve both been enchanted by witches?” the blond warrior asked, filling his pipe with tobacco.

  “I haven’t been enchanted or however you want to call it,” Hadjar replied.

  That was definitely true. Otherwise, he would’ve either stayed with Nehen or taken her with him by force. But neither of those things had happened. However, he sometimes returned to that guest house in his memories, to the place where he’d spent one of the most beautiful nights of his life. Maybe the most beautiful…

  Gods only know how long they would’ve argued about it if Simon hadn't come over. Despite his usual well-groomed appearance, he was presently covered in soot, flushed, and sweating profusely.

  “Everything is ready, my General,” he said between wheezing breaths as he struggled to get control of his breathing.

  “Good.” Hadjar nodded, emptying his pipe and putting it away. “Come on.”

  Simon turned and quickly walked toward the caves where the smithies had been built on Hadjar’s orders. The air grew hotter as they approached the forge, and clouds of smoke streamed from the caves like from the nostrils of a sleeping dragon. The air was saturated with black ash, mixing with the small snowflakes that had somehow managed to break through Serra's barrier.

  Flat arches had been placed on this roof. The chimneys were bolted to them, but they couldn’t always handle the load they had to bear, and the copper pipes were cracked in many places. These cracks were always repaired immediately, but there were just too many of them sometimes. That was why there was such a prevalence of heat, fumes, and soot.

  Simon covered his nose with a pure white handkerchief that left Hadjar wondering where he’d gotten it from. The General walked with his back straight and his chin slightly raised. The soot instantly stuck to his face, but it didn't bother Hadjar. He was never clean anyway.

  Mighty men worked inside the caves. Each of them was as impressive as the great Bear Dogar himself had been—may the forefathers be favorable to him.

  In the huge forge, amidst the red light and heat, the orange metal they were working on was boiling. Huge hammers pounded against anvils and their ringing slightly slowed Hadjar’s heartbeat. Blacksmiths had always been considered as mysterious and sacred as witches. Their science was complex and unknowable to mere mortals and practitioners.

  “My General.” The chief blacksmith of the Moon Army saluted.

  With a thick beard tied into braids, broad shoulders, and pudgy fists, he was three heads taller than Hadjar. How can such a giant enter these small caves?

  “Show me,” Hadjar ordered the man.

  The blacksmith nodded to his apprentices and they rolled out something that had been hidden under a section of burlap. The blacksmith tore the fabric away, and black steel flashed in the firelight. There were six long, heavy barrels attached to a huge relay and gears, all of it the approximate size of an artillery piece.

  There was a trough with cannonballs in each barrel, and a steel chair was located in the center. Tuur stood nearby with a huge grin on his face; Hadjar couldn’t believe that the engineer and the blacksmith had been able to invent this multi-barrel cannon in just a couple of weeks.

  “How many shots is it good for?”

  “The test sample could launch ten from each barrel. Later, however, three of six shots burst and the rotary mechanism broke, General,” Tuur reported.

  “Ten shots. Sixty in total,” the blacksmith added.

  “How many people do you need to operate this... device?” Hadjar asked.

  “Three.”

  “That’s five less crew than a single cannon needs,” Hadjar said. “So, wit
h the same number of gunners, they could increase the power of our artillery attack many times over. It should still take several hours for the cannons to break through the barrier above the first pavilion, but even that is better than nothing.”

  “How many devices can you build for me over the winter?”

  The chief smith thought carefully, looked at his people, scratched his head quite innocently, and then said: “No more than a dozen, my General. Maybe twenty if we skimp on quality.”

  “We don't want that.” Hadjar shook his head. “Make less than a dozen if you have to, but make sure that each cannon can fire for as long as possible.”

  The blacksmith smiled broadly and saluted. He was used to the old generals, even Moon Leen, who’d always thought about quantity and paid little attention to the actual quality of his work.

