Lying in a hospital ward turned out to be surprisingly boring. It seemed that Stas should be happy with not being threatened with death, robbery, or torture for the next few days. But humans are such creatures, capable of getting used to even the worst of circumstances.
The problem was that, unable to read, Ordyntsev had nothing to request to alleviate the boredom. And since everyone's relations with Jishin were strained, the second prince, as well as Kensei, couldn't visit Stas either.
However, Stas didn't want to see that belligerent scoundrel anyway.
Ordyntsev had to spend three days being treated with Hideo Sumada's medical techniques. During this time, the healer forbade Stas from using prana. As it turned out, a full prana core causes excess energy to spread through the body, increasing the speed and quality of regeneration.
Fortunately, albeit reluctantly, they allowed him to bring Leviathan along. She flatly refused to let Stas go off who knows where by himself.
Her master's current condition greatly saddened the snake, so she aggressively slithered around the hospital futon, hissing and scaring the servants. Stas even had to calm her down, as the warmasters might not appreciate such behavior and casually dispose of an overly loyal pet.
One can't overlook the fact that Leviathan was growing smarter. If upon arriving in this world, she was barely different from ordinary snakes, truth be told, not the smartest of living beings, now she was more like a four or five-year-old child.
In other words, a little girl who loves to play, occasionally be naughty, or, say, seek adventures that might lead her into a bit of a scrape.
It was a significant help that Levi understood human speech. More precisely, she understood the local language. Attempts to communicate in Russian led nowhere.
This meant that the transfer to this world had given language knowledge not only to Stas but also to his pet. It turned out that the local energy didn't even try or didn't know how to distinguish whether the being in front of it was sentient or not.
Unfortunately, the ability to read and write was not included in the package.
The hospital itself was located deep within the citadel, so everything around was made of stone. However, through the entrance, the moans and painful screams of the wounded could be clearly heard.
A war was currently underway, albeit one that had lost its intensity. As a result, the frontlines in real time continued to spew out new cripples or seriously injured warmasters. According to snippets of servant conversations, there was a shortage of medicines, so some of the fighters had to endure without them.
As Stas understood, the Sansa were to blame for looting a caravan that was transporting painkillers from afar.
Now, what Hideo was talking about when he mentioned his busyness made a little more sense.
"Well, young man," the old healer once again passed his green-glowing hands along the earthling's body. "You are now healthy enough to vacate this ward. Of course, I would advise you not to strain your leg and arm too much for the next couple of months. The bones are restored, but they are still fragile."
"Thank you," Stas took the trouble to bow. Healing three quite serious fractures in a matter of days? Wasn't this magic! "Excuse me for imposing, Hideo-sama, but after such a long rest, I'm tired of doing nothing. You mentioned something about my future teacher? When will I have the chance to meet them?"
"Hmm," the old man pondered. "Yes, I did promise something like that. Unfortunately, all healers are currently occupied, so there is no one I can... Wait a minute!" Hideo suddenly smirked crookedly. Considering his wrinkled face, it looked quite eerie. "There is one who can help you with the basics. Follow me; he's currently busy with his - Kami forgive me for using the term - 'projects'."
Without any more words, the old man briskly walked off, so Stas had to hurriedly grab the peacefully dozing Leviathan and wrap the snake, annoyed by such abrupt handling, around his neck.
In the meantime, the healer had already moved far ahead. For his age, the old man walked very energetically and actively.
The torches, apparently for the sake of economy, were placed far from each other – plunging some of the corridors into impenetrable darkness where the next torch burned in the distance.
Realizing that there was an entire mountain mass above your head was, to say the least, uncomfortable.
Every now and then, the corridor branched into new offshoots, also disappearing into the darkness.
Occasionally, people emerged from this abyss, purposefully going about their business.
Leviathan smoothly slid under his clothes, comfortably coiling around his body. Ordyntsev himself puffed tiredly, carrying these extra kilograms.
