The year was 1330 according to the Percival calendar. War had enveloped the continent in a gray shroud. The sun, once a generous giver of warmth and light, was now but a pale echo of its former self. Cities, once teeming with life, had become desolate ruins, where death and famine reigned. The stench of burning mingled with the aroma of decaying flesh, creating a suffocating mixture that took one's breath away.

Fertilia, the ancient empire, had ignited this bloody conflict. Its legions ravaged the land, sparing neither the elderly nor the children. The Kingdom of Blanka, situated in the south, became one of the primary victims of this aggression. By blockading the Vinni Strait within Blanka's territory, Fertilia crippled trade and condemned many nations to starvation.

But the most dreadful calamity was the plague known as "Gilbert's Fever". This deadly disease, like a grim reaper's scythe, claimed thousands. The Church of Trinity, proclaiming its dominion over life and death, forbade any attempts to find a cure, deeming them blasphemous. The world was plunged into despair, yet amidst the darkness, hope flickered. There were those brave enough to challenge death and find a way to save humanity.

Doctor Benedict Gunther, a figure shrouded in a dark aura, was an embodiment of contradictions. His sharp mind and extraordinary talents in medicine had made him famous, but his cold, calculating gaze and complete lack of empathy repelled people. Gunther was like a surgeon who, with icy calm, dissected the human body without feeling a shred of compassion. His cynicism was the result of a deep psychological trauma suffered in childhood when he lost his entire family during an epidemic. Since then, he had dedicated his life to finding a cure for all diseases, not out of humanitarian reasons, but to prove to himself that he was stronger than death. For him, medicine became a gamble, in which he defied fate.

-You are dismissed...

These words echoed like church bells in the dead of night, reverberating through the marble hall, resonating in the heart of everyone present. Gunther stood motionless, his figure sharply outlined against the dark oak panels. Years spent at the bedsides of the dying had taught him to conceal his emotions, but now his heart pounded wildly.His lips pressed into a thin line, and his eyes, usually calm and penetrating, flashed with a cold fire. He raised his head and met the king's gaze.

-You've discovered my experiments on the corpses...

Restraining his emotions like a scientist conducting a dangerous experiment, the doctor spoke in a level, dispassionate voice. For him, feelings were merely variables that could be tracked and analyzed, but in no way a factor determining his actions. The archbishop, on the contrary, allowed emotions to completely take over him, turning them into a weapon against his opponents.

-How dare you speak of the people's good when your experiments are akin to blasphemy! Desecrating a corpse is a deadly sin!

Archbishop Livan Tuch interrupted the doctor with a thunderous voice, like a clap of thunder shaking the sky. Tall, bald, with features carved from stone, his deep-set eyes gleamed in the darkness, resembling burning coals. His voice, low and resonant, penetrated to the very soul, inducing a chilling fear. He resembled a stern warrior more than a spiritual pastor. Gunther involuntarily wondered: how could a soul called to carry the light of faith hide in such a harsh appearance?

-It's blasphemy! You desecrate corpses and mutilate them, the mother of that innocent child tore out her hair, she screamed in agony!

He was talking about the corpse of a young man that our wayward doctor had stolen. Someone had learned about the doctor's experiments and told the people, slightly embellishing what they had seen with demonic rituals and necromancy. It was clear that if the king's people had found out about the doctor's secret laboratory, they would have hidden everything from the people. It was Livan's people who found the laboratory, they were watching the doctor. The doctor was not at a loss, his restraint and patience were like ancient mountains, and even snakes envied his composure. He continued his dialogue just as calmly.

-Your religion is opium for the masses. Science, on the other hand, gives us real knowledge about the world. You accuse me of desecrating bodies, it was necessary so that when we die, there would be someone to bury us, otherwise our bodies would be desecrated by maggots and nature.

-silence! Your words are worthy of the gallows.

The doctor understood that Livan was no saint; he wasn't even a true Archbishop. He was more like an old, greedy merchant or an intriguer. He wasn't interested in the well-being of the citizens; he was acting for his own interests. The king listened patiently to their dispute. He was tired of all these squabbles in the palace; his dark circles under his eyes showed how he had worked tirelessly at night for the country's prosperity and the restoration of the economy and security. Despite his fatigue, King Norzhold Hugo Van Hound reasoned soberly and interrupted the empty polemics of the kingdom's two main figures with a voice as authoritative as a winter frost before a fire.

-Doctor, your research could bring great glory to our kingdom. But you must understand the Church of Trinity and its followers, who make up more than half of the people of Norzhold, will not tolerate such experiments.

