Blood Will

  The Saga:

  Dragon Heart

  IRON Will

  Book II

  By Kirill Klevanski

  Text Copyright © 2019 Kirill Klevanski

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book can be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the author.

  Introduced by Valeria Kornosenko.

  Translated by J. Kharkova, R. Mansurova, E. Kornilova

  Edited by Damir Isovic

  Cover designed by Vitaly Lepestkov

  Illustrations by Valery Spitsyn

  He made a deal with a dragon and received its heart. He fought monsters in order to defeat the monster within himself. He won a bloody war, razing one of the most powerful local sects to the ground, and earned the highest military rank.

  Now his path leads him to the very heart of the country — the capital — to receive his title and well-deserved honors. Or is that merely how he justifies it to himself? After all, at the end of this difficult journey, two people await Hadjar: his sister, the one person he cares most about in the world and the only true family he has left; and his uncle — his mortal enemy, the man who murdered his parents in cold blood for wealth and power.

  FIRST BOOK: STONE WILL

  SECOND BOOK: IRON WILL

  Chapter 185

  The journey to the capital was rather peaceful. Well, apart from the four times bandits attacked their small squad. They were former soldiers, deserters that had gotten fed up with not being paid. Considering that no one except the Moon Army had fought any wars in the past ten years, they had most likely been ‘downsized’.

  The friends had also had to save their horses from a monster at the King of Beasts Stage, which had used up almost all of their meat.

  A bit after that, Serra was captured by slave traders. It was a mystery how the witch had managed to fall into a trap set by simple practitioners, inhaling the fumes of a poisonous flower that blocked the flow of energy in her body. In the end, Serra was rescued. Nero, in his rage, reduced the slave trader population of the Kingdom by a whole cartel. Fortunately, they found a small box full of gold in their lair, so their sortie didn’t end up just being ‘charity’ work.

  They’d also had to save a village from raiders. Then, together with the villagers, they’d built a dam to redirect a river that had flooded the area. The villagers believed that an underwater serpent had settled in the mountain lake that was the river’s source and the huge waves had been caused by the serpent waking up.

  In general, the journey was rather uneventful by the standards of the former officers of the Moon Army. It was a little dreary, but quite comfortable overall. When they arrived at the gates of the capital, they had to explain to the guards why arrowheads were sticking out of their cart, why one wheel was made from animal bones, and why they had a huge lizard pulling the cart instead of a horse (it was because the horse had been eaten. Not by a beast, mind you, but by the travelers themselves — they had been short on food).

  Only the medallion of the Generals that Ralpie had on hand prevented an incident. Upon seeing the emblem — a crane on a shield — the guards immediately let the cart through without so much as a second glance.

  The capital looked almost the same as Hadjar remembered it. In that distant, bygone time, he would often sit on a random balcony of the tall tower and look at the city that spread out below — at the red roofs of the central district, where, among the many houses made from gray brick, there were also fragrant gardens, ponds, and the palaces of the richest nobles as well.

  Farther out, behind the first ring of the fortress walls, was the largest of the districts — the trade district — full of yellow roofs. It was full of shops, markets, fairs, street performances, taverns, and restaurants. Of course, the most prestigious and best institutions, such as the pavilion of the ‘Six Flowers’ (the best restaurant in the city) or the Auction House, were located in the central district, but the trade district was still home to many impressive businesses, even by the standards of the nobility.

  Otherwise, their pompous children wouldn’t have been regular guests in the ‘area of yellow roofs’, where they had fun, often taking advantage of the fact that they were immune to the threat of the local guards. That’s how things had been in the time of Haver, and that’s how they remained in the time of Primus. If even Haver, who’d held all the power in his country, hadn’t been able to handle the nobles, then the current King had no chance. He was a puppet that danced to the imperial tune, which played mainly for benefit of the officials and nobles.

  Farther still, beyond the second ring of fortress walls, was the poor or ‘outer’ district with its green roofs. It was always dirty, stuffy, and overcrowded. Street vendors shouted at each other, messy signboards squeaked in the wind, and no one had done any maintenance on the roads for a long time.

  It was difficult to even see the pavement underneath the layer of dust, dirt, and garbage, which people dumped right on the sidewalk. Their waste should’ve been thrown into the drains, but they had gotten clogged long ago, during the rule of Hadjar’s father.

  “I told you that we should’ve gone through the central gate,” Nero said, gritting his teeth. “That way, we would’ve entered the trade district immediately.”

  The former Commander of the Bear squad was pressing Serra’s hand to his nose. It looked as if he couldn’t tear his lips away from the girl’s skin. In fact, he was just breathing in her perfume.

  “There’s a long queue at the central gate. We would’ve wasted several days there,” Ralpie replied immediately. “We’d have been late for the celebration.”

  That was the ‘reason’ they had come to the capital — the masquerade ball in honor of the Princess’ birthday. She was already twenty years old and the ‘oldest’ unwed Princess in the surrounding area.

  The city had been decorated and cleaned in every way for the occasion. Even the poor district stunk a little less than usual.

