Hadjar, realizing that he could neither dodge nor stop the attack while running, froze. Again, black ‘feathers’ of energy fell to the floor around him. In recent months, Hadjar had managed to reach the sixth level of the Technique, but now he understood that he couldn’t progress any further without special resources.
The elephant rushed toward Hadjar, scattering the furniture and people in its path. Bone chips and blood scattered all around it.
“Arch!” Hadjar cried out, gathering the streams of his energy around him. They soared around him like a column, and a moment later, flew into his body.
Hadjar extended his left palm forward. Glen and Guram watched in disbelief as Hadjar, just like that — with his bare hand — stopped the elephant. The pressure of the Technique only managed to move him a foot or so, but did nothing else.
Making a fist with his hand, Hadjar made the Technique disappear. There was a pop, a light whirlwind of energy, and nothing was left of the attack that had taken the lives of three of Glen’s allies, but hadn’t harmed Hadjar in the slightest.
Shaking off his palm, Hadjar gripped Mountain Wind with both hands. The blade, several times heavier than its counterparts, felt pleasantly balanced in his grip. Hadjar had only recently gotten fully used to his new ‘comrade’.
Energy soared around his legs. Miniature black sparks dancing across blue reflections could be seen in it. Mentally, Hadjar attached the imaginary black blade, located somewhere in the depths of his soul, to his real one. That very instant, wisps of black fog began to emanate from Mountain Wind.
He imagined two leaves falling on Guram’s and Glen’s necks. His two swings were so quick it appeared as if Hadjar had only swung his blade once.
“Falling Leaf!”
The sword, so heavy that it could’ve crushed the chest of a weak practitioner with ease, created a stream of wind that launched the attackers away from Hadjar. They scattered several yards away. The weakest ones landed in puddles of their own blood as long, deep wounds, inflicted by invisible blades, spread across their bodies.
Hadjar’s swings turned into two ghostly black dragons. Opening their fanged maws, their blue eyes shining menacingly, they charged their prey, swaying and dancing around each other.
Guram set his mace in front of him. He shouted something, and armor flared into being around him, resembling the armor of a war elephant. The first dragon crashed into the protective Technique. Multicolored sparks fell to the floor and covered the walls. The man was dragged a few yards across the ground, and every second, his defenses grew duller. His armor was covered in cracks, which originated from where the dragon had struck him and spread out to the very edges of his armor.
At some point, Guram couldn’t stand the pressure. With a cry, he brandished his mace, trying to repel the attack, but his formidable, bulky weapon couldn’t match the quick sword.
First, his cut off hand fell to the floor. Guram staggered for a while, trying to staunch the flow of blood, but then fell to his knees. There was a hole in his chest the size of a child’s fist. Through it, a similar hole in the bone wall of the barracks was visible.
“Damn it!” Glen shouted.
Whispering something, he broke a stone die that he’d pulled out of his pocket. Transparent steel threads enveloped his golden sphere. Whirling around in a crazy dance, they turned Hadjar’s attack into dust as they collided. However, as soon as they repulsed the attack, they disappeared as well, turning into a haze.
“That seal cost me two coins!” Glen shouted. “Gods and demons, I’ll rip your heart out, Northerner!”
Gods and dDemons... it had been a long time since Hadjar had heard the Balium dialect.
“Remember your ancestors’ names,” Hadjar answered in Glen’s native language.
The man flinched and rushed in to launch a crazy attack. His saber flashed with golden energy and the air thickened behind him, forming dozens of the same blades. Just like with Guram, this was a rather familiar Technique as well.
Hadjar, grabbing his blade with both hands, was about to respond with his best trick — a symbiosis of the ‘Falling Leaf’ and ‘Spring Wind’ stances.
“What’s going on here?” Karissa’s voice cut through the air.
At the same time, all those present in the barracks, those who were still alive and conscious anyway, collapsed from terrible pain. Glen swayed, fighting against it, but then fell to his knees. He clutched his head and howled like a wounded dog.
Hadjar tried to resist. It felt like every cell in his body was being immolated in the fires of the abyss, and then pierced by needles. And yet, he stayed on his feet. Blood flowed from his nose and ears as he fought against the amulet.
Slowly, he turned toward the entrance. There, on the threshold of the wide-open door, stood Karissa. The pages of her book were rustling, and red shadows in ragged, hooded robes were flying around the witch. She emanated power that was beyond just the initial stages of the Heaven Soldier level.
Damned true path…
Chapter 349
The torture continued for about five more seconds. Five very long seconds, filled with agony. Throughout all of it, Hadjar remained upright. His back didn’t bend, his hands didn’t flinch. Only blood flowed down his face, merging with the drops of his foes’ blood. It landed on the floor in loud, echoing splats.
“I’ll ask again.” Karissa then obviously did something, because the pain disappeared. The cries of despair were replaced by moans and occasional sobs. “What’s going on here?”
Glen slowly rose to his feet. His face was bleeding too, but much less than Hadjar’s. Their damned blue amulets seemingly weren’t as harsh to those who submitted to the will of their overseer.
The instigator of the fight looked at Hadjar, and then turned to the witch.
“Nothing, honorable lady,” he answered, bowing slightly. “A small misunderstanding, a minor brawl, nothing more.”
“Nothing?”
Karissa carefully examined the barracks: the broken furniture and utensils; the corpses lying on the floor; the body parts strewn everywhere; the blood covering the floor; Einen, crucified to the wall, who had, unexpectedly, been spared the torture of the amulet. It was unlikely that he would’ve survived it in his current state.
“Well, if that’s the case, then I have nothing to say, except that you need to clean everything up before the morning.”
“Of course, honorable lady.” Glen bowed once more.
This time, he didn’t dare flirt with the witch. Apparently, the situation was more than serious enough for him to hold back.
Karissa once again looked around the room and then went outside. The shadows followed her faithfully. Their robes dragged along the pavement, leaving behind a black scorch mark. It was easy to imagine what would happen to a person’s flesh if they so much as touched it.
“Take care of your friend and I’ll do the rest.” Glen said it calmly, as if they hadn’t been trying to kill each other mere moments ago. However, in the world of martial arts, that was to be expected. One second, you might be fighting against each other, and the next — you were calmly discussing things. Such was the nature of this mad world.
Hadjar nodded, scabbarded his sword, and walked over to Einen. In a single leap, along with a wave of his hand, he cut the chains and, catching his friend, placed him on the floor. After carrying the heavily breathing islander over to their bunk, Hadjar carefully removed the slave collar around the man’s neck. He knew very well what sort of pain any unnecessary movement could cause during this process. The poisoned spike, if it touched one’s nerves, tortured them worse than the blue amulet.