There were echoes of storms and thunder in his voice, subjugating the elements. Every word he uttered carried the weight of royal power, making hearts tremble and knees buckle. He was the embodiment of strength and power, before whom all others paled. His gaze, piercing and heavy, like two coals of a smoldering fire, glided over the faces of those present. Wrinkles, as deep as canyons, radiated from the corners of his eyes, testifying to the storms and battles he had experienced. His short-cropped gray hair framed his face like a silver crown, and a slight, enigmatic smile played on his lips. He was like a rock, immovable and awe-inspiring. Perhaps there were only two people in the world who could withstand the pressure of the king's presence: Doctor Gunther, the king's closest confidant, and Archbishop Livan, who enjoyed the immunity of the Church of Trinity. The king's condescension toward Gunther undermined the established order of things, which caused Livan deep dissatisfaction.

-Your Majesty, do you not see? He is making a fool of me, the Archbishop of the Kingdom of Norzhold!

Rage boiled within Livan, turning his face crimson. Even his bald head, usually calm and smooth, now pulsed a deep red, as if alive. It seemed as if, in another moment, he would burst apart.

-I'm not making a fool of you; it's entirely your initiative.

-You little brat...

-Enough!

The king's deep, resonant voice roared from his chest like the roar of a wild beast. His eyes, flashing with a cold fire like two blood-red rubies, forced the doctor to look away. At that moment, the king seemed the embodiment of death itself.

-Our citizens are offended, hungry, and blinded by anger. They are looking for someone to blame for all their troubles. Their thirst for blood is insatiable.

He paused, his gaze fixed on some invisible point. His lips trembled slightly as he licked them with a dry tongue before continuing.

-I grant you a year's leave and wish you to spend it pleasantly. I will provide you with everything you desire...

Gunther was not merely a servant but a shadow of the king, accompanying him through life. As the savior of the princess, he enjoyed unlimited trust and could afford anything, even interrupting the king during a conversation.

-Your Majesty! My heart breaks at the thought of our people's suffering. Rest is a luxury I cannot afford in these dark times. While death mows down our warriors and civilians, I cannot stand idly by. We must protect not only our borders but also our fellow citizens from this insidious disease!

Doubt flickered in the king's eyes. He clearly didn't believe a word Gunther was saying.

-Your eloquence, doctor, cannot hide the true motives behind your actions. Everyone knows this is just a game for you, a scientific experiment. I understand your zeal, but the methods you're willing to employ are deeply concerning. Therefore, I insist that you take a year's leave. Believe me, this decision was not made lightly.

Like an audience holding their breath in a theater, the guests in the royal hall watched the drama unfold before them. The wise king and the ruthless doctor were the main actors in this play, and their words were weapons that could wound deeper than any blade.

-Your Majesty, I gratefully accept your concern, but at this moment, science demands my full devotion. The problems facing our kingdom are so great that no scientist can afford to be distracted by rest.

-Mr. Gunther, your recent research has caused deep public outrage. The unethical methods you have used undermine trust in science and inflict a deep wound on the feelings of the faithful. Until you reconsider your views and bring your actions into line with universal human values, it will be impossible to continue working in this field.

Despite his humble origins, Gunther enjoyed the king's deep respect. The king saw in him not just a subject but a loyal friend, closer than any in his own family. But even the cold-blooded Gunther could not hide his excitement when he heard the king's accusations. Evil laughter erupted in the hall. It seemed everyone was eager for the proud doctor's downfall. However, there were those who looked at him with undisguised sympathy - those whose lives he had once saved.

**

The fireplace crackled in the hearth, casting flickering shadows on the walls of the luxurious study. The king, weary of endless intrigues and political games, sipped strong wine. But even in the quiet of his chambers, the doctor was always nearby.

-They're idiots. You represent your people, and you must choose between a clear conscience and the well-being of your citizens. They're ready to sacrifice thousands of lives for their own egos!

-Gunther, don't raise your voice. I'm tired as a merchant's mule without your whining...

-I'm not whining, I'm mad!

-Yes, yes, yes, the poor people are dying. Enough of your theatrics. You're only interested in the essence of the disease.

-That's right! But we're sailing in different boats on the same sea, Hugo. You only see the tops of the waves, while I try to look into the depths. For you, people are just a means of earning money, but for me, they are resources. And you have no right to lecture me on morality.

-What am I supposed to do when the shadow of rebellion hangs over us? My options are limited. Your enemies are watching like predators, ready to tear us to pieces as soon as I lend you a hand.

