The first thing Stas did was try to find clothes as similar as possible to the attire of the local servants. He did this for one simple reason - to avoid standing out.
A bit of observation of the castle's life made it clear that the servants, although they were among its most numerous inhabitants, were also the most inconspicuous.
They cleaned and walked in any - even the most secret - halls of the palace, and the guards didn't pay them much attention.
Of course, the distinctive appearance of the earthling played a nasty trick on him, yet even so, the clothing involuntarily gave him an increased ability to blend into the surroundings.
Ordyntsev literally felt the glances of those around him slide past, almost without stopping on his face.
This "magic" could be compared to how we daily ignore the faces of beggars, the homeless, and other marginalized people. We see their torn, dirty clothes, and maybe for a second, their longing eyes flash before us, but as soon as they disappear, no one, even with effort, can remember their faces.
Human consciousness is a funny thing; it loves to play cruel jokes on us, erasing from memory things we dislike and things we want to ignore or forget altogether.
The next important action taken by Stas was to live inconspicuously among the servants.
"So you want to live among us? The prince's own healer wants to live among the servants?" Understanding the senior servant's doubts was not difficult.
His name was Roku, and he looked quite ordinary, though unusual. A large bulldog jaw didn't match his thin physique, and his eyebrows were arched as if he always looked surprised.
"Yes, Roku-san," Stas bowed politely. "My patient didn't want me to live near him, so I have nowhere else to go."
"Well, I don't know," Roku said doubtfully. "Maybe you, Shiro-san, should approach Master Kero Yo? The steward might allocate you a small but separate room for sleeping."
"Thank you, Roku-san, but I don't want to bother the esteemed Kero-sama with my problems." Stas hinted, and his interlocutor responded with a look that said, 'You don't want to bother him, but you're bothering me!'
"Alright, Shiro-san," the senior servant gave in. "Allow me to show you to your futon. Its previous owner recently gave his soul to kami, so it's vacant."
'Great, I've never slept on a bed that a dead person used to sleep on. Wait, that's not true, I have. Look at all the new interesting experiences this world has given me.' Ordyntsev recalled the mat he had borrowed from the deserted ashigaru camp.
The usual white mattress, stuffed with straw, pleased Stas with its cleanliness and lack of unpleasant odors. Besides the sleeping places, the hall had low tables and mats where the servants spent their leisure time before sleep.
Their entertainments were dice and some wooden tiles similar to dominoes with small hieroglyphs.
His appearance inevitably created a stir. Lying on the futon, Stas felt curious glances that quickly vanished as soon as he looked directly in that direction.
Nevertheless, none of the servants approached to get acquainted or greet the newcomer.
The gap between the status of a healer and that of the servants was too large for any of them to dare to speak up.
However, after a couple of days, seeing that the newcomer continued to lie on the bed, not showing any initiative, they calmed down and began to ignore him, too, which was exactly what Stas needed.
Ordyntsev only got up for a few things - to eat, to provide medical services for the prince, and to memorize the general layout of the palace and the location of the guards as best as he could.
Nobunoro's negligent attitude towards his captive gave Stas free rein. However, the prince himself would not have gotten far. His wounds had healed somewhat, but full recovery was still far away.
Stas learned where the corridors led, where the complex's gates were, and how to get to them in the shortest time possible.
The time when he wasn't being bothered, Stas spent on feeling the energy flowing within him more clearly.
Thanks to careful inquiries, it became clear that Stas's prana perception system was very different from that practiced by young warmasters.
Normally, an apprentice can clearly feel only his prana core, and the channels emanating from it very vaguely. This is because prana is indistinguishable in the senses of the people of this world. It has been with them since birth, so they don't notice it.
Later, they learn to perceive the world in a new way, like blind people.
The situation of the earthling was completely different. He immediately received almost the entire network of channels flowing in his body, but he also could not concentrate on them for long.
The cold, alien prana made his senses go crazy and his body to uncontrollably shudder with some primitive terror.
And how did his body even come to associate prana with snakes? Ordyntsev mentally cursed each time he looked into this writhing abyss of crawling reptiles.
Yes, he understood that all these creatures were not real, but a mere twist of his consciousness, trying to explain the flowing energy with understandable images.
Only it didn't make it any easier for him.
Someone might ask, why Stas didn't turn to the prince with this problem? After all, their civilization had probably encountered a similar problem over the centuries of its existence.
The answer was simple. They might have encountered this problem, but no one could deny that the locals' only solution in this case might be a pyre. As they say, a simple, cheap, and reliable remedy that helps in almost any unclear situation.
Why the pyre? Something made Ordyntsev feel that the snakes flowing through his prana channels were too close to the vague concept of "forbidden art."
And he didn't want to risk it on such a delicate matter. Let the fools take the risks, the wise choose caution.
When the earthling better understands the rules of this world, then he will share more information with the prince.
That's why Stas was now struggling not so much to see his prana, but to perceive it calmly.
And he even made some progress in this direction. It's no wonder, after two whole weeks of effort.
