The Call would last for another attack or two, but no more. This clearly wouldn’t be enough to defeat Sankesh. Still, no matter how strong Hadjar was, he would still probably find himself in over his head. It was part of who he was.
Maybe if their battle could be postponed for six months or a year, Hadjar would manage to progress further down the path of cultivation and comprehend more of the mysteries of the Sword Spirit, but... This world didn’t allow such wishful thinking.
“Don’t do it, Sankesh.” Hadjar looked at the last three crystals out of the corner of his eye as he spoke to the man. They circled the altar, allowing the blue energy to flow down somewhere beneath the base of the island. “Do you think the gods would really allow for anything that can help mortals reach the same level as them to exist?”
Hadjar had expected a lot of different reactions, but not this one. Sankesh’s eyes widened in surprise, and then he laughed loudly.
“Gods?” Sankesh asked. “Don’t insult me, Dragon. I don’t believe in gods or demons…”
Then why do all of this, Hadjar thought, but kept silent.
He was taking aim.
“I only believe in this.” Sankesh struck his chest. “And in this.” He drew his halberd from the stone. “I only believe in power. In my own power! This elixir will make me stronger!”
That was the truth. Sankesh had never stooped to using artifacts or armor. He had used only his own body and weapon. And that was all he needed to create a new world.
“I think we’ve reached an impasse,” Hadjar said.
“Then prepare to meet your forefathers!” The golden energy surged around Sankesh like a storm.
“We should both prepare.”
Hadjar made his move. His two strikes merged into one. The black cloak disappeared from his shoulders and the blade vanished from his hands, but they were no longer needed. The first black crescent struck the nearest column. It cut it to pieces and dropped the penultimate crystal into the abyss. His second attack flew toward the far pillar — the last one keeping the fragment of the ancient civilization from complete destruction. As soon as the last crystal fell, Sankesh felt the earth shake. He saw the buildings crumbling, and in the distance, he noticed the walls of the ancient library collapsing.
“Stop!” He roared.
Sunshine held out his hand. With an effort of will, he pulled the hidden Serra toward him. The girl screamed, but the invisible power was already drawing her inexorably into Sankesh’s hands.
“Stop or I’ll kill her!”
The second crescent dissipated in the air, turning into black fog without reaching the crystal. They both froze.
“I thought so,” Sankesh said wryly. “You’re still too weak. And now she’ll die anyway-”
“And you’re too stupid,” Hadjar interrupted him, “if you truly believe that the Mad General’s plan is so simple.”
Sankesh had been too preoccupied with his goal, which was so close, to realize that Hadjar had come here to rescue Serra. That meant he wouldn’t have destroyed the island anyway, because he and Serra would surely have died in the crash that followed, but Sankesh could’ve survived.
Which meant that…
“No!” Sunshine flung Serra away, but it was too late.
Hadjar threw his right arm out from behind his back. The tip of the broken Mountain Wind flashed. With incredible speed, it flew through the air. Just before it collided with the protective shell of the elixir, Hadjar imagined he saw the smile of the last sorceress. A hole appeared in the shell around the crystal swirling inside the tree, and the sword went right through it.
“NO!” Sankesh roared.
At the same time, using the last vestiges of his power, Hadjar swung the second fragment of Mountain Wind. The attack was weak, but it was enough to cut off the very top of the column and bring down the last of the crystals. The blue bush in the center of the altar went out, the blue veins running through everything disappeared, the earth cracked, and the giant island fell from the sky.
Hadjar shielded the little girl. Powerless, he held his broken blade in front of him and watched the energy swirl around the frantic Sankesh. The man looked even more powerful than he had at the beginning of their battle.
The huge tree was falling. It was drying up and turning into gray dust. Shards of the crystal flew everywhere. Drops of liquid gold still glistened on them. Those were the remains of the ancient potion that nobody could get now.
“What do we do now?” Serra asked.
“HA-A-A-A-A-DJA-A-A-AR!”
“I didn’t think that far ahead,” Hadjar said, his face pale.
Chapter 417
Sankesh stared at the shards of the crystal scattered across the square. The yellow drops of the elixir glistened on their sharp edges, illuminated by the setting sun. Its purity and radiance were undeniable proof of its quality. There might not have been a single ancient cultivator for many millions of miles around who would’ve been capable of making such a thing.
Perhaps a similar elixir could be found, but it would probably only be available in the mythical Land of the Immortals, of which Sankesh had learned hundreds of years ago, but it would be weaker and of a lower quality.
The reflected sunbeams made Sankesh reflect on his past for a moment. He’d both found unattainable heights of happiness and fallen into an abyss of despair in the past. Sunshine had been born from all those experiences, vowing to reshape the world in his vision.
***
Wrapped in a tattered blanket, young Sankesh, now seventeen years old, looked through the bars of his cage at the snowy forest. For a year, he’d been sold and resold by various slave traders. During that time, he had crossed the Sea of Sand, skirted the eastern provinces of the Empire, and reached the northern region.
Thanks to Rahaim’s books (a man he no longer considered his father), Sankesh had read about snow and even seen pictures of the white substance falling from the sky, but this was his first time seeing it up close.
“Stop making all that noise!” The bars of his cage were struck with the handle of an axe.
Sankesh recoiled and involuntarily reached for the slave collar on his neck. Over the past year, he had learned the language of the northerners. The Evening Stars hadn’t given him a talent for the path of cultivation, but he had a good memory and was very intelligent.
“Water,” a voice croaked from behind him.
Sankesh was not alone in the long cage. There were a dozen of them in here. Most of the prisoners were from the Sea of Sand. Their skin had turned from a dark bronze to a pale pink in the year they’d spent travelling. There were also several barbarians among them. Once they’d reached the snowy lands, they’d felt much better and had been able to find common ground with the guards of the caravan.
“Here, take it!” Laughing, one of the golden-haired giants dressed in fur and iron armor made a snowball and threw it into the cage.
The woman, who was Sankesh’s compatriot, reached out with trembling hands and grabbed it, glaring at the others. The cage was so crowded that they kept warm mostly thanks to each other, and not the torn rags that they’d been given a month ago.
The desert dwellers were mostly thirsty and desperate for water. The barbarians, when they thought no one was looking, collected snow from the bars, melted it in their hands, and drank. Or even just put it in their mouths right away. Sankesh, after learning their trick by spying on them, now did the same.