“Who are you?” asked the local guard, shaking like a leaf. This group was the strangest he’d seen so far, and the local tavern, the ‘Drunken Goose’, served a myriad of customers, from sky pirates who would come here to sell their goods, to adventures who fought on the borders of the two Empires. But even so, he’d never seen an orc, or students of the ‘Red Mule’ school (whom he’d immediately recognized by the medallions on their chests), not to mention an Ancient Beast!
“We’re travelers,” Derek answered. “We want to rest and talk to the merchants. Are any staying at the tavern right now?”
“Yes.” The guard nodded so vigorously that Hadjar was kind of worried his head would fall off.
“Good.”
The Baron’s son dismounted and, with a wave of his hand, swung the gate open and walked into the yard.
The groom who met them was less nervous than the guard, not because he was any closer to them in terms of power, but rather, because he was about their age. He took the reins of the three horses, but looked warily at the tiger and the wolf. Steppe Fang slapped his companion on the back. “Go for a walk.”
The wolf growled, turned around, and disappeared into the steppe.
Azrea turned into a small kitten, nestled inside Hadjar’s shirt, and fell asleep.
The groom swallowed, shook his head, and went back to the stables. He’d stashed away a bottle of alcohol in one of the cupboards, in case he ever had a difficult day. And, by the gods, today was going to be one.
“It’s so hot out here,” Derek sighed, staring up at the sky. There wasn’t a cloud in sight.
As soon as they opened the tavern door, the lively chatter subsided. The waitresses dropped their trays full of food and drinks. Clay bowls and cups shattered, scratching the feet of customers who’d jumped up from their seats. All of them were experienced thugs and adventurers armed to the teeth. The combined aura of almost a hundred Heaven Soldiers of various stages hit the squad.
Hadjar took a step forward, narrowing his eyes slightly. At that moment, a wave of power containing profound mysteries of the Sword Spirit washed over everyone inside the tavern, making them feel as if a sharp blade had been placed at their throats.
“The orc is with us,” he said quietly, but his voice was still easily heard across all the floors.
After a moment of silence, the people in the tavern began putting away their weapons as they returned to their seats. However, no one was in a hurry to leave.
“Find a table on the second floor,” Derek said. “I’ll look for the merchants.”
When he disappeared into the crowd, a trembling waitress approached their group. She looked like a child in comparison to Steppe Fang.
“Would… y-you… like… a-a… table?”
“On the second floor,” Hadjar replied gently, “please.”
She nodded and led them upstairs. The second floor was a little more spacious than the first, but still full of people. However, as soon as the customers realized that the squad wasn’t planning to go back downstairs, a group of three cultivators immediately vacated the far corner table. Grabbing their bowls and cups, they leapt over the railing and took the nearest empty table on the first floor.
“You can sit there,” the waitress whispered.
“Four cups of herbal tea, please,” Hadjar ordered.
Nodding, she disappeared down the stairs. The squad reached the table and sat down. Looking over the railing of the balcony, Hadjar saw Derek talking to a group of people.
“He doesn’t like Darnassians very much, does he?”
“None of us do,” Alea said. “Just like the Darnassians don’t like us.”
“But Derek truly hates them.”
“He has every right to loathe them,” Irma, as usual, was playing with Azrea. “His mother-”
“Irma!” Alea interrupted her sister sharply. “We shouldn’t talk about that. If Derek wants to, he’ll tell his story to Hadjar.”
Suddenly, the tavern door opened and a cloaked figure appeared in the doorway. There was nothing special about it, save for the raven perched on its shoulder. Hadjar could feel the Black Blade twitching hungrily inside his soul. Blue eyes met gray ones.
“Things just got a lot more interesting,” he whispered, watching as one of the members of the Raven Sect climbed up to their floor.
