The eldest heir scrambled up from the dirt, wiping blood from his torn lip. His eyes burned with a mixture of rage and sheer confusion.
How dare someone lay a hand on a nobleman? His cronies froze in hesitation, clearly not expecting such a violent reaction from people they considered easy, low-born targets.
"Do you... do you even realize who you've touched?" he hissed, struggling to maintain a shred of dignity.
"I am Artem Vorontsov, heir to Baron Vorontsov! You'll pay for this with your life, you bastard. I challenge you to a duel, by all the rules of honor."
I simply chuckled. Duel? Honor? Such amusing words coming from the mouths of thugs who provoked a conflict out of thin air.
"A duel?" I asked, stepping forward. "Boy, you look like a battered chicken right now. You'd better pick your false teeth up off the ground, you amateur duelist."
Artem tried to retort, but I wasn't listening anymore. My leg swept forward, slamming into the center of his chest. The sound of ribs cracking was faint but loud enough to make his friends jump in terror. The baron's heir collapsed onto the asphalt, choking on his own breath.
"My God, what have you done!?" one of his friends screamed, his face turning pale. "His father will destroy you!"
Dima acted instantly. His movements were swift and precise, like a professional fighter, yet I noticed how he consciously held back his true strength. It was as if he were deliberately limiting his talent, afraid of accidentally finishing his opponents for good.
"Don't worry, my friend," Dima said, grabbing the second nobleman's arm. "You'll be staying in the hospital for a while to reflect on your behavior."
A snap echoed like a breaking branch, and the boy shrieked in pain, clutching a limb that was now bent at an unnatural angle. Dima gently laid him on the ground as if he were cradling a baby.
The youngest son, seeing what had befallen his friends, tried to flee. I was faster, blocking his escape path. His face twisted in terror as I grabbed his collar and hoisted him off the ground.
"Where are you going, my friend?" I asked softly. "You were so brave a moment ago. Where did your noble pride go?"
"Please, don't..." he whispered, choked with fear. "I was only... I was forced..."
"I know, I know," I nodded, then lowered him to the sidewalk.
"They always force you to do everything. No one ever wants to take responsibility for their mistakes. Time passes, but the nobility never changes."
My strike caught his kneecap precisely. I hit him in the solar plexus, leaving him gasping and curled in pain. Most likely, a rib was fractured.
Artem Vorontsov, lying in a pool of his own blood, continued to mutter something about honor and duels, but his words were drowned out by the sound of labored breathing and groans.
"Listen," I leaned over him. "The world won't accept weaklings like you. If you decide to humiliate someone, be prepared to get hit in the face. It's called natural selection."
Meanwhile, Dima pulled a phone from the nobleman's pocket and began calling an ambulance. His face beamed with a smile again, as if he were planning a prank.
"Hello, ambulance?" he said, trying to sound as panicked as possible. "There's a fight between talented individuals on Vladimirskaya Street. Yes, three people injured. No, I'm just a passerby. Yes, they seem badly hurt. Broken arms, ribs, missing teeth. Thank you, we're waiting!"
He hung up and burst into laughter.
"An accidental witness!" he muttered, wiping away tears. "I can imagine their faces when they fill out the report. Even a fool can see the main culprit was the one who called."
We walked away from the scene, leaving the three wealthy youths writhing on the pavement. The sound of sirens already echoed in the distance. In Novosibirsk, ambulances always arrived quickly, especially when it involved fights between gifted individuals.
"Well," Dima said, patting my shoulder. "Now we're really in trouble. Baron Vorontsov is a greedy, vengeful bastard. His son will wake up and tell him everything."
"Let him talk," I shrugged, stretching my neck.
"What does he know about me? You're the one with the problem. With your skin tone and being two meters tall, you stand out like a zit on a schoolgirl's face in a yearbook."
"What a unique mood!" Dima laughed. "I like people like that. But we just walked right under the street cameras. Don't you think security will seize the footage and connect the dots?"
"Let them come," I said, recognizing the grain of truth in his words but shrugging anyway. "There will be one less baron in this city."
We walked quickly through the streets of Novosibirsk, and Dima suddenly stopped near a neglected playground where a rusted swing creaked in the wind.
"Listen," he began, his voice losing its usual silliness. "Do you want to know why I hate being called a zombie?"
"No," I said, putting my hands in my pockets.
"Everyone has secrets. Everyone keeps a library of sad stories in their head. I don't care about your emotional turmoil. But since you've brought it up, go ahead. Just remember, I'm not wiping your snot."
Dima chuckled, then smiled.
"Basically, they killed me. Finished me off for good. No healer could bring me back," he paused, likely remembering that healers can't raise the dead under any circumstances.
"And then I woke up. Imagine that, this madman kills me and then brings me back. Have you ever heard of the dead being raised? Neither have I."
"I knew a man who came back from the other side three times," I muttered, recalling how many times the Mother of Demons had stitched me back together piece by piece.
"Seriously? What kind of loser can't seem to stay dead?" My new friend didn't push the subject, returning to his own story.
