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1088 Words
Hadjar waited for the deadly yet beautiful waterfall of moonlight to get as close to him as he dared risk, holding his blade with both hands and focusing as he closed his eyes.
Unfortunately, he couldn’t awaken that feeling he had tapped into during the battle with Colin. But still, he could feel that he was closer to it. So close that it only took him one strike...
Battle wasn’t just about swinging one’s weapon, it was a clash of wits as well. Delaha had lost the very moment she’d fallen into Hadjar’s trap.
After each ‘Moon Flower’ Technique, she would use a cloud of darkness. Not because she wanted to get some distance between them, but, Hadjar had realized, because she couldn’t fight for a brief period of time.
Now, stuck in the air after using her best assassination Technique, she was completely defenseless.
To Nero and Serra, it looked as if Hadjar had just accepted his fate. He was calmly greeting the cascade of moon rays. Just before the collision, though, when Nero was already swinging his blade and Serra was taking out a talisman, Hadjar made a single movement with his sword.
It was utterly simple and elegant, but still so strong that the nearby tents fluttered, a fire went out, and powerful waves spread across the grass, like the ripples that followed after a large stone being thrown into a lake.
It was as if a dragon had roared. The ghostly strike turned into a fang, rushing upward. The fang never left the blade, and Hadjar soared with it into the air. He flew through the moon rain, and as each ray clashed against his sword, it exploded into vibrant splashes of moon petals.
The warriors fell to the ground together.
Hadjar, wounded by the petals, and Delaha, run through by his sword.
Hadjar lifted the dying woman’s head.
Message to host…
Message to host…
Message to host…
Message to host…
He mentally brushed aside all the neuronet messages.
“The songs don’t lie,” she whispered hoarsely, as blood trickled down the corners of her mouth.
“You fought well, Ax clan assassin,” Hadjar replied.
She smiled and took out a bloodied scroll from her clothes, her hand trembling with the effort.
“Your movements…” The blood at the side of her mouth began to foam. Her time was running out. “They are slower than your sword. Take it. Take it, Officer. It’s my way of thanking you.”
Hadjar looked into the eyes of his most recent opponent. There was no anger or hatred in them. Only respect and gratitude. Perhaps she’d planned this from the start. She’d intended to execute her orders with honor if she’d been the one to win. And if she perished, she would repay her debt to Hadjar and make him stronger.
“This is the ‘Ten Ravens’ Technique. It’ll make you... faster.”
“Thank you, Delaha.” Hadjar cautiously took the scroll from her hand.
“Now…” Suddenly, a gleam appeared in the darkness of her eyes. “…kiss me, Officer. As if you loved me.”
She died there, in his arms. Hadjar stood up and, clenching his fist and covering it with his palm, he bowed low out of respect. This was the first time he had fought against someone who wasn’t an enemy, but rather, a worthy adversary—a fellow practitioner. A person that had held the same beliefs as him.
A while later, as he made her funeral pyre, he could still taste her lips.
They’d tasted like a newly bloomed flower.
***
The next morning, before going to training, Hadjar had a visitor. A broad-shouldered man accompanied Nero into his tent. In his hands, the man carried two long objects, both wrapped in several thick furs.
He placed them on the table and threw the furs aside.
The friends beheld two swords. One was long and heavy, with a broad tip and a narrowed upper and lower end. To Hadjar, it resembled the claw of a hawk or another bird of prey. It was certainly a high-quality blade.
Nero took it in his hands and made two small sweeps. Each of them caused papers to fly into the air and the mats on the ground to shake.
Hadjar took the second sword. It was a classic, double-edged, rectangular blade with a long tip, almost without a guard. It looked like any other classic sword, but, at the same time, it felt like something completely different. There was something about it that seemed to push his swordsmanship toward a new level.
Hadjar made only one lunge, and the power coming off the blade made a hole in his tent. Not finished, it then rushed toward the forest and cut into the nearest tree. A tree standing twenty-one steps away.
“The rumors about your mastery are true,” the Imperial Artifactor snorted. “Now you just need to give them names. Any spiritual blade must have its own name.”
“Spiritual!” Nero almost screeched with joy.
They had thought that only a Mortal level artifact could be made from the tigresses’ fangs. Certainly not a Spiritual one. It seemed like lady luck was truly on their side, this time.
Hadjar looked at the clean, mirrored blade, and the crescent-shaped guard that he held in his hands.
“The Moon Beam,” he said, smiling.
The blade flashed, accepting its new name.
Chapter 77
It was strange that, for the next three days, General Larvie didn’t bother to send another assassin or spy. This concerned Nero and Hadjar greatly as they prepared for their foray. They had intended on going to the General’s castle alone, but then they’d taken the time to heed Serra’s words.
In the sky, around the ‘nest’ of Colin’s father, there were a lot of barely noticeable, translucent hieroglyphs. They might be some kind of protective enchantment, an alarm, or something to that effect. The friends didn’t want to fail because they’d rushed in without thinking everything through carefully.
Moreover, the only bridge to the castle was located above the mighty waterfall. Several soldiers were constantly on duty at this bridge, and in case of danger, there was a wooden section that folded away into one part of the huge, stone building. The castle was located on a hill, the northern part of which was inaccessible due to the absolutely smooth rock surface that led up to it.
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