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

by Kirill Klevanski

  Hadjar gave the officers plenty of time to consider this new information before asking his question.

  “Do you have any suggestions?” Hadjar asked quietly, continuing to stroke the sleeping Azrea.

  It calmed his battle-hungry heart. The warmth of the kitten and her furry coat seemingly washed away the bloodstains on his soul and cooled his burning rage.

  “We have to fix the ice fortifications, my General,” Tuur grabbed the pointer and moved a few blocks on the map with it. “We have enough White Ape cores left to plug the holes in the wall. The blacksmiths can produce more new guns in a couple of weeks. We'll repair everyone’s armor, make more arrows and explosives, and my men will erect an obstacle course around the perimeter. The enemy won’t be able to get to us, and we’ll continue to grow stronger.”

  “That all sounds great, Officer Tuur,” Simon took the pointer. His gaze had become much manlier after the invasion, to everyone's surprise, and he was now much tougher and even more confident. “My men will have to go deep into the forest to make arrows. Who knows what kind of monsters have settled there after the recent events? Don’t forget that some of my people are already working with the villagers.”

  “We can call them back,” Tuur shrugged. “If we manage to repel the attacks of the sect, and then defeat it, everybody wins.”

  The officers pondered this. Hadjar didn’t agree with Tuur’s plan, but didn’t say so immediately. The neuronet was actively processing everything; the more information it received, the easier it was for it to formulate one of its own plans. Based on its suggestions, Hadjar could then come up with another one of his ‘crazy’ ideas.

  He constantly convened War Councils for this exact purpose. The neural network was a very useful tool, but the General was just a regular swordsman without the advice of experienced and knowledgeable people to help it work.

  “You're forgetting an important detail, Tuur,” Nero rose and approached the map. “No one can guarantee that the sect won’t start preparing for an all-out assault while we’re taking care of the fortifications.”

  “We can endure their attacks, just like we withstood the beast invasion.”

  “What are you talking about?” Helion roared. “Maybe the engineers didn't notice, but most of the soldiers are either lying on medical beds or waiting for the smoke of the pyres to take them to the next life!”

  Tuur squinted and gripped the pointer tightly, his fingers turning white.

  “Are you trying to imply that my soldiers didn’t take part in that battle?”

  “I’m not implying anything. I'm telling the truth. While we were fighting, you were hiding in the caves!”

  “How dare you! You uneducated-”

  Hadjar didn't have to slap his hand on the table or raise his voice. He just let everyone feel his energy, which was soaked with a dragon’s rage. This was enough to make the flames on the torches tremble, the shadows to become thicker, and the numerous weapons spread out on the chests to look almost… hungry.

  The officers that had started the useless argument immediately straightened their backs, saluted, and sat down. They kept shooting each other hateful looks but remained silent.

  “I agree with Helion, oddly enough.”

  Everyone present was astonished by Lian’s words. The leader of the archers agreed with the head cavalryman as often as the moon rose with the sun, cherries blossomed in winter, and time reversed its flow.

  They were like oil and water, or, more aptly, fire and alcohol.

  “With all due respect, Tuur,’ Lian turned toward the confused engineer. “You haven’t seen what we have. You weren't there during the battle against the sixth pavilion, either. You just don't know what you're suggesting. We won’t be able to sit behind fortifications. The sect will simply destroy us.”

  Tuur sighed. Perhaps he wanted to say something offensive in response, but eventually just waved his hand dismissively and turned back to the map. He was a professional and knew when to admit his own mistakes. Any other kind of person wasn’t allowed to attend Hadjar’s War Council. The General couldn’t tolerate arrogant and stupid soldiers.

  “How many wounded soldiers do we have?”

  “About three hundred thousand, my General,” the Healer said immediately.

  “How many of them will be able to take up arms within a week and a half?”

  The tent was quiet. They looked at the General. They didn't notice even a hint of doubt or fear in his clear blue eyes.

  “About seventy to eighty thousand of them.”

