Dragon Heart. Land Of Magic. LitRPG Wuxia Saga. Book 6

"And what or who is that, exactly?" Hadjar asked warily.

The darkness looked at him. Having the void stare at you was eerie to say the least.

"That which we love, Hadjar," the Enemy replied. "We all die because of what we love."

Hadjar remained silent. He had no intention of arguing with the Enemy, but he suspected that the Tree of Life had had something else in mind when it had issued its prophecy. He highly doubted that the matter at hand was so complex and philosophical, and that a being like the Enemy was capable of understanding love, let alone feeling it. It didn't matter what Steppe Fang had told him about the Black General, or the fact that he'd taught humanity so much. From the very moment he'd appeared, the world hadn't seen a single day without war. Some would say that this was a small price to pay for such a vast amount of knowledge, but such people had clearly never been in a war.

"Erhard was talented," the darkness said with a note of tenderness to its voice. "He was truly great."

Hadjar looked at the sarcophagus again.

"I never became a scholar like my parents wanted me to be," Hadjar said with a touch of regret, "but even I know that great people aren't chained up after their deaths and that their eternal resting place should be a crypt, not a dungeon."

The darkness transformed into a raven that hovered in the air.

"There are many ways to become great. Before we get to Erhard's death, let me tell you about his life."

Hadjar sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"Don't get me wrong, Darkhan, I don't mind hearing you out, but I honestly don't understand why you're telling me all of this."

"Do you remember the place where you meditated?"

Hadjar frowned.

"Is Erhard buried there?"

The raven laughed, its unpleasant croaking sounding like a knife sliding across glass.

"I don't know where my disciple is buried," it said. "What you see is only a memory, nothing more. By the time he died, the fragment of my soul that was his Master had disappeared into the energy flows."

Hadjar didn't ask how his own fragment of the Enemy knew about Erhard. Even if the first Darkhan had tried to explain it to him, he probably wouldn't have understood much of it.

"The place where you decided to meditate… That's where Erhard was killed and then resurrected by me."

Hadjar barely resisted the urge to vomit, recalling the terrible sight of a tortured girl hanging from a tree.

"Why… Why did you help him?"

The raven didn't respond at first. It stared silently into the infinity of its own thoughts.

"I don't know, my descendant… Maybe because I wanted to see if I could pass my knowledge on to someone. Maybe because I was bored. Or maybe because I saw something in his birth that reminded me of my own. Like Erhard, I was born to a dead mother, on dead ground, and revived by those I hated."

So, the Enemy tried to pass on knowledge... However, according to Steppe Fang, Darkhan had once taught the entire human race...

"Did Erhard hate you?"

"Hate me?" The raven laughed. "Sometimes, maybe… Then again, all disciples are like that. He didn't particularly like his Master during training. You know how that is, Hadjar…"

The young man didn't deny it. The relationship between disciples and their Masters, although built on mutual respect, was a complex thing.

"No," the raven continued. "He hated Eranos and his Kingdom."

"Was his uncle strict?"

"Not really. No more than a King should be with a crown Prince. No, Erhard hated his country for its treachery and weakness. The Kingdom that Eranos didn't reinforce that night was conquered. Its inhabitants were turned into slaves. Many of them escaped… or tried to, at least."

Hadjar knew exactly what the raven meant. He had experienced the same thing himself. Back when he'd worn the General's medallion of the Moon Army, he had often had to make difficult decisions. Inevitable as they'd been, they'd still made him wake up in a cold sweat at night for years afterward.

"And so, the story of King Erhard's greatness and doom began. He was a strong and intelligent young man and a good disciple. At the age of ten, he mastered the Weapon's Heart, and at sixteen — the Sword Kingdom. Who knows, maybe he would've even understood its true essence given enough time…"

Hadjar quietly listened to the story, utterly bewildered. Mastering the Sword Kingdom at the age of sixteen, especially considering the generally low level of cultivation that existed in those ancient times was... incredible. If Erhard had been born nowadays, by the Evening Stars, he could've conquered all of the seven Empires on his own before he'd turned thirty.