Chapter 561
The waitress went around the cloaked figure and approached their table stiffly. She tried to put down the copper tray, but her hands were shaking so badly that the lid of the ceramic teapot almost fell off. Suddenly, she stumbled, and the tray flew straight at Steppe Fang’s head. The girl turned paler than the snow on a mountain peak. Hadjar waved his hand. The energy of his willpower picked up the tray, adjusted the teapot and the cups, and set it all carefully down on the table. Not a single drop was spilled. Steppe Fang didn’t seem to have noticed her stumble as he was too busy staring at the cloaked figure.
“You’d better run, human child,” he growled to the waitress.
She somehow turned even paler and ran toward the stairs.
“Did you have to scare her like that, blockhead?” Irma scowled.
Ignoring her, he picked up one of the cups with two fingers and emptied it in one gulp.
“You’d better leave, too,” Hadjar whispered.
The sisters looked at each other and were about to argue when they were interrupted.
Taking a stool from one of the other guests and shutting them up with a wave of its hand, the cloaked figure sat down at their table.
“Hello, brother,” a voice came from under the hood.
The stranger snatched the cup from Alea’s hand and took a sip.
“Disgusting.”
He spilled the rest of the tea over the railing, drenching the people below in the hot liquid. However, they were too scared of the monstrous power radiating from the cloaked figure to say anything. The power clearly belonged to a Spirit Knight at the initial stage. It had a hint of something both predatory and destructive within it, frightening everyone there. Including Alea and Irma.
Spotting Derek out of the corner of his eye, Hadjar shook his head slightly. The young man nodded and disappeared back into the crowd. Hadjar hoped that he wouldn’t do anything stupid.
“My brother is dead,” he said calmly, making the girls and Steppe Fang look at him with interest. “He died a long time ago.”
“Then rejoice!” The stranger laughed. “You have hundreds of new brothers and sisters now.”
Hadjar calmly sipped his tea, barely resisting the urge to imitate the stranger’s actions. It really was a disgusting brew. It smelled of rot and something sickly sweet.
The stranger’s laughter stopped abruptly. He pulled back his hood, revealing a scarred face and black, greasy hair that went down to his chin. Under his left eye was a slave mark. Given that the man was at the Spirit Knight level, it had been inflicted after he’d become a true cultivator. Hadjar wondered what kind of monster could’ve enslaved him. Any true cultivator, if they really wanted to, could easily end their own life. They had enough control over their energy body to destroy their nodes and meridians with willpower alone.
“Let’s have a serious talk, Hadjar Darkhan… North Wind.”
Hadjar nodded and, keeping a poker face, took another sip. By the Evening Stars, he might as well have been drinking piss!
“All right, but this isn’t the best start to our conversation. After all, you know my name, but I don’t know yours.”
“Eon Mrax,” the stranger introduced himself.
Hadjar was sure that that wasn’t his real name.
“I am a member of the sixth circle of the Raven Sect,” Eon finished.
“The sixth circle?”
“That’s how the sect ranks its members.”
Hadjar glanced at the bird on Eon’s shoulder. “Wouldn’t feathers be a more logical choice for rank designations? Also, that raven is a bit too… It sticks out, is what I want to say.”
; The raven spread its wings and croaked angrily, drawing the attention of those sitting nearby. Felling its eerie aura, they quickly turned away and returned to their meals.
“North Wind, you mustn’t try to lecture me.” Eon’s voice was harsh. “If I could, I would’ve sent you to your forefathers by now.”
“Really? What’s holding you back?” Hadjar rested his chin on his hand.
It took him only a moment to draw the Black Blade. Drawing it from his soul was faster than drawing it from the spatial ring.
“I was sent here to talk.” Eon grimaced. “To talk to you and, if we don’t come to an understanding, kill you and take your fragment of our ancestor.”
The sisters turned pale, but Steppe Fang looked interested. Hadjar was convinced that the orcs had their own legends about the Enemy.
“Let’s talk, then.” Hadjar looked for Derek, but couldn’t find him. He had to stall a little longer. He didn’t know what the boy was doing, but he trusted him. To a point.