  The man looked as if he’d been offered a chance to sell his soul to demons or his own mother to a cheap brothel. He understood that the Moon army could not survive the attack of the sect.

  Unlike the engineers, the healers had often been in the thick of every battle. Even while under attack, they would carry the wounded away from the battlefield. While people were busy taking each other's lives, they were trying to save them.

  There were no people Hadjar respected as much as the field medics.

  “What will happen if we use the animals’ cores? We have more of them now than both Balium and Lidus.”

  The silence was replaced by almost frightened whispers. Undoubtedly, they’d collected a rich harvest after the beasts’ invasion. But every practitioner knew how dangerous and painful it was to use those cores.

  It retained all the rage and anger that the beast had felt during its lifetime if it wasn’t subjected to a special alchemical treatment first.

  “One hundred thousand soldiers will be able to take up arms in that case,” the Chief Healer replied after a moment's thought. “That's the most you can hope for, my General. About fifty thousand of the wounded won’t live to see the dawn. An equal number of them will never again be able to take up arms. The rest, even with the help of the cores, will need at least a month to recover.”

  “We don't have a month,” Hadjar said.

  The General rose and stood beside Nero. They looked at the designation of ‘The Black Gates’ sect's main pavilion, the enemy they had to defeat before finally going back home.

  “Just give the order, my General,” Lergon’s voice sounded exactly like a hammer striking steel. “My men will rise from their graves to fight under your banner in this battle.”

  Hadjar had never doubted the devotion of the Baliumian. They’d been fighting against a common enemy.

  “A week,” Hadjar said finally. The neuronet had finished its calculations. It gave this plan a 35% chance of success. “In a week, we’ll march on their Snake Gates.”

  The tent was quiet for a while, and then the Council resumed for a few more hours. The officers discussed the details of the plan and offered new ideas, looking for ways to increase their chances of survival and victory in the upcoming battle. All the while, they tried to forget that in the main Palace of the sect, a Patriarch, someone at the level of a Heaven Soldier, was waiting for them.

  Chapter 160

  “It’s crazy, Hadj.”

  Nero, who was smoking some strong tobacco, looked at the rows of pyres. Hundreds, no, thousands of fires carried the ashes of the fallen soldiers into the sky. There, the wind met the souls of the dead and escorted them to the house of their forefathers. No one knew whether they would find their relatives holding wine or rods. It depended only on what kind of life a person had lived, whether or not they’d been honest and brave, whether or not they’d been strong in spirit, whether or not they’d lived freely, and if they’d died with dignity.

  Hadjar, after asking himself these questions, couldn’t say for sure what he would have been met with.

  “What do you mean?” Hadjar asked, inhaling his own tobacco.

  It helped him calm down almost as much as Azrea did. The kitten hadn’t been awake much since the end of the battle. However, meat would sometimes disappear from the special chest, so Hadjar knew that the kitten did wake up periodically.

  “All of this,” Nero pointed to both the fires and the camp.

/>   The soldiers were singing a funeral song. Some of them were playing the Ron'Jah while others played the drums. Hadjar couldn’t remember the last time he’d held a musical instrument. Recently, all he held in them was either a sword or the fate of millions of people. The second burden, surprisingly, became easier to carry with each passing day.

  “How much time will pass after our victory before Lidus sends troops to Balium?”

  Hadjar looked at Nero. He saw only the glow of the funeral pyres in his friend's eyes.

  “I don't know,” the General admitted. “A year or two.”

  “Madness,” Nero repeated. “Today, we fight alongside Lergon and his men, but soon enough…”

  Hadjar looked down. The sixth pavilion was clearly visible from where they stood. It looked like a reflection of the night sky. Only the stars on the black canvas weren’t emitting silver light, but red and orange lights instead. Smoke rose into the sky as music, guiding the souls on their last journey, filled the air.

  It was like a place full of lost memories sending their light on a journey of a million miles and thousands upon thousands of years.

