The figures froze for a second and then drew their blades. Hadjar didn’t unsheathe Moon Beam. He just put his palm on its handle. Blood soared through his body. Numerous hematomas appeared on his arms and legs. But all of these weren’t serious injuries. Life had made him strong. Stronger than even Atikus had been. The boy had long surpassed his idol. The snow warriors turned into four pillars of snow and disappeared back into the blizzard quietly.
Hadjar looked up at the gray sky. Snowflakes were falling and swirling around in wondrous patterns, led by the music of the cheerful wind. For some reason, Hadjar knew that he would never enjoy a blizzard, a snowstorm, or even a light snowfall ever again. Just like how he could never again enjoy simple, red wildflowers...
By nightfall, the Mad General constructed a funeral pyre. He’d laid Atikus’ body on it, but left his head resting in a bag. Hadjar placed the pipe he had recently carved near the body. It was exactly the type of pipe that Atikus had liked to smoke tobacco from in the evenings...
Flames rose up and, without turning back, Hadjar left the White Forest. Behind him, the corpse of the man whom he had been eager to kill for revenge burned to death. However, that fact didn’t please Hadjar at all.
“Stupid General,” could be heard in the wind.
Hadjar walked back to the capital. In his eyes, as in Atikus’ own, there was room for neither regret nor pleas for forgiveness. Only determination. A man still walked under the boundless sky, someone who he had to send to the judgment of the forefathers.
Primus...
***
In a market square where a festival was in full swing, just before the fireworks began, a lonely, bewildered boy stood. He seemed to be looking for someone in the crowd.
“Hey, Atikus,” someone said. “We were beginning to fear you wouldn’t show up.”
The boy smiled and ran over to his friends. Another boy and a girl who were holding hands.
“Elizabeth, what happened?” Atikus pointed at the girl’s broken knee.
“Haver pushed me,” the girl frowned.
“I didn’t push you!” The boy protested indignantly. “On the contrary, I tried to catch you.”
All three children laughed.
“Shall we go watch the fireworks?”
“Not right now, just wait a little longer...”
Chapter 243
Hadjar stood at the top of the hill from which he’d taken his last look at the capital fifteen years ago. From here, the owner of the wandering freak show had taken him away and that had been the beginning of Hadjar’s new life. At the time, his last name had been Duran.
Now, so many years later, the retired Mad General, Hadjar Traves, had ridden up this hill and was once again looking at the capital. He hadn’t recognized it at first, and it had reciprocated. They’d been strangers...
From this hill, the group of nobles had embarked on the hunting trip. It had been a simple performance set up Primus, meant to win over the people who loved their heroes — the Mad General and Commander Nero. It had been especially useful for his narrative when it had turned out that the latter was also the Prince...
This hill was also where Hadjar had returned now. He held a simple, bloody canvas bag. He’d made good on his promise even earlier than had been expected. Three weeks hadn’t gone by and he’d already returned to the city victorious — carrying the rebel General’s severed head.
Hadjar walked along the road toward the main gates. There were a lot of travelers, trade caravans, stagecoaches, and even nobles’ carriages waiting there. They were all waiting in the queue for a chance to grease the guards’ palms, hoping that they wouldn’t be particularly zealous in searching through their goods.
Walking past the queue, Hadjar heard shouts of both rapture and horror.
“Look, that’s the Mad General himself!”
“No! He can’t possibly be so young!”
“It’s him, I tell you! I saw him at the King’s reception! I’m sure of it.”
“But didn’t they send him north?”
“Yeah, to the White Forest... Maybe that’s his ghost? They say nobody returns from that place.”
“Look at his bag. What do you think is inside?”
Hadjar left the whispering and gossiping behind. He reached the guards who were standing next to an unknown aristocrat’s luxurious coach. Admittedly, Hadjar didn’t know a lot about the modern heraldry. Moreover, without the help of the neuronet, he couldn’t remember many emblems from the past and especially not the more recent Houses.
The noble, opening a window in the door of his carriage, had almost begun to shout, presuming it was just a brazen commoner. The tirade froze in his throat. Being one of the people that had attended the latest receptions at the Palace, he’d immediately recognized Hadjar. Nodding nervously, the aristocrat slammed the door shut again.
“Stop!” The guard snapped. Together with his companions, he thrust a spear forward and aimed it at Hadjar’s chest. “What’s that in your bag? It’s stained with blood!”
Instead of answering, Hadjar took out the medallion that had been given to him by Primus from the folds of his clothing. As soon as the soldiers saw the medallion, they turned pale, almost mimicking the color of their helmets. Raising their spears and planting them in the ground, they sharply struck their fists against their breastplates.
“General Hadjar!” They saluted eagerly and the respect was clear in their eyes.
“At ease,” Hadjar answered, paid the entrance fee (in his opinion, everyone was equal before the law), and entered the city.
The central avenue, which was wide enough that a dozen carriages could easily ride down it side by side, met the General with its perennial bustle. Sometimes, the people rushing about would turn their heads to look at the General who was walking through the crowd.
Girls looked at the handsome warrior with undisguised desire. Young men looked at their idol with pride and respect. They saw themselves in his place.