-We're in a losing situation. The country is groaning under the burden of war, famine, and economic decline. The specter of revolution haunts the streets, kindling despair in people's hearts. The only hope for salvation is to find a cure for Gilbert's fever. Otherwise, a bloody revolt will engulf the castle, and no one will be spared."

-That's why I'm trying to get you out of the kingdom...

-Cut the drama and the sob story. This isn't an opera where a king throws everything away for a commoner. I don't have the STD and the figure or the charm to be your courtesan, but it's a good prospect, I've heard that HIV is quite popular among the nobility.

Suddenly, like a clap of thunder on a clear day, the king erupted in hearty laughter. He laughed so carelessly and carefree that it seemed he had forgotten all his royal worries. His laughter was like the neighing of an unbroken horse that had seen a snake.

-You always know how to cheer me up.

-Good, because you were sitting there as gloomy as a eunuch in a brothel

The doctor replied.

The king smiled and looked at the doctor with a gaze full of hidden pain and weariness. Then he slowly rose and, going to the desk, took a small stack of yellowed documents from a drawer. Tossing them onto the chair in front of the doctor, he smiled sadly. The doctor, without taking his eyes off the mysterious papers, felt that something very important was happening.

-What is this?

-Your ticket to salvation...

Gunther scanned the documents, and his face became a mirror of the raging sea within him. Now it would frown in bewilderment, then break into a crooked smile, then contort in a grimace of rage. Afterward, the doctor merely rubbed his brow, as if trying to erase what he had seen from his memory.

-I'm... you fu... I'm gonna...

Thoughts swarmed in his head like bees in a hive. The doctor licked his dry lips, preparing for a difficult mental battle.

-So you want me to leave the country?

-No, Doctor. Gilbert's fever will kill you, but Velmond Grey, hiding under the mask of an ordinary fugitive, will leave the country...

-Your Majesty, allow me to express my concern: your recent decisions are alarming. Perhaps it would be wise to postpone making them until better times?

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

-I intend to die on the throne, and you...

-and I intend to prevent that! It's foolish to sacrifice yourself in such a way. Your people need your guidance! Damn it, Hugo, they'll erase you from history, they'll forget you!

-I don't care what generations raised on lies will think of me, because my people will know what kind of king I was.

-They'll think their king was a proud idiot, which is precisely why I say your decision is unreasonable. Your legacy will be in question.

-You don't understand what honor is.

-I understand what responsibility is. And a king's responsibility is first and foremost to care for his people. And a dead, overthrown king will be useful only as fertilizer.

The doctor pressed his lips into a thin line, his fingers tapping nervously on the table. The king, leaning back in his chair, stared intently into the flames of the fireplace, as if trying to find answers to the questions that tormented him.

**

For a week, he hadn't left his chambers, drowning in a labyrinth of his own thoughts. They swirled in his head like predatory birds, tormenting his tortured soul. Every night turned into an endless series of nightmares where he balanced on the edge of an abyss, finding no support. He would have continued to drown in thought if not for his maid who knocked on the door of his study.

-Mr. Gunther, Baron Vann Luthor is here to see you.

Gunther was in such a foul mood that even his tone was laced with venomous sarcasm.

-Tell him Gunther is raping his maid because she disobeyed the order not to disturb.

His sarcasm was like a scorpion's sting – quick, unexpected, and painful. Unfortunately, the young maid, who was afraid of trouble like fire, returned after hearing Gunther's sarcasm and, out of naivety, took his words seriously.

-Oh god...

A young man, dressed in an elegant suit, appeared at the door, as if descended from a painting by a mysterious artist. His appearance was deceptively attractive: a radiant smile, a deep gaze... However, behind this mask lay an abyss ready to swallow anyone who dared to get too close. This was Baron Luthor, a man whose soul was darker than the deepest abyss. A melodic, yet chilling voice pierced the silence. It was a voice promising both pleasure and doom. Luthor, like a tempter, disturbed Gunther's peace, irritating him even more.

-Tell Mr. Gunther that adultery can wait, I have a serious matter to discuss.

Gunther, as always, met the guest with sarcasm.

-Mr. Luuuuuthor, how I'm not happy to see you, may you die of smallpox.

-I was told you were foul-mouthed.

-And you came to me anyway, are you an idiot or... no, there's no other explanation, you're an idiot.

-Why are you so cruel?

-Because you're an idiot.

-I'd like to talk to you.

-I don't want to talk to idiots.

-I knew it would be difficult.

