The people immediately recognized the well-known Commander Nero and the witch known as Serra. Ribon, who had, until recently, perceived Hadjar as nothing more than a beggar, was shivering with fear and praying to the Heavens that the Generals’ soldiers wouldn’t run away and leave him to be murdered.
“Why are you here?” Nero asked, putting his palm down on the hilt of his blade.
This gesture alone was enough to make everyone recoil and whirling energy sprang up around the nervous soldiers.
“I was ordered to meet you, dear Commander,” the official answered politely. She was speaking far more cordially than during their last meeting.
“We didn’t see anyone.”
“We were waiting for you at the central gates.”
All three of them, including Hadjar, looked at Ralpie reproachfully. Because of him, they’d gone to the western gates and had missed the people that had been expecting them. The young man lowered his gaze.
“Let’s calm down a bit,” the official continued. “I think the fact that you’ve attacked a nobleman, General Hadjar, can only be attributed to your recent return to civilized society.”
Nero started to say something, but Hadjar put his hand on his friend’s shoulder. He was well aware that the main goal of the Generals was not to escort him to the celebration. Quite the opposite, actually. They would certainly want to provoke him, frame him, or do something else despicable.
“Thank you for your understanding,” Hadjar nodded.
The official exhaled with relief and even smiled triumphantly.
A moment later, Hadjar put his palm on the handle of Moon Beam. As soon as he did so, the man disappeared and an angry dragon appeared in his place. The soldiers of the Generals couldn’t do anything as they were swept aside with ease. Their shields and blades ended up cut into small pieces. Deep gouges, left by invisible blades, appeared on the floor around the official.
Ribon cried out with fear as his own sword turned into little more than iron shavings, leaving only the handle, richly decorated with precious stones.
Hadjar moved his palm away and the vortex of power disappeared. The air in the tavern stopped being heavy and oppressive.
“I beg your pardon,” Hadjar said calmly, continuing to drink his tea. “Old habits.”
The pale official was able to maintain her image of an arrogant and confident officer. She even managed to nod to the General.
“We invite you to-”
“I think,” Hadjar interjected, causing a new wave of whispers — few people could interrupt an official of the Generals and stay alive, “that we’ll be quite comfortable at this tavern.”
“But-”
“When it’s time to visit the celebration, send a messenger. I would advise that you send Ralpie. Not that I’m selective in such matters, but, like you, dear lady, have already said, I haven’t been in civilized society for long. I might confuse a different messenger with a sect assassin.”
The official didn’t have time to argue. Hadjar turned and headed for the stairs, indicating that the conversation was over. He was still drinking his tea, and not a single cut or speck of dirt could be seen on his clothes after all that had happened.
By nightfall, the entire capital was already aware of the fact that the Mad General was in the city. Everyone now knew that the songs about him weren’t exaggerated at all.
Chapter 189
The news that the Mad General, Commander Nero and Serra lived in the ‘Drunk Goose’ spread quickly. The tavern was overcrowded. As a result, the owner of the tavern offered them a chance to live there for free and even wanted to pay the friends three gold coins for each day they stayed there.
Nero happily basked in the glory and adoration. Sometimes, however, his carefree life was marred by Serra’s presence. Or, rather, by her skilful hissing at all those young and beautiful girls who were swarming around the eligible bachelor.
Hadjar rarely left the room because as soon as he did, numerous unknown people would sit down at his table. They behaved as if they were the rulers of the known world and the former General was obliged to know who they were. Most of them invited him to their homes with a not so subtle hint about the tender age of their daughters. Others offered their various services in exchange for a few pleasant words that Hadjar would ‘accidentally’ say during the celebration. It was all as wrong as if they were playing with a ball on a military parade ground. Suddenly, Hadjar realized that he had become a typical disciplinarian and that the civilian world was alien to him now.
Over the course of his life, he hadn’t had a lot of opportunities to socialize. The months he’d spent in the dungeon, his years of slavery, and the myriads of long evenings in the brothel hadn’t done much for his social life. All of these memories, once suppressed by the incessant war, returned to Hadjar.
Nero and Serra noticed that their friend had become gloomy, unsociable, and would sometimes put his hand on the hilt of his sword. At those times, they would lead the uninvited guests away from the former General. Not for the sake of Hadjar’s safety, but for the sake of the people who were unaware of just how deeply they’d stuck their heads into a tiger’s mouth.
On the eve of the celebration, Hadjar decided to take a walk around the city. Just to unwind a bit and pull himself together. He couldn’t allow for any missteps to happen and spoil his plan.
In the late evening, as the atmosphere of an endless and incessant celebration of life filled the busy streets of the capital, Hadjar set off. Leaving some food out for Azrea, he took off his favorite old clothes and put on a tunic.
This instrument of torture that people called clothing by mistake had been delivered by Ralpie. The Generals had wanted to dress the General up for the celebration. In response to this, Hadjar had just waved his hand dismissively and the young man had
