Land of Pain Quotes

“You should block an attack, not get out of the way! This isn’t dodgeball,”
― Kirill Klevanski, Land of Pain

“Every single one of Orune’s ‘training exercises’ thus far, may he drown in donkey shit,”
― Kirill Klevanski, Land of Pain

“Do they now?” Orune asked while cleaning his ear out with his pinky. Once he dug out a lump of earwax, he flicked it right into Hadjar’s nose.”
― Kirill Klevanski, Land of Pain

“After drawing several dicks on Hadjar’s forehead and cheeks, Orune straightened up and walked away. “The war is coming, Orune.”
― Kirill Klevanski, Land of Pain

“Anise Dinos.” “What?” “Anise Dinos,” Hadjar repeated. “That’s the name of the former senior heiress of the Predatory Blades clan.” “What about her?” Orune chewed on a bone. “Did she refuse to fuck you and now you’re suffering? Or did she fuck you so well that you can’t forget it?” Hadjar smiled. Now that he’d gotten used to it, Orune’s rudeness was somewhat pleasant, like a cold shower after a hard day’s work. It brought him back to reality, which was sometimes as crude as the great swordsman himself. “Neither.” Orune froze for a moment with the bone between his teeth. “Do you prefer boys?” “I don’t.” “How can it be neither, then? Look, I have a New Creek Pill if you need it… Hadjar choked on his food. A New Creek Pill was worth a dozen of the Leafy Peace Pills, because a New Creek Pill couldn’t be recreated by any alchemist in the seven Empires. They could only be bought in the Dragon Lands, which meant that ordinary citizens believed they could only be found in ancient tombs. It was rumored that a New Creek Pill was able to regrow the lost limbs of cultivators, even ones at the Nameless level. “Thank you, but I still have all my… appendages.” “Great!” Orune exhaled in relief. “A eunuch disciple would’ve been awfully embarrassing. My forefathers would’ve laughed at me!”
― Kirill Klevanski, Land of Pain

“Anise Dinos.” “What?” “Anise Dinos,” Hadjar repeated. “That’s the name of the former senior heiress of the Predatory Blades clan.” “What about her?” Orune chewed on a bone. “Did she refuse to fuck you and now you’re suffering? Or did she fuck you so well that you can’t forget it?” Hadjar smiled. Now that he’d gotten used to it, Orune’s rudeness was somewhat pleasant, like a cold shower after a hard day’s work. It brought him back to reality, which was sometimes as crude as the great swordsman himself. “Neither.” Orune froze for a moment with the bone between his teeth. “Do you prefer boys?” “I don’t.”
― Kirill Klevanski, Land of Pain

“That sparrow was at the Primeval Stage.” “If it had been at the Ancient Stage, I would’ve left you to die. The Empire doesn’t need useless pieces of shit.” “And what about the other useless piece of shit that sat in the trees during the fight?” “Oh, did you spot me?” “No, I’ve just realized that you're a damned sadist who enjoys tormenting others.” “Stop complaining like a grumpy whore…” “All right,” Hadjar raised his hands in defeat. “I admit it, you aren’t a sadist. You’re a pig. Didn’t your mother teach you not to talk with your mouth full?” Orune belched again and tapped his chest.”
― Kirill Klevanski, Land of Pain

“He still remembered — fucking Orune!”
― Kirill Klevanski, Land of Pain

“You’ve changed,” Einen said. Hadjar glanced at his friend. “Two years have passed and you’re still bald.” “Well, at least you still behave like a barbarian.”
― Kirill Klevanski, Land of Pain

“Thanks a lot for your reading! Your reviews, warm words, and your money,”
― Kirill Klevanski, Land of Pain

“Hadjar opened his eyes. He looked at the world around him as if he were seeing it for the first time. His heart was still beating, pumping blood through his veins. If his heart was still beating, his sword wasn’t broken. His sword was his heart. Every wind current that was one with him was his sword. Every rustle of the autumn leaves that was one with him was his sword. Every ray of sunshine, every unshed tear, every musical note, every speck of dust, every stone… was his sword. The world was one with him, and therefore, with his sword as well. But if the world and Hadjar were one with his sword, then who wielded the blade? The same person who controlled his life — Hadjar.”
― Kirill Klevanski, Land of Pain

“When the time comes, fight with all your heart. We’re warriors, Hadjar. We don’t stay at home and wait for our wife to milk the goats and cook us dinner. No, our dinner is the enemy’s flesh and blood. We don’t die in our beds, surrounded by our children and their children. No, we die in our own shit, on the battlefield, amongst the stench and corpses of our comrades. We don’t sow, we don’t plow, we don’t write poetry, we don’t sing ballads. We fight, Hadjar. We fight so that others can caress their tired spouses, hold their grandchildren, paint great works of art, and write songs. Preferably about us. We’re warriors, Hadjar. Our hands are covered in the blood of our friends and enemies alike. But that doesn’t mean that we have to suffer for it. And that’s why I’m telling you to enjoy your life. What is your life, disciple? What is the life of a warrior?”
He gripped the Black Blade. The answer was simple: a warrior’s life was their sword. The only thing that stayed with them until their death.”
― Kirill Klevanski, Land of Pain

“When the time comes, fight with all your heart. We’re warriors, Hadjar. We
don’t stay at home and wait for our wife to milk the goats and cook us
dinner. No, our dinner is the enemy’s flesh and blood. We don’t die in our
beds, surrounded by our children and their children. No, we die in our own
shit, on the battlefield, amongst the stench and corpses of our comrades. We
don’t sow, we don’t plow, we don’t write poetry, we don’t sing ballads. We
fight, Hadjar. We fight so that others can caress their tired spouses, hold
their grandchildren, paint great works of art, and write songs. Preferably
about us. We’re warriors, Hadjar. Our hands are covered in the blood of our
friends and enemies alike. But that doesn’t mean that we have to suffer for it.
And that’s why I’m telling you to enjoy your life. What is your life, disciple?
What is the life of a warrior?”

He gripped the Black Blade. The answer was simple: a warrior’s life was
their sword. The only thing that stayed with them until their death.
Hadjar opened his eyes. He looked at the world around him as if he were
seeing it for the first time. His heart was still beating, pumping blood
through his veins. If his heart was still beating, his sword wasn’t broken. His
sword was his heart. Every wind current that was one with him was his
sword. Every rustle of the autumn leaves that was one with him was his
sword. Every ray of sunshine, every unshed tear, every musical note, every
speck of dust, every stone… was his sword. The world was one with him,
and therefore, with his sword as well. But if the world and Hadjar were one
with his sword, then who wielded the blade? The same person who
controlled his life — Hadjar.
Tarisfal Orune, the greatest swordsman in the history of Darnassus, hadn’t
committed suicide, but had instead taught his disciple his last and most
important lesson: Hadjar ruled his life and his sword. And his sword ruled
the world around him.”
― Kirill Klevanski, Land of Pain

“Then how will I cut it?” “If you can’t even comprehend that much, just let it fry you and rid the world of another idiot.” “If you can’t even explain that much, just jump off a cliff and rid the world of another asshole.” “There isn’t a cliff high enough that the fall would kill me.” “Oh, I’ll find one, believe me!” “You can’t even find lightning! You wouldn’t recognize a cliff even if you fell off it!” “And you can’t even explain to a stone how it should lay on the ground.” “The stone, unlike you, knows exactly how to do its job. Because it’s a stone!”
― Kirill Klevanski, Land of Pain