"I think you understand why you're here?" The judge's voice rang out, loud and theatrical in the large, half-empty hall.
Of course, I understood. You didn't just end up in the imperial court by accident. It wasn't the sort of place one wandered into. You'd have to be a complete idiot not to know why you were there. Still, I rather enjoyed how nervous the fat man in the wig seemed, so I kept up the act. Played dumb. At one point, I even considered drooling, just to add a little flair. But for a nobleman from such a famous family, regardless of how far I'd fallen, that felt a tad over the top.
"I have no idea," I said, lying as politely as I could.
"Yes, your father did warn me," the judge sighed. "He said you hadn't inherited even a drop of his intelligence. I just haven't realized how bad things were." He glanced helplessly at his assistants, clearly hoping one of them might rescue him. "At the very least, you know how to speak and listen. That's all that's required of you."
"Oh, I can speak, that's for sure," I said. "Though only in the common tongue. The rest, not so much." I made a suitably blank face. "I'm not very smart, remember?"
"Are you playing fool with the court, Silvian Crass?" the judge said, finally catching on. "Do you think I don't know you received the finest classical education the Empire could provide?"
"Then stop asking stupid questions, you idiot in a wig," I snapped.
"You've asked me the same thing three times now. Do I understand why I'm here? What do you think?"
For a moment, I thought his head might actually explode. I imagined the wig launching itself into the rafters like a startled bird. But no, he just sat there, fuming.
"The court protocol requires it!" he shouted, slamming his fist on the table.
I looked at him with all the enthusiasm of someone waiting for a late train and shrugged. The whole thing was getting tiring. They'd caught me — fine. But now they wanted to turn it into a theatre. All this drama, and for what? The ending was already written. I'd be found guilty, no doubt with a few bonus charges thrown in for good measure. So what was the point of all this?
It was good; none of my relatives got involved. They limited themselves to inviting my grandfather, who'd been mad for about twenty years now and couldn't care less about what was going on. My father wouldn't have come anyway. I was the shameful branch of the Crass family tree, the bit people prefer to quietly prune from the records.
My mother could have stopped by for a few minutes, though. I hadn't done anything to her.
Meanwhile, the judge had managed to pull himself together and was getting to the point.
"You're not going to deny that you're a space pirate and one of the most dangerous criminals the Universe has ever known?" he asked.
"Well, I wouldn't go that far," I said.
But he ignored me completely and ploughed on.
"That you participated in the hijacking of civilian and transport ships. That you robbed planets and colonies belonging to our great Lord of Empires. Do you admit your guilt?"
Participated? Robbed? Was he serious?! I planned the whole thing.
Organized it down to the last decimal. I was Silvian Crass, for heaven's sake, not some second-rate thug from the backwaters of Jock!
"Of course, you have the right to remain silent," the fat man continued. "Though in this case, it hardly matters. Your guilt has already been established. Your identity confirmed. The rest is a formality. Let it be known that your closest relatives have disowned you. So after the verdict, we will not proceed with the mandatory farewell meeting."
Well, naturally. My father only ever needed me as an organ donor for my brother Christian, whom he planned to install as Head of the House once he kicked the bucket.
And my mother... well, she was just an ordinary woman. That was actually why I ran away a few years ago in the first place. I made a decision. Chose my own path, without asking for their opinion. They abandoned me long ago, the moment I stopped being convenient.
So now what? Life imprisonment in some distant corner of the Universe, or would they be generous and only sentence me to a hundred years?
Thanks to the genetic changes I'd received at birth, I could easily live for several centuries, which was precisely why I wasn't too thrilled at the idea of spending them locked away.
I was completely lost in thought, and by the time I tuned back in, the fat man was already reading the sentence. At least I didn't miss the best part.
"In the name of the Lord of the Empires, Vitellius Falakrin," he intoned, "by the right vested in me, I sentence Silvian Crass to death by hanging, and immediate subsequent disposal. The sentence is not subject to appeal and must be carried out within an hour from the moment it is passed."