-And still you decided to come here because you're...

Luthor's politeness was merely a mask, hiding his growing irritation. He couldn't take it anymore and abruptly cut off Gunther's senseless tirade.

-I can prevent the revolution and save the royal family..

Gunther, like a hawk, studied Luthor with a sharp gaze. He was trying to spot a hint of deception in his eyes, that spark that would give away the devil in human form.

-And how do you plan to do that?

-I plan to help you with your research.

-And how exactly do you plan to help me?

-If I tell you that, there will be no turning back.

-I was wrong, you're a mysterious idiot. You have excellent marketing; I'm not going to get involved if there's a chance of becoming a traitor or a prostitute.

-I know about the king's plan, he wants to save you, but I doubt he'll succeed.

Gunther continued the dialogue with sarcasm.

-Oh, yes, of course. My dear friend the king wants to protect me. How sweet. And where did you get such conclusions?"

-This kingdom is teeming with traitors.The castle rats told the church and the nobility, and from them, I learned. They've already planned how to eliminate Velmond Grey, that is, the person hiding under this name, Gunther.

Gunther rubbed his chin.

-Interesting. So, my little experiment with corpses attracted so much attention?

-They are afraid of your knowledge. They are afraid that you will be able to uncover their secrets. If you find a vaccine, it will be a big blow to the authority of the church.

-Except there's just one problem, I'll tell the king everything...

-You won't tell, because it won't change anything and you want to save the king.

Gunther looked at Luthor with a piercing gaze, trying to decipher the course of his thoughts.

-So who's the idiot now?

-That's beside the point, if you're hinting at me, I'm impulsive, but you're an idiot. History and novels have taught me a lot, and people like you are the main villains, you're also one of those who want to seize power.

-That's true, but I don't plan to become king and kill the royal family. I want to be a gray cardinal, I want to control everyone from afar, to be the strongest and look the weakest.

-So you want to be a coward?

-Correct, a surviving coward who controls everyone and lives in comfort.

-I'm not going to be part of Luthor's cult.

-But you will.

Luthor placed a pure gold coin from an ancient empire, destroyed by a vengeful hunter, on the table. The coin was covered in dust and scratches, but still shone in the rays of the setting sun.

-This is a coin from the empire of Garstan. An empire that was destroyed for its cruelty and greed.

Gunther took the coin in his hands and examined it carefully. On one side of the coin was a picture of an eagle, and on the other side was an inscription in an ancient language.

-It means 'justice'... Justice for what they did.

Gunther was silent for a moment, then said.

-You can't buy even an angel's dust with this coin, what am I supposed to do with it?

Luthor smiled.

-My people will be waiting for you at the eastern entrance to the slums.

Luthor, like a predator waiting for its prey, slightly opened the door. The shadow cast by his figure stretched along the wall, resembling a sinister monster.

-I know you'll come and I want to repeat, there's no turning back.

-You just need a rose in your teeth to become a full-fledged villain from newspaper novels.

Luthor simply smiled and said in a peaceful tone as he left.

-See you soon.

-God forbid.

Gunther muttered.

**

Next day Gunther wandered the castle corridors like a sleepwalking shadow. His head throbbed like an overheated cauldron, and his mouth was dry. Yesterday's events were etched in his memory as a murky blot, leaving a bitter taste on his tongue. He went out into the garden where an old apple tree grew and stopped, leaning against the rough bark. Before his mind's eye flashed images of bloody carnage, ruin, and chaos. Suddenly, this gloomy spectacle was interrupted by a cheerful children's laugh. A little princess, dressed in a dress the color of the morning dawn, ran towards him, carrying a bouquet of wildflowers. Her eyes, clear and pure as spring water, reflected serenity and joy. The contrast between her carelessness and Gunther's dark thoughts was so striking that for a moment his heart softened.

-Uncle... I mean, Mr. Gunther, you finally came out! I wanted to see you so much! You wanted to see me too, right?

Her voice rang with joy, but Gunther felt his heart constrict from an unbearable weight.

-No.

Sometimes Gunther's sarcasm lived its own life as a separate personality; it didn't choose its victims, but burst out at the first person it encountered. But not now, he liked to tease the little princess sometimes.

-Why?

Tears began to well up in the little girl's eyes. Gunther winked at her.

-Okay, okay, I give up! You've won me over. What do you want me to do to make amends? Maybe weave you a wreath of flowers?

He added more softly than he intended. The little girl wiped away her tears and smiled, then she hugged him.

-Princess Lizanna, you can't behave like that.

