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“Whoever did this wanted to make you stronger, Hadjar. By having only half a soul, you were deprived of external energy, almost completely cut off from the invisible. But even so, even with the Sword Spirit’s mark acting as a ‘crutch’, you grasped the Sword Kingdom. While you were fighting here, your other half was soaking up the invisible like a sponge. Now that you’re whole again, I have a feeling that you’ll be able to merge the visible and the invisible, or what we call the internal and external energy. I believe that you’ll become a Lord through this fusion, Hadjar, which means the two energies will merge and thus help you gain an understanding of the True Knowledge. It usually takes a mere cultivator like me more than thirty centuries to do something like that, but you’ll take less than one. All thanks to the one who tore your soul apart. Whatever they wanted, one thing is certain: they wanted you to grow stronger as quickly as possible.”
Hadjar broke out in a cold sweat. He sat in deep meditation and saw his life on Earth flash in his mind. According to everyone who’d told him about the soul, with the return of the second half of his, all the memories of his life on Earth would come back as well and torture him.
But that didn’t really happen. He still remembered the highlights of everything that had happened to him, same as before, with the same emotions and impressions. The only real change was that everything had become clearer: the hatred that he’d felt for everyone, the loneliness that he’d gotten used to, and even grown to love, and the rage he’d felt when someone had tried to encroach on his right to live. Everything had been clearer, but nothing substantial had happened beyond that.
Suddenly, he remembered the screech of a car’s wheels as it had turned away from his wheelchair at the last moment. The counter in the hospital that had fallen toward him, but had slid off to the side at the last second. The faulty wiring in his room that had sparked, and then abruptly went out. And countless other accidents... This was what had incited his rage. He’d felt like the world itself had been constantly trying to erase him, and he had been forced to defend himself against it.
Except Hadjar suddenly realized that he hadn’t been fighting alone. During all the years he’d spent on Earth, someone had stood by him. Someone had protected him and led him down the path that ended at the neurosurgeon’s table.
Helen… Had she been a mere pawn? An accident? Or the reason for him to willingly submit himself to the doctors’ knife?
“Master.”
“Yes, pup?”
“I have to become stronger.” Hadjar clenched his fists. “I must become a lot stronger.”
Orune was silent for a moment.
“I’m at your service, my disciple.”
***
After ten years of training and meditation, Hadjar was finally able to combine the internal energy he’d lived with all these years with the external energy that the second half of his soul was imbued with.
He became a Lord. His physical and energy body became stronger and more powerful, and his mind grew sharper and faster. He was able to see things that he hadn’t seen before. The Gaze, Orune’s Technique, could show him even the faintest flows of energy in the world.
Hadjar now knew that he could, with sufficient skill, cut off a Technique from the cultivator who’d used it. Orune spent another year teaching him this Technique. Not because it was incredibly useful, though it was applicable in real combat, but because it allowed Hadjar to better understand his new self.
***
The twenty years of meditation and training that came after that led Hadjar to realize what his true self was.
It was difficult. While immersed in deep meditation, Hadjar had to overcome his inner demons and deceptive illusions one at a time. He scrubbed his soul clean of everything that had soiled it over the years. The last illusion he had to overcome was the most challenging for him to face.
He saw his Ron’Jah and his old laptop. Music… He loved it more than almost anything else in this world or any other. But not enough to sacrifice what mattered most for its sake. He finally broke that illusion as well, realizing that music had just been his way of surviving, his way to fight the world, to come out victorious.
Then the way opened up for Hadjar. His own, unique way, the one that suited only him. Even Markin wouldn’t have been able to tell whether this was due to his own efforts or because of the effects of the Hundred Voices Pill. However, given the speed with which Hadjar was adjusting to everything, it was probably both.
Beyond the last illusion, Hadjar saw the first steps on his path. It began with an old man holding a sword, not a lute. It resembled the Black Blade, but it was a different color: it had a black hilt and edge, but also a blue blade with the black pattern of a Quetzal bird flying toward the clouds emblazoned across it. The old man showed him the way.
When Hadjar opened his eyes again, he no longer held the Black Blade, but the one that the old man had been holding. Instead of his normal Call’s armor, he now wore the clothes made for him by Queen Mab, the ruler of the Winter Fae.
Hadjar knew that this would be his Call until the end of time. It was both her gift and her curse: this Call could easily withstand a powerful attack, but was less useful than rags before even the weakest of a Winter Fae’s attacks.
The sword he was holding was the Blue Wind Sword, forged from his will, from his desire, and from his soul.
“Legends say, my disciple,” Orune explained, “That Immortals don’t need a weapon because their own souls are their weapons.”
***
The Gates of Rage looked exactly like Hadjar remembered them.
“Your story sounds like something out of a legend, barbarian,” Einen said. “And the Blue Wind Sword Kingdom sounds too pretentious.”
“I couldn’t think of anything else.”
- Writer