  “You should’ve shown them your medallion,” Serra sniffed, holding a silk scarf up to her nose.

  “That would be an abuse of power!”

  Despite his talent with a sword, Ralpie was a very naive young man with an oddly innocent worldview. Perhaps that’s why he had been sent to deliver a message to the Mad General. The headquarters had probably hoped that Hadjar, known for being hostile to people sent by them, would end up killing him.

  “That didn’t stop you from shoving your medallion in the face of that guard half an hour ago,” Nero continued to grumble.

  Around them, people with clothes as shabby as Hadjar’s own were buzzing about. The former General didn’t care. He was also the only one who wasn’t pinching his nose with anything and had remained calm.

  Sometimes, Hadjar would thrust his hand into his pocket, take out a silver coin, and throw it to the dirty children.

  To these people, a silver coin was like the moon itself — distant and mystical. Three silver coins a year were the average earnings of the poor farmers and street vendors.

  That’s why, when they approached the gate that led to the trade district, the friends were slightly taken aback when the guard said: “Entry fee is two silver coins.”

  Hadjar was shocked. South Wind had once told him that such a sum was the cost of entering the central district. Not the trade one!

  However, for Nero and Ralpie, who had recently been to the capital, it didn’t come as much of a surprise. Nero just grumbled a little about the added cost. Five years ago, the guards had asked for a silver coin and 25 copper coins.

  After handing the money over to the guards who wore armor the color of a dull emerald
, the group entered the trade district. For a moment, Hadjar thought that they had somehow ended up in a different city. They saw clean streets, wide enough for four carts or carriages to go down side by side.

  The neat houses had been built in straight rows and the people walking along the street were clean, wearing expensive clothes, and smiling. It looked as if they didn’t have a care in the world and were quite confident that their future was bright.

  Even the signboards swaying in the wind weren’t squeaking at all. Moreover, some cafes, taking advantage of the pleasant spring weather, had erected wooden tables on the street. Various customers were occupying them. They were drinking wine, or something stronger, and eating delicious food that a simple soldier could only dream of.

  The friends’ stomachs started growling at the sight of a baked duck.

  “I know a good local tavern,” Nero said suddenly. “We stayed there when I was here with my father.”

  Taking the reins, Nero directed the cart toward the next street.

  Chapter 186

  The capital, where almost seventeen million people lived, was a huge but well-designed city. All the streets were straight, and the houses were built in a uniform, square shape. Each of these ‘blocks’ had a patio as well.

  Well, that was true for the trade and central districts. In the slums, a person could get lost even with a compass, a map, and a guide.

  The residents of the capital, though afraid of the lizard, tried not to show it. Apparently, they were accustomed to just how vast and diverse the world was. The noble children, using their connections in the Empire to obtain them, would often flaunt such ‘miraculous’ possessions.

  Nero brought them to the ‘Drunk Goose’ tavern. It was four stories tall and almost leaning against the wall separating the trade district from the central district. It was quite expensive, especially when you considered the annual income of the peasants — renting three rooms for just three days had cost them one gold and forty silver coins.

  The receptionist smiled at Hadjar sweetly. Nero was off limits, Serra’s menacing look made that abundantly clear. Ralpie... Well, Ralpie was constantly overshadowed by his fellows. The receptionist hadn’t even noticed him.

  It was rather crowded on the first two floors tonight. The guests were drinking, eating, laughing, engaging in loud discussions, and listening to the music coming from the stage where the bards sat, playing and singing.

  The employees of the tavern helped them take their luggage up to their rooms on the top floor. Perhaps the price had been so high because Nero had asked for the best accommodations.

  Entering his room — a very spacious one that even had its own wardrobe — Hadjar went to the window and looked at the fortress wall. It was right across from the tavern. Guards in golden armor paced along the wall above the high gate. They exuded the energy of practitioners at the Formation stage. In Haver’s time, they would’ve surely been Senior Officers or even Commanders.

  Well, he had to hand it to Primus. He kissed the ass of the Empire skillfully.

  Hadjar’s belongings had been left by the door — two little trunks and a spare sheath. After hanging the sheath above the headboard, Hadjar touched the handle of Moon Beam. The injuries he’d sustained in his fight against the Patriarch of ‘The Black Gates’ were almost healed, but he still didn’t want to risk unsheathing the blade.

  He didn’t want to possibly aggravate the situation and do further damage to his body or, even worse, the core of his power that was forming inside his soul. It had suffered most of the damage that came from him… Channeling the Sword Spirit. Apparently, Hadjar was far from ready for this level of swordsmanship.

  No wonder Serra had said that the mysteries of the Sword Spirit were usually only accessible to Spirit Knights and higher. Even Heaven Soldiers wouldn’t be able to delve into the intricate truths of the universe and use them at their discretion.

  Nevertheless, the Technique Traves had created really clashed with the laws of the Heavens and Earth. It was probably one of the reasons why the dragon had spent several hundred millennia in that underwater cave.