The princess looked up at the doctor with her big, trusting eyes. He smiled back at her, but there was sadness in his smile and his gaze fixed for a moment. Five years ago, he had saved her from a deadly smallpox. A memory surfaced: a small, pale, and weak girl lying in bed, and he, dressed in a dark robe, bent over her. He remembered how she tightly squeezed his hand, like a little kitten. Since then, they had been inseparable. Little Lizzy, as he affectionately called her, had become like a daughter to him. He remembered how he would sit by her bedside for hours, reading her fairy tales and playing with dolls. But now, looking at her, he saw not only a sweet creature but also a potential victim. Terrifying visions of the future flashed into his memory, a ruined castle, a severed head... He shuddered, shaking off this gloomy picture, and his heart ached.

-When you were gone, Dad found a husband for me; they will arrive in the capital in a week and the wedding will be in a month.

The doctor's gaze turned dark, but he skillfully concealed his emotions from the innocent girl. "Hugo, so that's how you're trying to save your daughter," thought Gunther.

-Aren't you happy, Princess?

-I want you to be my husband.

-Unfortunately, I have a weakness for curvy shapes... damn it!

One of Gunther's problems was that he couldn't control his speech when he was relaxed. Embarrassed by his careless remark, the doctor muttered, "Damn it! Can't I curb my unruly tongue?"

-When I grow up, I'll have the same as my mom, and you'll look at mine the way you look at my mom's.

The doctor's heart sank, imagining what would happen if the king heard this.

-Princess, please don't say that in front of people.

-Okay, but then let's have tea together.

-Then tell your maids to prepare everything for tea.

-Yes!

The girl, like a sunbeam, slipped into the castle's shadow, and Gunther, without taking his eyes off her, watched her dance. At that very moment, the archbishop appeared before him, his lips stretched into a mocking smile, like a predatory bird anticipating its prey.

-Mr. Gunther, I hear you've given up and hidden in your room.

-Mr. Livan, I've heard that when you smile, from afar you look like an uncircumcised male organ with teeth. As I understand it, it's all a lie, because even up close you look like a dick.

-I won't waste my nerves on you, because a lion doesn't argue with a fly.

-So I won't argue with you, your buzzing is already annoying me.

Gunther, retreating like a proud lion, left behind only a contemptuous laugh. Livan, like a jackal, howled after him.

-You've made a lot of enemies, remember, royal protection isn't eternal!

-Nothing is eternal in this world, just like your lover's erection.

Despite his apparent victory over the archbishop, the shadow of an impending storm darkened Gunther's soul. Stopping in the middle of the silent corridor, he felt the ground slip from under his feet. Air didn't enter his lungs, as if it had been blocked by a heavy slab. Panic, like a poisonous plant, wrapped around his consciousness, sucking out the last of his strength. Fear of the future bound him, turning him into a helpless puppet. A chilling horror pierced him to the bone, like an icy arrow. The heavy tapestries on the walls seemed to be soulless observers of his suffering. The silence in the corridor pressed on his ears like a vacuum. When he realized that panic had completely taken over him, a crooked smile appeared on his face. Lifting his heavy eyelids, he met the frightened eyes of the maid.

-if anyone asks, tell

them he went to buy drugs.

**

Before the entrance to the labyrinth of dirty alleys, reeking of a persistent stench of rot and filth, figures huddled together, caked in mud and rags. Their faces, distorted by malice and indifference, were turned towards the night sky. Loud shouts and drunken songs created a cacophony that made Gunther's heart sink. He clutched the torn cloth of his cloak, trying to warm himself. The cold seeped into his bones.

A small, thin boy, no older than ten, detached himself from the group and approached Gunther. His large, curious eyes studied the stranger.

-Are you a guest with a coin?

-Yes.

-Follow me.

-Why did you make me wait?

-Why did you dress like a drunk? I was waiting for you too, I thought some bourgeois or a suspicious type in a hood would come."/

-Am I supposed to look like an idiot to stand out?

You won't stand out only in a pigsty.

Gunther smiled; he liked how the little boy answered him so bluntly.

Through narrow, winding alleys, like labyrinths of hell, they wandered. From the windows, monstrous caricatures of people stared at them: ugly men, mercenary women, faces ravaged by disease. Every wall, every house screamed of the hopelessness and despair that reigned in this place.

