Excited shouts erupted outside the tent, and Stas could understand them. Keeping his balance was problematic, even though he had accidentally found himself in the so-called "eye of the storm."
Outside, the situation was clearly not so good, judging by the cracking of trees and the rustling of branches. The lad beside him seemed to be gearing up to cause a real earthquake.
The ground seemed to have lost part of its structure, resembling solid shifting sands, rippling up and down like an agitated water surface.
"Calm down," Stas barked, clapping his hands in front of the prince's face. "You're injured and will only harm yourself! The fierce fighters of the Sansa will flock here soon, and then everyone will have 'fun'! Stop this!"
"No! I will not surrender!" the prince cried desperately, some of his bandages beginning to soak rapidly with blood, which was almost like a red flag to the earthling.
Ordyntsev was literally shaking with anger because of the realization that all his efforts were going to dust right before his eyes.
What's worse, the prince, being clearly not the weakest warmaster even at such a young age, was instinctively projecting that same bloodlust that Stas had the misfortune of encountering before.
The feeling of something alien and dark creeping into your mind is hard to put into words. In any case, Ordyntsev was ready to go to great lengths to stop it.
The man's brain rapidly calculated options for dealing with the crisis. And after a couple of seconds, a solution was found based on all the same information Stas had already learned about the warmasters.
"You forced me into this," the healer's tone became promised nothing good. "If you don't want to do it the easy way, then we'll do it the hard way. Don't say I didn't warn you."
Ordyntsev saw that the young warmaster lacked either the strength or the concentration to control the earth more precisely. This meant that Stas need not fear a sudden earth spike in the backside.
And since that was the case, it was time to move on to more inhumane methods of persuasion.
Stas calmly opened a bottle of alcohol, methodically poured it over his right hand, then his left, and rubbed his hands together. It was worth applying at least minimal measures to reduce the chance of infecting the wounds.
Having finished rubbing, he sharply tore off one of the dried bandages on the chest, causing the prince to hiss in pain. Yet this was only the beginning, for then Ordintsev, with a completely calm demeanor, inserted his finger directly into the exposed wound.
The earth froze instantly, and the young warmaster bellowed out some colorful language, trying to pull out the finger. However, Stas did it himself, leaving the heavily breathing lad to come to his senses.
The man nodded in satisfaction, adding another important note on the capabilities of warmasters to his memory. Severe pain could disrupt their concentration, altogether canceling their mystic abilities.
Another piece of useful information was that warmasters were by no means all-powerful, and with proper preparation, they could be killed.
"You have no honor," the prince growled, and Stas felt the ground twitch right beneath his feet. "You will pay dearly for your actions!"
"Alas, life teaches you nothing, prince," Stas remarked with regret, pressing again on the bare wound, forcing his own patient to writhe in pain, trying to remove the tormenting limb with weak hands.
Stas had already touched bare flesh without medical gloves a few days ago. But it's one thing to heal, another to cold-bloodedly torture, moreover, through such an exquisite method.
The finger slid in the blood and was on the verge of slipping out of the wound, but Stas did not allow it until the images of his own death began to melt away, leaving the earthling's mind.
'I doubt all my oaths of non-harm are worth anything now...' the man thought with bitter irony, again releasing the sprawled and heavily breathing captive on the futon: 'And I seem to be doing everything right, because otherwise the locals might kill the lad without a second thought. But... Ah, to hell with it. The locals understand only the language of strength and pain, and who am I to not give them a full spoon of both?'
The tent door swung open abruptly, letting in a whole delegation of the elder, his son, and a couple of other experienced warmasters over thirty years old.
Grim faces, scarred with marks. One missing an eye, another with a huge burn on half his face, the third wearing a mask – it was immediately clear that these were veterans of local wars.
And since they had survived past their third decade, it meant they were really worth something.
"What happened?" Jirobu's voice was far from joyful. He looked straight at Stas.
"Thanks to my treatment, the prince has recovered enough to come to his senses. Realizing he was captured, he experienced an emotional outburst, which, nevertheless, quickly passed," Stas tried not to meet the prince's burning gaze, which could say a lot about the "emotional outburst that has passed by itself."
Why did Stas omit his involvement? Two reasons. First, Ordyntsev was not sure how the warmasters would react to him torturing their helpless equal.
Yes, the Sumada clan might be their enemy, but under no circumstances can a peasant even be allowed to make a move against a warmaster. What if he thinks to do the same to them? It's easier to get rid of a healer who's overstepped his bounds.
The second reason... Stas had certain plans for the prince, and for that, he needed to remain his treating doctor as long as possible.
