“Don’t ruin the show, Your Highness,” the Governor’s laughter echoed off the marble.
A powerful wave of energy sent Hadjar flying toward the gates. Instead of ending up outside, Hadjar’s back struck a seal of hieroglyphs. The same exact signs flashed around the perimeter of the Palace, securing it with a magical veil.
Rising to his feet, Hadjar took a while to comprehend why Nero was kneeling. There was a cry: “No!” It belonged to Primus, who’d run down the stairs. Dressed in full battle armor, holding his broadsword in his hands, he swung it at the Governor, but... The man just whispered something casually. On his coat, one of the amulets flashed, projecting a scarlet, flickering seal, which bound Primus with ribbons made up of hundreds of hieroglyphs. The King froze in place, unable to move or even scream. He wept inconsolably.
“Hey, hey,” Serra knelt down next to her husband. She was crying as well. “What are you doing? Come on, you idiot, stop pretending. Get up! Is this one of your weird games? That’s it, right? Enough! It’s not funny... Please, Nero...”
A long blade protruded from Nero’s back. His torn clothes allowed everyone to see the horrible wound and the white lines of his tattoos. His helmet fell nearby. It swayed slightly on the marble, scraping it and producing a harsh screeching noise. Blood pooled under the Prince’s feet. A lot of blood.
“Forgive me...” Nero whispered. His hand slipped off Serra’s cheek, leaving two bloody streaks behind.
The sun was shining through the stained-glass windows. In its light, Serra’s skin looked whiter than snow, and her black hair hid her face. She pressed her lover’s lifeless body to her chest and sobbed softly.
Hadjar felt as if he were falling into a deep pit. As if the floor had disappeared from under his feet. As if his heart had been split in half. Then the whole world turned red, blazing in the fire of his madness and rage.
His sword fell into Hadjar’s hands. Cracking the marble slabs, he rushed in with a frantic lunge. He moved with such speed that if a mere mortal had seen him, they would’ve glimpsed only the vague outline of a dragon.
Hadjar struck his foe’s blade, putting so much rage and strength into the attack that dozens of marble columns collapsed from the impact. The echo of the collision caused the walls to begin crumbling. Cracks as thick as the torso of an adult man appeared on the walls as marble rained down.
The Governor, who’d blocked this violent charge, didn’t even take a step back. He moved his wrist and his blade swayed to the side, hurling Hadjar directly into the seal at the entrance. Rising, the Mad General spat out blood. With just that simple movement, the Governor had wounded his internal organs and energy channels.
“Damn it,” Hadjar wheezed, wiping blood from the corner of his lips.
“I see you’ve figured it out,” the Governor smiled, releasing all of his energy.
Hadjar saw that he wasn’t a Heaven Soldier, but a Spirit Knight.
“Kill them,” the Governor said to six warriors in emerald armor and turned to the King. “I’ll have to work on you a little. Don’t worry, it won’t be anything too bad. In any case, it won’t be any worse than what you and I did to your niece.”
The Governor, however, didn’t leave. He turned to the witch and the General, wanting to see how long they would be able to fend off the six warriors. Warriors like the ones that had once defended Primus during the attack.
Hadjar looked at his brother’s lifeless body. Once again, he’d been too weak to save someone he loved. Too weak...
In his head, devoid of anything but his desire to kill, the last line of the passage echoed: “Or maybe I, like a Roman fool, will fall on my own sword?”
Chapter 251
Serra was still holding Nero’s dead body when one of the legionnaires ran toward her. The blade of a curved sword flashed. Emerald lights danced across it, exuding enough heat to incinerate half the Palace.
“Serra!” Hadjar shouted, but the witch didn’t move.
Dredging up every ounce of speed he could muster, Hadjar turned into a shadow. He used the ‘Five Ravens’ Technique and reached such a high velocity that his muscles and tendons distorted slightly, and his internal organs, damaged by the Governor, could barely withstand the stress. Leaving behind a trail of darkness and blood, Hadjar managed to block the strike at the last moment.
As the General and the legionnaire fought, deep cracks spread along the marble beneath them. Slabs of marble rose up into the air as the floor was destroyed.
Pushing the man back, Hadjar turned and kicked one of the slabs of marble. A large shard ended up lodged in the legionnaire’s shoulder as the man hadn’t expected such a move. It dragged him a few yards through the air, until he slammed into the wall, stuck. The Imperial shouted and tried to free himself, but looked as helpless as a fluttering butterfly. No one — neither the five remaining warriors nor the Governor — were going to help him. His blood pooled on the floor.
Hadjar, seeing the remaining legionnaires unsheathing their blades, swung his own first. Immediately, the shroud of the ‘Calm Wind’ appeared around him and Serra. When the Imperials attacked, their swords seemed to get stuck in a viscous substance. However, even if very slowly, they still managed to swing through it.
“Serra!” Hadjar knelt down next to the witch. “Wake the hell up!”
Hadjar snatched Nero’s body from Serra’s hands and looked into her eyes. In them, he saw nothing but an all-consuming void that pulled him in, beckoning him toward a blissful oblivion of sadness, longing, and loneliness.
The General ignored the oddly powerful temptation. He shook it off with an effort of will. Since he had no better options, he slapped the girl. In an instant, a small light appeared in Serra’s eyes,