  A white, furry muzzle popped out from under his shirt. Azrea yawned and bit Hadjar slightly. She always did that when she was hungry. Smiling, Hadjar looked around at his temporary home and walked out the door.

  The servants had given him a very plain, heavy, iron key, which Hadjar used to lock the door. He could bust through the door easily. However, there were very few practitioners of his level in the Kingdom. Usually, these practitioners didn’t really need to break into someone’s rooms.

  Hadjar went over to Serra and Nero’s room, but, judging by the sounds coming from it, he was sure that they didn’t want to be disturbed. So, he left them to it and went down the stairs quickly.

  Expensive oil lamps hung on the walls. He had rarely seen so many in one place, even in the Palace, but a simple tavern had an abundance of them. It was quite a shocking contrast when compared to the poor neighborhoods. Ruled by the Empire, the poor had only gotten poorer, and the rich had gotten richer.

  Hadjar went down to the dining hall and, showing the emblem on his room key, went to sit at a table on the second floor. There were much fewer people here than on the first floor. In order to sit at a table on this floor, a person had to either pay a substantial amount of money or be a guest at their best rooms.

  Hadjar sat down at a table and a waitress rushed over to him immediately. He noticed the similarities between the barmaid and the waitress: they had the same sparkling, bright green eyes and rich, fiery hair. The tavern was a family business.

  “Today we have a rich selection of game,” she began amiably. “Goose stuffed with apples, steamed turkey, fried and baked duck, and...”

  Out of habit, Hadjar raised his palm imperiously. He realized too late that he was no longer a General, and here in the city, such a gesture was boorish.

  “Sorry,” Hadjar apologized immediately and lowered his hand. However, the waitress wasn’t insulted at all. “Can I have an animal eating alongside me?”

  “Of course,” the girl nodded.

  Hadjar pulled Azrea out from underneath his clothes and put her on the table. The kitten sniffed the white tablecloth and then politely sat down right in the center of the table. The girl was amazed. If Hadjar hadn’t been there, she would’ve already started hugging and petting the adorable little ball of fluff.

  “Please bring a cup of boiling water for me and a bowl of warm milk for her.”

  Azrea hissed with displeasure at her master, which made the waitress fight to muffle her laughter. The pretty red-haired girl was a little surprised at the strange order. Nodding and writing something down in her notebook (it was surprising that a simple waitress knew how to write), she went downstairs quickly and got lost in the crowd.

  Hadjar was left with only his fluffy girlfriend for company. While he listened to the bards’ song, Azrea licked her fur indifferently. She wasn’t one to abide idle chatter.

  Down on the small stage, the bards were singing the most popular song in Lidus — the song of the Mad General’s fight against ‘The Black Gates’ sect. It was a bit strange for Hadjar to sit there and listen to a song about his ‘exploits’. As they always did, the bards embellished reality, just slightly, but still enough for people to listen to the song with bated breath.

  Some of the guests couldn’t even keep eating, seemingly frozen as they became completely enthralled by the scenes of battle evoked in their imaginations. In the whole tavern, only two tables paid little attention to the bards. At one of them sat a young man in plain, old clothes. He was waiting for his order and stroking the white kitten. At the other, a group consisting of seven children of the officials were having a feast. The girls wore rich jewelry while the boys wore hairpins made from jade and jasper, their clean hair gathered up in buns.

  The unkempt Hadjar looked like a peasant surrounded by scholars. Their light, silk outfits, embroidered with gold and silver threads most likely cos
t more than the annual salary of a general.

  The weapons that they’d placed on the edge of the table were worth as much as half of the northern province of Lidus. Just a single ruby from one of those scabbards could’ve been exchanged for a decent palace in the central district.

  The Empire really tried their best to ensure that the nobles didn’t even think about raising a rebellion against them.

  “They’re singing about that damned General as well,” one of the young men declared irritably.

  He was sipping a fairly strong alcoholic drink from a jug. It was the color of a ripe apple, and most of it had ended up on his silk clothes. None of the nobles cared. All of them were too drunk to worry about their appearance.

  “Damn it!” the boy snapped, throwing the jug down with all his strength. The clay fragments scattered in all directions. They even seemed to cut someone. However, the nobles still didn’t care. “If only I could meet this General, I’d wrap his intestines around his neck!”

  Chapter 187

  “Come on, Ribon,” one of the girls laughed. “You’re just mad that Her Highness, Princess Elaine, rejected your father’s proposal for you to marry her.”

  “It was the eleventh time,” the young man sitting next to him said.

  Ribon just growled furiously and grabbed the next jug.

  “She knows that my swordplay isn’t inferior to hers.”

  “Well, maybe she wants her future husband to surpass her,” the same lady from before shook her head. “Girls love men who are like rocks we can cling to.”

  This statement elicited chuckles from the female part of the group. All of them, despite being highborn, were practitioners, and every practitioner valued their own strength and freedom. Especially the women.

  That’s why, the farther along the path of cultivation one got, the less common loving marriages were. Not the ones where people spent a couple of decades or centuries together, but the true unions, where people would go through their entire lives and face all of the challenges before them as one.