Wait. Did I mishear that, or did he actually say hanging and disposal? If so, that was bad. Very bad. The Lord of Empires must have been furious. Normally, nobles didn't get this kind of treatment. Even former ones. Then again, I couldn't think of any other aristocrats who'd achieved quite so much in space piracy.
Still, I didn't agree with the sentence. Life imprisonment, sure, I could take it. But death? That wasn't going to work for me. So, no thanks.
I pressed my tongue against the seal in the lower right molar and tasted the sweet liquid that oozed out. It was similar to cherry syrup, more or less.
It was now or never.
Astarte arrived with a bang, literally. Smoke, fire, the whole thing.
Properly dramatic, right in front of my secure dock that was supposed to prevent me from using magic and doing something stupid.
And her entrance... holy hell. To call her beautiful would have been an insult. She was devastating. Naked, of course. Breasts, hips, legs — the kind of figure you didn't forget.
"I told you this moment would come, Silvian Crass," she said smugly, her voice shaking the entire hall.
The fat judge nearly had a stroke. He couldn't see her, only the fire and smoke, which must have been confusing enough. How was he to know that, somewhere out in the galaxies of the Alpha Spiral, I'd met this dashing lady? Poor man probably thought I'd lived up to my reputation and pulled off the impossible and cast a spell inside the secure dock.
"Guards! Destroy Crass immediately!" he bellowed, stamping his feet like a toddler on market day.
I watched the guards edging closer to the sphere. My jaw tightened.
"Astarte, this isn't the time for small talk," I said. "A deal's a deal.
One wish for one soul. Get me out of here."
"So, you want me to transport you from here?" she asked, tilting her head. "Did I understand correctly?"
The guards were closing in, and my mood was sinking fast.
"Astarte, what the hell? You seemed a lot sharper last time we spoke. Of course, I want you to get me out of here. The further, the better!"
Before I could finish, something slammed into the protective dome around me. Loud, hard, deliberate. Then again. A fine crack spread across the surface like frost on glass. You didn't have to be a clairvoyant to understand that the guards opened fire to kill.
"Astarte, do you want my soul or not?" I growled, panic creeping into my voice. She was my only way out. I had no other options.
"Now I wonder whether I should break the deal for your gross incompetence," she said with a hint of amusement. "If memory serves, you were quite certain I'd never be of use to you. You humans do love your confidence."
Another shot rang out. The dome shattered with a deafening crack, collapsing into thousands of glassy shards. The fat man let out a triumphant roar just as Astarte burst into booming laughter.
Then silence. My vision went black.
* * * When I came back to my senses, things were... different. First clue: I was no longer in the Imperial Court building. Second clue: I was in bed.
The room was smaller. No polished granite, no heavy wood paneling. I was lying on a mattress that had seen better decades. Nothing made sense. I sat up and looked around the room. It was tiny, poor, and plain. A bed, a table, two chairs, a wardrobe. An old ceiling lamp — electric, maybe, but pretty dim.
It all felt a bit depressing.
An ancient prison cell? Some forgotten outpost in the middle of nowhere? Did they really drag me off and toss me into some backwater dungeon after sentencing me to death?
Unlikely. I distinctly remembered the part where the fat man had said hanging with immediate disposal.
Alright. Let's assume Astarte held up her end of the bargain and moved me to another world. I'd given her my soul, after all. She had reason to deliver.
There were no guards in sight. No gallows, no noose, no fire. That was something.
The rest? I'd figure it out in time.
By the way, when that thunderstorm went off in the courtroom, did it damage anything important? My head didn't hurt. My memory seemed intact. So the brain was fine. But still — something felt off. I felt strange. It was like a hangover, though I knew it wasn't. Just that same heavy discomfort lingering inside me.
I looked down at my hand and froze. That explained a lot.
The hand didn't belong to me. It was thinner, paler, and definitely younger. Not a child's, but far from the seasoned hand I was used to seeing.
And the rest of me? Same story. I looked sixteen. Maybe seventeen if you were being generous.
Brilliant.
