Hadjar almost sat down in shock, right there on the pavement. Fifteen hundred imperial coins! With that kind of money, the issue of advancing to the level of Heaven Soldier would seem like a casual stroll on a fine day.
“I must leave you now.” Arkis bowed. “I would guess that fruitful cooperation awaits us in the future, but for now, forgive me, but the law is the law — until your year is up, you won’t be able to use this entrance.”
The old man left.
Chapter 346
The servant, Hadjar, Einen, and the enraged red-haired witch remained on the street. Realizing that it was dangerous to hang around the trio, the boy moved to the center of the street and continued his work.
“Who did you steal that treasure from, barbarian?” Tilis almost growled the words out. “Regardless, it makes no difference to me. I just want to say that, if you think that the protection of your amulets will stop me, you are sorely mistaken. Make sure to enjoy your last few days... if you can.”
With that, she slammed the tablet down on the pavement. It cracked with a bang and scattered into hundreds of small pieces. The people scurrying past them froze for a moment, saw what was happening, and hastened to get out of there. The witch stared at Hadjar, turned around, and started walking toward the embankment.
“Tilis!” Hadjar called out to her. “I loved your sister as a true friend, which she was to me. By the gods, if I could’ve prevented her death, I would’ve given everything...”
The witch stopped for a moment. She wrestled with her desire to turn around, but, unfortunately for Hadjar, she managed to drown out this impulse. Tilis quickened her pace and soon disappeared into the crowd.
“The last thing a wounded heart needs is words of comfort.” Einen patted Hadjar on the shoulder and headed toward the area where Paris lived.
“And what does a wounded heart need?” Hadjar asked.
“Time,” the islander said over his shoulder, “and maybe the blood of the one who wounded it.”
Hadjar muttered a curse and followed his friend. They walked in silence. Each of them pondered his own problems. Hadjar thought about how he often felt like he needed guidance in the Way of the Sword. The lessons he’d received from Traves and the Shadow of the Immortal had been good, but not relevant. Now, after becoming a Wielder, he understood that he possessed very fragmented and incomplete knowledge.
Hadjar guessed that he could move forward eventually, but he had a long way to go and he didn’t even know the direction he should go in. The dragon hadn’t visited him for a long time, and it was unlikely that the ‘Light Breeze’ Technique could help him with any further cultivation. The remaining three stances only deepened what he’d mastered already, without helping him discover anything new.
Traves hadn’t lied when he’d said that the sword was alien to him and that the knowledge he possessed was superficial. Fifteen years ago, that knowledge had seemed like a dream to Hadjar, but now... He longed for more, but didn’t know where he could find someone or something to learn from.
By the gods, he was ready to join a sect or school. Heh! Hadjar mentally laughed at himself. He was ready to do so... Many hundreds of thousands of practitioners dreamed of becoming disciples in such organizations. They would even be happy to lead the semi-enslaved life of an ordinary disciple. And he, a barbarian from a northern kingdom, was ready! If these practitioners had heard his thoughts just then, they would’ve died in shock at his insolence and arrogance. However, that was Hadjar in a nutshell — freedom-loving and restless, like a spring wind passing through the tall grass.
Paris’ domain turned out to be a walled fortress. Several guards stood at the gate. Instead of weapons, they held books like Karissa’s in their hands, or staffs like Ramukhan’s. Talismans danced in the air around them.
“I think you are lost,” the bravest and, apparently, the guard who was in charge of the rest, said. A strong practitioner’s aura emanated from him. Hadjar and Einen didn’t hide their auras, either. Therefore, the man had to have remarkable willpower to go up against two strong practitioners like them. “The entrance to this part of Underworld City is forbidden to non-citizens. I would advise you to turn around, or we’ll be forced to make you do so.”
Hadjar was about to pull out the invitation he’d gotten, but Einen stopped him.
“But don’t our blue amulets protect us from citizens who want to harm us?”
“There are exceptions to any rule,” one of the guards replied.
Hadjar and Einen looked at each other. That damned Karissa had really not told them everything.
“Then here is our invitation.” Hadjar held out the die.
The head guard took it from him and placed it on one of his talismans. It glowed red, then wrapped itself around the die, and finally straightened. Not even a grain of sand remained on its surface.
“Honorable Paris is already waiting you.” The guard nodded to his subordinates and they opened the gate.
“Why didn’t you just let us pass right away?” Einen asked.
“It’s boring here,” the guard shrugged, “besides, you’re strangers. And we, the citizens, should always treat you with prejudice.”
“Well then,” Hadjar nodded.
The tall, broad-shouldered guard seemed to like him.
“Try not to linger in the red-light district,” he said. “At this time of day, there are too many people who’d wish you ill around there.”
Hadjar was sure that if he’d come here with Nero, he wouldn’t have missed the opportunity to have a laugh at the topic of ‘red lights’, but...
Thanking the guard for his advice, Hadjar and Einen went to Paris’ house, using the signs along the way to orient themselves. The man lived close to the walls of the area, in a small house with two rooms, surrounded by a stone fence and a little garden full of white-red flowers.
Paris opened the door before Hadjar even knocked.
“Come in,” the Researcher smiled.
Being a hospitable man, he seated Hadjar and Einen on his best wooden chairs, used porcelain dishes, and uncorked a jug of tart wine. A hookah was already puffing slightly in the corner, letting smoke through and making it so that a light, sweet smog hung in the room.
“Do you mind?” Hadjar asked, gesturing to his own tobacco and pipe.
“Of course not,” Paris waved his hand dismissively.
For a while, Einen and Hadjar, like real guests, entertained their host with small talk focused around their past and their native countries. Hadjar told him almost everything. He even joked about being the Mad General once.
“It’s probably difficult to command an army.”
“I’ve never really thought about it,” Hadjar answered honestly. “Sometimes, there is only one phrase, ‘You have to’, and that’s all there is to it.”
“You have to...” Paris repeated. “Only a few of the young people respect that kind of sentiment. Most of them want to follow the path of cultivation, become true adepts as quickly as possible, and then plunge headfirst into the eternal wars.”
There was silence. Hadjar had forgotten when the last time he’d just sat around like this, without any urgency, had been. Although, even now, he was pondering hundreds of ways to quickly leave Underworld City. Somewhere out there, above his head, the small, frightened girl who had such a familiar name was waiting for him. He would not let little Serra down.