  “But I'm glad you're confident in our victory,” Hadjar exhaled a ring of smoke and put out his pipe. He pocketed it and checked if his sword was securely sheathed.

  “What's the point of going to battle without that certainty?” Nero was surprised. “Don't forget, you owe me a hundred Alpha Cores.”

  If Hadjar had still been smoking, then he surely would’ve choked.

  “Why?”

  “Who made me go hunting for The White Apes? Who jumped over the ice wall and into the horde of monsters? Who am I risking my ass for every day? It, by the way, is one of a kind. And, imagine that, I want to keep it intact! You're always dragging me to places where I end up in mortal danger.”

  Hadjar didn't know whether to resent him or to laugh. The blond warrior was clearly joking, but that didn't mean that there wasn’t some truth to his words.

  “If it hadn't been for me, you would’ve never met Serra. So, consider my wedding gift to you both to be... the wedding itself.”

  “That wasn’t your doing,” Nero chuckled, putting some more tobacco in his pipe. “It was the will of the gods.”

  Gods…

  Hadjar looked up at the sky. He wondered if there truly were gods in this world. If there were beasts that could turn into people, and there were people who had been freed from the shackles of time, then maybe the gods actually existed as well. Hadjar ended up with too many questions and no answers for any of them.

  “Derger would be pleased with you,” Nero said. “Three years ago, we were in line for the army exam together.”

  Hadjar looked down again.

  “And now we’re looking at funeral pyres.”

  “It could be worse,” Nero exhaled smoke that immediately mixed with the pillars of ash. “We could be in there with them.”

  Hadjar didn’t argue. He didn't have time for it. Serra was climbing the stone stairs to the top of the cliff. Despite the imminent arrival of spring and the changing direction of the wind, the nights were still cool. Serra was wrapped in a wool shawl, wearing long skirts and wolf fur boots.

  The latter, Hadjar was certain, she wore mostly because of Nehen.

  Women…

  Hadjar nodded to Serra and she nodded back. A few minutes later, the General gave the lovers some privacy. They stood arm in arm, in absolute silence and tranquility. They needed it no less than the ordinary soldiers needed to get drunk and play funeral songs.

  Every soldier knew that they’d been lucky to survive, that the gods were merciful, and that they should be happy they weren’t burning in a pyre or writhing on a bed in the healer’s tent. But the battle to come still inspired dread…

  Hadjar went down the stone stairs, passing through the ranks of soldiers who all saluted him. Someone offered him a Ron’Jah, but Hadjar refused. He wasn't sure he could play it anymore.

  He returned to his tent, expecting to find Nehen in it, but the witch had left. Despite her being part of a pack of wolves, she often behaved like a cat. Sometimes she was tender, other times she would bite and scratch without any real provocation, and sometimes she would just go off on her own.

  It was stupid to deny that he liked this constant battle of wills. She kept him on his toes, allowing him to escape from his problems and worries as a General. Maybe that's why Nehen did it.

  Hadjar had never understood the female mind, and he wasn’t even going to bother trying to understand how a witch thought.

  The General spent a few minutes trying to polish the weapons of Moon Leen and Dragon’s Tooth. They were the weapons of two generals whose lives had been worthy of bards writing a heroic epic in their honor. Maybe they'd already done so and the songs just hadn't reached Hadjar yet.

  At end of the war, when (if) they went back through that ill-fated pass, he would bury their weapons where the lives of the mighty generals had ended.

  Hadjar sat down on the bed and assumed the Lotus position. He wasn't planning to waste too much time—he was about to face the most difficult battle of his life after all.

  Fate had led him to the foot of the sect Patriarch's throne, and he couldn’t abandon the path now. Hadjar wasn’t arrogant, but he was the strongest warrior in his army, as a General should be…

  If he didn’t fight the Patriarch himself, the man would easily be able to destroy a tenth of the already damaged Moon Army. That’s why Hadjar was diving once more into the bottomless river of energy that flowed through all things. He had hoped to get close to the Sword spirit aura, but instead of being in the river and seeing the distant blade’s silhouette, he found himself in an endless plain.

