“Northerners,” Sankesh sighed again. He looked like a bored giant who couldn’t force himself to care about an ant making a fuss. “I miss their winters sometimes. The ones you get in Lidus, compared to their snowy months, are as hot as our midday.”
Hadjar had heard about the northern regions of the Empire, the countries that lay behind the Misty Mountains. People said that it’s so cold there that water turns into snow, and spilled blood turns to ice. The people there were so harsh that a sword could be broken against their souls. The area was simply too brutal and dead. Those who survived there had little in common with people and were more like animals. Of course, if South Wind’s stories were true.
“Sit down, Northerner.” Sankesh said his nickname with an undisguised grin.
Hadjar sat.
Following the laws of hospitality that the King of the Desert had showed him, Hadjar removed his sword and scabbard from his belt. He set them on the table, and then sat next to them.
“I’ve asked around about you, Hadjar Darkhan.” Sankesh’s almost black eyes were full of indifference. He didn’t care who was sitting in front of him — Hadjar or a stone. “The Mad General of Lidus, now presumed to be dead. The rebel, the criminal, and a kingslayer, whom Primus’ daughter killed. It’s such a beautiful, but oh so illogical tale. Tell me, is she your sister?”
Hadjar remained silent. Despite his huge, muscular frame (Sankesh was probably about six and a half feet tall), this monster possessed a keen intellect. He was a Spirit Knight after all.
“Perhaps when I become a god, I’ll visit your kingdom. I wonder what it’s like to take a dragon’s sister by force.”
If Hadjar had been susceptible to such a simple trick, he would’ve long ago met his forefathers in their house.
“I’m afraid that not all gods can boast about being very potent. I remember the story of the god of wine, who wasn’t able to… boast in front of the fertility goddess. Regardless of how hard she tried to help him...”
Well, one thing was certain. Hadjar had managed to get Sankesh’s attention. The indifference in his dark eyes gave way to anger, the way a person reacted when a mosquito suddenly bit them. It wasn’t painful, but still irritating.
They grabbed their weapons simultaneously. Their auras exploded and turned the nearby tents into shreds of rugged fabric.
Chapter 370
Hadjar, even after releasing his full power, still felt the pressure of an aura so immense that it was difficult for him to breathe. Sankesh, who’d looked like an ordinary man until a moment ago, turned into a wild monster. He radiated the same bestial aura that Azrea’s mother had once had.
Sankesh’s first and only instinct was to subdue and destroy. There were no deals or compromises to be made with him. The might of his halberd was the only law he obeyed.
This wasn’t a man, but a beast wearing the skin of a bronze giant. His power fell like an ocean bearing down on Hadjar. Fierce and unwavering, it pinned him to the ground, as immovable as a mountain. It thundered against Hadjar’s flimsy defenses, which hadn’t even reached the level of a true cultivator yet.
Sankesh’s elite warriors fled from the area where the two almost bestial auras raged. One of them was like a vast sky, and it was trying to crush a small flash of power that was akin to a tiny island compared to the former.
They, who were merely simple practitioners, would be destroyed by such a pressure. It wouldn’t just stop their hearts, but also turn them into bone dust and pulped mounds of flesh.
Hadjar felt like a brave ant stuck beneath the foot of a cruel child. A child with a beastly grin, bringing its foot down harder to try and smear the struggling bug across the sand.
Sankesh’s face didn’t so much as twitch. Only his dark eyes had stopped being human and turned into a beast’s. While blood trickled down Hadjar’s face and he shook like a leaf in the wind, the King of the Desert was still sitting quietly in his chair.
Deep cracks appeared along the length of the oak table due to the echo of the two auras. Splinters flew around like arrows. The warriors moved even farther away — no one wanted to inadvertently end up with a deadly thorn in their eye socket.
“Father!” Arliksha suddenly cried out. “Calm down, father.”
Sankesh turned to his daughter, who was on one knee. She was in the midst of their ‘battle’, but she was still at ease. It was as if her father’s monstrous aura didn’t affect her at all.
“You are right, daughter,” the King of the Desert said. “The laws of hospitality are on your side today, dragon.”
The pressure vanished, and Hadjar, like a drowning man who’d washed ashore, breathed in deeply. He wiped away the blood on his face and leaned heavily against the back of his chair. Sankesh, however, merely took his hand away from his halberd and continued to gaze lazily at the camp.
By the gods, if not for Arliksha’s intervention, Hadjar wouldn’t have lasted even a minute longer. Maybe if he’d used the Call, he could’ve endured for another minute and a half. In the presence of a strong Spirit Knight, his talent with the sword had been worth almost nothing. Admittedly, if it hadn’t been for his talent, he would have died the moment Sankesh had released his power.
“A dragon,” Sankesh snorted. “I am called the Executioner of Cities, the Terror of the Desert, the Demon of the Sands. But you are a ‘dragon’. This world isn’t very fair, is it, Hadjar Darkhan?”
Hadjar couldn’t believe his ears. Was this man’s negative attitude toward him based on... envy? Or his wounded pride? By the Evening Star! Sankesh no longer seemed like a man who didn’t care about anyone’s opinion but his own.
“You know, we’ve led similar lives,” Sankesh continued. “Both you and I were slaves and exiled from our own countries.”
Hadjar had heard rumors about Sankesh’s past from the caravan’s passengers. As a child, he’d been sold as a slave to the ‘real northerners’. To Darnassus. There, he’d grown up and become a warrior, and then a general. He’d even fought in the war for the throne of his tribe and... won. A slave from the desert then became one of the kings of the North! It was an unbelievable story, one told even in Darnassus itself.
“We both returned to our homeland and took what was rightfully ours by force.”
Hadjar wasn’t quite sure that the Pearl of the Sands had belonged to Sankesh. He had been Rahaim’s disciple, but not his son, after all.
“I can see you don’t agree with me.”
“I... didn’t...take anything.” Hadjar was still struggling to speak.
However, there was no fear in his eyes. They still shone, radiating an indomitable will. Sankesh, be he a dragon, a demon, or a god — it didn’t matter, Hadjar wouldn’t run from anyone, even if the Jasper Emperor himself opposed him. If he did, he would never be able to take up his sword again. That was his way.
Sankesh noticed this spark of defiance, this steely willpower. For a moment, the King of the Desert felt like he wasn’t looking at a young man, nor at a young warrior who’d just begun to find his own way, but someone who had already become a Wielder of the Sword. It had taken Sankesh almost a century and a half to become the Wielder of the Halberd. And how old was this young man? About thirty? By the Evening Stars, it was like talking to a baby!