“Well.” Paris slapped his knees, rose from the pillow he’d been sitting on, and disappeared into the next room. He soon returned with an old, battered Ron’Jah.
“Please play, Hadjar, and then we can discuss our business.”
No one doubted that Paris had invited them to his home for a reason.
Hadjar carefully touched the strings. He tuned them by ear — such a forgotten and alien movement. He moved his fingers along the leather-covered, oval base of the instrument. He sat down so that he could lay the Ron’Jah across his knee. It seemed like the last time he’d played one was in a past life...
“Alas, I’ve forgotten almost all the songs,” Hadjar said apologetically.
It was the truth. Back when his neural network had still worked, he hadn’t bothered to memorize lyrics and notes. Now, after so many years, he could barely remember the music and the words that accompanied it.
Computing module is currently rebooting…
Approximate time until completion is...
“‘Almost’ is a good word,” Paris said. “Play the ones you remember.”
Hadjar nodded and began to play. It was strange, but he could only clearly remember the song his mother had used to sing to him in his childhood. The song about the Black General. About how the Black General had been killed by the God of War because he’d wanted to help a person become a god, and how he came back from the dead to plunge half the world into darkness. He killed demons and gods alike, he was the enemy of the Jasper Emperor, and the death of all things.
Hadjar liked this song. It exuded a nobility that he thought was sometimes lacking under the Evening Stars.
Chapter 347
The song ended and Hadjar put the Ron’Jah away. He regretted doing so: ten minutes of playing music had aroused a half-forgotten sensation in him. He’d enjoyed playing the instrument as much as he enjoyed fighting.
“A good song,” Paris nodded, pouring another glass of wine. “I’ve never heard about the Black General.”
“We don’t mention him often on the islands, either,” Einen agreed, “only in children’s horror stories, or as an example of what not to do.”
“My mother often sang it to me during my childhood,” Hadjar shrugged.
“Oh, well, that explains a lot,” Einen nodded, and, not giving Hadjar a chance to get outraged, turned to their host. “Honorable Paris, I don’t mean to reject your hospitality, but why did you invite us here?”
Apparently, the islander, just like Karissa, didn’t like wasting time on idle politeness. Hadjar, on the contrary, enjoyed small talk. He got to experience it far too rarely for his liking.
Paris, without finishing his wine, set the glass aside. He wiped his lips clean with the edge of his sleeve and waved his hand to close the door and shutters. It was a simple gesture for him, but Hadjar nearly choked on his wine. No one in Lidus was capable of such a feat!
“To begin with, it was I who immersed you in the Green Prison solution,” Paris admitted instantly.
Hadjar and Einen tensed. Their hands involuntarily reached for their weapons, but the law of hospitality stayed their hand. Harming a welcoming host meant cursing oneself and one’s family with a mark of dishonor. Only a beast, not a human being, would be capable of biting a hand extended in generosity.
“During that time, I had to examine your bodies. Frankly, I’ve never seen such... strong practitioners. You are as mighty as Heaven Soldiers at the middle stage in terms of power. Such an achievement obviously inspires respect, and even a bit of fear. I don’t think that there are any monsters in the Pit that can truly threaten your lives.”
“Which means the upcoming year won’t be that difficult,” Einen summed up. It was obvious that he no longer liked the welcoming Researcher.
“Of course,” Paris agreed, handing the hookah’s mouthpiece to the islander. He hesitated a bit, but then accepted it. “You can freely spend the year engaging in meaningless battles against weak opponents, gaining nothing from them.”
“Life has taught me something…” Hadjar looked into the Researcher’s eyes, “Such words are usually followed by a ‘but’.”
“You’re right,” Paris nodded. “I advised you to visit the auction for a reason.”
“The experience really expanded our horizons and-”
“No, no, no,” the Researcher cut him off with a wave of his hand. “Don’t do that, Hadjar. Don’t try to seem stupid. You saw everything with your own eyes.”
Einen and Hadjar looked at each other. They’d both heard about the hunters of the Research Chamber. Besides, where did all the artifacts that were brought to the House of the Hundred Coins come from? Where did the animals in the Pit, which couldn’t just spring up from beneath very thick stone and sand, come from? Obviously, someone had brought them all here.
“What are you hinting at, honorable Paris?” Hadjar asked a little officially.
“You have a choice.” The Researcher took the hookah out of his mouth and exhaled a thick cloud of sweet smoke. “You can live an empty and boring year, or you can test yourselves against the unexplored regions of the Sea of Sand, facing the kinds of dangers and trials that hundreds of songs and legends are composed about.”
Einen and Hadjar thought about it. Hadjar had already experienced what it was like to be the inspiration for songs and legends. He hadn’t gotten anything out of his fame, and he never sought it, which, probably, greatly distinguished him from most of the other practitioners and cultivators. Therefore, he didn’t care about fame.
He was more interested in an opportunity to escape. This would give him at least a slim chance to leave Underworld City before his year was up. Moreover, the unexplored regions of the Sea of Sand appealed to him as well. Previously, when he’d been the Mad General, Hadjar could easily disregard all resources and ingredients. However, the further he moved along the path of cultivation, the more clearly he realized that just talent wasn’t enough. The pace of his cultivation had slowed down, not quickened.
He had to get involved in the race for resources. Without them, he would never be able to contend with those who’d been fortunate enough to be born in the Empire or in the country whose residents were capable of creating the stele that tested a practitioner’s level of talent.
Paris, of course, hadn’t made this proposal out of altruism. He definitely had his own angle for this enterprise, both as a person and as a researcher. So, there wasn’t any need to delude oneself about his kindness. It would be a mutually beneficial deal, nothing more. What could Hadjar lose, besides his life? Nothing. Thus, it wasn’t even really a choice for him.
“I agree,” Hadjar and Einen said simultaneously.
Each step of a practitioner walking along the path of cultivation was an endless struggle of life against death. If a person was afraid of the latter, then they should never take up arms. Only those willing to risk everything could truly succeed.
“I was sure you’d accept,” Paris smiled. “In about a month, the group currently exploring the sands will return. I’ll recommend you for the vacant spots.”
“Why are you so sure-”