Hadjar abruptly stopped talking. Paris’ significant look clearly conveyed that there would certainly be spots to fill. Apparently, there always were.
For the next half hour, they talked about the little things again. However, Paris did share some important information about the city with them: where they mustn’t go, where they could get things cheaply or calmly meditate; where they were welcome and where they should avoid going, even under the threat of death.
After saying their goodbyes, Hadjar and Einen hurried back to the barracks — the lanterns had started turning red, which meant that night would come soon. The friends weren’t afraid, but didn’t intend to actively seek out trouble.
This time, the ferryman wasn’t even surprised when the two of them, after stripping down to the waist, jumped into the water. Once they’d crossed the river and brushed off their clothes, they moved on and quickly reached the barracks. Light, music, and shouting were still pouring out from the open door.
“Don’t you want to join me?” Hadjar pointed to the high ledge which they’d noticed that morning. It was ideal for deep meditation, as no one would disturb them there.
“No,” Einen shook his head. “I don’t think today is the best day for me to meditate. I’ll probably just go to bed. There’s a lot to think about.”
Hadjar looked toward the barracks.
“Don’t worry, Northerner,” the islander smiled widely for the first time in many months. “I’m a warrior, not a little kid. I can take care of myself and be on my own for a bit. You are my friend, not my nanny. I’ll handle anything that comes up myself, if I have to.”
Hadjar nodded and saluted in the manner of the islands: he pressed his palms together in the shape of a boat and nodded slightly.
“I’m sorry if I’ve offended you.”
“That’s okay.” Einen patted Hadjar on the shoulder and went over to the barracks. “You’re a barbarian, there’s no helping that.”
They parted. Hadjar climbed up to the ledge and spent about three hours in deep meditation. Then he spent another hour or so trying to whistle Azrea’s favorite tune. He had no idea how, but every time the tigress had gone off for a walk on her own before, she’d immediately returned as soon as she’d heard that tune. Unfortunately, it didn’t happen this time.
Hadjar wished the tiger cub good luck with her hunt. Maybe his fluffy friend had already grown up and could now truly live on her own and would only return when she wanted to. As with any other woman, he shouldn’t try to force her to stay with him. Nero had used to repeat that advice endlessly.
As he walked back to the barracks, Hadjar didn’t immediately realize why he was so alarmed. Then it hit him. It was too quiet... No one was singing or dancing. No shouts could be heard.
When he entered the building, Hadjar immediately drew his blade.
On the wall, nailed to it by daggers, Einen hung, crucified. He was sighing heavily and constantly spitting out blood. A slave collar was around his neck, covered in frozen blood. How else would these bastards have been able to defeat the islander?
“It would seem it’s time for us to talk, Northerner,” Glen grinned wryly, toying with a second collar in his hands.
A dozen men surrounded Hadjar. Emboldened by their own numerical superiority, they didn’t immediately notice the dragon awakening in his blue eyes. By the time they saw it, it was already too late.
A moment ago, they’d been standing around a tall man, but now they were facing a dangerous beast. Many of them turned pale when they couldn’t comprehend whether this creature had drawn a sword or fangs against them.
“Time to talk?” Hadjar’s voice was inhuman. “No, it’s time to die.”
A column of blue energy erupted around him, and miniature black sparks could clearly be seen floating in the energy.
Chapter 348
Three men attacked Hadjar simultaneously. They wielded heavy, massive axes that were capable of chopping through even the strongest armor. Surrounded by multicolored streams of energies, each of them was a strong practitioner at the Transformation level. Like shooting stars, they rained down, right on their enemy. Hadjar didn’t move. He extended his right hand calmly, using his sword like a shield. When the three axes hit the blade, it didn’t even twitch. A streak of light that resembled the gleam of a sword being swung flashed outward from Mountain Wind.
That light easily passed through the other fighters’ multicolored energy. Cutting through their ax blades, it first touched the attackers’ wrists, then grazed their chests, seemingly harmless.
The trio didn’t even have time to cry out. First, their chopped off hands fell to the ground. Still clenched into fists, they rolled across the floor. A millisecond later, their bodies collapsed next to them. A fountain of blood shot up, plugging a wide gap in the ceiling, which had been left behind by the strip of light, for a moment.
“No retreat!” Glen shouted.
After fastening the slave collar to his belt, he bared a dagger and a narrow saber. Accompanied by hooting, and howling eerily similar to a jackal’s, his attack rushed forward. Like a pack of dogs, his Technique circled around Hadjar, standing in the bloody rain.
Suddenly, a bowstring sang. A female practitioner, down on one knee on the table, sent an arrow flying. It turned into the beak of a bird of prey. Closing the distance in less than a second, to the accompaniment of joyful cries, it touched Hadjar’s chest... but then, with a sharp zipping noise, it pierced the wall. Motes of energy sank to the floor like black feathers. Hadjar, turning into a shadow of the Six Ravens, pressed the attack.
Everything around him slowed down. Drops of blood, previously falling like rain, now seemed to crawl through the air, like paint gliding along silk threads.
Grabbing a boy standing nearby, Hadjar threw him at the archer. After blocking the girl’s line of sight, he slashed down swiftly. He added a bit of energy to it, but didn’t even pause to observe how a semitransparent blade, seemingly conjured from thin air, first cut through the boy, and then the archer. Another fountain of blood struck the gap in the ceiling, but Hadjar didn’t care. He continued his flight of death.
The ravens’ shadow flashed among fifty attackers. Every time Hadjar slowed down enough to take on a human form, Mountain Wind shone, and two, or even three, attackers would fall.
While an enemy was swinging, Hadjar managed to cut into him multiple times, then, pushing himself off the floor, he used the Ten Ravens Technique to move to another attacker. Like the spirit of death itself, he rushed around the barracks, culling the weakest foes so that they wouldn’t interfere in the fight later.
“Guram!” Glen cried out, driving his saber into the floor in front of him. A golden protective sphere sprang up around him, occasionally getting hit by the echoes of Hadjar’s attacks.
“On it!” An obese, pot-bellied practitioner answered.
He wielded a mace and looked like an elephant. Out of the corner of his eye, Hadjar paid close attention to this warrior. He looked a bit like the Heaven Soldier whom Hadjar had had to fight beneath the walls of Kurkhadan.
As if to confirm this impression, the man brandished his mace, sending out an attack that assumed the form of an elephant’s head. The pressure of his power was so great that the floor cracked and the walls shook like they were being buffeted by a strong wind. Those unlucky enough to find themselves in the way were swept away. Their crumpled bodies were swept aside by the elephant’s tusks as the attack charged its target.