“We’re all going to die!” Derek cried out miserably, hugging the mast.
Steppe Fang joined him. The girls threw the cracked cannon overboard. It plummeted straight down, disappearing into the spiraling firestorm in the center of the vortex. Hadjar suddenly spotted the monster that had recently tried to devour him.
“Bye-bye.” He grinned broadly.
Hadjar leaned on the helm and almost spun with it. The vortex’s pull was so strong that the wood could barely withstand it.
Gritting his teeth, Hadjar leveled out the warped schooner, then drew power from his core. Soaking his meridians in it, he let it seep into his body. His muscles bulged, his veins swelled, and his feet shattered the planks. He’d seen Steppe Fang perform this trick when he’d lifted the schooner.
“Whoa!” Hadjar shouted.
He spun the helm with ease, almost forcing the schooner onto its side. Pushing the lever slightly, he made the vessel tilt forward a bit. Thanks to the wind, this was enough to send the schooner flying straight down into the river of burning ash. Pressing down on the pedal, Hadjar filled the hieroglyph with all the energy it could handle and restored the shield. Then he drew the Black Blade and attacked the mast.
“Have you gone crazy?” Derek shouted.
He shouted something else as well, but Hadjar didn’t hear him. After cutting down the mast, he pushed it with an effort of will so that it landed on the bow, then sharpened it with another slash. The ‘Drunken Goose’ crashed into the monster at full speed. The masthead, weighted down by the schooner, sank into its tough flesh.
Riding atop the flaming monster, they raced into the vortex filled with hundreds of lightning bolts. Hadjar wouldn’t be the Mad General if he relied purely on luck. Sometimes, you just had to be so crazy that even the world couldn’t believe it.
“Derek!” He shouted over the roar of the flames, the monster’s screams, and the whistling of the wind. “Come here!”
“Me?” The Lascanian screamed back in panic. “No way! I-”
“Come here this instant!” The mysteries of the Weapon’s Heart flared up around Hadjar. “You’re the only one who can handle the helm right now!”
Derek, realizing that Hadjar was serious, swallowed hard and hesitantly let go of the mast. Despite a wild jolt that sent splinters flying into the air, he reached the bridge. As soon as he put his hand on the railing, the charred body of a giant serpent with four wings flew through the shield. Before Derek even got a chance to react, Hadjar chopped the monster into several pieces. A torrent of green blood showered Derek, and the fourth core appeared in Hadjar’s spatial ring.
“Hurry up!”
“I’m trying!”
Pale-faced, Derek stepped over the chunks of flesh, almost slipping on the blood-soaked wood, but managed to reach the bridge. Holding the helm, Hadjar moved to the side.
“Take control. Drive us straight into the vortex.”
Derek doubled over as he gripped the helm. Clenching his teeth, he managed to straighten it out with a herculean effort.
“W-w-where are you going?” He asked hoarsely.
Without answering him, Hadjar cut the rope tethering him to the ship and, followed by worried shouts, jumped overboard again. Wrapped in his Call, he landed on the monster’s back. Outside the shield, chaos reigned. The burning ash exuded such an incredible heat that it could’ve instantly melted ordinary metal. The heavy atmosphere could’ve ground stone into fine powder, and the monster’s aura, which was equal to the Lord level, turned into a tsunami of power. Even after Steppe Fang’s trials and training, Hadjar still couldn’t spend more than ten seconds here. Fortunately, he wouldn’t need to.
He ran up the monster’s back and toward its head. There, protected by its incredibly strong flesh that was enduring all this chaos even now, was the core he needed. Upon reaching its head, he jumped over it. Greed would cost him his life right now.
Standing atop the serpent’s head, Hadjar stared fearlessly into the vortex. He was well aware that if the schooner entered it right now, he’d suffer the same fate as the serpents. That meant…
His cloak of black fog fluttering behind him, Hadjar prepared for the maddest stunt he’d ever tried to pull. The closer they got to the vortex, the faster the wind moved, followed by fiery tornadoes filled with lightning bolts and dying monsters.
The serpent’s head entered the vortex. The creature’s body twitched and then went limp and lifeless.
