“Scum!”
A resounding impact sounded and Hadjar’s head swung to the side. A bit of blood could be seen on his lips.
“What are you doing?” Nero drawled, pushing his sister behind him. He placed his palm on the hilt of his heavy blade, but even that couldn’t soothe the anxiety that had risen up in his chest.
Nero recalled how the last man who had dared to slap his friend had ended up regretting ever being born. Hadjar had a strange attitude toward getting slapped. With him, they were akin to pouring oil on a fire.
Blind with rage, Oneg didn’t notice that a dragon had awakened in the depths of Hadjar’s gaze. Hadjar wiped his lips and looked at the scarlet blood at the tip of his fingers.
“You call that a slap?” The growl of an enraged animal thundered in his voice.
The General’s movements were so fast that they merged into a single mirage. If Oneg’s slap had caused a modest sound, Hadjar’s blow filled the clearing with a deafening noise like spring thunder.
Oneg was sent hurtling backwards. Blood and some teeth flew out of his mouth. With a cry, the noble flew back no less than six yards, and then rolled across the ground.
Hadjar had hit him with the back of his hand, and now the entire left side of Oneg’s face looked more like cooked beets — formless, pink and scarlet, rapidly swelling. In some places, his broken bones had cut through his skin, his jaw had also cracked, and his left cheekbone almost looked concave.
“Now that’s a good slap,” Hadjar declared and spat the remainder of the blood out of his mouth.
Instantly, energy started gathering around the other aristocrats. Some of them bared their blades, the others nocked their bows. The squad of soldiers sent along with the nobles immediately accepted their decision to do battle. But their weapons weren’t directed at the General. The aristocrats were their enemy. Every soldier in Lidus, especially those who had served in the war, would give their life for the Mad General. The noblemen were unimportant to them, compared to him.
Hadjar didn’t even put his palm on the hilt of his sword, but freshly cut grass swirled around him all the same. Deadly blades hidden inside the wind flew around the clearing. It seemed like just the will of the swordsman was enough to cut and destroy everything around them, as if death itself was here to do his bidding.
Nero’s eyes widened slightly in surprise. He’d always known that his friend had an extraordinary talent for the Way of the Sword. But to take even a step toward becoming a ‘Wielder of the Sword’ before becoming a true cultivator... It was an unheard of achievement. Even in the Empire, many schools and sects, even the poorest ones, would’ve given a lot for the opportunity to train such a disciple.
“Calm down,” Elaine said quietly and calmly.
Nero was once again surprised. His sister had always had a certain authority in her tone. However, the way she’d uttered those words had seemed to make even the wind slow down a little.
The people around them lowered their weapons without even realizing what they were doing.
Elaine went over to Oneg, who was lying on the ground. He had briefly lost consciousness, but was coming to his senses. Ignoring the pain, he rose to his feet and pulled his blade out. Blood streamed down his face like a waterfall.
“For your heinous acts during a duel, putting the lives of my subjects at risk,” Elaine’s voice was calm and full of cold determination. “I sentence you, Oneg of Boreas, to death. The sentence is to be carried out immediately.”
Oneg never got to his feet. The white blade flashed and the aristocrat’s head rolled across the ground.
Everyone watching was shocked. Even the sun itself seemed to blink for a moment, the scarlet dawn trembling with surprise.
“What have you done to my sister, my friend?” Nero whispered in Hadjar’s ear.
“I fed her some grass,” Hadjar honestly admitted.
The absolute lack of understanding in his friend’s worried gaze was almost worth all the trouble he’d gone through until now.
“What have you done?” One of the nobles screamed, holding curved daggers in his hands. “Do you know who his fa-”
“My subject,” Elaine interrupted sharply. “And the same fate will befall him if he thinks that he can do what he pleases in my Kingdom. The fate that awaits you, ladies and gentlemen, if you don’t sheathe your weapons immediately.”
After a second’s pause, no one dared to even hold their blade outside its scabbard. While the ordinary soldiers had barely noticed the Princess earlier, now they were looking at her with profound respect.
“Am I the only one who’s afraid?” Nero whispered once again.
Hadjar just shook his head. He had to give credit where it was due: the test of the Tree of Life had clearly changed something in Elaine’s worldview.
“We’re setting off, ladies and gentlemen!” She ordered. “It’s time to go home. I need to talk to my father.”
Nero flinched. He turned around and looked at the burned down village. At that very moment (as if the gods had decided to really make things clear), a fragment from an iron breastplate sporting the emblem of the mine’s troops rolled down toward them.
“Damn it,” Nero swore.
Chapter 223
“How much does she know?” Nero asked.
For the past few days, he and Hadjar had barely spoken. Nero had been busy organizing everything and trying to relieve the sudden tension. The former wasn’t that difficult, but the latter... How could there not be tension if the aristocrats had to look at their friend’s coffin every time they came to a halt?
As the multicolored roofs of the capital came into view, the need to keep everything under control weakened slightly. Along with that, the tension increased. The nobles, who understood that they could do nothing to the Princess, kept glancing at Hadjar menacingly.
Hadjar didn’t care. He was too busy meditating deeply.
