'Well, worm, let's do it. Believe me, I've never wished anyone as much good as I do now. It'll probably shock you, but I want to heal your body even more than many of my patients. And if I succeed, I promise I'll find the most delicious and fertile soil to release you into!'

Filled with these thoughts, Stas attempted to direct them inward, mixing them with the slowly flowing prana.

Frankly, he had no idea how to do it correctly. Too much here was based on sensations and guesses, which were individual for all warmasters.

For example, if Ordyntsev's prana appeared as a sea of serpents, then Kizashi felt his energy like warm sand.

Ordyntsev doubted that his sensei could provide anything more than he had already said.

To his amazement, his first attempt to transmit emotions to the sea of little snakes was a success!

The serpentine bodies wavered and began to pile on top of each other, breaking their previous orderly flow.

Chaotic streams initiated their movement somewhere around the heart area, gradually expanding like ripples on water towards the abdomen and limbs.

The sight made the man freeze, fearing he had done something irreversible, but as time passed, nothing terrible happened. There were no unpleasant sensations. His body did not seem to notice any oddities.

The chaos of the streams disappeared after a few seconds, having completely dissolved.

'Apparently, this is the way warmasters shape and direct their prana. Although, I didn't give my energy any purpose, so it didn't know where to go. Let's fix that.'

"Healing Palm," the earthling enunciated clearly, poking his fingers at the worm. This time, he did everything as Kizashi had told him. Concentration, the right mindset, an outpouring of emotions into the prana, and directing the energy to his hands.

However, seeing with his inner vision how some of the serpents obediently moved in the right direction, Stas was so delighted that he lost concentration, and the reptiles scattered again.

But the man did not despair. On the contrary, his entire being shook with excitement and the desire to improve the result.

The alchemist quietly left, not saying anything more to avoid distracting the focused Shiro. He, better than anyone, understood the state of his student.

Inspiration doesn't come by too often to risk disturbing it with careless words or actions.

*****

Shiro's first day of training was followed by a second, and the second day smoothly flowed into the third. Initially, Kizashi was delighted with the diligence of his new student, but gradually, this joy turned into wariness and then something akin to slight apprehension.

There was something eerie about it all.

Shiro was abnormal, but his abnormality became especially apparent the more you interacted with him on serious matters.

The existence of warmasters inevitably weeds out the lazy and promotes the most talented and persistent in life. Those who put in little effort during training quickly perish, unable to continue their lineage and pass on their genes.

This selection process slowly but surely makes warmasters stronger from generation to generation.

Yet even so, Shiro stood out even among the most zealous training enthusiasts.

Cold and focused will, without even a hint of weakness or emotion.

The healer who came to their clan did not just learn diligently. He learned perfectly.

Every free minute, not occupied by sleep, was carefully planned and spent on something beneficial for the guest.

To better realize this, one must carefully look at Ordyntsev's schedule.

After waking up, he would immediately tidy himself up and go for breakfast with Kizashi. Servants brought them food directly to Hideo's grandson's laboratory, so at the same time, Stas learned writing and diligently memorized various characters, asking questions about the script.

They finished breakfast with tea, after which Ordyntsev sat down to train Healing Palm. This could last all day until sleep without a single break or respite.

In the evening, before bed, he again diligently repeated the characters he had learned with Kizashi earlier, writing down unclear points on a separate scroll to ask about them later.

Maintaining such a pace, Shiro took no breaks, was not distracted, and did not delay. He worked with the precision of a heartless and merciless - even to himself - machine.

It seemed that even if the whole world collapsed, the unmoving figure of Ordyntsev would remain on its ruins, unwaveringly seeking to learn the secrets of the universe.

However, while he appeared impassive on the outside, within him, the blazing flame of thirst for knowledge never waned, scorching his insides.

The only pauses Ordyntsev allowed himself were to study writing and ask Kizashi about various facts from the life of warmasters. And he did all this exclusively at lunch or dinner, combining the intake and assimilation of material food and food for the mind.

Stas knew that eating and learning or reading at the same time was not good for digestion, but the reason to ignore this rule was too important to pay attention to such nuances.

The earthling understood very well that without a thorough knowledge of the culture of his new "friends," he wouldn't get far.

Without understanding the culture, it's impossible to notice weaknesses and gaps in your opponents' defense timely.

And there would be no shortage of opponents, as at the moment, the entire world's population, except for one or two people, presumably belonged to them.