Ten minutes later, plunging into the fetid abyss of the sewers, they found themselves in a labyrinth of ancient catacombs. The cold, damp walls held the memory of the great cleansing that followed the death of the demonic lord. Once these dungeons were securely hidden from prying eyes, but smugglers and fugitives had turned them into their domain. Traces of recent skirmishes, scattered bones - everything spoke of the fact that these places were far from peaceful life. The doctor, feeling neither pity nor compassion, contemplated this picture like a scientist studying an incurable disease. For him, death was an integral part of existence, a universal law to which everyone, even gods, was subject.

Their journey's destination had not met Gunther's expectations. Instead of a secret room hidden in the depths of the catacombs, they were met with an endless, dark corridor, resembling the insides of a monstrous Leviathan. The atmosphere here was so thick and heavy that it seemed the very air was saturated with malice and hatred.

And so, at the end of this gloomy corridor, Luthor and his companion awaited them. Luthor, as always, greeted his guest with a feigned, peaceful voice.

-Welcome, Mr. Gunther, you've come after all.

Gunther responded to his greeting with a haughty tone, without ceremony.

-You work for Fertilia...

Luthor, stunned to the core, stared at his interlocutor. His eyes widened in astonishment, and his lips involuntarily parted in a speechless question.

-How could an ordinary baron, without support, develop a vaccine, remain financially and personally anonymous, and be beyond the suspicion of aristocrats and the royal family?

And indeed, it was a mystery. Developing a vaccine was a costly endeavor that required significant resources. And to remain in the shadows, one needed extraordinary organizational skills and, possibly, connections in the most unexpected places.

-You couldn't have collaborated with the allied kingdoms anonymously; sooner or later, King Hugo would have exposed you, as he pays tribute to the allied states...

Gunther continued. He was clearly well-informed about the political situation in the kingdom, and this was not surprising, as he was always close to the king. And his words sounded logical. The allied kingdoms, receiving tribute, were interested in stability. Any conflict, especially one related to an epidemic, could disrupt this fragile balance.

-The aristocrats would not dare to act first because they would thus start a war on three fronts along with a civil one...

He continued. The aristocracy, as always, sought to preserve their privileges. War was the last thing they wanted to resort to, especially considering that King Hugo had significant power and was ready for decisive action.

-They are trying to sabotage or find compromising evidence on the king to avoid external conflicts, but they are idiots who do not understand that when the state is authoritarian, the king has support and, in extreme cases, he will act according to a scorched-earth policy...

He finished his thought. Indeed, the aristocrats, trying to undermine the king's authority, were playing with fire. In an authoritarian regime, such actions could lead to the most tragic consequences.

-So who could have supported Mr. Luthor in such circumstances?

Gunther asked. This question hung in the air, requiring no answer. After all, the answer to it could reveal the secret that lay behind the creation of the vaccine and the success of Baron Luthor.

-Damn it...

Luthor muttered.

-Right, Fertilia! You take me for a complete idiot, you can't understand with your stupid head that when you are too clean, using the method of elimination, you can reveal all your connections and even with a low probability and lack of evidence, they can hang you.

-It's illegal...

-I know you're not naive, so don't say such stupid things. We live in an authoritarian kingdom; they simply don't care.

-Then why are you here?

I'm not acting in the interests of the country, I need the safety of the royal family. You're not going to usurp power, because if Fertilia loses, you'll be executed as a traitor, but if Fertilia wins the war, you'll become a gray cardinal and be able to achieve even more power than King Norzhold.

-Then it's easier for me to destroy the royal family and usurp power.

-Then you'll lose the spy network in the Northern Union, and you won't be able to provide me with research, because we'll leave the kingdom and, let me guess, the research will be conducted in the northern corner, in the kingdom of Grendal, where there's eternal frost.

Luthor smiled, and his companion began to clap and laugh loudly.

-I didn't believe it when they told me what a genius you are.

-Keep praising me, I'm having an orgasm from it.

-I'm glad to meet you, Doctor Gunther, my name is Frederick Uriel, and I represent Fertilia. I hope for further cooperation.

Уриэль протянул руку в знак союза, и сердце Доктора забилось быстрее, когда он протянул руку Уриэлю, осознавая всю серьезность своего поступка. Это был не просто жест, а подпись на контракте с самим Дьяволом. С сомнением, но с решимостью Доктор пожал руку Уриэля, gi

отдав свою душу во власть тьмы.

Uriel extended his hand in a sign of alliance, and the Doctor's heart beat faster when he extended his hand to Uriel, realizing the seriousness of his act. It was not just a gesture, but a signature on a contract with the Devil himself. With doubt, but with determination, the Doctor shook Uriel's hand, giving his soul into the power of darkness.