Dragon Heart: Iron Will. LitRPG Wuxia Series: Book 2 Page 25

  He held a short sword in his hand, and the blade glinted with a flickering blue fire. Not a shadowy or illusory flame, but a real one. Hadjar had never seen anything like it, and he doubted that he’d be able to summon the wind to his own weapon like that.

  “Honorable adept?”

  “Spirit,” the being corrected him. “I’m just a spirit. The palace that you see before you is actually a treasury that I have been left in charge of.”

  Hadjar looked at the huge building. How many treasures had the cultivator had? What power had he possessed in life that allowed him to build such a tomb and put this spirit here? A spirit that was stronger than Traves when he’d been alive.

  “Where…?”

  Instead of providing an answer, the shadow pointed to the fireball circling under the vault. Looking at it more closely, Hadjar realized that this wasn’t an artifact, but... an actual core of power. A core that was even larger than the Fort at the Blue Wind Ridge.

  The warrior couldn’t even begin to imagine what kind of power the old man had possessed while he’d been alive.

  Still...

  “Am I talking to an Immortal?” Hadjar asked.

  “You are.”

  “But I thought Immortals were... well, immortal.”

  The Spirit smiled. Luckily, his teeth weren’t fangs. Instead, they resembled ordinary teeth, except for the fact that they were far too white.

  “Time has no power over us, that much is true. But even if a cultivator can defy the will of Heaven, he can’t overcome the order of the Universe. All that exists in this world must have an end, Warrior. An Immortal can easily be killed by another Immortal. Wounded, I came here to these mountains. I had enough time to build this tomb and leave my legacy behind. Nothing scares an Immortal more than being lost in the rivers of time. Many of us have abandoned our teachings, but we can discuss those later.”

  Hadjar could argue with that statement. He had learned more from just several phrases spoken by the Spirit than from the libraries of both Darnassus and the sect combined.

  So, Immortals could be killed, but they didn’t age. If the Spirit spoke of them as being so commonplace and referred to them in the plural, then... Damn, how many Immortals were there, exactly? What was even more interesting was how many tombs must’ve been scattered around the world, containing unimaginable wealth and knowledge…

  “You’ve passed the first two tests,” the Spirit continued. “I don’t know what miracle let you pass the second one, but... I see you holding your sword and that’s good. Apparently, Fate has brought you to me because I fought my way through time by using only my blade as well. I’ve created hundreds of different Techniques, related to many different aspects of life, but still, my best creation, my legacy, is my own Sword Technique. It allowed me to gain my Immortality. I’ll pass it on to the one who can pass the third and final test.”

  The Spirit didn’t raise his sword. He didn’t take any sort of stance, and he didn’t move a single muscle. Nothing disturbed the energy around them, but despite that, Hadjar suddenly took a few steps back.

  He realized that it wasn’t just a shadow standing in front of him, but a real Immortal, and that his mere whim, just the light of his blade, would be enough to turn this cave into rubble. Not to mention destroy Hadjar and vaporize his very soul in the process.

  “You’re the third practitioner to reach the final test. Only two men were able to reach the entrance to my Treasury before you. Both of them were geniuses. While still being on the verge of becoming true cultivators, their power had been enough to allow them to fight a Knight of the Spirit on an equal footing. And yet, they were both killed. Now they look at you and wish you good luck in your test.”

  Hadjar looked at the statues of the demon dogs. So that was why there were only two of them...

  “The third challenge tests your sword,” the Spirit explained, “but, as I’ve been waiting for someone who stands on the verge of becoming a Heaven Soldier, it is foolish to expect that you’ll be able to fight me. That is why, out of respect for your extraordinary willpower and courage, I’ll give you a slight chance. I’ll let you land one strike. Just one. I’ll neither defend myself nor dodge it. If you are able to hurt me in the slightest, I’ll consider you worthy of my legacy.”

  One attack? Well, in the face of death, he had no real choice in the matter.