Such a terrifyingly rational and clear approach filled the alchemist's soul with both admiration and uncertainty.

There was something wrong with it all.

In the culture of warmasters, training and moving forward were associated with a kind of mystery and sacred path that a person follows all their life.

Ordyntsev, however, perverted the usual sacred rite, turning it into something else.

Take, for example, how Shiro trained Healing Palm. He sat opposite the worm and became still.

The problem was that, one way or another, no person can remain completely still. Blinking, unintentional sighs or exhales, scratching – the list goes on and on. It's impossible to control such moments completely.

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But this did not apply to the healer. During those moments, his body was so motionless that it seemed as if a statue or a corpse was sitting in the chair.

And what about that never-blinking serpentine gaze with which he unceasingly watched the halves of the worm?

Kizashi was ready to swear that once, having glanced accidentally, he saw a fly land on the earthling's pupil, and the latter didn't even blink!

At that moment, Kizashi instinctively looked away, and when he finally turned back, there was no fly, but the alchemist was sure he hadn't imagined the terrifying sight.

And what a source of distress was the pet snake?!

Kizashi was sure that demons themselves were at the origins of the creation of that creature. Otherwise, he could not logically explain where it got such unnatural vindictiveness and the ability to penetrate through damn walls.

The young alchemist soon realized that the healer's pet had not forgotten that attempt to pat her, so now any movement of the lad was accompanied by a watchful and anticipatory gaze.

Once, after he lay down to sleep and woke up in the morning, he was met by the spectacle of his own slippers, which had acquired dozens of characteristic holes, filled to the brim with an all-corroding poison.

When the irritated Stas was distracted by Hideo's grandson from training and pointed Leviathan's nose at the tattered slippers, Kizashi read in the gaze of the demon, who only pretended to be a snake, a final decision about his own fate.

Now Kizashi had to sleep with one eye open and set traps in the room and doors as if he were in enemy territory, not at home. Leviathan, on the other hand, was forced to carefully inspect any surfaces, looking for suspicious liquids and powders.

After crawling into such compositions a couple of times, she then itched all day as if she was about to shed her skin.

The cold war against the alchemist had its downsides, as did the war against a magical snake capable of crawling through stone.

In the latter case, too, things were not so simple. Kizashi caught the "little snake" a couple of times when she was sneaking through the walls, reinforcing the stone around her with prana infusion.

Of course, Levi could get out of there, but only with significant effort. This forced Stas's pet to develop her newfound ability even more vigorously.

The latter, in turn, had a positive effect on her magical endurance and strength.

And while his teacher and pet competed in who could more ingeniously harm their neighbor, Stas himself hardly noticed the days fly by. For the first time in his life, he was engaged in such a fascinating activity.

The man was only slightly surprised by the remarkably secretive behavior of Kaede, the yokai who followed him all the way from another city. Stas thought she would be more active, but there was neither sight nor sound of her.

Then, he completely forgot about everything, distracted by the development of magic.

The realization that he was the first earthling to reach the mystical energies in this world stirred his blood and pushed him to new achievements.

And such a thorough approach could not fail to yield results.

At the beginning of the second week of training, his palms flashed with a greenish light for the first time.

Admittedly, the glow was weak and constantly flickered as if it were a bulb about to burn out. Needless to say, the effectiveness of this technique was practically nil, other than illumination.

But even such a modest result could be considered a serious achievement.

Yes, Kizashi managed to master Healing Palm on just the fourth day of training, becoming one of the first in his generation of healers. But by then, the young grandson of the clan hero already had a decent prana reserve for a young warmaster and could create several elemental techniques at once.

Here, however, a clanless man managed to activate the technique in just a week of training. Stas himself, knowing that he had started training just a few months ago, was even prouder of himself.

In the world of warmasters, complex techniques often required weeks and months to master fully. And to be considered a master of some of them, years were already necessary.

Encouraged by his success, Stas pushed even harder in his training, sacrificing some sleep.

Kizashi and Leviathan involuntarily paused their war a bit, concerned for the state of the earthling, who was slowly starting to develop dark circles under his feverishly shining eyes.

And then, in the third week of his training, he managed for the first time to fully connect the halves of the worm and even restore its former activity.

Delighted, Stas ordered a large tub of soil with growing grass on top from the servants, into which he planted the lucky worm. Needless to say, he even named it "Jim," after another no less heroic worm.

Judging by the actively wriggling Jim in the soil, he was happy with his luck compared to the several hundred less fortunate relatives.