  General Hadjar, like his former superiors, also demanded the impossible, but at the same time, he at least gave him a chance to successfully complete this ‘impossible’ task. Hadjar, after leaving the forges, breathed a long sigh of relief at the fact that at least one of his many urgent problems had apparently been solved. Now he had one less thing to worry about.

  Chapter 146

  adjar sat on the floorboards inside his tent. Somewhere far away, a snowstorm was still howling, but it didn’t bother the General. Placing Moon Beam in front of him, he immersed himself in a deep meditative state.

  [Host is in deep hibernation. Collection and analysis of meta-data is proceeded]

  He mentally swam in the river of energy, and in doing so, he discarded all of his past, present and future. Sometimes he heard distant voices, and he saw vague images, but he didn’t pay any attention to them. They were only mirages designed to confuse a practitioner or an adept and forever imprison them inside the river.

  The path of cultivation opposed the Laws of Heaven and Earth. Therefore, it was filled with dangers and mysteries. Hadjar had once again decided to try his hand at one of these mysteries.

  He sank deeper and deeper into the bottomless, overwhelming power. He was only able to take a microscopic speck from this river that could wash the whole galaxy away. But even these tiny specks carried him further away from the state of a mortal and toward becoming a true cultivator.

  However, at the moment, that wasn’t what Hadjar was focusing on.

  There, in the depths, he saw a steely light forming a vague image of a blade. Hadjar swam toward it. The closer he got to that light, the more distinct the resistance became. There was a feeling like he’d become entangled in a razor-sharp web, capable of slicing his mind and even soul to pieces.

  At some point, Hadjar realized that if he made even one more ‘step’, he would be shredded into a myriad of tiny specks and lost forever in the river’s flow.

  Stopping to hover in the river for a moment, the General looked at the distant light, which was so similar to starlight. This time, he was able to get a little closer than on his last attempt. But even this ‘small’—perhaps an arm’s length—distance was enough for him to nearly suffocate from the power of this energy. From its deadly might that cut and slashed everything in its path.

  Somewhere in there, within the river, existed the very essence of the Way of the Sword. Its peak. The true form of any Technique related to swordsmanship under the boundless sky. Hadjar’s very soul craved it.

  Anyone able to actually touch this spirit would be able to cut through the very ocean itself, pierce the moon, and bring a star down from the sky with a swing of their sword—according to the stories the Shadow had told him.

  Both Hadjar’s body and mind were now in the Lotus position. It wasn’t necessary, but Hadjar found it made things easier for him. Hovering in the depths of the river, he meditated on the secrets that radiated from the spirit of the Sword. He couldn’t absorb the Sword’s true energy, but he could try to touch upon its mysteries. Perhaps it could help him advance on his journey.

  Therefore, Hadjar spent hours on this, and was even ready to devote whole days to meditation, if not for his duties as the General. They sometimes seemed so goddamn burdensome to him.…

  Somewhere on the surface, a bell tinkled melodiously.

  Hadjar didn’t immediately notice it, but when he did, he could no longer ignore it. He ‘popped out’ of the river with difficulty and came to his senses.

  He had originally sat down in the Lotus position while the moon had still been above him, but now the sun’s rays could be seen through the canopy of his tent. At the very entrance, above the tent’s ‘threshold’, a bell was actually ringing.

  The General had deliberately hung it there so that no one would incur the dragon’s wrath if they were unlucky enough to disturb Hadjar during a moment of insight. Hadjar’s recent outbursts had become… a bit worrisome.

  The Shadow of the Immortal had advised Hadjar to dive into meditation more often—not so he could grow stronger, but to calm down. Practitioners and adepts had to keep their minds cool and not allow emotions to influence or cloud their judgment. Otherwise, it became too easy to follow the wrong path toward the energy of chaos and destruction. Its availability and power had tempted more than one generation of Immortals.

  “My General!” His bodyguard, runner and adjutant in one, saluted. “Commander Nero reports that the warriors are ready to be dispatched, as per your orders.”

  Hadjar sighed and nodded in agreement.

