Maybe if he’d peered at the faces of the dead a bit longer, his hair would’ve turned gray with fear too. Or maybe not, as it was very difficult to strike terror into a dragon’s heart.
Hadjar broke the statues with his blade and buried the shards in some snowdrifts. When he returned to the camp, he said that he hadn’t found the bodies. Apparently, the storm had taken them. Everyone except the three survivors believed him. Having guessed the truth, they were grateful to him.
On the second day, the squad lost two more members. A huge Ice Python that had crawled out of snow had devoured them. It was a vile, 25ft long poisonous snake. Its poison froze a person from the inside. It had bitten two men, and the memory of their anguish caused most of the squad to stay awake that night — it was difficult to forget how a person who felt their blood crunch as their veins froze could scream.
The third day was a peaceful one. Unfortunately, it was followed by the fourth, one of the most terrible days they would have in the forest. On that day, Hadjar realized that he was still stuck at the very beginning of the path of cultivation.
As the squad went deeper into the Forest, a snowstorm arose. The three gray-haired soldiers screamed in horror. The rest immediately grabbed their weapons and the cannoneers lit the fuses of their hand grenades. However, instead of beautiful women, two men came out of the storm.
They had long, white hair peeking out from under their helmets, and their faces were pale, expressionless. They wore beautiful, gold and white metal armor, and held short axes in their hands...
Hadjar immediately jumped off his horse and started fighting one of them. No matter how hard Hadjar tried, no matter how swift his blade was, or how powerful his attacks were, cutting the trees around them in half and ripping up the ground, the snow warrior always proved to be a little stronger and faster.
Explosions and screams could be heard. The melting snow hissed as blood was spilled on it. Then the snowstorm kicked up again and the two warriors turned into snowflakes and disappeared.
Hadjar stood unscathed even as eleven lifeless bodies lay on the snow. That evening, Hadjar reduced the number of soldiers in the squad by another five people.
After leaving the clearing where the battle had taken place, the squad set up camp. Of the 120 survivors, two dozen had been sent out on patrol. They had to swap out every hour.
“This is a cursed place,” someone said by the fire.
Hadjar, as usual, was sitting wrapped up in his ape-skin cloak. He listened to the soldiers’ conversation, but didn’t give it much thought. He was more concerned with his own meditation. After undergoing the Transformation at the Mortal Shell Stage, his path of cultivation had changed slightly. Now it was much easier to absorb the energy of the world, and the image of the Sword, hidden in the River of Energy, had come a little closer — less than a hair’s breadth, admittedly, but still.
“You’re right, Parton,” another man said. “We are the royal squad. Honorable guards! Not lowly huntsmen who have to freeze their asses off!”
“And we certainly didn’t agree to a war with demonic ghosts and ice creatures from nightmares!”
“The gods as my witnesses,” a third voice added, “General Bermengton fooled everyone! He decided to get rid of the Mad General and we’ll just die with him!”
A wave of approving murmurs flooded the camp, but it immediately crashed against the Lieutenant’s roar.
“Shut up, you sons of bitches!” O’Shekl snapped. “You swore an oath. Each of you! We swore allegiance to the King! And an order from General Traves is an order from the King himself! If it’s necessary to lay our bones to rest in this gods forsaken hole, we’ll do just that! Or do you want to go to the house of your forefathers with the stigma of dishonor upon you?”
The murmurs immediately quieted. There was no worse fate than dishonor for a warrior. The forefathers would never allow someone like that past their threshold. They would just spit in a warrior’s face instead, upon seeing such a stigma tarnishing their soul.
“Dishonor?” Parton hissed out. Hadjar was still sitting with his eyes closed, unable to see the speaker. “Tell me, Lieutenant, where is the honor here? I would be happy to fight in a battle against at least a thousand rebels. Even if they cut me to pieces, I would die with a smile on my face. But this... To die in the snow and ice, being toyed with by unknown creatures. There is no honor in that!”
The roar of approving shouts started up again. This time, O’Shekl couldn’t suppress the uprising. Fear was a powerful motivator.
“I’m leaving!” Parton spat. “Who’s with me?”
Four more soldiers managed to get up. Suddenly, the clearing stilled. Only the hiss of snow melting from the blood spilled on it broke the silence. The five bodies that had been pierced by invisible blades fell. Confusion and a bit of resentment could be seen in their expressions, frozen there forever. Without even opening his eyes, Hadjar continued to sit at the foot of the tall, icy tree. The soldiers only managed to notice a vortex of steel energy subsiding around the General. No further words were required from either the Lieutenant or the General. The soldiers immediately fell silent, looked at each other, and went to their tents. Their turn to patrol would be here soon. It was best to get some sleep before that.
Over the next three days, Hadjar lost a dozen more people: some of them ended up frozen, some disappeared in the snow, and some were even devoured by shapeless shadows, which emerged from out