"So that's how it is," Jirobu smirked, looking at the prince. "Well, that's disappointing, second prince Jishin Sumada. I would have considered leaving you at least the semblance of freedom before," the elder sighed heavily, feigning regret. "But now, as you see, I am simply compelled to take measures. I'm sure you will understand my concerns. Begin." The elder nodded to the person standing behind him.
A man dressed in a heavy black cloak, missing an eye and with a frozen expression on his face, stepped forward. However, what he held in his hands was even more remarkable.
Stas frowned, looking at the real shackles, clearly intended for the hands. They were quite thick and bore a circle of symbols resembling hieroglyphs carved on them.
The latter made Stas mentally wince. He suddenly realized that learning the local script would be quite a pain in the ass.
Ordyntsev literally felt Jishin's body tense up when he saw what awaited him.
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The earthling quickly lowered his head and gave the prince a warning glance. The latter responded with a furious and defiant look.
Then Stas glanced at the open wound on the chest and frowned demonstratively.
His actions directly stated: "If you try something funny, I will do it again, and you will become a laughingstock in front of your own enemies."
Judging by how Jishin gritted his teeth, he understood the healer's subtle pantomime perfectly.
The warmaster with the shackles approached the bed and casually threw back the sheets, revealing the wounded body to everyone. He decided to deal with the left hand first, unceremoniously handling the injured limbs.
The prince did not make a sound. The skin on his arms was severely damaged, and although the shackles were quite wide, they still touched the living flesh.
What followed next made Stas focus all his attention on the process.
The warmaster began touching the engraved hieroglyphs on the shackles. And he did it following a clear sequence, repeating the process for each shackle separately.
Greenish waves ran over the symbols at those moments, which faded as quickly as they flared up.
As soon as the last symbols dimmed, the shackles slowly began to tighten until they snugly wrapped around the captive's arms.
"That's better," Jirobu nodded contentedly when the "jailer" stepped back. "Now we can rest assured that you, prince, won't accidentally harm yourself or others. These chains, our pride, are a clan artifact from the depths of ages. They disperse your control over prana, preventing it from forming, say, the same enhancement technique. At the same time, they have no negative impact on your prana core. After all, we hope to negotiate with your father and return you safe and sound."
The prince said nothing, looking with burning hatred at the enemy who was mocking him.
"And now you," Jirobu turned to Stas and gave him a satisfied look. "You truly weren't lying about your skills. Prince Sumada has awakened even though no one believed it. Quite ironic, isn't it? It was your people who struck our healers, slaughtering them all, and then you couldn't get any medical help," the last was addressed more to the prince, who was indifferently staring at the ceiling. The latter showed no reaction again.
"The Sansa clan is grateful to you, healer, and will inform esteemed Nobunoro of your success. I'm sure your master will reward you appropriately." The last sounded, undoubtedly, chilling.
The elder was about to turn to leave when Stas preempted him.
"Master Jirobu," Stas bowed, then quickly spoke up, seeing the impatience on the warmaster's face. "Jishin's condition leaves much to be desired. He has significant intestinal damage. I'm afraid he needs a proper diet for further recovery. I would like to continue treating him."
"Why do you need this, healer?" the old man's brows furrowed together. "You won't get paid by us for this."
"Master Jirobu, my teacher, a wise man, always said that a healer is obliged to see through his patients' treatment to the end, not to leave them halfway..."
Having finished this part, Stas noted that his words did not impress the elder much, so he did not even slow down and delivered the second part.
"...Moreover, I've seen the wealth and strength of the Sansa clan," the earthling's lips formed an admiring smile. "I thought, if I were to serve anyone, it should be such a great clan as yours. To defeat the legendary Sumada, is that not greatness!"
At that moment, the elder's son, Gokku, practically radiated suspicion. This strange peasant was behaving too uncharacteristically. The man got the impression of an unjustifiably proud lowly peasant, who didn't know his place at all.
However, for Jirobu, who had spoken much less with Ordyntsev, his words sounded quite different. The old warmaster simply nodded in appreciation of his clan's praises.
He didn't believe for a second about the desire to heal the prince, but the ambitious wish to join the clan was completely understandable to him.
"Besides, as I've heard," Stas continued, weaving a web of flattering words. "You've lost many healers. I would be happy to take the place of one of them. It's such an honor..."
"Enough," the elder amiably cut off the flow of honeyed words, then waved his hand. "The position of a healer of the Sansa clan still has to be earned through long and fruitful work. But I heard you, healer. If you can get Jishin-kun on his feet, then I'll think about a hypothetical possibility of your joining the clan."