  It was time.

  “Tell him I’ll be there soon.”

  The bodyguard saluted again and ran off toward the center of the camp, to where the parade ground was.

  Hadjar returned to his tent. He threw back the lid of his chest and took out a jacket made of leather and fur. He also needed a pair of high boots with a wool lining and his pants that were three fingers thick. At the bottom of the chest lay a heavy, white fur cloak. But even all that clothing couldn’t protect a person from the cold. So Hadjar also put on his favorite well-worn and simple clothes.

  He didn’t put on his jacket and cloak inside the tent. If he ended up sweating even a little, the fur and wool would become useless. He would immediately be frozen solid and become one of the thousands of icy corpses that littered the snow-covered Black Mountains.

  Leaving the tent, he patted Azrea, who was sleeping on the table—right on top of the map, Hadjar noted. In his mind, he slapped himself hard. He had to get rid of the thought that he had a ‘legitimate’ reason to go down to the village to see Nehen now. The fact he was concerned about how the kitten wasn’t growing couldn’t be used as an excuse to talk to her... and more.

  When he reached the parade ground, Hadjar examined the five hundred warriors before him. The brave men and women. There were archers, spearmen, swordsmen, as well as wielders of large axes and maces among them. All of them skilled practitioners, with a variety of Techniques, weapons, and stories. And all of them were united by one goal—survival.

  As always, a smiling Nero stood beside the General. When compared to the gloomy and serious Hadjar, he looked somewhat roguish and even comical. This calmed the soldiers. They respected their General immensely, and they were eager to execute any of his orders—even if it meant sacrificing their lives for him—but they loved Commander Nero.

  Hadjar looked into Serra’s eyes. She stood near the three tall pillars that led to the mountains. He seemed to be looking for permission to put her beloved in danger yet again.

  The witch wasn’t a warrior, and every march was difficult for her free, desert heart to endure. She looked away and nodded slightly. There was nothing she could do about who the men in her life were and where their path, filled with blood and battle, led.

  Hadjar slowly raised his fist into the air.

  This sign meant Ready in the language of the hunters from the Valley of Streams.

  Immediately, five hundred of the best soldiers in the Moon Army saluted in response. Five hundred fists struck against their chests.

  Hadjar turned toward the pillars. Serra was already whispering and twisting
a strip of yellow paper with red hieroglyphs inscribed on it between her fingers. Finally, the talisman flashed and the barrier began to open.

  The General, followed by his warriors, put on and buttoned up his jacket and then put his cloak on as well.

  Hadjar straightened his palm and spun it clockwise a couple of times.

  Go ahead.

  Chapter 147

  Hiding behind his cloak to protect himself from the snow, Hadjar watched as his warriors dealt with an Ice Bear. It was similar to the one that the General had single-handedly killed on his way to the tomb.

  Nero and Hadjar weren’t taking part in this battle. Five hundred people was way more than just ‘enough’ to bring down one beast at the Alpha Stage. In addition, it was great training for the recently formed hunting squad.

  After checking the map on his neural network (which wasn’t really necessary as the landmarks around the lair of the white apes were very bright), Hadjar looked to the north-east.

  He was currently wearing ‘glasses’—two wooden strips fastened with leather threads that formed two pyramids on each eye with small slits he would use to peer through. He couldn’t see much through them, but it was better than the snow blindness he’d have to endure if he didn’t wear them.

  The soldiers had all trained in these kinds of glasses, and now the fruits of their training could easily be seen. The bear didn’t stand a chance. The first dozen warriors injured his feet, the second threw lassos, and the third dozen then finished it with arrows and spears. They didn’t use any Techniques, just their skills and brute strength.

  The warriors had handled the bear rather quickly. After just a couple of minutes, the beast was lying on the crimson snow and no longer moving. One of the designated hunting officers (the squad needed a hierarchy to help Hadjar run it) deftly carved the power core out of the beast’s chest and raised it in the air—it was their first prey.