The girl was shouting something, trying to hold back the wave of fire and swords with her staff. The fire rained down around her, burning the disciples there, while the blades left deep cuts on the sectarian’s hands and body.
“Rina!” A distant, desperate cry sounded.
Hadjar recognized the tone—people usually sounded like that when they couldn’t save those who were dear to them. The General saw a warrior with a spear at the ready riding toward him through the ranks of the fighters. In his eyes, he saw horror and despair.
Rina turned to her lover, but could say nothing. The two Techniques proved to be too much for her. The staff faltered. In that instant, one of the ghostly blades split the girl in half from the top of her head all the way down to her waist.
The staff fell to the ground. The two halves of the once beautiful woman fell with it.
A cry full of animal pain sounded, “No!”
Hadjar once again thought about how the gods were surely mocking him. But that was war. And he was Hadjar Traves, the Mad General.
Moving his sword back into position, Hadjar prepared to face the rider rushing toward him, intoxicated with pain and bloodlust.
Chapter 175
While the rider, who was clearly one of the sect’s best disciples, was charging Hadjar at full speed, the Moon army wasn’t wasting any time. The Baliumian troops had been able to get to the sect pavilions.
Maddened by the battle, Lergon’s soldiers started throwing ropes and hooks over the roofs of the buildings to tear them down.
The ancient libraries collapsed. The scrolls full of Techniques and knowledge turned into fire and ashes. They were dumped in a heap, drenched with a combustible mixture, and set on fire.
Lian and her warriors had dragged siege weapons through the gap. Fireballs now flew toward rocky gorge, where the once beautiful white arch had been, leaving a black, smoky trail in the sky. They demolished the sentinel towers along the edges of the gorge. Because they didn’t manage to retreat in time, many disciples fell down the cliff. Screaming and groaning, they landed straight in the middle of the chaos.
People, horses, blades, technology—all of it came together into one crazy palette of scarlet and orange colors. The smell of blood and ashes filled people’s noses and clouded their minds.
Compared to the mayhem all around them, the lone rider on the white horse and his long spear looked abnormal, as did his dead lover.
Leaping over the ranks of the warriors, the rider landed in front of Hadjar. He didn’t offer his name or accuse the General of anything, only wept silently with impotent rage and pain. His spear was so long that, with a single thrust, he easily impaled five soldiers on it, then, lifting them into the air, threw them toward Hadjar.
Perhaps it was wrong for the General to swing his sword and cut the bodies of his dead warriors into pieces. But they were only bodies—physical shells and nothing more. The souls of the dead soldiers were already residing in the homes of their forefathers and didn’t care about earthly affairs anymore.
Spurring his armored horse, the rider forced the animal to lurch suddenly. The horse jumped, whizzing through the air like an arrow. The man’s long, powerful spear flashed.
Sheathing his sword, Hadjar turned, letting the tip of his foe’s weapon fly harmlessly past his chest. It just barely scratched his breastplate, but that was still enough for Hadjar to feel as if a ram had struck him.
Miraculously managing to stay on his feet, the General grabbed the spear and pulled abruptly. The rider flew out of the saddle, but didn’t fall to the ground, as Hadjar had expected. He turned around in the air, leaned on the shaft, and then forcefully slammed his palm against the spear. If Hadjar hadn’t already released the weapon, he would’ve been impaled through the chest all the way down to his waist.
He managed to dodge aside. Just in time, too, because less than a heartbeat later, the weapon was rammed a good three feet into the ground. The rider, who had lost his horse, landed next to the spear. He hit the shaft with the heel of his hand and the weapon tore out a huge chunk of the ground. The fragment of earth broke into hundreds of small, sharp pieces as it rained down on Hadjar.
The General drew his blade again and conjured an impenetrable cocoon of steel light around him. His blade moved so quickly that it was impossible to discern where one slash ended and another began. As a result, the earthen shrapnel turned into dust and settled on Hadjar’s armor. He didn’t even have time to take a breath before the rider was already on the offensive again.
Holding the spear by its base, he used its flexibility and length. One thrust turned into ten, and ten into a hundred. The General felt like he wasn’t fighting just one foe, but a whole division of spearmen.
Hadjar wielded his sword faster than he ever had before. If not for the Sword spirit tattoo on his back that had allowed him to use the energy of the blade and advance along the Way of the Sword, he would’ve been struck a thousand times over by now. He was only able to avoid most of the thrusts thanks to Traves’ Technique.
Yet there were still streams of blood running down his shoulders, face and arms. Even the armor at the Mortal Artifact level couldn’t hold back the warrior’s might. This was to be expected. After all, the sword and the spear were considered to be the two kings of the battlefield.
The rider, seeing that his foe was only defending and retreating, took hold of the spear in a wide grip. He swung it over his head and, after saying something, slashed down. Hadjar watched in bewilderment as the spear grew larger. First, it became the size of a pillar, and then it was the size of a ship’s mast.
He tried to dodge, not willing to risk blocking those strikes. The spear widened too quickly and clipped the General. Hadjar was dragged about fifteen feet along the ground. Fortunately, he’d managed to avoid a direct hit. The spear had dug such a deep furrow in the ground that a boat could’ve sailed through it without a problem.