“A bit more,” he whispered, gripping the blade. “Just a little bit more…”
His cloak fluttered harder. Hadjar felt like he was about to be torn from the serpent.
Resisting the pull, he waited...
“Now! Black Wind!”
A huge, black blade plunged into the tangle of lightning bolts, creating an explosion of incredible power. Scarlet-gold blasts of energy shot out from the epicenter and threw Hadjar back. As he flew, he watched the serpent’s glittering core get destroyed with a heavy sigh of regret.
He almost flew past the ‘Drunken Goose’, but Hadjar was caught by a thin, female hand just in time.
“Hold on!” Irma shouted.
She was standing on the very edge of the railing, dangerously close to falling into the burning abyss. Hadjar, thanking the girl with a nod, collapsed onto the deck and stabbed his sword into the planks.
The explosion blew away the black clouds and the flames. The schooner plummeted like a stone. Everyone closed their eyes.
Then Hadjar saw the rapidly approaching rocks.
“Fuuuuuuck!”
Falling from the sky, the ‘Drunken Goose’ crashed into the rocks at full speed.
Chapter 597
Hadjar slowly came to his senses.
Again? Flashed through his mind. After patting himself down to make sure he was still in one piece, he sat up abruptly and realized that he felt better than he looked: he had a bruise on his left arm, a broken rib, a long cut on his left leg, and his clothes were nearly done for, but he was alive and able to move.
Leaning back against the cold rocks, he looked around. Ash still obscured the sky, the flashes of scarlet lightning illuminating it only slightly. The atmosphere, as before, pressed down on his shoulders like a slab of granite.
He couldn’t believe that they’d managed to get through the anomaly. It was unlikely that anyone from ‘The Holy Sky’ School, even personal disciples, could boast about accomplishing such an impressive feat.
Moving his gaze from the sky to the sharp rocks, he noticed the schooner’s wreckage: the keel and the stern had a gaping hole in them, and the sails had been torn apart. Chunks of wood were scattered everywhere, along with shattered crystals and magic dust.
It was a miracle that they had somehow survived.
He spotted Steppe Fang sitting cross-legged and roasting something over a small fire. He was using the boards from the schooner as firewood.
“Where-”
Steppe Fang pointed behind him before Hadjar could even finish his question. Lying side by side, bloodied and bruised, where the three Lascanians. Irma had a bone protruding from her leg. This little adventure had cost them a lot more than it had Hadjar and the orc.
“I don’t understand…”
“Your furry friend,” Steppe Fang rumbled, “she saved us.”
Hadjar felt something small cuddle up to him. Azrea had curled up next to him and was trembling slightly. There were red spots on her white fur.
“Azrea!”
“She’s all right,” the orc assured him. “I gave her some medicine. She’s strong, but she’ll still need to sleep for a week to recover fully.”
Hadjar looked at Steppe Fang gratefully.
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me. I merely paid her back, North Wind. If it hadn’t been for her, we would’ve died.”
Hadjar carefully picked up the small cub. She was breathing heavily and clutching her injured paw.
“Good girl,” he whispered, stroking her head with
his finger. Slowly, gingerly, he put her inside his shirt, right next to his chest. “How long have we been here?”
“Half a day.”
Having finished roasting some sort of root, Steppe Fang wrapped it in leaves and walked over to Irma. He placed the bundle on her wound and bandaged her leg using a few strips of cloth from the sail. The girl’s groans grew quieter, and her breathing steadied. Her leg looked less swollen now.
Steppe Fang went back to the fire, took some more leaves and roots from his bag, and began to grind them in the mortar.
“I’m surprised you aren’t suggesting that we leave them here.”
The orc remained silent for a while, grinding the leaves into paste and squeezing their fragrant juices out of them. From time to time, he crushed some roots with his fingers. Sometimes, he would chew them and then spit them back into the mortar.
“I want to,” he said at last. “But dying out here means only one thing — becoming a servant of the Dah’Khasses.”
Hadjar sensed the presence of an odd, alien energy in the atmosphere. He had no doubt that the orc was telling the truth. However, this didn’t explain why he was being so nice to the trio. Hadjar watched him tend to the wounded for a while, then got to his feet and walked toward the cliff.