'It's fine,' the man reassured himself. 'Soon, you'll grow way, way bigger, and then it'll be my turn to ride on you. Then you'll get a taste of what I'm going through now.'
After their duo emerged a couple of times to the outer part of the citadel, it became clear that they were descending.
"I must warn you," the old healer slowed down and turned reluctantly to Stas. "The one I'm going to introduce you to is far from the best option for you. However, there are no others. When the war ends and the load decreases, I'll be able to provide you with a different sensei. But for now, we'll have to work with what we have."
"What's the problem?" Stas became wary. He had a distinct feeling that someone was trying to palm off some 'dud' on him with honest eyes.
"It's hard to explain what the problem is right away," Hideo drawled mysteriously. "Maybe the problem was with his father, or maybe I wasn't vigilant enough. Who can figure it out now?"
'Not any clearer.'
"Here we are." They approached a sturdy-looking door, which the old man pushed open and entered.
"So, the disappointment of my grey hair and the dismay in my eyes, what are you up to this time?" The old man's manner of greeting made Stas a bit taken aback.
"Grandpa?!" Someone in the depths of the room bumped into something, and it fell with a clang and broke. Hissing and barely audible curses followed.
"Grandpa, grandpa," grumbled the old healer. "Though I sometimes doubt it. How could such a grandson come from my son? If you confess that you're not related to me, I'll even forgive you!"
Stas, closing the door behind him, entered and looked around, then his eyes widened in surprise.
The room was vast, with low, gray ceilings. But unlike the corridors, here burned real oil lanterns, hung on the walls and on hooks above some of the tables.
Some of the furniture was lined up along the walls, on which stood dozens of clay vessels and amphorae. Among them, there were also items made of cloudy glass in the form of small flasks and crudely made coiled tubes.
There were also cabinets with rows of scrolls or just heaps of papers.
'A lab, primitive, but a lab! So, Hideo's grandson is something like an alchemist or scientist? Then why does the old man call him a disappointment?'
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What irritated Ordyntsev's fastidious nature to the core was the disorder.
The mess was a topic in itself. One glance at the chaos around was enough to understand that organization was not a concern for the owner of this wealth.
This didn't escape Hideo's notice, who was visibly inflamed with anger.
"Good-for-nothing! Didn't I tell you to clean up here? What is this pigsty, oh gods of day and night?!"
"Grandpa, but I already cleaned up…"
"Really now?!"
"It just all got...messy again," the young man's excuses died under the healer's withering gaze.
But one should take a moment to consider the appearance of the grandson.
A young, awkward youth of about twenty-two. Tousled brown hair that clearly wasn't friends with a comb, aristocratic paleness due to rare departures from his stone "dungeon cell." Clothes hung on him as on a coat rack, and a hint of stubble completed his image.
Right now, this young man, quite grown-up by local standards, nervously shifted from foot to foot, afraid to raise his eyes to his formidable grandfather.
"You're such a headache," the old healer massaged his nose bridge, as if hoping his grandson would miraculously disappear in that time. "Even here, you've managed to embarrass me. Anyway, Kizashi... Look at me when I'm talking to you!"
The frightened young man immediately straightened up in front of his grandpa.
"Ahem, so... I brought you Shiro-san. He is the savior of the young prince and a subordinate of Izuna-sama himself. Do you understand what that means? Though, who am I asking? Naturally, you don't understand a thing, good-for-nothing. In short, your task is to tell healer Shiro everything he asks about the art of healing, including about the art of warmasters. Anyway, you..." the old man stopped, but Stas got the point.
'You won't tell him anything too secret. Quite the gift I've been given. On the other hand, I'll never believe it's that simple. Considering what this lad works with, he's likely far from foolish. So, what's the problem?'
"What else?" Hideo continued, talking to himself. "Ah, yes. Unlike you, you numbskull, Shiro-san knows the value of his time and efforts, so if he tells you something, do it immediately! Do you understand, my gray hair's disappointment?"