  Hadjar remembered what unimaginable power the Lasсanian had demonstrated. If even such monsters had eventually been turned into these statues, then what would happen to Hadjar…?

  “I’m waiting.”

  Chapter 120

  The Spirit stood in front of him, ready to take a slash of his sword and end this brave warrior’s life. He didn’t believe that this practitioner of the Formation Stage, not even the Superior One, would ever be able to injure him.

  And yet, not an ounce of fear could be seen in the warrior’s eyes. Only pure determination. He had to save his friend.

  Hadjar put his hand on his sheath. The vortices of power spun around him—like in the fight against the sectarians’ beast—with the addition of steel sparks, which now shone among these vortices.

  The Spirit looked at them and didn’t know whether this was a trick of the light and shadows or if the warrior standing before him had pulled off a new miracle. But no, it was absolutely foolish to think that a simple practitioner could hope to summon the energy of the Sword.

  The Spirit didn’t know that the tests had been useful to Hadjar.

  Seeing his mom and dad again had removed the veil of sorrow from his heart, helping him rediscover the world around him. The flame of life didn’t burn in his heart, as it once had in the palace, but rather, the embers of it had begun to spark and ignite. That little spark was enough, however, and thanks to it, the little boy had been able to become ‘One with the Sword’[DI1] .

  The long corridor, full of pain, fear, and an awareness of his own helplessness, had reminded Hadjar of how far he still had to go. It had reminded him of his humility and the fact that he was nothing more than a little frog who had just begun his journey in the boundless ocean.

  When he swung his sword, it wasn’t a steel beam that came out of his blade. It was a ghostly and barely discernible dragon that rushed in for a violent attack.

  The Spirit didn’t have time to be amazed as the attack crashed into him. He heard the dragon roar and felt as if a storm had struck his chest.

  When the glow faded, the panting Hadjar swore angrily.

  The Spirit stood in the same position as before.

  Apparently, he was also completely unharmed.

  It seemed neither he nor Nero were destined to return home…

  “To my surprise,” the Spirit slowly breathed out, “you’ve passed.”

  He touched his cheek and flicked away a small drop of blood. Just a little scratch on the Spirit’s face. That was the best that Hadjar had been able to do.

  And yet, it was enough.

  “You’ve passed the test and can—”

  “To the demons with that,” Hadjar interrupted him, “give me the Black Stone Flower. I’ll come back later for your damned legacy.”

  The Spirit cocked his head in surprise. With each second, this warrior astonished him more and more.

  “Forgive me, Warrior, but I can’t give you the Flower.”

  “Wha-a-a-a-t?” Hadjar roared.

  Without realizing it, he grabbed his blade—even though it was a completely useless gesture. It would take only one swing of the Spirit’s sword to take Hadjar’s life, as the warrior didn’t even have enough strength to lift his weapon.

  “Well, I can only offer you a choice.” Regret tinged the Spirit’s voice. “You can leave my tomb with the Flower or with my heritage, but I cannot allow you to leave with both.”

  “What kind of stupid rule is that? With all due respect, the Black Stone Flower surely isn’t that valuable.”

  “A common flower wouldn’t be, no,” the Spirit replied. “But this particu
lar one is dear to me. You needn’t know the reason why. So, make your choice, Warrior: the Flower or the heritage. The heritage will make you stronger than you could ever imagine. Legends will be told about your sword, your power will reach new, unfathomable heights, and you’ll discover secrets that you couldn’t even begin to dream of. You’ll be able to realize the dream of a myriad of practitioners and go to the land of the Immortals. And once there, you’ll be accepted as an equal. You’ll be able to comprehend the very secrets of the universe—”

  “Give me the Flower.”

  “... and continue on your path of cultivation…” The spirit didn’t realize that the warrior had chosen the Flower at first. “Are you sure, Warrior? This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”

  “I choose the Flower. Get on with it,” Hadjar almost shouted.

  “Please, Warrior, I beg you to come to your senses.”

  “Honorable... Spirit. My friend is on his deathbed and the only thing that can help him is this accursed Flower.”