"So, I came back from another realm and now I look like this. I even started studying shadow magic, even though I was just an ordinary dropout. Tall, but without an awakened talent."
"Do you feel better now? You've had your say. Does it feel like a weight has been lifted?" I asked, inspecting a crack in the asphalt. Dima laughed again, louder this time.
"No. I already told that story to the girl at the guild. I don't care who knows. Just don't call me a zombie, okay?"
We walked a few more steps, and I inwardly noted how calmly he spoke of his own death. Not everyone could chatter so easily about being murdered. Someone else might have gone mad or hated the world. But this one, he spoke as if he were telling a joke. I had to admit, I was starting to like this guy.
The Baron's Retaliation
The hospital room greeted Baron Vorontsov with a sterile scent of antiseptic, mixed with the sweet aroma of pain and humiliation. The marble floor echoed sharply beneath his expensive shoes. His cold blue eyes stared at the white walls, stopping on the plaque with his son's name. He hated hospitals. He hated the scent of despair that hung there, reminding him that even the nobility were not immune to physical weakness.
Artem lay in the bed, barely breathing. Every movement of his chest caused sharp pain. Bruises covered his face in purple streaks, turning deep red at his neck, and his bandaged chest bound his fractured ribs tightly. The heir's eyes, usually as haughty as his father's, were now filled with fear and guilt.
The baron stopped at the end of the bed, crossing his arms, and silently surveyed his son from head to toe. Disappointment cut deeper than a dagger. His heir, the successor to an ancient family, lay here like a commoner after a drunken back-alley brawl.
"Father..." Artem's voice trembled, weak and pitiful. "I... I didn't expect you to come like this..."
"It's clear I arrived early," Vorontsov replied coldly. "Otherwise, you would have had time to concoct a perfect story. Speak."
Artem swallowed nervously, his gaze flickering toward the door as if searching for an exit.
"They were bandits... They attacked me from behind while I was defending the honor of those girls!" he cried out.
"We were walking on Vladimirskaya Street, and these scoundrels were harassing two girls. I couldn't just walk by, so I intervened... and they... they came from around the corner, silently..."
The baron listened without moving. Defending a girl's honor? In Novosibirsk? His son? He chuckled. Artem looked more like the type to harass girls and get called out by a passing hero. The story reeked of lies stronger than the hospital antiseptic.
"I wonder," the baron said quietly, his tone more threatening than a shout. "These girls... were they noble? Or commoners, whose honor suddenly became so precious to the Vorontsov heir?"
Artem froze, realizing he was caught. "I... I didn't have time to ask..."
"Of course," Vorontsov said, pacing slowly.
"And these bandits... were they talented? Or just ordinary humans, capable of injuring the heir of a noble house like this?"
"They... they used some kind of technology... maybe artifacts..." the son stammered.
The Baron stopped abruptly, turning to Artem with eyes flashing like ice.
"Enough," he said softly. "You disgrace our family not with your bruises, but with these pathetic lies. It was a duel you lost, wasn't it?"
Artem looked down. Silence was the only answer. Baron Vorontsov felt a surge of rage, not because of the beating his son took, but because of the shame. This would be the talk of high society.
"Who was he?" the baron asked, his voice as hard as steel. "This rootless wolf who dared to lift a hand against you? Who was he!?"
"I... I don't know his name..." Artem muttered.
"He was with a tall, dark-skinned man. Neither seemed to be from a noble family."
Rootless. Those with no lineage, no noble blood, no right to even look at an aristocrat. And this useless idiot dared to send his son to the hospital? The baron turned to the window. Revenge had to be swift and brutal so that no one would ever dream of repeating such an act.
"He will pay," the baron said firmly. "This wolf will learn what it means to insult the Vorontsov family. He will pay with his life."
He left the room without looking back. He pulled an expensive, sophisticated phone from his jacket and dialed a number.
"Ivan," he said. "There was a fight on Vladimirskaya Street today. Find all the CCTV footage. I need the name of the person who injured my son. I don't care about the other idiots, let their parents deal with them."
There was a silence as he listened.
"Yes, that's right. And when you find him... send the creature. Tell her it's urgent. I want his mother running across the city tomorrow, looking for her missing child."
He hung up, his grip so tight that faint cracks appeared on the phone's surface.
The Uninvited Guest
Lying on a rickety sofa staring at a phone, the perfect activity for a Demon Prince. I lay on my side, scrolling through videos. Cats, failed political debates, popular portal-hunter livestreams. Real interest was rare, but sometimes a gem appeared. For instance, an ad for a new coffee shop. Small, but pleasant.
My magical core, still recovering, sent signals of pain as if sensing the boredom gnawing at me. It reminded me that even beings of my level need rest. I had carried too much lately, the pact with Hanako, the guild exams, the battle with the Elder Crystal. The fight with the baron's son was the final straw. I felt the core might crack if I used an enhancement again.
Why did Airi decide to take Hanako for a walk today? At least someone would have brightened my loneliness. But here I was, face pressed against the wall like a sulking teenager.