Ordyntsev quickly bowed.
"I lack words to express what an honor this is for me," Stas added determination and seriousness to his voice. "I will apply all my strength to fulfill your task, Master Jirobu."
"Keep working," Jirobu nodded benignly. "In ten days, we will leave this place and head towards Akaru City. Lord Nobunoro's palace is located there. By that time, Jishin-kun should be ready for the journey."
As soon as the warmasters left the tent, Stas's smile slid down like old serpentine skin, revealing his real feelings.
Ordyntsev grimly surveyed the indifferently lying Jishin, who hadn't changed his position and was demonstrating a rather unsatisfactory reaction.
For Ordyntsev's plan, the prince had to be not only capable but also desiring interaction.
It was precisely for this that Stas decided to stage a performance in front of old man Jirobu. In reality, he saw the Sansa clan and all its members six feet under.
Joining the clan of these arrogant maniacs to serve them for the rest of his life until you're killed in some random battle? Stas couldn't imagine greater nonsense.
With what pleasure the man would watch them all writhing, dying in terrible agony...
Stas brushed aside such heartwarming images. After all, now was not the time for daydreaming, as it was urgently necessary to bring the overly impressionable lad back down to sinful earth before he immersed himself too deep into his supposed "dishonor."
Ordyntsev knew that for Japanese samurai matters of honor meant a lot, but it seemed the warmasters' traditions were different. Apparently, some of them still coincided.
Stas positioned himself casually to the side of the prince's futon. So that the lad would only see him if he turned his head.
During the conversation with Jirobu, Stas had habitually hidden the snake inside his clothing. Levi, like a well-behaved girl, made it easy for him by staying completely still, as if understanding what was expected of her.
Now, he smiled as he pulled her out, then began to stroke her, running his palm from the sharp, pointed little face to the very tail. The white body went limp, enjoying it.
Stas also began to speak softly, but loudly enough to be heard.
"Wow, my good girl... Beauty... Who's the prettiest snake in the world? You're my smart girl..."
Stas knew enough about human psychology to know that such a quiet tone sometimes attracts attention even better than a loud shout. Moreover, Ordyntsev was ready to bet his kimono that a seventeen-year-old lad, no matter how much he suffered from his own problems, wouldn't be able to resist curiosity.
After all, Shiro was supposed to be alone, so who was he talking to like that?
Stroking the coiling Leviathan, who was clearly enjoying herself, Stas casually bent over, throwing a quick glance from under half-closed eyes toward the patient, then barely concealed a smirk.
'The mouse took the bait.'
The prince slightly tilted his head and puzzledly watched the white snake that appeared out of nowhere in the hands of his evil doctor. There was no doubt in the lad's mind that the doctor was evil, for he had quite plainly tortured him and even colluded with the contemptible Sansa.
'Piqued his interest, now it's just a matter of tweaking a few priorities. Let's see how challenging that will be. We'll start with something detached, too early to get down to business.'
"You know," Stas's voice made the prince's gaze flicker and stare back at the ceiling, pretending to be depressed again. "This snake is called Levi, or Leviathan. I named her after the legendary monster. A huge sea serpent that could sink ships like twigs."
The prince showed no sign of attention, but Stas knew he was listening intently.
"Nonetheless, my Levi, albeit being a small snake, has a big heart. Think I'm exaggerating? Not a bit. In the last battle, Leviathan saved my life. When an enemy warrior already had his spear above me, she bravely lunged forward and bit into his leg. The warrior got distracted and hit her very, very hard, but I immediately avenged every blow. I feared she would never come to."
Stas absentmindedly stroked the enjoying warmth snake.
"She only recently recovered from those blows. Kami be my witnesses, I was very glad. But you've probably noticed that I kept her under my kimono the whole conversation with the elder? I did not do it without reason. You see, I'm still not sure they won't just kill her right in front of me. That's why I keep hiding her. My appearance here was far from my own desires..."
"Why are you telling me all this?" the lad grunted angrily. "Want to say that you're just like me?! That's not true! You're nothing but a dishonorable bastard who only has the courage to torment the wounded. You're just a mangy cur of the Sansa. I heard how you wagged your tail in front of them. When I'm free, I'll do everything in my power to find you and pay you back. And believe me, no Sansa will protect you!"
Stas listened with satisfaction to the prince's stream of abuse, letting him vent. The dialogue had begun, and that was the main thing. Yes, let it be negative, and the threats were quite real, but Ordyntsev was ready to work with that.
In the end, if you want to eat well, sleep soundly, and not fear for your life, be prepared to play big, especially in a world like this dark hole.