  The Warrior had surprised the Spirit yet again. On top of that, he had also reawakened some old feelings in the Spirit’s dead heart.

  “Would you really prefer saving your friend to being an Immortal?”

  Hadjar just grinned.

  “Why would I need such power if I can’t help anyone? Why would I need eternity if I’m supposed to spend it alone? So, yeah, I want the Flower more than your legacy.”

  The Spirit sighed and waved his hand. As he did so, a small, black bud appeared above Hadjar’s palm. The only feature that made it different from many others were its petals, which were made of solid stone. At the same time, the flower wasn’t heavy at all. It didn’t settle in his hand so much as hover over it. Only after Hadjar released a bit of energy did the Flower gently fall onto his palm.

  Holding the precious ingredient against his chest, Hadjar threw a last glance at the magnificent golden palace. His gaze, however, didn’t reveal any hesitation or any other negative emotions warring within him. Hadjar was quite pleased with his choice. He had no regrets.

  He wouldn’t yearn for the power and knowledge. He could always get those through his own efforts. But a friend… A true friend…

  Hadjar turned around and walked toward the corridor. He hoped that he wouldn’t have to pass the second test again on his way back. He sincerely doubted that he could break through the air barrier once more, and the horror of the approaching army would be unbearable. Once he got back, he would ask Serra what magic this march had use—

  “Wait,” the voice sounded behind him. “I can’t just let you go.”

  Hadjar rolled his eyes. Alas, the stone vault answered him with complete silence, without a drop of sympathy. Turning around, Hadjar got ready to sell his life as dearly as possible. Bards wouldn’t get to sing about how he’d surrendered to the mercy of the enemy.

  The General barely managed to raise his sword, his arms weary and his legs shaking with exhaustion.

  “Lower your blade, Warrior.” Demonstrating his peaceful intent, the Spirit sheathed his sword and raised his open palms. “I’m not going to hurt you. On the contrary, I want to help you.”

  “Then will you take me to the surface?” Hadjar didn’t particularly trust this... creature. “I need to get this medicine to a dying man as soon as possible. I have no time to spare for talking.”

  The Spirit’s gaze dimmed, as though it were being directed somewhere into eternity. Toward secrets that only the Immortals knew. Hadjar didn’t understand what had happened, he felt nothing—only the flashing orange color of the emergency neuronet message that flickered in his vision hinted that something was wrong.

  Because he’d never seen an ‘emergency’ message before in his life.

  “Time,” the Spirit said, “is only an illusion, created by people to better understand the universe. But there is no true time or space in the universe.”

  “What have you done?”

  “No matter how contradictory it may sound…” The Spirit turned and began to go down the hill, toward the pond and small garden. “Now you have time, Warrior. In the outside world, an hour will pass, but in here—a year. I can’t just let go of someone who was destined to be my heir... Even if he has chosen a different path.”

  The Spirit stopped at the pond and turned to Hadjar.

  “During this year, I’ll try to help you take the first step on the Way of the Sword.”

  “The first step?” Hadjar asked, surprised. “With all due respect, I’ve done pretty well on my own. I’ve already achieved the ‘One with the World’ Stage.”

  “One with the World,” the Spirit replied slowly, as though talking to a child, “isn’t the Way of the Sword, my disciple. It’s just the gateway one passes through to reach it.”

  The Shadow calmly raised his hand and pointed his finger at one of the cliffs. He didn’t unsheathe his blade, nor did he gather any energy. His aura didn’t fluctuate at all, but the moment he raised his finger, Hadjar felt like he would be cut in half where he stood.

  A wave of extremely sharp power, devoid of both color and light, flooded the cave. The very next moment, the huge cliff, located many thousands of steps away from the Spirit, smoothly slid down and fell to the ground with a crash.

  Hadjar looked at the perfectly sleek cut in the cliff, the diameter of which was easily a hundred yards.

  “Damn,” was all he could say, scarcely able to comprehend what he had just witnessed.

