“Don’t forget us...” Hadjar heard.
The world around him quieted. The stone vines and blue flame disappeared. Hadjar exhaled and staggered as he regained control of his own body.
“Serra!” He shouted, but it was too late. There was no Serra, no Governor, nor any legionnaires left. Just ashes. The playful wind immediately lifted them up and carried them off through the entrance which was now no longer blocked by the seal.
Despite the soldiers of the Moon Army bursting into the hall, Hadjar suddenly felt completely alone.
“I won’t forget,” he whispered softly, and turned to Primus.
The King stood on the stairs, looking at his son’s body, lying at Hadjar’s feet. With the death of the Governor, the spell had disappeared. Primus kept crying.
“General,” Lian turned, but Hadjar waved his hand imperiously. “Take your people and get out of here. Assume a defensive position around the Palace. Don’t let anyone in.”
“But...”
Hadjar turned to the only person left in the whole world that he could still call a friend.
“You know the plan, Lian. You know what happens next.”
The archer nodded, turning away.
“Live free, my General.”
“Die well,” Hadjar nodded, “my friend.”
Lian gave the order and the troops moved away from the Palace. Serra’s actions had slightly changed Hadjar’s plan, and now there was no longer any need for the Moon Army.
When the troops left the hall, only two people remained inside. The King and the General. The kinslayer and the Prince. Primus and Hadjar. The uncle and the nephew. Neither of them could live until one of them died.
Chapter 252
Hadjar stood still. Primus came down the stairs. On barely moving legs, he approached Nero... or rather, Eren, and knelt before him. With utmost care, he lifted his son’s body in his arms.
Hadjar turned away. He didn’t want to or wasn’t able to see this. Right then, he wasn’t afraid to turn his back on the enemy. It was probably stupid to believe a man like Primus Duran could be honorable, but still... For some reason, Hadjar knew that the usurper wouldn’t stab him in the back. Not now.
Hadjar stepped aside and, leaning his back against a wall, sank to the floor. He tore off a wide piece of cloth from his jacket and wrapped his injured leg. The bleeding had already stopped due to his will and energy, but during the battle to come, the wound could open back up and hurt badly. Cultivators like the Governor could probably ignore wounds, as they would heal almost instantly. Only now...
Hadjar shook his head — now wasn’t the time to remember Serra.
“Tell me, did he fight with dignity?” Primus’ voice trembled as he spoke.
“Always,” Hadjar answered. “He was a good man, a great brother, and a friend like no other.”
Primus looked into Hadjar’s eyes, nodded slightly, and touched Nero’s cold forehead with his own.
“I’ll see you soon, my son,” he whispered.
Primus rose. The wide, black broadsword appeared in his hands. The slightly curved blade absorbed the light. The three rings threaded through its non-intersecting edge made terrible sounds, like a funeral dirge. The long handle crowned with a demon’s head was wrapped in patches of thick, gray skin. It was a formidable weapon and its wielder was an equally formidable opponent.
Hadjar rose as well. His Moon Beam looked simple and modest in comparison to the King’s sword. Only the white, glowing hieroglyphs stood out.
“Before we start,” Primus began calmly. “I’d like you to know something: I didn’t want this. I loved your father, your mother, and you. More than anything else, I always wanted our whole family to live in this Palace. To hear the laughter of our children and grandchildren fill the halls...”
“Yes,” Hadjar nodded. “I wanted that, too. I wanted a home for me to return to. A father I could talk to about my travels. A mother whose embrace I could always find solace in. A sister to protect. And a brother who would fight alongside me against any foe...”
They stood and looked at each other for a long time, knowing that these dreams would never come true.
Primus swung his blade so quickly that a dark line appeared in its wake for a moment, as if the King had cut the air itself. A stream of black, cutting wind that looked like silk flew toward Hadjar. The Mad General also swung his sword. A wave of steel wind hurtled toward Primus.
The two attacks collided in the middle with a deafening boom. They began circling each other like two hungry tigers. They tore at each other. As they fought, the walls of the Palace began to shake and deep gouges appeared on the floor. Then there was a powerful explosion, which removed a whole layer of the marble.
Hadjar and Primus turned into black shadows. One looked like five ravens. The other like a black wind. They clashed in the center. A wave of dust and debris filled the air when their blades collided.
The walls looked ready to crumble, the stone fragments of the completely broken mosaics falling to the ground. The stained-glass windows were little more than small, colorful crumbs. The Moon soldiers, standing a good distance away from the Palace, felt the terrible echo of the battle pressing down on them. If they hadn’t left the Palace, it would’ve surely killed them.
Using inertia and his weight advantage, Primus rammed into Hadjar’s chest with his shoulder. A powerful wave of energy passed through Hadjar’s body. The wall behind him now had a huge hole in it.
Hadjar took two steps back, and Primus immediately swung his sword in a backhand blow. His broadsword flew like a black crescent, emanating the energy of the sword and wind. It cut through the air, leaving the dark outlines of dead bodies and bones in its wake. The very essence of this weapon was saturated with the death of thousands of people.
Realizing that he wouldn’t have time to block, Hadjar pushed off the ground.