"Nonsense," I muttered, sliding the phone under the pillow. "Maybe I should be like a Sleeping God? Rest for a few thousand years and give people time to invent new entertainment."
At that moment, I felt an unnatural chill creep into the room. The air froze, becoming heavy and tangible. I slowly turned, already knowing I would find an assassin in the room. She stood in the center, a pink-haired girl of about twelve, wearing a bright doll-like dress, with vacant, glassy eyes reflecting nothing but emptiness.
She clutched a tattered pink rabbit in her hands. Her face was as still as a white marble mask. The door was locked, but that hadn't stopped her. She had come through the third-floor window.
"Of course," I sighed, sitting up. "Who else but you would be used for a secret assassination?"
The aura she emitted felt artificial. It wasn't life energy, but a meticulously crafted construct, as if an expensive doll had been given a semblance of life. A Homunculus. Created by ancient alchemists. Those bastards tried to instill taming abilities into children. They succeeded, though they created monsters in the process.
"Who sent you?"
It was foolish to expect an assassin to reveal their master, but this girl was a homunculus, and I knew she would provide the answer. Her vacant gaze met mine. Her lips moved, producing a monotonous answer.
"Vorontsov."
That old bastard. Anger began to eat at me. Usually, the nobility hired mercenaries or sent their own guards, but Vorontsov had made a mistake. He sent the worst kind of hitman to finish me. I looked at this girl, and a long-forgotten pity stirred within me. How many centuries had passed since she was created? The Order of Alchemists had collapsed over a thousand years ago, taking their secrets with them. They had robbed her of childhood, emotions, and a soul. And now she stood here because some fool wanted my life?
"Hungry?" I asked unexpectedly. "I can cook dinner."
She tilted her head slowly, not fully understanding the concept. Her blank gaze followed me as I walked to the kitchen cupboard.
"Please sit at the table. It will be ready in fifteen minutes."
The girl sat with her back perfectly straight, placed her rabbit on the chair next to her, and stared into space. I cooked simply, macaroni and cheese. Hearty and straightforward. I thought back to when I stood in Lilia's kitchen in Hell, preparing delicacies from the meat of infernal creatures. She always praised my culinary talent.
"Here," I placed the plate in front of her. "Eat your fill."
She looked at the utensils, the food, and then back at the utensils. Her fingers hesitantly reached for the fork, but she held it like a hammer.
"Let me show you," I sighed, taking her hand. Her skin was cold, like a corpse.
"Hold it like this. No, don't squeeze so hard. Just... gently."
She repeated the motion mechanically. She took a noodle, brought it to her mouth, chewed, and swallowed.
"How is it?" I asked. "Does it taste good?"
"Nutritional value is acceptable," she replied in the same monotone. "Taste buds were removed by the creator. They interfered with the intended purpose."
"A pity," I shook my head. "You've missed out on a lot."
At that moment, the door opened and the usual chaos filled the room. Hanako burst in first, shifting from cat to human mid-stride. Airi followed with shopping bags and a faint smile.
"Sir, we're back!" Airi called out, kicking off her elegant shoes.
"Since you've been stuck at home, I decided to treat you to some cake..."
She trailed off, noticing the girl at the table. Her demonic pupils narrowed into slits. Her smile vanished, replaced by wariness. Hanako, who had been rushing to hug me, froze two steps away. Her cat instincts misfired. Her nose twitched, trying to scent the guest. Her face showed she didn't understand what was sitting in front of her. She cautiously approached the girl, sniffed the air, and then gently rubbed her muzzle against her hand.
"What is this?" Airi asked, her voice cold and dangerous. "Is it what I think it is? How did she get here?"
Hanako seemed to decide the girl wasn't a threat. She shifted back into a small white cat, jumped into the homunculus's lap, and sat there purring loudly. The girl didn't react, she just sat straight, staring blankly.
"Meet our new guest," I said, gesturing to the girl. "She arrived by invitation of Baron Vorontsov."
Airi approached, her eyes scanning the girl from head to toe. She leaned in and looked into those vacant eyes. After a moment, she turned to me.
"A Homunculus," she hissed angrily. "The Order of Alchemists... Zhenya, stop torturing yourself. This isn't your fault. They betrayed you."
I felt a chill. Memories returned, vivid and painful. The Order of Alchemists, their experiments on children, their quest for the perfect assassin. I once again cursed the day I had reached out to those unscrupulous bastards.
"This is personal now," I said, my voice colder than I intended.
"First, his son decided he could humiliate whoever he wanted. Now he sends this child assassin to me." My eyes flashed with a burning rage.
"The Vorontsov family has signed its own death warrant."
Airi looked at me with a strange mix of pride and concern. She knew that when I spoke like that, I couldn't be persuaded.
"Are you sure?" she asked softly. "Now is not the time to clash with the nobility. You've only just started recovering your strength."
"They chose this path themselves," I replied, looking at the homunculus sitting expressionless with Hanako purring in her lap.
"We need to remind them why, even after centuries, messing with homunculi is a bad idea. No one has the right to use children as weapons. Especially not those I once saved from the ruins of their shattered Order."