“I wouldn’t recommend it,” Steppe Fang said.
Holding Derek’s nose and lifting his head, he forced him to swallow the bitter contents of one of his vials. With each sip of the concoction, the young man looked healthier. His bruises disappeared and his superficial wounds healed. Even his energy body, which wasn’t in the best condition, gradually recovered. His torn meridians reconnected and his nodes were filled with power. Watching the orc prepare all the medicine without using special Techniques confirmed Hadjar’s belief that the orcs’ alchemy was much better than that of the humans.
“I’m no novice when it comes to scouting and hunting, giant.” Hadjar tied his hair back, and, straightening his torn clothes, began to climb down the rocks. “I’ll be back in a few hours.”
Steppe Fang said something in response, but Hadjar didn’t hear him as he descended into the gorge. The wind, sticky and heavy, ruffled his hair. The farther down he went, the more strongly he sensed the presence of the alien energy. He felt like he was trying to move through tar. The ground became drier with each step he took. It was getting harder to breathe and his vision was getting blurry.
“Damn it,” he swore and urged his inner dragon to help him.
The black cloak enveloped him, and the pressure decreased immediately. It became easier to breathe. However, his Call, even though it was now of the advanced kind, still couldn’t last for more than half an hour.
Hadjar didn’t know what would happen to the Lascanians. It was unlikely that they could survive even a few minutes in this gorge, injured or not. He hoped Steppe Fang had some sort of potion that could help them deal with it.
When the ground was only a few feet away, Hadjar jumped down, landed on the rocks, and immediately ducked into the nearest crevice. Cautiously peeking out from his shelter, he took out his telescope, covered it with his hand so that the sun’s glare wouldn’t hit him, and reflexively gestured that there were many predators around. Realizing that he was alone, he heaved a weary sigh. He missed Nero having his back, not to mention Einen and his crazy adventures. Chasing away the memories of his fight against the nomads and Sunshine Sankesh, Hadjar looked around. He didn’t see any Dah’Khasses, but he did see a lot of their slaves.
Chapter 598
The undead were everywhere. Some looked relatively ‘fresh’, their skin still intact. Through the claw marks on their armor, which was usually covered in a thick layer of dried blood, one could see the pink glimmer of their internal organs. Some of them even bore the coat of arms of the Lascan Empire. A little farther away were the less preserved specimens, which the Dah’Khasses had enslaved a long time ago.
The peasants still held their pitchforks and scythes. Among the slaves were children, old people, men, women, and even orcs, whose skin was no longer red, but a deep purple. Glassy-eyed, all of them stared into nothingness. Even farther back were the skeletons. Their bones weren’t white, but black and covered in ash like it was their armor.
In addition to humans and orcs, there were also creatures that Hadjar had never seen before. Some had four legs, while others were fifteen-foot-tall humanoids with long, dirty hair and three white eyes.
“What are you?”
Hadjar suddenly felt a sharp twinge of desire and lust. Putting the telescope back into his spatial ring, he covered his head with the cloak and ducked. The schooner’s crash site was on the opposite side of the gorge ― the ‘Drunken Goose’ had landed in the heart of the enemy’s territory.
“Did the fields fill up today?” asked a dry, inhuman voice.
Lying under the cloak, Hadjar hoped that he was out of the creature’s sight. The dark crevice should be able to hide him, and his energy was completely masked by his Call.
Riding undead horses with hooves and eyes wreathed in green flames, three of the most beautiful people he’d ever seen passed by his shelter. However, none of them were human. The aura they emanated was comparable to the initial stage of the Lord level.
Fields? Hadjar thought. Oddly fitting.
The slaves stood there like ears of corn during the harvest season. They even swayed to the rhythm of the wind. If there hadn’t still been a semblance of life left in them, they would’ve looked like statues made by some demented artist.
The one who’d asked the question was a tall, stately young man. Dressed in expensive clothes, with a cloak embroidered with gold and emerald threads, he looked at the ‘fields’ with a satisfied smile.