"Yes, grandpa. As you say, grandpa." The young man bowed obediently, depleted by his relative.
"Now leave us. I need to talk to Shiro-san."
After bowing, Kizashi quickly retreated to the next room adjacent to this hall.
Hideo sighed heavily and surveyed the laboratory with a weary gaze.
"Shiro, I would like to ask you something," the old man switched back to his normal tone, dropping the honorific he had used for his grandson's sake.
"Yes, Hideo-sama?"
"Kizashi might be a bit of a mess, but he's a smart lad. Nevertheless, because of... his defect, he couldn't become a proper warmaster. Ah, if our ancestors saw him, they would choke with shame. Where have you seen a fighter from the Chiyo family who hasn't killed a single lousy ashigaru in his whole life? But that's not the point."
The old man paused. It was clear he found it unpleasant to speak of this, but he felt he had to.
"The family has cut ties with Kizashi. If it weren't for me, all this," the old man gestured around the laboratory, "he wouldn't be able to maintain. He won't be able to convince the council of elders that his tinkering is worth anything. Even I sometimes doubt it, though he occasionally comes up with interesting results."
"Would you like me to look after him?" Ordyntsev helped the old healer say it.
"Yes," the master nodded. "Kizashi will teach you everything he knows. And you will help him survive in our world. I've lived a long time and can see those who can survive anywhere. You're one of them. That's an important quality in our tough world. My old friend, Ishiro, was also known for it. Maybe that's why he lived so long. I hope my grandson will thrive with you, too."
"I will look after him," Stas nodded seriously, and it was clear that his interlocutor was delighted to hear this. "But why do you think he couldn't become a warmaster? Is he sick?"
"Oh, what am I doing," the healer slapped his forehead theatrically. "I've been chatting with you too much. Well, I need to run. You'll figure it out from here." And without wanting to hear anything else, Hideo hurriedly left the room, leaving a bewildered Stas alone.
'There I go, taking on another burden on my long-suffering neck,' Stas grumbled mentally, heading to the room where Katashi had disappeared earlier: 'First, the clan head with his absurd desire for his kids not to slit each other's throats. What do I have to do with it, huh? The father himself is lousy, yet I have to deal with it? No, he wouldn't talk to his sons, bang his fist on the table, show paternal persuasion. No-o-o. Here's your royal decree, Shiro, get to work. I hope that Izuna gets wasted somewhere far away in the war. But there won't be such luck for me.'
The adjoining room turned out to be surprisingly cozy. The fireplace crackled rhythmically, casting a warm orange light around. Besides the fireplace, there were also a couple of oil lamps.
The stone floor was covered with mats and a couple of pillows. In the center stood a low table, at which Kizashi knelt, doing something with a teapot.
"Kizashi-san," Stas announced his presence and almost rolled his eyes when the startled youth nearly spilled the tea from the shock.
That was already telling – usually, warmasters always kept an eye on their back.
"Shiro-san! Sorry, I didn't notice you," Kizashi blushed, looking away. "Excuse me, would you mind sharing some tea with me? Grandpa says I brew it very poorly, but I can't offer you anything better."
"With pleasure," Stas nodded, smiling reassuringly.
Kizashi also smiled back timidly. Overall, the youth's behavior reminded Stas of an abused puppy, so often beaten by life that he's afraid to accept even the smallest kindness. Yet his positive nature still hoped for the best, so he kept nosing around trustingly.
This duality was evident in the young man's movements. Clearly, a lack of social interaction had damaged his social skills.
Stas gratefully accepted the cup of tea and inhaled its aroma, watching Kizashi closely.
Although Stas had to drink tea with Jishin, the prince wasn't very fond of following traditions to begin with. Here, however, one had to act precisely as the local customs dictated.
Noting that the youth transferred the cup to his left hand, Stas mimicked him exactly and then carefully sipped the drink. The healer's grandson did the same.