  It was neither a Technique nor the use of energy.

  The Spirit was still at the verge of becoming a true cultivator. He had simply used his knowledge of the Way of the Sword.

  By all the demons that would attend Hadjar’s funeral—it was just a skill!

  Chapter 121

  “Your movements are too clumsy,” the Spirit repeated.

  For the past month, Hadjar had tried to cut the statue in front of him. It was a stone monument of an impressive warrior, clad in full armor. The worst part was that Hadjar could’ve easily done this. However, the Spirit, standing nearby and armed with a long stick, had forbidden him from using any Techniques or energy.

  He’d said that a practitioner and a cultivator could always rely on their energy on the path of cultivation; they could learn a powerful Technique that could split the sky and end an Immortal; and yet, it wasn’t their power. It was the energy of this world that they’d loaned, and Techniques were just parasites that fed on this energy.

  Only their own knowledge and skills could help a warrior be truly free.

  “Your elbow should be a little closer to your body.” The Spirit tapped on Hadjar’s elbow with the stick. “And your legs should be slightly wider. Loosen up your wrist. Swing the blade more sharply,” he instructed.

  Hadjar followed these instructions. His attack was now not only several times stronger, but also much deadlier than it had been just a couple of minutes ago. Nevertheless, he still wasn’t able to leave a single scratch on the surface of the statue.

  The special stone from which the ancient sculptor had created this statue was much stronger than any material that Hadjar had ever encountered. On the first day of this unfair struggle, Hadjar had asked his new teacher how the sculpture had been created.

  The Spirit had paused the lesson to tell him the story.

  There was once a master who chose not the way of the Sword, of the Spell, or of the Arrow, but instead, the Way of Art. With a simple brushstroke, he could paint an ocean that would descend upon his opponent. He could sing a song about war, and a whole army of soldiers summoned by him would rush to a city. He could tell a story, and in doing so, infuse a mere mortal’s soul with such power that they could defeat any Knight of the Spirit.

  This came later, of course, and at first, the master was a simple apprentice to an ordinary sculptor. One of his first creations was the sculpture in front of Hadjar. He had carved it with a special chisel made from a sea monster’s tooth and a hammer that had been given to him by the Goddess of Creativi
ty and Beauty herself.

  “If you were to choose my heritage,” the Spirit sighed, sinking down onto a nearby rock, “I could let you into my Treasury. I could show you not just the basics of the Way of the Sword, but its very Laws. The Laws that are contained in statues of the God of War and in the dragon columns. The Laws you can’t see until you’re a Knight of the Spirit and truly understand.”

  About once a week, the Shadow returned to this conversation. Every time, he tried to tempt his disciple into taking the legacy and leaving the Flower behind. The third time he’d attempted this, Hadjar had again asked him why this Flower was so dear to the Immortal.

  Surprisingly, this time, the Spirit answered him.

  That evening, when Hadjar sat down to eat roots and drink water from the pond, the Spirit told him the story. The story of a young man serving as a simple squire to a nobleman.

  The events in the story took place nearly six hundred centuries ago, which made Hadjar feel like there truly was no real progress in this world.

  As is often the case, the squire fell in love with his master’s daughter. Of course, the nobleman wasn’t going to marry his daughter off to a commoner. Especially a mere mortal.

  Therefore, the young man went off to perform heroic feats in the name of his beloved. Ten years later, he returned, and he was now a Heaven Soldier. The nobleman gladly gave him his daughter’s hand in marriage, as it was amazing that a mere mortal had become a true cultivator in only ten years. It wasn’t mere talent, the man was surely a genius—one who had no equal under the vast sky. Anyway, that is what the former master and former squire thought.

  At their wedding, his wife gave him a gift—this very same Black Stone Flower.

  The Spirit would’ve loved to say that they lived happily ever after, but no... After only forty years, the Heaven Soldier could no longer stand the boredom and the sight of his aging wife. She was unable to practice cultivation. No healer could diagnose her with any sort of disease or find the cause of her condition.