“Yes, my Prince,” one of the demonesses who rode behind him answered. “Kermeya’s squad captured the last human fort on the southeastern border.”
Tall, with an impressive bosom, strong thighs, and a narrow waist, she could’ve easily seduced him. She was so alluring that he didn’t even care about the fact that this wasn’t her true form.
“My Prince.” The second demoness rode forward. Although she was a bit less attractive than her companion, she was still breathtaking nonetheless.
“You may speak, Arkemeya,” the young man said, continuing his examination of the fields.
Hadjar wondered if the gods were so eager to see him succeed that they’d had him come across none other than the Prince of the Dah’Khasses. He’d never been a particularly lucky individual, so he was certain that the Seventh Heaven had had something to do with this.
“The servants and the squad returned, but Kermeya herself didn’t.”
“That doesn’t mean anything-”
The Prince silenced the first demoness with a single imperious look.
“What do you think happened, Arkemeya?” He asked.
Ignoring the look full of envy and hatred the other demoness shot her, Arkemeya continued: “My Prince, our scouts keep reporting that the orcs have gone deeper into the lands of the Lascanian Empire.”
“Those oafs finally decided to leave,” the Prince snorted. “For thousands of years, they’ve been joining the ranks of our servants. They seem to have finally realized that their actions are no more than a futile attempt to delay the inevitable.”
“During those thousands of years, my Prince,” Arkemeya bowed slightly, “the orcs waged an endless war against us. Hundreds of our people died at their hands.”
“And hundreds of thousands of orcs are here now.” The Prince waved his hand over the gorge. “In our fields. Waiting for the signal to go into battle. When we take the borderlands of Lascan and Darnassus and establish our Empire, the Seventh Heaven will have no choice but to leave us alone. We’ll become part of the laws of the Heavens and the Earth.”
Hadjar raised an eyebrow in confusion. Judging by the look on the faces of the demonesses, the Prince had touched on some extremely important topic.
“If Kermeya was murdered-”
“Shut up, Arkemeya!” The first demoness shrieked. “Pitiful half-breed… How much of our Prince’s time do you plan to waste?”
A half-breed? Is the other half human or orc? Judging by her unnaturally blue eyes, I’d say she’s half human.
“I’m not wasting the Prince’s time, Takemeya.” A threat could be heard in Arkemeya’s calm voice. “But I’ll be glad to waste yours.”
“Bitch,” Takemeya hissed as her hair gradually pulled back into her skull. Her clothes turned into parchment-like skin, and leathery wings spread out behind her. “You fucking bag of bones-”
The Prince’s aura pressed down on them. Even Hadjar, who was hidden by his Call, still felt sick. Takemeya returned to her ‘human’ form and was forced to cling to her horse’s neck. However, something strange happened to Arkemeya. Although she was still sitting upright in the saddle, her face paled and she trembled slightly. To Hadjar’s astonishment, red blood began to flow from her nose ― human blood.
“Wipe your face,” the Prince said and reigned in his aura. “You know how your blood affects our tribe.”
“Yes, my Prince.” Arkemeya nodded and, contrary to all norms of etiquette, wiped the blood away with her sleeve. As far as Hadjar could tell, her clothes were real. “I’m sorry, my Prince.”
They remained silent for a while.
“We won’t discuss Kermeya any further,” the Prince finally proclaimed as he turned his horse toward the road. Damn it, the blasted demons even had roads in the gorge! Good roads at that! “Her predilection for human men and their seed is well-known to all. She’ll return in time. I’m sure of it.”
“But, my Prince, our father-”
“My father!” The Prince snapped, assuming an eerie form for a moment. “If you say ‘our father’ again, you’ll join your mother in the fields. Is that clear, half-breed?”
“Yes, my Prince.” Arkemeya bowed her head, but her blue eyes flashed with indignation. “As you command, my Prince.”
“Attend me, Takemeya. And you, Arkemeya… If you’re so concerned about the security of our borders, stay here. Stay here for three weeks… No, for three months. Keep watch.”
Dragon Heart: Land of Demons. LitRPG Wuxia Series: Book 7 Page 25