"Levi, quit trying to break free! Leviathan, stop splashing water around! You sneaky snake, don't even think about biting me! Have you seen your new fangs, huh? And the venom?! Thinking of poisoning me, you ungrateful cord? Though, what cord are you, more like a plumbing pipe!"
Leviathan, realizing that hissing fiercely and trying to snap at her master's hand was a bit too much, reluctantly complied, but she didn't give up trying to escape the man's grasp.
Truth be told, by the look on Ordyntsev's face, he didn't believe in his pet's repentance for a second.
As Stas had anticipated, the snake's calm didn't last long. When her eyes turned completely white, and the old skin finally peeled off, Levi entered the mode that Stas had called "little possessed cord" back on Earth.
When Levi had "those days" on Earth, she would frantically and very angrily crawl around the apartment, rubbing against everything she could find, apparently trying to shed the itchy skin.
Needless to say, her mood during those moments was the worst.
But if Ordyntsev was ready to deal with a small, non-poisonous snake, now he had to handle a three-and-a-half-meter monstrously poisonous magical reptile.
It's important to note, a very unhappy reptile at that.
As if that wasn't enough, due to all the malfunctions in her body, delayed shedding, and illogical growth rate, the snake's skin somehow refused to slide off nicely.
Trying to help her almost resulted in multiple bites, as it was clearly painful for Levi.
A solution was found – softening the skin with a bath, after which it could finally be peeled off.
The whole procedure was supposed to take place in the farthest bathhouse, so that no one would disturb them. Servants brought several basins of warm and hot water and then hastily retreated, casting cautious glances at the snake that followed them with her eyes.
As stated before, the plan was simple: help the skin soften and calmly peel it off.
As if echoing her mood, Leviathan flatly refused to get into the water, although she used to do it with great pleasure before.
Ordyntsev himself, after all the preparations and efforts, was not going to give up either. In recent days, he had endured enough fear from the sheer number of dangers, and the stubborn snake was the last straw.
And a battle ensued, not for life, but for broken and discarded basins.
Leviathan didn't shy away from the most underhanded and secret techniques of snake combat. Several times, she wrapped around the ceiling beams, refusing to budge, three times, she splashed basins with her tail, and finally, a couple... dozens of times, she smacked Ordyntsev with her tail across the face and other body parts.
And keep in mind, snake's body, no matter how small it may seem, is almost entirely made of strong muscles. So, every such sharp blow made Stas furiously curse and redouble his efforts.
What saved Stas was the fact that he was still Leviathan's beloved master, so even though she hissed intimidatingly, spewing curses in snake language, pretending she was "about to bite right now," she still did not use her teeth.
However, this did not prevent Ordyntsev from feeling like Hercules wrestling with one of the heads of the Lernaean Hydra in "hand-to-hand" combat.
In the end, the snake changed tactics completely and wrapped around the man's body, not letting herself be peeled off.
So Stas had to climb into the improvised bath with Leviathan, irritated and panting.
After a while, Ordyntsev decided that things turned out not too bad. The warm water pleasantly relaxed his aching bones and muscles, and after a couple of minutes, the snake's head cozily settled on his shoulder.
"Don't even think that I forgive you," Stas grunted, then twitched when the snake's tongue tickled right in his ear. "Alright, don't spoil the moment. Let's call it a draw."
The snake, once again confirming the existence of some kind of consciousness within her, relaxed and settled down.
"Master," the frightened voice of a maid sounded at the door, pulling the two out of such a blissful nirvana. She was clearly afraid to enter. "Master, are you still alive? Oh Kami, spare me from a terrible death..."
"Yes, no reason to worry!" Stas shouted, reassuring the apprehensive servants. Apparently, the legendary duel between the earthling and his pet had made quite an impression on them.
After a couple of hours of soaking, the second act of the play came. The process was complicated, nerve-wracking, and, one might even say, intimate.
"Come on! Crawl! Faster! Just a little bit more, I've almost got it all!" Stas panted, red-faced from the strain of all his muscles.
In front of him, Leviathan hissed desperately, writhing with her entire body. Both participants worked with all their might, determined to finish the process.
A "stocking" of scales slid a little further off the wriggling Levi, who crawled in the opposite direction from the man. The latter, clinging to the top of the shed skin, tried to help his favorite peel off the rest.
By all logic, her skin should have been soft and easy to tear. But magical energy had altered its durability, making it akin to strong rubber.
So, both participants had to exert maximum effort to peel off at least ten centimeters of old skin.
One last pull, and Stas fell on his back, clutching the whole "stocking," while Levi, making an awkward lunge, flew straight into the wall and then collapsed down, hissing curses.
"What a mess," Stas lay back on the floor, breathing heavily. "What are we going to do if you grow even bigger?!"
Leviathan said nothing, but Stas heard a soft rustle of scales, followed by a characteristic "splash" as something climbed back into the bathtub.