By that time, the stream of serpents obeyed Stas much better, maintaining an even formation and constant speed and emerging through the prana points on his hands.

The soft greenish glow, as before, caused Ordyntsev many emotions, but now he kept them under control.

This scene surprised Kizashi, making him appreciate the speed at which Stas was learning the art of warmasters.

Now, essentially, it was necessary to strengthen control so that the technique would work more stably and with less energy loss. Besides, it was worth developing his prana reserve. The crumbs he had might be enough for worms or insects, but already for animals, it might not suffice.

Fortunately, the same training of Healing Palm and constant redirections of prana also had some positive effect. And Ordyntsev did not forget about the technique of prana acceleration and body strengthening with prana.

But despite all the successes, a certain discovery caused Stas Ordyntsev great concern.

After all, his entire future life depended on it.

*****

'What the yokai is this nonsense?!' Ordyntsev, his face twisted with anger, turned in front of the mirror, examining his back and the back of his hands: 'How could this have even happened?!'

The mirror itself was frankly small and judging by the carved frame, it was a luxury item. It was surprising even to find it in a man's room.

Leviathan, sprawled on the sunlit side of the futon, didn't understand the reason for the man's rage.

So what if the master's scent had become much less human and much more serpentine.

After all, that was only an upside!

And could his skin, which had become even paler, be considered a downside? A little more, and her beloved master would be as white as her own beautiful scales.

And what about a couple of stylish whitish scales that had grown on the man's back and hands?

Leviathan already thought of the master as perfect, but here, her admiration reached a new level.

'Master would suit a long tail much better than these ugly limbs he walks on now.' Leviathan even decisively nodded her head, repeating the gesture she had so often seen among the bipeds.

Unfortunately, the master stubbornly refused to recognize his luck and now was pacing in front of the mirror like a wounded and extremely angry beast.

'Damned prana and everything associated with it! Why the devil am I getting serpentine features?!'

Ordyntsev leaned in and looked at the iris. Indeed, it had taken on a suspicious greenish hue, replacing his usual brown eyes with some dark murk.

Stanislav shook his head and sat gloomily on the futon, crossing his legs. Serpentine coils trustingly pressed against his back, as if trying to encourage and support.

He continued to look into the small mirror on the floor, as if hoping that everything he saw would disappear like a terrible dream.

Mutations and other changes were not uncommon in this world. The Kiatto clan could tell about it better than anyone. And they weren't the only ones with such features.

The problem was that any such radical change in appearance could tell knowledgeable people too much, namely, that its owner had some kind of lineage.

Owning a lineage in this world was very, very expensive.

And Stanislav did not yet have enough strength to be able to protect himself from numerous greedy eyes.

Since warmasters more often gave birth to people with a higher level of prana, clans did not hesitate to steal children or women from their enemies to strengthen their own blood. Lineage could also be attempted to be stolen this way.

Sometimes, a similar thing could happen to one of the men if the prize was too valuable.

Of course, for now, he could keep these changes a secret, but eventually, he would have to tell about them.

The main thing was to establish some sort of presence or power by then.

And that meant he had to train even harder.

Moreover, he didn't want to become a damn serpent. He couldn't help but recall movies like "The Fly," where a scientist researching teleportation merged his DNA with that of a fly.

Ordyntsev grimly smiled. He had already realized that the acceleration of changes had come due to the increase in his prana reserve and, therefore, the total amount of this energy inside his body. And the further this process went, the more serious the consequences would be.

However, there was nothing to be done.

Stanislav vaguely suspected what had caused such mutations. Although the moment of transfer to this world was blurred, and he saw almost nothing, Ordyntsev still managed to notice some glowing line that connected him and went off somewhere.

Now he suspected where exactly the other end of this "rope" went. In that case, the sudden increase in Leviathan's intellect no longer seemed so surprising.

The green eyes narrowed. He needed to accelerate solidifying his position in the new world. And the earthling already had a couple of arts in mind for further research.

Among them was one that, under a number of conditions, allowed killing even the strongest representatives of this world.

An art whose lethal nature had earned it a fearsome reputation back on Earth, and here, its renown was no less thunderous.

Dynasties ended because of it, armies fell powerless, and great politicians and generals perished.

The art of poison, although not very approved by warmasters, was still not prohibited, unlike among the samurai.

And he'd be damned if the poisons he concocted didn't make their mark across this accursed world.