Faint hieroglyphs flickered above their heads. Hadjar had already seen them before — Serra had used them as well. They created a good disguise.
Hadjar hoped that the creature wasn’t coming here for their souls and wouldn’t peer at them too closely. Hadjar guessed that the spell, even one cast by powerful magic users, would easily be seen through by the Lord of the Heavens.
Moving slightly away from his camel, Hadjar looked at the sky. There, among the black clouds, he saw only red flashes of lightning. However, with each subsequent flash, a silhouette grew clearer. A silhouette that often visited Hadjar in his nightmares. This was the reason why he spent all his free time in deep meditation.
After the battle against the dragon on the last day of his time with Rahaim’s caravan, his body hadn’t been injured, but his soul... A deep scar remained across its surface. A scar that had yet to heal. After all, it wasn’t every day you came across a foe who looked at you like you looked at an ant, or at a speck of dust.
The two huge, leathery wings swept the clouds aside. Covering the black sand with its shadow, the huge dragon flew through the sky.
Hadjar breathed a sigh of relief.
The monster that was currently hovering in the sky belonged to the same tribe as the one that had destroyed Rahaim’s caravan, but it was smaller. Instead of four wings, it only had two. Its color wasn’t so saturated, and it didn’t cause him to panic. Of course, the monster’s power was still far beyond the understanding of anyone there, but this dragon was far weaker than the one he’d encountered before.
“By the Great Turtle,” Einen, who was lying nearby, breathed out. “Its tail... look at its tail...”
Hadjar looked closer and cursed. Why hadn’t he noticed that the dragon was missing a tail? It had a bleeding stump where its tail should’ve been. The cut was so even and smooth that neither teeth nor claws could’ve caused it. Hadjar felt even worse when he spotted that.
He suddenly realized that the Lord of the Heavens wasn’t hunting, or flying through the air for the simple pleasure of it, or even just surveying its domain, it was fleeing! The roar which it had let out hadn’t been a hunter’s exclamation of triumph, but a prey animal’s cry of fear. The dragon was calling for help from its older relatives. However, help wasn’t coming.
The wounded dragon, soaring through the clouds at a breakneck speed, was fleeing from danger, and, by the gods, Hadjar didn’t want to find out what kind of creature was capable of injuring it.
Alas, he had no choice in the matter.
No one in the squad could contain their exclamation of surprise and admiration when a huge pillar burst out of the sand right in the dragon’s path. It was as big as a mountain. Suddenly, the pillar trembled, and, like a roll of fabric, began to unfold. Gradually, outlines of a gigantic face with a mouth appeared in it.
Out of this toothless, sandy hole, a stream of golden energy surged forward, eventually forming an equally huge staff. It struck the dragon that was trying its best to protect itself. However, the staff easily broke through the sphere of white energy that had enveloped the body of the Lord of the Heavens. The staff shattered the dragon’s wings, sending it plummeting to the ground. Another roar, full of agony and horror, swept through the sky, and then everything stilled. Apparently, this was the end of the battle, because there were already numerous wounds and bruises on the gasping monster. Its crystal skin had been punctured by its own bones sticking out of its body. Some had even broken off, which looked creepy.
“The sand,” Karissa whispered suddenly.
Hadjar looked down and leapt to his feet in surprise. The black sand was rapidly turning into the yellow, ‘native’, and ‘familiar’ kind of sand.
The same thing was happening to the sky. The black clouds were gradually turning white and gold. They parted, blowing the red lightning away and exposing the endless azure. The sun, which so rarely showed its face in the Demon’s Heart, was now gently caressing the vast territory. That was the last thing the dragon saw.
The hunters were enveloped in a wave of incredible power. It was so potent that they couldn’t move or even get up. Each breath they took was painful. Salif and the boy began to choke.
With a trembling hand, Ramukhan pulled a red cloth talisman from his pocket. He threw it toward the servants, and the strip of fabric, after splitting in half in midair, wrapped itself around their heads, making them look like mummies. They were obviously breathing more freely now, but it was still difficult for them.
“This is impossible,” Hadjar whispered, “it’s impossible.”
He’d already felt a similar power before. It had happened so long ago that he’d almost been convinced it had just been a dream.
With great difficulty, using his willpower and obstinacy, having to lean on his sword, he rose and turned around.
An old man was flying over the sand. In his right hand, he held a staff with a round, golden globe at the top. The staff touched the sand lightly, kicking up golden sparks which painted the desert in its usual shades of yellow and, once they reached the sky, dispersed the black clouds as well.
His gold and red caftan fluttered slightly in the wind. A simple turban covered his gray hair. His bronze skin couldn’t hide his deep wrinkles. The old man’s calm eyes gazed steadily at the vast area stretching out before him.
An orange sphere was flying ahead of him, followed by a cheetah. One glance at the beast was enough for them to see that it was a much stronger monster than the fiery bird and the snake had been.
“I don’t like the Demon’s Heart.” The old man’s voice sounded pretty normal, there was no power or the echo of time in it. “If this dragon hadn’t been such a coward, I would’ve never even come here.”
As soon as Hadjar looked into the old man’s eyes, he shuddered. Eternity looked back at him. It was akin to how looking into the eyes of the Bedouin’s boy shaman had felt. However, the old man’s eyes also contained a whole ocean of power.
“Immortal,” Ramukhan said breathlessly.
The old man turned his head toward him. Nothing happened. No surge in the streams of the World River, nor any other external manifestations of power, but the sorcerer’s eyes still glazed over. The same thing happened to the rest of them.
“Don’t worry, young man,” the old man smiled as he looked at Hadjar, “Nothing terrible has happened to them. I’ve just erased the last few minutes from their memory. I’ll do the same to you.”
Hadjar raised his left hand suddenly. He straightened his palm and tilted it to the right. He traced the index finger of his right hand over his left palm, and then struck that same palm with a fist. Bowing low, he uttered a ritual phrase. He’d never thought that this knowledge would prove useful to him so soon in his life.
“The one who has seen the glory of the House of Blade Fury greets you, Wiseman!”
By the Gods, for the first time in a thousand years, someone had managed to truly surprise the old man.
Chapter 359
“Do you want me to tell you about the Immortals?” The Shadow of the Immortal laughed.
It was the sixth month of Hadjar’s training in the underground tomb. His concern about Nero’s fate, who was struggling against the terrible poison of ‘The Black Gates’ sect at that very moment, hadn’t disappeared. But the Mad General believed that the Shadow had indeed altered the current of time.