With a roar, the rider straightened and turned around, grasping his weapon. He literally crushed and smashed people as if they were nothing more than porcelain dolls. Hadjar leapt to his feet and watched death approaching him.
Without wasting time, he pushed off the ground and soared upward, the gigantic spear left far below. Seeing the predatory smile on the rider's face, the General realized that he’d made a mistake. A rookie one, at that. He’d given up solid footing and launched himself into the air, where it was impossible to dodge a strike.
The spear assumed its original size as quickly as it had grown before. The rider started his crazy dance again, thrusting a hundred times in the span of a second.
A cloud of steel spear tips rushed toward Hadjar, who had no chance of dodging or blocking all the attacks. To do so, he needed to be on the ground.
“Damn it,” the General swore.
He secretly watched the values on his energy scale decrease. Since the beginning of the battle, he’d lost only one point (according to the neuronet’s calculations) and had three points left after the latest attack. Which meant he had less than sixty percent of his total energy remaining. A huge waste when one took into account the fact that the end of the battle still wasn’t anywhere close.
“Spring Wind,” Hadjar said.
It wasn't necessary to say the name of the Technique out loud, it was just easier to concentrate that way. When a warrior is in the air and a swarm of steel spears is rushing toward him, every single advantage needs to be taken.
Before, back when Hadjar hadn’t yet dedicated himself to the Sword Spirit, he hadn’t been able to understand the depths of the Spring Wind Technique, and had therefore used it poorly, but now…
An enormous attack that looked like a steel wave was launched from his blade when he swung it. The essence of the ‘Spring Wind’ wasn’t in the rapid unsheathing of the sword followed by the penetrating beam attack. It was far more complex and nuanced than that.
As the spring wind brought life with it wherever it went and kindled it in all things, so was the Techniqu
e able to repeatedly strengthen any attacks.
Hadjar’s strike grew bigger and bigger as it went until it reached an altitude of thirty feet.
It easily broke the cloud of spears, like they were no stronger than toothpicks. Turning them into dust, it seemingly punched through the rider without even touching him. In fact, after going about thirty feet past the enemy and digging the ground up so that the furrow divided it in two, the strike dissipated. The life of the horseman ended along with it, and his soul hurried to the forefathers and his beloved.
He fell, split in half, just like his beloved. The broken spear rolled over to the remains of the staff, and they froze together for all eternity when they touched.
Hadjar’s attack, along with the life of the horseman, ended hundreds of sectarians that had been on the other side of the site. Regardless of how impressive this achievement was, Hadjar had used a great deal of his energy to accomplish it.
“You’re going to give me an inferiority complex.”
Covered in soot, Nero appeared nearby, looking like a demon of the abyss...
“What are you doing here?” Hadjar asked, taking a short break. “You have your own front to deal with.”
“Go to hell, General,” his friend smiled. “Stop bossing me around, will you? I came to tell you that Lian and Helion have broken through the sect’s defenses.”
Nero turned Hadjar around and pointed toward the side of the gorge blazing in the fire with his sword.
“We’re going to besiege the Patriarch's castle.”
Hadjar nodded and followed his friend. Together, they literally carved a way through the enemy to get to the soldiers besieging the main fortification of the sect. The General felt the gaze of the Patriarch, but he didn’t care.
For the first time in a long time, he could see the shadow of victory.
Chapter 176
Hadjar and Nero broke through the ranks of disciples and found themselves under the arches of the gorge. A close battle was taking place here. Together, they hurried to help the Baliumians and the Moon soldiers. Older disciples, who had arrived to defend the main fortification of the sect, were holding them back.
The Masters fought alongside the disciples. They were old practitioners who hadn't smelled gunpowder in a long time. In contrast to those disciples that had defended six pavilions, these men were used to teaching the young. They looked like true Immortals compared to ordinary disciples, but all their arrogance was cut away by the blades of Hadjar and Nero, their pride turned into rivers of blood.
Paving their way forward with bodies, the General and the Bear squad’s commander led the armies. They were clearing the path with their swords, leaving rivers of blood and mangled flesh and steel in their wake.
This continued up until the sect consolidated their ranks and struck out. A powerful counterattack with tens of thousands of the sect’s best disciples, under the leadership of the martial Masters, emerged from behind the walls of the castle and launched a crushing offensive against the Moon Army forces.
Hadjar and Nero were fighting dozens of teachers and disciples at once and couldn’t respond to the threat. A black cloud reeking of death and decay was already rushing toward the gorge. Nero's wound had smelled the same way at the beginning of winter.
The cloud was so large that it could cover the entire Moon Army, leaving no memories, nor even bones to be buried. Hadjar, unable to get out of the encirclement quickly enough, could only watch helplessly as death approached his people.
At that moment, when the cloud had almost devoured the army, the cavalry rushed forward. Tens of thousands of brave horsemen, wielding daggers, spears, and swords rushed toward the dangerous cloud under Helion’s leadership.
They stood united, without any special equipment, without a real plan, led by an officer of the mad General. They simply started exuding their energy. It merged into a single substance and the silver wave collided with the black wave.