“The circles represent the power of the follower,” Eon explained, doing his best to avoid saying the Enemy’s name or nickname out loud. “There are seven of them. The warrior you fought recently was a member of the seventh circle.”
Hadjar remembered his battle against the Lascanian assassin a month ago.
“Raven Wing, our mutual acquaintance, is a member of the third circle,” Eon continued. “He sends his regards. He also asked me to tell you that he’s sorry he couldn’t identify you as our brother when you first met.”
Hadjar had met Raven Wing during the siege of the main pavilion of ‘The Black Gates’ sect. As it turned out, the Patriarch of the sect had been working with Raven Wing. Hadjar finally understood why Raven Wing had been so condescending and patronizing to the other man. The Patriarch simply hadn’t been worth his time, as he’d only been a weak Heaven Solider at the time.
Hadjar chuckled. “When we first met, he was a Spirit Knight and-”
“-a member of the fifth circle,” Eon finished for Hadjar. “Now he’s a Lord and a member of the third circle. If you accept our offer, he’ll vouch for you. Our Master has been looking for worthy descendants to become his disciples.”
“I-”
“Before you say anything else,” Mrax waved his hand, “I want to inform you that our Master is about to advance beyond the Nameless level.”
The sisters’ faces fell.
The level that came after the Nameless one was a great mystery to both Empires. As far as Hadjar knew, there were about five Nameless cultivators in both Empires, but none of them had ever gone further than that. If he added those who preferred to live in seclusion, then they each had ten in total. Maybe.
“You proved your worth when you defeated our sister. Raven Wing will vouch for you. The Master listens to him.”
A chance to become a disciple of a Nameless who was ready to advance to the mythical next level of cultivation? No School in either Darnassus or Lascan could offer him such an opportunity.
He still shook his head. “Sorry, but I already have an agreement with another swordsman.”
Chapter 562
“Think it over, North Wind,” Mrax insisted. “Think about what you’re rejecting.”
“I gave him my word,” Hadjar said. “Besides my word and sword, I have nothing else.”
For a while, they stared each other down. Steppe Fang studied Hadjar closely, as if he were seeing him for the first time.
“I’m stronger than you,” Eon said.
“Perhaps.”
“And I want to remind you that, if you refuse my offer, I’ll have to kill you, brother.”
“And I want to remind you that the only man who had the right to call me ‘brother’ is dead.”
They stared at each other again. The waitress walked past them, still trembling. Eon snatched the tray out of her hands and put it down.
“If you bother us again,” he hissed, “I’ll make you eat your own guts.”
The girl’s lips quivered and she rushed to the stairs.
“Before we start, can I ask you a question?”
“If that’s your last request, go right ahead.”
“Why do you follow the Raven?”
Eon raised an eyebrow in surprise.
“For power,” he replied, as if the answer was something obvious. “No creature has ever been or ever will be stronger than the Raven. And we, his followers, will one day be just as strong as him.”
“By killing each other?”
“We get stronger through battle. The weak aren’t worthy of being considered sons and daughters of the Raven.”
Those words reminded Hadjar of a slave who had once been the Prince of the Sea of Sand, until his father’s mistake had led to him being taken captive by the northerners and growing to hate his own father with a passion. He had managed to come back, but he’d changed. He’d called himself Sunshine Sankesh, and had decided to reshape the world, making everyone strong and happy, believing that if everyone was made equal, no one would oppress anyone or take anything away from anyone else. Hadjar used to understand his reasoning, but after passing the orc shaman’s test… He now looked at things a little differently.
“Why do you need that power?”
Eon opened his mouth to say something, but couldn’t find the right words. He frowned and touched the scar on his face left behind by the slave brand.
“Raven Wing said that you would understand me. You, too, were a slave once.”
The girls twitched. Steppe Fang snarled.
“Once, long ago, I said these words to a madman, but I guess I’ll repeat them for your sake as well.” Hadjar turned to the bird and looked into its red eyes. “And I’ll direct these words to all those listening to us as well. Even with a slave collar around my neck, I was free. I fought for my freedom with my own two hands.”