"Then he fell in love." The raven chuckled again. "He fell in love with a runaway slave who, in her stupidity and to his misfortune, told him about the history of her homeland."

Hadjar imagined a young Erhard and a dirt-covered girl in tattered clothes. She wasn't very beautiful, but he loved her in that way that could only be seen in fairy tales told by mothers to their daughters. Such stories occupied a special place in the hearts of women even when they reached a.d.u.l.thood. South Wind used to say that if mothers didn't tell their daughters these stories, the world would've been lost to wars long ago.

"Erhard decided to find out the truth about his past. He considered himself the King's son, but after finding out the truth… He wanted to bring peace to the Hundred Kingdoms. He wanted to end their many wars, so that no more people would have to suffer, so that the strong no longer tortured the weak, so that children didn't lose their parents, nor lovers their beloved."

Hadjar now understood what the raven had meant when he'd said that the story would hit close to home. He'd heard a similar story about Sunshine Sankesh, who had wanted to become a god in order to destroy the weak and create a world full of those who were equally strong.

"Erhard wanted to unite the Hundred Kingdoms, but he quickly realized that he couldn't do it with words alone. And so, at the next war council, he said that they should begin a military campaign. Eranos was against it. According to the customs of the era, Erhard challenged him to a duel. Eranos lost and Erhard, shedding bitter tears, killed the man who'd been the only father he'd ever known. He thought that one life was a small price to pay to save millions. The war began. It destroyed Erhard's Kingdom and brought about the end of an era. But believe me, Hadjar, he fought like a true warrior. He fought not for himself, but for a cause. A noble goal that no one else supported."

"When you're mortal, you can't wage war forever."

"The gods are also mortal, and one day…" The raven's voice sounded ominous. "But that isn't the point right now. Erhard managed to achieve his goal, but his victory was short-lived. He united the Hundred Kingdoms and created the first human Empire. He was a strict ruler and was even given a nickname — the Last King."

Hadjar shuddered. He was convinced that he'd heard that nickname before, but he couldn't remember where.

"Some said that he got that nickname because the title of King was to be changed to that of Emperor, others claimed that it was because he killed his uncle, and there were even some that said that it was because of his tyranny and the rivers of blood that he'd spilled so that the majority of his people could live in peace."

"There can be no peace from blood."

"Maybe," the raven said. "Erhard gained power that people didn't even know existed in those days... He was both great... and very blind. His wife was captured and then murdered by his enemies. His Empire fell. Legends say that he fought against such a vast horde of enemies that the ground couldn't be seen, obscured by their helmets. He alone stood against an army of many millions, but even then, they couldn't defeat him, only seal his power and lock him in a sarcophagus in the hope that he would die."

The raven fell silent. It had told its tale.

"Why did you tell me all of this?"

"Do you honestly think that some pathetic Darnassian Emperor could've built a tomb full of amazing secrets? No. He merely found Erhard's sarcophagus. However, since he didn't know what to do with it, he decided to arrange a funeral for himself in a stranger's tomb… The bastard!"

Wait, Hadjar thought, does this mean that Decater's tomb is actually Erhard's?

"Again, why are you telling me all of this?"

"Because, my descendant, there's a scroll in there with a Technique I created specifically for Erhard. The Technique that made him the most powerful swordsman of his generation. Find it and it's yours. You can try to learn it or destroy it. You can even burn the tomb down if you want. I don't care. Just don't forget Erhard's story."

They were both silent for a while.

"What��s the point of all this, Darkhan?" Hadjar asked. "I know you want me dead."

"I do," the raven replied. "But I swear on my mother, the dead earth, on my father, the North Wind, and by all I have, my Name included, that I told you this without any hidden agenda."

"Then… why?"

The raven turned back to the sarcophagus. Hadjar tried to inspect the King's death mask, but it was broken, as if the sculptor hadn't wanted anyone to see his face.

"Maybe I'm feeling nostalgic. Now leave me alone."

Hadjar opened his eyes.

He was sitting near the fire, Azrea's tail wrapped around his waist. The tigress growled softly at the horses, making them whinny. The rest of the squad was immersed in deep meditation.

"Damn it all to f.u.c.k.i.n.g hell," Hadjar swore.