"Right you are," Stas groaned as he got up and headed back to the same tub. "After such 'fun,' I need another wash! Now move over, you've taken up all the space."
"Sha-sha-a!" which translated to "I took it first!"
"Hiss all you want."
*****
Jishin Sumada quietly drank tea alone. In recent months, he had this opportunity, unlike the rest of his life, which, however you look at it, could not be called joyful.
All his conscious life, he had been preparing and training to be an example to all other members of the clan.
'The main family is main because it must be the strongest. It sets an example for the rest of what a true Sumada should be. Don't disappoint me, son. Don't disgrace the honor of the Sumada clan and the main family,' his father's words echoed in his mind for as long as he could remember.
His first childhood toys were little training katana and tachi. When he grew up, the wooden toys were replaced by iron ones, albeit blunt.
The Sumada bloodline coursing through his veins allowed him to drag heavy objects that ordinary children wouldn't even be able to move.
This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.
He didn't remember that time very well. Much better he remembered what followed, for that's when training began. It was harsh and merciless from the point of view of the residents of modern Earth but quite ordinary for this grim world.
The child remembered well the indifferent and cold eyes of his multiple sensei, who viewed him more as a piece of very expensive and well-bred meat than as a person.
But Jishin didn't whine. He was very well explained that for the knowledge he received simply by virtue of his birth, other warmasters were ready to betray and sell their relatives and children.
The endless gauntlet of training, sweat, blood, bamboo sticks, and bruises came to an end at some point. Sumada preferred not to remember those years. There were hardly any happy moments in them.
At the end of preliminary training, he was thirteen. That's when he received his first rank, that of an ordinary warmaster. The grease for the gears of warmasters' war.
By the laws of the clan, he became an adult. It was considered such since even a child warmaster could easily kill a dozen adult men.
However, by and large, Jishin did not know how strong he was.
Yes, from time to time, under the watchful eyes of the elders and senior family members, he had to spar with various young men, who were often much older than him.
And he mostly came out as the winner. Sometimes it was even funny, when his opponents could be almost one-and-half times his age.
And when he finally faced other ordinary warmasters about his age, the gap between them stood tall.
Where he had already mastered the stone element, awakened his bloodline, knew several techniques, and could control his body, other clan members, even from the main family, were barely mastering their first techniques.
Jishin was proud of his achievements, for he had not let his father down! The boy thought that now he could take a break from the insane pace of power growth.
Then came the first missions, full of corpses, both enemies and clan members, burning villages, shattered cities, and deadly battles between high-ranking warmasters. At that point, Jishin Sumada completely lost even the chance to rest, focusing entirely on his development.
Since then, returning home, he spent every free minute honing his skills.
Though he was protected by bodyguards assigned by his father, in the clashes of warmasters one can never be sure of anything. The variety of techniques was so great, and the warmasters' love of hiding them so strong, that one could never know what the opponent had prepared this time.
Therefore, Jishin clenched his teeth and trained, studied techniques, and spent all his free time on the ranges, practicing strikes and moves.
And it bore fruit. By the time he was sixteen, he had reached the level of an advanced warmaster and was confidently moving further. His enemies ended their lives in reliable stone clamps, confidently grinding their bones.
His name began to gain weight and sound increasingly often, and it seemed that everything was going well. But with each passing day, he began to notice more and more that something was wrong.
Admiration and pride, at some point, were replaced by fear and suspicion.
The Sumada clan was warlike even by the standards of this dark world. In general, warmasters very rarely engage in peaceful professions.
The problem was that money was not of great interest to the mages of this world. Techniques and training secrets - those were the foremost pursuit imprinted in the minds of warmasters.
And such knowledge was not disclosed even to the most loyal allies and could not be bought with gold.
Peaceful clans had to go under other, warlike clans. And they paid them for protection with their techniques and people.
Obviously, few wanted such a fate for themselves.
Hiring another warlike clan for their protection was the same as employing a fox to guard the henhouse. And then be surprised that the fox ate half the chickens and strangled the other half.
And as mentioned above, even in such circumstances, the Sumada stood out unpleasantly with their thirst for power and battles.
Around their country, there was no place where they had not participated in yet another little war. After each such bloodshed, a stream of beautiful captive female warmasters would flow to the Sumada lands. Soon they would become concubines of the Sumada, to give birth to new soldiers in place of the fallen.
It was logical that in such a clan, power was the main measure of success.
Only, without noticing it, Jishin unwittingly crossed that threshold when envy clouded the minds of his clan.
From a promising warrior, he became a monster that grew so rapidly that even his own were afraid of him.
But it hurt even more to see the wariness and anger that flashed in the eyes of his older brother. Izuna was supposed to become the head of the clan after his father's death. For this, he trained like a madman, but the gap between him and his younger brother only grew. This wounded his pride more than a sharp knife and made him see Jishin as a threat and an opponent.