  Chapter 161

  Hadjar rose to his feet, realizing that he wasn’t in the river of energy at all. He wasn't just imagining having a body, either. It felt just as solid as it had in the real world.

  The playful east wind ruffled his hair. It made the tall grass of the vast plain sway, creating the illusion that Hadjar was standing knee-deep in an emerald lake. There were a lot of boulders and rocks overgrown with moss and grass off to the side.

  Fluffy, white clouds floated across the sky as if caressing the clear blueness of it. The sun was shining, warm and gentle, as if it was trying to warm up the frozen soul of the General who’d survived the winter.

  Hadjar leaned over and plucked a blade of grass. He licked it and then bit into it. The bitter juice ran down his lips.

  It wasn't bitter enough.

  Hadjar closed his eyes and tried to catch the wind. The free and careless wind. It remained silent.

  For the first time in his life, the wind was silent.

  The clouds were moving too slowly.

  The sun wasn’t bright enough.

  The whole world around him was slightly lifeless. But that was enough to let him realize that his consciousness had become a part of a game once more.

  “Illusions have always been my passion,” a familiar voice said.

  A figure appeared, standing on a stone near Hadjar. It looked as if it had come from the sky and the horizon and had been made from the clouds and the deep blue of the sky itself. It was a tall man dressed in clothes of the same color as his image. The azure silk looked so expensive and masterfully tailored that Hadjar doubted that clothes like these could have been made even in the Empire.

  Long, black hair fluttered in the wind. It seemed like it was trying to compete with the azure ribbons along the edges of the exquisite clothes. His long sleeves floating behind him, and golden ribbons decorated a broad, emerald belt that shone in the rays of the sun.

  The man wasn’t young, but he was handsome. His hair hadn’t turned gray yet, but his age was reflected in his deep eyes, where a narrow spindle had replaced a round pupil.

  The creature that had given him a new life stood in front of Hadjar. The dragon looked at him. His hair framed his long, powerful horns and a tail could be seen among the ribbons. The tail looke
d similar to both a tree branch and a peacock’s feather.

  “Greetings, honorable Lord of the Heavens,” Hadjar bowed.

  Traves smiled slightly, showing off a row of inhuman teeth.

  “Time has taught you manners, mortal,” his voice was deeper and... Stronger than it had been in their past meeting.

  “A lot of things have happened since we last spoke. They must’ve changed me more than I’d thought, venerable Traves.”

  The dragon in human form was staring at the man whose eyes had a dragon dancing within them. They stood in the middle of an endless sea of green grass and white clouds.

  Finally, the dragon waved his hand and a table and two chairs appeared in front of him.

  “Tell me about your adventures, mortal.”

  “I'm afraid I don't have time for this,” Hadjar bowed again. “I have to fight a battle soon.”

  “The battle will wait for you forever, Hadjar Durant, Prince of the Dead Kingdom. Someday, you'll learn to appreciate moments of simple conversation.”

  Hadjar felt the deep wisdom behind his teacher’s words. He had given Hadjar his life force and heart in order to allow the Prince to get his justice, but the dragon was hoping to get his own revenge in the process. Even though Traves hadn’t yet said what he would ask for in return for his gift, Hadjar knew that it wouldn’t be a simple task.

  Still, he couldn't afford to spend hours chatting when he was facing the prospect of having to fight a true cultivator.

  “Only the essence of your mind is here, Hadjar. Time isn’t a barrier to the mind. We’ll talk as much as we want with the help of our thoughts. A thought can pierce space, time, and even reality.”

  Hadjar thought about this for a while. Simply put, Traves was doing something similar to what the Shadow of the Immortal had done.

  “Then let me tell you my story.”

  Hadjar sat down at the table. A bowl of wine appeared in front of him. The wine was sweet and fragrant, but not too sweet or fragrant. Hadjar recounted the years that had passed since their last meeting.