Thus, a whole month has passed since his arrival. A month in a world that desperately wants to kill him.
Time in the castle dragged on slowly, especially for someone who had nothing to do. Therefore, Ordyntsev spent all his free time training his prana.
He was sure that his perseverance would pay off in the future.
This world, like any medieval place, respected strength. The verticals of power in such times had not yet solidified strongly enough to become unbreakable.
Only the strongest and most influentual royal, or in this case, daimyo clans, would be able to step into the Modern Era, but that was still far away.
However, Stas did not only engage in training. Having lulled the attention of the servants with his inaction, he purposefully listened to their conversations.
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
It's not as fun and easy as it might seem at first glance. To lie motionless, picking out bits of useful information from their endless gossip and discussions about something like some Mayuri-chan's backside.
Moreover, Stas followed not one, but several conversations at once, remembering the necessary information at the right moment.
What was Ordyntsev looking for from all this flow of useless data and discussions of this or that samurai, merchant, and noble?
One single word that could perfectly explain all his actions - dirt.
Stanislav needed leverage, pressing on which he could obtain even rarer and more exclusive compromising information.
As unpleasant as it is to admit, Stanislav was far from a novice in this vile and cruel business.
A couple of times in his life and career as a doctor, he had to convince people of his rightness by threatening to reveal certain confidential information.
Ordyntsev always believed that the competition in the best clinics of the capital was too high to be squeamish about even such unpleasant means. But was this true, or did he just convince himself of it?
In any case, the first thing in this business is to identify a target, or ideally several, from which to choose the one who will be least able to resist.
This is a crucial point on which the further success of the entire enterprise depends. An incorrectly chosen victim can behave entirely differently from what the "hunter" wants, ruining all the pre-made plans.
This approach is somewhat similar to the hunting tactics of wolves on herds of deer. The herd can easily trample a lone wolf, smearing its gray hide on the forest litter.
Moreover, if the wolf goes against a healthy and adult deer, its chances are frankly not great.
That's why wolves diligently and patiently pursue the herd, looking for the weak, the young, or the too-old, who cannot keep up with the rest.
And if some deerling gets distracted and lags behind, its chances of survival plummet.
In human society, it's exactly the same. Take any job that requires several people. There will always be those who will do any tasks better and faster than most; if, on top of that, they also behave correctly, we call them "leaders."
It's worth digging under the leaders only in case of a big win, because there are always much more preferable victims.
The next, often the most extensive category, let's call it "ordinary workers." These are people who honestly do their work and often meet the deadlines set by management. They have transgressions, but not as overwhelming as the "hunter" needs.
And finally, the last category, which is the least protected. A certain group of outcasts, easy to enter but hard to get out of. Let's call them "underachievers." These people may be behind in many things - in doing their work, interacting with peers, or even just taking care of themselves.
Their entire life is an eternal chase for the majority. They only see backs, even though they try to catch up with all their might.
Life does not forgive mistakes. Management often, seeing weakness, does not strive to support such people, helping them.
On the contrary, let them make a mistake and the underachiever will be buried under an endless pile of not even his own, but rather other people's problems.
Any complaints from them will be met with indifferent words: "It's your own fault. You never manage to do anything, that's why you got into such a mess. Work harder, maybe you'll become something worthwhile."
But all this is a lie, because no matter how hard this person works, they will never get out of this "pit."
The only way out of such a situation is to move to another job, because attempts by the underachiever to catch up and regain public opinion on their side will most likely result in nothing.
But what if there is nowhere to go, or the salary is too large to ditch the job, or maybe even a mortgage or family hangs overhead?
All that's left is to grit your teeth and try to do at least something, enduring the mockery of management and the contempt of other employees.
Centuries change, but human nature remains the same. What could be more pleasant than laughing at someone who has sunk up to their neck in shit while sitting waist-deep in it yourself?
Fool Yuchi, bungler Yuchi, slacker Yuchi - this name could be heard more often than others, which inevitably attracted Stas's attention.
Like a shark sensing blood from half a kilometer away, Stas smelled the scent of weakness and failure.
"Did you hear that Yuchi was sent to clean the latrines again?" One of the servants, telling something funny, loudly slapped his belly. Stas had long noticed this "big mouth" and listened to him especially attentively. "They say he slipped and almost fell down; only by a miracle did he manage to hold on. But one foot he still managed to step into..."
"Ha-ha-ha," he was supported with merry laughter. "I would even have visited him at that moment, to add to his workload."
"You really cracked me up, Kido! Oi, my side is hurting from laughing."
"I bet if they do kick him out, he'll go straight to the despicable ones."
"And then, even they would kick him out!"
The despicable were a caste of people on whom lay duties like cleaning toilets, burying corpses, working as executioners, and other humiliating things.
Apparently, there were also very small factions of elite executioners. Among them could even be nobles. But they only beheaded, all other tortures, leading criminals to the place of execution, maintenance, and the like fell on the shoulders of the despicable. Therefore, it could be confidently said that most executioners were despised by society.