Hadjar redoubled his efforts to get out of the encirclement, but three sectarians were always there to replace each fallen disciple. They were doing the exact same thing the cavalry that had encircled Robarg had done.
The silver wave fought against the black wave in the sky, while the cavalry fought against the disciples and Masters on the ground. While the sectarians had a distinct immunity to the black fog, Helion’s people were gradually covered with spots, their veins darkened, and their skin became deathly gray. One by one, they fell to the ground, screaming desperately, but still gave their all to hold back the fog.
Gradually, at the cost of thousands of lives, the silver wave overcame the black one, or rather just held it back as they dissipated at the same rate.
Hadjar stabbed one of the encircling Masters and, throwing his body aside, looked at the place where the desperate battle was winding down. The field was littered with the butchered bodies of the sectarians and the ravaged bodies of the Moon soldiers. Helion stood in the center of the graveyard, holding his horse.
One-eyed, terrifying as the devil himself, he looked toward his General. There was no regret or fear in the commander’s eye. The last wisps of the black mist were disappearing above his head, and his life along with them.
His skin was so gray that it was indistinguishable from stone. Black veins throbbed along his face and arms. He still stood there, despite his weakened legs.
Before he went to the forefathers, Helion straightened his back and saluted his General. Then, he fell. That’s how the always grumpy, but exemplary, honorable, and dignified cavalry officer died. He sacrificed his life for the sake of thousands of comrades, as well as the memory of Dogar and Moon Leen.
“You don't deserve these people,” Hadjar growled, chopping through the enemy ranks. He was knee-deep in blood, his sword almost hissing from the heat of the battle, and his sword resembled the fangs of a hungry and enraged dragon more with each slash. “You don't deserve these people!”
Nobody heard his cry, except the sectarians dying around him. At any rate, no one would’ve understood who he was talking to. They would’ve thought that his words had probably been meant for Derger, the god of war. In fact, Hadjar was talking to king Primus, or the Usurper, as he was known among the people.
After another slash of his sword, Hadjar realized that he had struck rock rather than a person. A whole river of dead and dying bodies stretched out behind him: severed limbs, heads, blood stains on the rocks, and marks left behind by his mighty sword framed them.
“Lian!” Hadjar called out to the chief of the archers.
The officer had been watching her dead companion, Helion, but she snapped out of it and quickly went over to Hadjar. Together, they began to clear the way for their troops. Nero joined them, and the whole Moon army headed toward the gorge; the sectarians were trapped, caught between a rock and a hard place.
Not a single living disciple or Master remained among the black stones after a quarter of an hour.
The two parts of the Moon army reunited and began to encircle the castle of the Patriarch. Simple and practical, the castle was surrounded by a decorative wall that was ten feet tall and five feet wide. The black, semi-transparent dome over the main building seemed dangerous.
It was similar to the barrier that had stood over the sixth pavilion.
“We must organize our soldiers,” Hadjar convened an Emergency War Council.
Amid the whistling of cannonballs and arrows and the cries of the people still fighting, several officers sat down near the maps that had been drawn on the ground, including Helion’s personal assistant, who had been appointed the interim commander of the cavalry. Hadjar didn't remember his name.
“Nero, take the best fighters and go to the East Gates,” the General drew a path with the tip of his blade. “Tuur and his people will bomb the rocks and soon bring down most of the mountain on the dome. Lian, focus the fire of the gunners and archers at the main entrance of the castle.”
“And what about you, my General?” Lian asked.
“I'll stay here with you. When the dome collapses, Nero and his men will cross the perimeter. They’ll have to participate in the fiercest battle. The disciples and Masters who took refuge in the castle will engage them. Therefore, the cavalry must support Nero’s group.”
The new commander nodded. He looked tired and had a single dark eye, just like Helion. It looked like the gods liked mocking his troops, too.
“When Tuur sets off the rockslide, the Patriarch will be forced to fight. And then I’ll enter the castle and…”
Hadjar looked at his companions, frowned, and plunged his sword into the spot where the castle was drawn on the ground.
“My final order, officers, is that you do not enter the Central pavilion under any circumstances and that you don’t let the army in there.”
Nobody tried to argue or contradict him. Everyone understood that even the echoes of a true cultivator's Techniques could kill thousands of soldiers. How was their General even planning to fight such a monster?
Nobody knew, not even Nero. But they were used to believing in the Mad General, respecting him, and trusting his reckless orders.
“Come, officers. Victory is at hand.”
The Council was over and the officers and commanders went to their assigned positions. Hadjar put his sword back in its scabbard, watching as hundreds of cannonballs and thousands of arrows struck the black dome, and it burned them accompanied by red lightning and orange flashes.
If earlier it had seemed like the sky had been lit on fire or a second dawn had come... It was now possible to claim that Hadjar had set fire to the Heavens. Let the gods bear witness to the fact that Hadjar would do anything to get back to the capital, to his sister, and to the graves of his father and mother.
A thousand-year-old Patriarch, a true cultivator, was nothing more than an annoying obstacle in his path.
Dragon Heart: Iron Will. LitRPG Wuxia Series: Book 2 Page 51