Not only had she transported me to another world, she'd shoved me into someone else's body. A runt, at that. Whoever this guy was, he clearly hadn't encountered the phrase a healthy mind in a healthy body. Where were my muscles? Astarte must have thought she was being very funny when she stuck a man like me into a half-developed weakling.
Oh, Lord of Empires... I checked beneath the waistband just to be sure. Good. At least that part of me had made the trip intact.
Alright. Physically unimpressive, but I could work with that. Maybe all men looked like this here. Maybe Astarte had no better options. But what about magic? She better left me my powers. I offered her my soul, but that was never part of the deal. Muscles could be rebuilt, but magic, not so much.
I focused on my chest, trying to reach for that familiar warmth. At first, nothing. Then, slowly, a pleasant hum spread through me. It wasn't as strong as I was used to, but it was there. That was enough. So, magic existed in this world, and I still had access to it. Wait... What was that? A new sensation appeared, unfamiliar and interesting. Could it be that this strange body had its own magical potential? Something hidden I hadn't tapped into yet?
Hard to say for certain, but it was worth exploring. Maybe people here relied on magic instead of muscle. That would explain this boy's fragile frame. Even so, a little balance wouldn't hurt. This body needed a few proper workouts, whether it liked it or not.
I got out of bed and took a few careful steps. Everything was fine, I wasn't dizzy. The gravity felt the same as back on Epsilum. I tried jumping a few times just to make sure. Yes, all the basics still worked. At least something made sense.
Well, who was I now, anyway? I tried to search my brain for some memories on the matter, but the gray matter responded with a sharp stab of pain and a sudden flash of light. My legs gave out, and I crashed onto the wooden floor. Damn it. What kind of puny little body had the demoness stuck me in? It couldn't even stay upright.
Apparently, the fall had attracted some attention from the neighboring room. A young girl rushed in, followed by a plump middle-aged woman. They didn't seem dangerous, so I let my eyes close for a moment to get my bearings.
By the way, the girl was quite pretty. I cracked one eye open for a better look. She was a brunette, about my new age, though not particularly tall. I had to admit, when it came to the female department, this world seemed to be doing just fine...
"Master! Vlad!" the older woman fussed over my collapsed body.
"What are you thinking?"
That was it! Vlad. My name was Vladimir Sokolov. I was a nobleman. I understood the language. Thoughts and images started flooding into my head, and with them came another stab of pain.
"You can't go running around with a fever this high," the woman said, trying to get a better grip on me. "Come on, Liza, why are you just standing there? Help me get the master back into bed."
While the women dragged me to the bed, more pieces came together. The woman's name was Varvara. She served me. The girl surfaced in my memory, too. Her name was Liza, and she had only recently arrived here. Beyond that, I couldn't remember much about her.
Once I was back in bed, I opened my eyes and looked at Varvara.
"I could have made it myself."
"Of course you could," she said, touching my forehead with the back of her hand. "You would have made it just fine with such a high fever.
Over 104 degrees! The doctor said not to get out of bed, and here you are..."
So, I was seriously ill? That was strange. I hadn't felt sick at all.
Though with a fever like that, I should have noticed something.
"What's wrong with him, Aunt Varvara?" the girl asked fearfully.
More memories came to me. Liza was my maid's niece and had come to visit just yesterday.
"The doctor said he went swimming in the river yesterday, he stayed in the sun too long, and now look at him," the maid replied, lowering her voice. "Flat on his back. Right on his birthday, and before a long journey too."
It was my birthday? Well, funny enough. Alright then, happy birthday to me. Still, the more interesting part was the second bit — what long journey?
At that moment, I realized I truly wasn't feeling well. It seemed this lad had indeed managed to catch a cold, or something like it, the day before.
Not as dramatic as the doctor had apparently told the maid, but there was definitely some discomfort. And now she was clucking about like a worried hen.
"Right, both of you out," I said, tired of all the fuss around me.
"Vlad..." Varvara gasped, covering her mouth with her hand.
Apparently, Sokolov was usually more gentle with her.
"Both of you," I repeated firmly, pointing to the door.
There was no need to say it again. They left at once, and I was finally alone. Perfect timing. My head was already packed with thoughts and memories. I needed to sort them out.