Amusing, but their untouchable work could even be easier than that of ordinary residents of this world, but one should not think that it cost them nothing.
The life of an untouchable was worth even less than that of a peasant. Stories about a samurai going about his business, deciding to test the sharpness of a newly bought sword on an untouchable who did not manage to get away in time, acquired a frightening reality.
Needless to say, falling into this peculiar caste equaled social death.
Stas had seen this Yuchi. A perpetually hunched, not particularly handsome man about thirty. A frozen expression of apprehension on his face, twitchy movements in anticipation of another slap or hit.
What allowed the "underachiever" Yuchi to still hold his ground? After all, the competition for a position in the palace was serious.
The answer is trite - family ties.
Nothing new under the moon, and old Roku, being a senior servant, succumbed to the family's pressure and dragged his good-for-nothing younger brother under his wing.
For some time, Yuchi really did serve as Roku's personal assistant, overjoyed at this.
Only the younger brother was so useless and even harmful to Roku that very soon he was shamefully kicked back to the regular servants. And further mistakes only exacerbated his situation.
And even though the senior servant still kept his brother in the palace service, he dumped on him the most ungrateful and dirty work.
Yuchi eventually surpassed all other candidates in his worthlessness potential.
The final point in the initial choice was made by the last rumor that Yuchi had again managed to mess up, accidentally breaking some vase in the empty guest part of the palace.
Not a particularly serious offense, Yuchi had bigger ones, but it was enough to initiate a conversation between the earthling and his target.
Despite all the plans, the man needed personal contact to understand what this servant was made of.
And what could be better for this than a sharp and maximally harsh shake-up?
*****
"Hey! Are you even looking where you're going?" Stas knew exactly which way Yuchi would go this evening. Tired and broken, he was returning from cleaning the latrines again.
Abruptly stepping out from around the corner, Stas immediately received the bowed head of the much shorter Yuchi right in the chest. Although the servant barely took any damage, he still staggered back a few steps, blinking stupidly.
Stas, as planned, sprawled right on the floor, loudly and furiously cursing.
He wasn't afraid to raise his voice, as there were few people in this part of the palace at this time.
"Master!" Yuchi finally came to his senses and rushed to help Stas get up. However, Ordyntsev angrily pushed him away, scorching him with a furious look. "How dare you touch me?! Do you even know who I am?"
"Please forgive me, mas…"
"Forgive?" Stas bellowed, advancing on the frightened retreating servant. "You'll tell me what to do? Me?! The personal healer of the prince of the great warmaster clan of Sumada?! How dare you?"
"Master." The servant's eyes desperately searched for a way out of the situation and found none. Ordyntsev wasn't about to give him even a chance for that.
"What's your name, servant?" Stas's tone of contempt was commendable. Unsurprisingly so, especially after he had been treated similarly by others so many times.
"I am unworthy Yuchi. Master, I beg you…"
"Shut up," Stas cut him off. "Yuchi-Yuchi, something familiar. It's right on the tip of my tongue…"
Ordyntsev feigned thoughtfulness and tapped his chin with his finger.
"That's right! So you're that same Yuchi? The main disgrace of the entire palace of Nobunoro-sama? Even I've heard parts of servants' conversations about you. You're a celebrity, Yuchi! How clumsy and stupid you are is already known not only by the servants, but also by those much higher than you."
The vague phrase was meant to let the servant's imagination paint the most dreadful scenario.
"You know senior servant Roku?" Stas's face was crossed by a smirk. "I heard he secretly told other senior servants that you, Yuchi, are no longer his brother, and he won't protect you anymore. Know why he did that?"
Yuchi's eyes bulged and threatened to pop out of their sockets. At that moment, it seemed to him that everything that was happening was a terrible dream. He tried to wake up, but nothing worked.
"Why, why did he say that?!"
"It's you who broke that vase, right? You shouldn't have done that. I heard it was one of the favorites of..." Stas cut himself off. "Such a misstep could have hit Roku-san too. Although it's no longer important now."
"Why not important, master?" Yuchi asked in a trembling voice. Apparently, the horror that was happening hit him hard enough that he lost touch with reality a bit.
"Why, why," Stas mimicked. "Because I'm going to Nobunoro-sama right now to tell him how you hit me with your head in the chest and broke that very vase. Maybe you even wanted to attack a guest of the very son of the daimyo? Anyway, I can tell about your other transgressions…"
"Have mercy, master!" Yuchi's legs gave out, and he collapsed to his knees, then crawled to Stas's feet. "Please don't ruin me! No, anything but that. I'll do whatever you want!"
"What can you do, Yuchi?" Stas snorted, yet stood still, thereby igniting hope in the servant writhing in terror.
"I'll do anything you want, master! I beg you! Give me a chance!"
"Anything, you say?" Yuchi's tear-filled eyes reflected Ordyntsev's serpentine smirk. "You know, you can indeed be useful to me in some way."