"Thank you for the delicious tea." Stas had learned in his first few months that politeness meant almost everything in this world. Even if you were about to slit someone's throat, be kind enough to do it politely and with all the traditions observed.
"Oh, what are you saying, Shiro-san," Kizashi chuckled. "I'm embarrassed that you address me like that. I'm just Kizashi, and you're Shiro-san, who saved the prince himself!" He said the last part with eyes glowing with admiration.
In the next second, the youth's eyes bulged, and he stared at the emerging Leviathan. There was a silent pause when the alchemist looked with amazement at Levi, who was irritated by life and some of its representatives.
"What a beauty! Can I pet her?" With these words, the lad, without much thought, reached out directly to the snake's snout.
"I don't think that's a good idea," Stas smirked crookedly, miraculously managing to catch Levi's snout before her jaws clamped down on the outstretched hand. "She doesn't like strangers very much."
Considering Levi's venomous bite, the fate of one disorganized alchemist hung by a thread. On the other hand, perhaps he could have developed an antidote with his healing arts?
"Oh, sorry, Shiro-san," Kizashi apologized, quickly withdrawing his hand.
"It's okay, just don't do that again. And Kizashi," Stas looked the young man in the eye firmly. "Let me decide how to address you, okay?"
"I didn't mean anything by it, Shiro-san!" Kizashi, the healer's grandson, got scared. "Just..." He fell silent, not knowing what to say.
"Relax, Kizashi," Stas waved his hand, smiling again. "We're going to be working together for a long time. You and I are about the same age, so I think we can do without the honorifics."
"If you think so, Shiro-sa... Shiro."
"Good, Kizashi," Stas nodded in satisfaction. He could work with this. "I must admit, this is far from the best topic for a tea conversation, but it's better we clear it up right away. I spoke with your grandfather, and he told me about you very vaguely. Moreover, he mentioned that the path of warmaster is not to your liking. Could you tell me more about that?"
"Yes, you're right, Shiro. But it's not that the path of warmaster is not to my liking, it's that I cannot walk it," the young man sighed sadly.
"Really? And what's the reason? An illness?" Stas asked sympathetically.
"No, if I were ill, then my grandfather would have healed me. He's the best healer in our clan! Did you know that he fought alongside Ishiro himself, the former clan head? Their trio was truly legendary. And then I came along and ruined everything."
Katashi gathered his thoughts.
"You see, our family has always been renowned as healers. Each Chiyo
brought knowledge and innovated techniques that were passed on to the next generations. Besides being some of the best healers, we were also excellent at fighting. But I can neither fight nor be a healer. An irony of fate. A healer who is afraid of blood and wounds and freezes with fear at the slightest danger!" The young man lowered his head in shame, afraid to look at his interlocutor and see disgust on his face.
And his fear was understandable.
A warmaster who is afraid of blood? A warmaster who can't kill? Not only that, a warmaster who freezes in the face of danger?
In this cruel world, Kizashi was doomed.
If the young man had been born in some minor warmaster clan, he would not have survived to this age. The clan simply would not have spent resources on such a defective member.
And this was Kizashi's first stroke of luck – to be born into a great clan that could afford to keep the likes of him.
On the other hand, "keeping" can mean different things. Some fates are so "good" that you'd climb into a noose yourself.
And here came Kizashi's second stroke of luck – having as a relative one of the heroes of past wars, Hideo Sumada, comrade and friend of the legendary Fierce Ishiro.
This connection allowed him to pursue the path of an alchemist and still learn to be a warmaster and healer, despite the contempt of the other clansmen, even if he would never use this knowledge.
But the problem was that with the death of the already elderly Hideo, no one would take care of the old master's grandson.
And here occurred Kizashi's third stroke of luck – he met someone whose name would be on many lips in the future.
However, no one could have guessed whether meeting the mysterious Shiro was luck or, rather, the greatest misfortune of his life.