Steppe Fang’s eyes showed interest for a fraction of a second.
“I won’t make this offer again.” Mrax hissed. “Join our sect.”
“Leave, Eon,” Hadjar said. “Leave the sect. Believe me, whoever follows in the Raven’s footsteps will die. As will everyone they care about.”
Narrowing his eyes, Eon tore off a piece of the still-warm bread from the tray, and fed it to the raven. It spread its wings, snatched the food up with its beak, and immediately swallowed it.
“I’m sorry I have to kill you, brother. But you chose this.”
Hadjar nodded.
They stared at each other for another moment.
“Let’s not fight in here,” Eon said. “I don’t want to have to run away from Lascanian patrols.”
Mrax offered him a chance to fight outside not for honor’s sake, but to minimize any inconvenience. Hadjar was worried that, if they fought in the tavern, nothing would remain of the building, guests included.
So he nodded.
He slammed his hand on the table and leapt over the railing. He landed on a table on the first floor, light as a feather. One more leap and he was across the hall and in front of the door. Eon chuckled, and followed Hadjar’s example. But instead of landing on a table, he seemed to push off from the very air, prolonging his jump. Smiling smugly, he landed next to Hadjar.
“Let’s go,” he said, and tore the massive door off its hinges with one push. It flew out of its frame and landed in the mud.
The once clear sky was now covered with dark clouds.
Ah, the famous rains of the steppe… Hadjar stretched his arms out toward the sky, letting rain gather in his hands. After washing his face with it, he smiled broadly. After spending so much time in the Sea of Sand, he’d grown to like the rain, which was a rare sight in the Darnassus Empire as well.
He was the first to step into the cold shower. Thanks to the energy circulating through his body, he walked through the mud without leaving any footprints behind. He and Eon left the courtyard of the ‘Drunken Goose’.
Taking off his cloak, Eon joined him in the yard. He touched the medallion on his chest
and was instantly enveloped in copper-colored Imperial level steel armor. In the center of it shone a blue crystal set in a skull-shaped frame. A similar skull, only larger, rested on his belt. Its eye sockets were filled with numerous steel plaques that held together various parts of the armor. The heavy shoulder pads, which the bird had already vacated, looked like the curved fangs of some animal.
Eon held two swords in his hands. Each of them, judging by their aura, was at the Heaven level, and strong enough to immediately kill a cultivator that didn’t have at least Heaven level armor.
“I will ask you one final time, Hadjar Darkhan,” his voice sounded hollow, even though he wasn’t wearing a helmet. “Join the sect and you’ll receive the kind of rewards you’ve never even dreamed of.”
“My answer remains the same, Eon.”
Hadjar dove into the depths of his soul, where the Call’s dragon and the Black Blade were waiting for him. This was his first time fighting someone after the orc shaman’s test. The three years he’d spent in either an illusion or an alternate reality were still fresh in his mind. He touched the dragon, which responded by instantly merging with the tattoo on his chest. It was always ready to share its power and follow him into any battle. Hadjar approached the Black Blade, the weapon of the Enemy, the Black General. However, at the critical moment, the sword had remained loyal to Hadjar and hadn’t submitted to the Enemy’s shadow. He grasped it with both hands. The cold handle felt familiar and pleasant.
I’m home, Hadjar thought.
In the physical world, the cloak of black fog draped over his shoulders and covered his arms, but still couldn’t hide the glow of the scarlet tattoo on his left arm. The Black Blade sliced through the falling rain.
“Prepare to die!” Eon shouted.
A vortex of monstrous power swirled around him. But Hadjar wasn’t afraid. He met his opponent with a calm smile.
Chapter 563
Eon, shrouded in darkness, charged Hadjar. Eon’s main advantage was ambidexterity. Mrax was a natural-born prodigy. It was widely believed that a swordsman who fought with two swords had the power of four. Hadjar was about to test that theory.
Dragon Heart: Land of Demons. LitRPG Wuxia Series: Book 7 Page 12