First of all, I remembered why, as a nobleman, I was in this miserable little room. The answer was simple — I had no money. I wasn't just a poor nobleman, but practically destitute. Unacceptable. When I was Silvian Crass, I had fruit for breakfast flown in from other galaxies. And now this...
Well done, Astarte. You really did know how to keep things interesting. Still, it could have been worse. At least I wasn't in an ancient prison, but in my own home. That was something.
Second question: Where was my home? And here my memory came to the rescue. The village of Vetrovo was not far from the city of Balakovo.
My very small and only estate was all that remained of the once vast riches of the noble Sokolov family. It sounded rather tragic. So the family had been wealthy once, but where had it all gone? And why was a maid the one looking after me when I was ill? Where were my parents? My brother?
Sister? Did I truly have no one? Or had I never had anyone to begin with?
New memories resurfaced slowly, as if Vladimir had tried to hide them on the dustiest shelves of his mind. But they were there. There had been a family. Father, Mikhail. Mother, Anna. An older brother, Vasily. But none of them were still alive. All had been executed two years ago, accused of conspiracy against the Emperor of Russia and an attempted coup d'état.
Vladimir, being a minor and uninvolved, had been spared. The court had seized all the property, leaving him only the village of Vetrovo in the Saratov principality, along with the title of baron. Which meant he had, essentially, nothing.
So, the story with the family was clear now, and the poverty too.
Nothing cheerful so far, but the fact that Sokolov was still a nobleman was worth something. I would find a way to earn money somehow.
Now then, what was going on globally? Where exactly was I? What planet? Oh, that one I knew. Vladimir's memories about that had stayed intact.
The planet was called Earth. Fair enough. It was the first time I'd heard of it, so I decided to trust that Astarte hadn't tricked me. I was inclined to believe her that it wasn't merely a small planet in a nearby galaxy next to my native world. This really was another world — some distant corner of another Universe, perhaps, that could only be connected by portals forged by ancient magic.
Place of residence? The Russian Empire. Were there other states?
The Ottoman Empire, the Caliphates, the European principalities... Wait a minute. I got it. Plenty of nations. Thanks for that, Vlad. I would sort it out later.
And what about wars? That was more important. I needed to know who the Russian Empire was currently fighting. The answer came: with spawns from another world. Huh? What did that even mean? Who were these spawns?
That was where the memories stopped. It seemed Sokolov hadn't paid much attention to the ongoing war. A pity. It would have been useful.
Now I have to figure it all out myself.
Well, my head seemed to have cleared up a bit. To sum things up, as far as I could tell, there weren't many reasons to be happy in this world just yet.
Living in disgrace — that was one. Looking rather feeble — that was two. Having no money made three. Not exactly nothing for Vladimir Sokolov to be upset about, but for Silvian Crass, it was still insignificant. I had been through worse.
Now, I needed to look at things from another angle. First, I was a nobleman, and the first rule of a nobleman was to remain composed in all situations and think of his honor above all else. My current name, Vladimir Sokolov, hadn't been tarnished yet, which, considering the circumstances, was nothing short of miraculous. Second, magic existed in this world, and I possessed it. Third— "Varvara!" I shouted, hoping there weren't too many rooms in the house and that someone would hear me.
And I was right. What kind of grand house could I have had when my finances only stretched to a modest one? Soon, I heard the hurried steps of my plump maid, and her anxious face appeared above me.
"You called? Are you in pain?"
"I'm not in pain. Bring me a mirror."
Varvara stood there for a moment, probably wondering if my high fever had come with something else. A touch of madness, perhaps. Still, she obeyed and brought over a small mirror.
"That's all. No more orders," I said, which likely only deepened her suspicion that I had gone completely mad.
Once she had left, I looked at myself and came to the conclusion that I had found a third reason to feel hopeful. Vladimir Sokolov had turned out to be quite a good-looking fellow. Dark blond hair, a strong chin, grey-green eyes. The sort of face girls tended to like.
By the way, I still hadn't figured out what had Varvara been muttering about my birthday and a long journey. Was I supposed to be going somewhere?