The latter tried to talk to his brother and explain himself, but Izuna did not want to listen to him. It was precisely the behavior of the heir that played an essential role in the attitude towards Jishin in the clan.
Unable to defeat him in strength, Izuna undermined his political influence, discrediting him in the eyes of the public.
As if that wasn't enough, dissatisfied with his father's policy, various opposition families started coming to Jishin more often. Of course, the prince irritably sent them away, but the right people had already reported these meetings to the clan leader.
Yes, he believed his son's words that he was not to blame, but how long could such a situation continue?
In the end, by the time he was seventeen, gradually approaching the title of supreme warmaster and being the most promising warrior of the new generation, Jishin had absolutely no friends.
For some time, some children from the main family tried to contact him, but Jishin's obsession with gaining power, plus the difference in their status, put an end to all these attempts.
Who knew that shameful captivity, terrible wounds, and artifact shackles would lead to the first real friend in his life?
Shiro was different from everyone he had encountered before.
If someone asked Jishin what annoyed him to the point of trembling and what he liked about Shiro, the answer would be – equal treatment.
Sumada, as a person who grew up in a medieval society, judged people according to their social status. This meant that no matter how smart a peasant was, he could not rise above a certain bar in his eyes.
The same situation worked the other way, but now from a peasant's point of view towards samurai. A peasant will never be able to see a samurai as a friend or treat him as an equal. Deep-seated fear, instilled from childhood, simply won't let him do it.
There will always be a leader and a follower.
Shiro, though he called himself a peasant, looked the same at everyone. Whether it was a miserable servant or the son of a daimyo, they were equal in Ordyntsev's eyes.
Such an attitude at first incredibly infuriated Sumada. How could he be equated with some servants?!
However, at some point, he was surprised to realize that, in this case, the way Shiro treated him was what he had been looking for.
A friend cannot be someone who belittles himself and is weaker.
Friendship is only possible between equals, so Sumada thought. Shiro, by some strange chance, did not consider himself below anyone else, which attracted Jishin.
All the more painful was the fact that his first friend was an ordinary person.
Though the difference in their age was small - Shiro seemed to be about eighteen years old, while Jishin was seventeen - the healer sometimes behaved like a life-wise man.
Sumada, who was bored with his peers, enjoyed talking to the "peasant," which was absolutely impossible.
Their jokes and jibes would have made the rest of the Sumada seethe with venom, but Jishin literally enjoyed the opportunity to behave as he wanted.
Like a daimyo dressing as a poor man to get equal treatment in a game of chess, Jishin, on the contrary, threw off the garments of pretense, becoming himself.
Jishin took Shiro's desire to become a warmaster as a foolish whim. He didn't really expect the healer to succeed. However, to brighten the slowly dragging days, he decided to take on this adventure.
But days passed, and Sumada didn't know whether to rub his eyes or check his head.
The way his friend wove a web of lies and threats around the palace scared and fascinated him. And when he returned with the consent of the head of the Shadow Stone to help, Jishin simply could not be amazed anymore.
And as if wishing to surprise the prince even more, Shiro did not stop there.
The speed with which he learned the art of warmasters was astonishing.
Only a few months had passed since he began, and, despite being too old to develop prana, the healer had already managed to master several essential steps.
He astonishingly easily succeeded in perceiving prana, then, albeit more slowly, he managed to accelerate it, and finally, in the last few days of the third month, he occasionally started pulling off strengthening.
True, for clansmen, such speeds were not surprising. Jishin himself went through all the above steps even faster.
But the healer was not a clansman!
The prince's mind almost froze when he imagined what Shiro could have achieved if he had been trained from an early age.
Such lost potential!
There were all chances that Shiro would have stood on par with Jishin himself, if not higher.
And these thoughts filled the lad with deep melancholy.
With what joy would he have fought his new friend in a real confrontation. Strength against strength, techniques against techniques. Only in such battles can you become stronger and overcome your limit.
But due to cruel fate, this will never happen, because the healer will never be able to catch up with him.
The only person he would call his friend will never be able to share with him the joys of absolute power.
However, even understanding this with his mind, Jishin, looking at how the healer moves forward by leaps and bounds, involuntarily wondered if Shiro could ever reach the impossible.
In any case, miracles do not happen, and very soon, Shiro will face the limit of his reserve, which would simply stop his advance.
Now, sipping tea, Sumada knew that everything would be decided tomorrow. He will either become free or die trying.
The start of the escape was planned almost three months after his capture, or just over a month and a half after his first friend in life said that the head of the secret cell of Akaru City would help them.
The next day was supposed to be the festival of the Moon God Tsukiyomi. It was then, from evening until late at night, that people would celebrate and roam throughout the city.
The perfect time to get lost among the crowds in the ensuing panic.
Everyone was looking forward to the festival, but few knew what horror this celebration would turn into.