“The barbarian is moving on to the next stage,” Karissa explained and then resumed trying to suppress the steel energy.
She commanded the talismans tirelessly. They kept attaching themselves to the dome, but new gaps were appearing just as quickly.
“Do practitioners normally produce such a whirlwind of power?” Ramukhan asked.
“No,” Einen answered.
Tilis was also intrigued by what was happening. She got up and came closer. She was met with the same thing Ramukhan had been greeted by —an attack from a transparent blade.
“By the Evening Stars,” Salif gasped. “I’ve only seen something like this once before, when one of the Sage’s disciples advanced to the level of a true cultivator.”
Silence filled the clearing. Everyone, even the boy, watched Karissa struggle against a whirlwind of energy being emitted by a simple practitioner. However, his power still exceeded the might of practitioners that were breaking through to the level of a Heaven Soldier.
Hadjar was lost in a timeless void. Scenes from his past flew by before him. He saw himself back in the distant world he’d been born in. The children from the orphanage were mocking him.
He saw the hospital on the hilltop. People came to him only to use him as a silent listener. Only one guy, who’d recently emerged from a coma, was an exception. Unfortunately, he’d forgotten his name.
He saw South Wind’s and the Master’s faces. He heard his mother’s songs and his father’s laughter. He looked into his sister’s eyes, sat on uncle Primus’ shoulders... Then he was holding his dying mother in his arms, and Primus stood above them, gripping her still beating heart.
Like the fragments of a broken kaleidoscope, they danced around him until Hadjar, gritting his teeth, swung at them with his blade. Enraged, he crushed his own past, allowing his old soul to shed its too tight skin and slip into a new, more convenient one, like a snake.
He didn’t know how much time had passed during this struggle. The fragments of the past cut him even deeper than the haze’s harnesses had as they carved into his very soul.
Suddenly, after his attack, Hadjar fell. He fell for ten heartbeats. Despite the fact he’d been expecting some profound changes, he found himself in the same darkness, and saw all the same objects: the curled up dragon, the blade hanging in emptiness, and... The haze. Except now it wasn’t formless.
It was still difficult to say what form it would take, but its outlines were clearer now. Hadjar managed to discern the mystical images lurking within it. It had become denser. The space that it had previously occupied was now empty.
Hadjar emerged from his deep meditation and found himself in the World River. Drawing power from it, he nourished his ‘new soul’, which, in fact, turned out to just be a new skin for his old shell. The old one didn’t suit him anymore. It had interfered with everything, constraining his movements and thoughts, had made him look at things the old way, even hold his blade the same way as when he’d been just a child. Now that he was an adult warrior who’d survived hundreds of battles and seen something that many never got to experience in their entire lifetime, he needed a new... new Hadjar. Not one created by his past, parents, or country, but forged by his own will and desires in the crucible of the dangers that he’d faced, in the millstone of the fate that he’d chosen for himself, in the shadow of the mistakes he’d made, hardened by the successes, anxieties, and experiences he’d gone through, boldly overcoming all obstacles and difficulties.
In the outside world, the whirlwind of power subsided, and when the next amulet took its place on the scarlet dome, no other gaps appeared.
Karissa, wiping away the sweat on her forehead, moved aside. She leaned back against a tree that had been torn into by ghostly blades, and, closing her book, hung it back on her belt.
“Where did this barbarian come from?” She asked breathlessly. “Gods and demons, I’ve never encountered anything like this before.”
Ramukhan and Tilis were about to answer something, when suddenly, a column of energy the color of steel soared into the sky from the center of the scarlet dome. Assuming the form of a giant blade, it cut the dome in half.
Hadjar stood with his back straight and looked ahead with free, unclouded blue eyes. A sword rested in his hand. It was a simple blade, but so heavy that each of its movements created small vortices of power which cut the grass, turning it into a green mess.
“Barbarian,” Tilis snorted and returned to her meditation by the fire.
“Next time,” Ramukhan said, stowing his staff and also returning to the fire, “Try to do your cultivation in a more peaceful place.”
Hadjar looked around and said: “I need some fresh air.”
He left the camp. This seemingly simple action made Tilis jump a little in surprise. Only three of the people present understood what Hadjar had just done. Without making the slightest bit of effort, he’d stepped over the spell. Of course, it was more a defensive barrier than an offensive spell, but it would’ve still been impossible for most practitioners who were on the verge of becoming a true cultivator to simply ignore it like that.
Karissa, Tilis, and Ramukhan chose not to comment on this, but they made a mental note about their companion’s power. Two of them reluctantly thanked the gods for the fact that this monster was on their side, and the third vowed to train harder. Until recently, she’d been confident in her abilities, but now...
Hadjar wasn’t aware of the concerns plaguing his fellow hunters. He only felt an urgent need to test his new power and, more importantly, his perception. Walking through the jungle, he felt that he... perceived the world around him more clearly. He could feel not just the presence of energy in every tree and every stone, but also how this energy flowed. In some places, it was like a roaring stream piercing mighty trunks, then disappearing back into the ground. In others, it was calm, as if crystallized, usually located inside boulders and stones.
Standing still, Hadjar closed his eyes. He ran his hand over Mountain Wind. Only now could he feel the difference between a simple sword and an artifact. It wasn’t anything to do with the sharpness of the blade, or what strength or power it possessed. The difference was in the energy it held inside.
Alas, Hadjar had nothing to compare it to. He felt a stream of energy inside Mountain Wind. Direct and simple, it thrummed inside the blade, creating a dissonance. Now Hadjar understood why his attacks had sometimes been weaker than he’d expected.
Hadjar unsheathed his sword. By sheer force of will, he directed his energy into the blade. An instant later, he got rid of the dissonance and swung his sword lightly. The attack that launched itself from the edge of his blade assumed the form of a visible crescent. After crossing a distance of eighty steps, it cut a tree and disappeared into the air.
According to South Wind’s stories, a Wielder was able to strike at a distance of fifty steps. Hadjar didn’t know exactly how, but Traves’ heart was clearly bearing fruit, which didn’t mean his own hard training and talent with the blade were useless. Unfortunately, his talent was limited.
Returning the sword to its scabbard, Hadjar went back to the camp.
Chapter 368
Compared to the Stone Trees oasis, Kurkhadan was like a small garden compared to a forest. For a week, the hunters of Underworld City explored the area, but didn’t come across anyone else.