"So, this person is important to you?" Io inquired thoughtfully after listening to Stas's report.
"You are absolutely right," Ordyntsev placed a scroll with a list of names on the table, which Io began to leaf through.
For convenience, Stas had created a table where names and surnames were listed in rows, with occupation and other parameters in columns.
The brows of the Shadow Stone's leader rose slightly as he looked over the table with increasing interest.
"Exquisite," he finally concluded. "How simple."
"Excuse me?" Ordyntsev hesitated. He had already reviewed the list of names and found no one who could provoke such a reaction from such a serious man.
"Is someone on the list exceptionally useful or, conversely, dangerous?"
"No, I'm not talking about the people listed in this scroll," Io said, waving the paper lightly. "But about something else. Shiro-kun, tell me, where did you get this method of... um, compiling information? It's hard to surprise me, but such a brilliantly simple solution is truly impressive."
Realizing what he had done, Ordyntsev very much wanted to slap himself in the face.
A common and obvious thing to him, such as data systematization in the form of a table, could be nothing short of a revelation for the locals.
"I accidentally came up with this thing for recording my training."
"Really?" Io didn't show distrust, but Stas understood it would be better to back up his words.
"May I have a sheet of paper, a brush, and some ink?" Having received what he asked for, Ordyntsev began drawing the simplest of tables, into which he started filling in dates in rows, and abbreviations for exercises, like push-ups, squats, and so on, in columns. In the boxes, there were numbers and sets.
In doing so, he wasn't lying at all, because he, indeed, diligently kept statistics. In the future, once the wars were over and their plan had succeeded, Ordyntsev hoped to analyze it seriously and develop a unique training system tailored exclusively for warmasters.
Moreover, Stanislav, without any embarrassment, gave a name to this new subspecies of intelligent humans: Homo sapiens Bellator, or the warring man.
Stanislav recorded all these thoughts exclusively in his native language and hid deep in his hideout. As he hoped, if he managed to return to Earth, this knowledge would cause a real revolution.
However, before that moment came, it was necessary to figure out how to endow ordinary people with prana, since the existence of this energy had not been scientifically proven on Earth.
"This is how I keep track of my achievements and training," he finished, listing the benefits to Io.
"What a loss," the official concluded sadly after a brief silence. "We throw ourselves into battle time after time, losing the brightest of us in wars. Whereas they could have brought much more benefit if they had used their skills for something other than this very war."
Stas's face continued to display respect while he tried to understand Io's point.
"Do you think, 'What is this senile old man talking about?'" the head suddenly chuckled, interrupting Stas's thoughts.
"Why old man?" he continued, as if reading the interlocutor's mind. "Because I am already forty-five years old. For people in our trade, it's a lot. I might even say too much. People of this age start asking inconvenient questions, like, why do we keep fighting battle after battle? But why did I bring this up now? Simply put, I've thought a lot about your words. About your desire to stop wars." Stas had never seen Io so contemplative.
Ordyntsev listened carefully.
"I think Jun told you, but I never liked wars. That's why, at the first opportunity, I switched from the battlefield to this office. And I don't regret it one bit. If you can give other warmasters a chance to trade an early death for dying in old age, then I will support you with all my heart."
"I'm delighted to hear that from you. I'm sure my comrades will feel the same."
"But before I let you go, there are two things I want to say. First," Io raised a finger. "Kansei faces no threat from the Sumada clan. Only the four of us know about him, right? You, me, Jishin, and Shin?"
Stas nodded. He had been forced to tell Shin about Kansei, so he wouldn't accidentally bury the man.
"Let it remain that way. I'll make sure the information from this merchant doesn't backfire on him. I'm certain among those he exposed, there will be those who will inadvertently take the blame in the eyes of the Mizuno."
Io unfolded a second finger.
"Second, Shiro-kun, only a few months remain before the war begins. As I've said, I'm very old, so I happened to see one war with my own eyes and a couple from the walls of this office. The sad truth is that wars always start unexpectedly, and even the best of us may die first," he said, hinting at some underlying story.
"I know that Jishin-kun sent you to deal with supply problems. But if you realize that the war has started, then, no matter what, run. Run as fast as you can towards the Citadel because the war will chew you up and spit you out without even noticing."
"Thank you for your concern." Ordyntsev nodded solemnly.
"Don't mention it," Io smiled faintly. "I admire your way of life, Shiro-kun. How you approach and solve your problems. I'm sure your star is yet to shine, but it's striving with all its might to do so. Spend these last months becoming stronger. I would not want to hear about your death."
With a silent hand signal, Stas, bowing deeply, exited.
He felt conflicted.
On one hand, Ordyntsev understood that any words from a person like Io should be considered solely from the point of view of benefit. On the other hand, it seemed that in his concern for him, the head of the Shadow Stone was sincere.
Stanislav pushed these thoughts out of his head. Io was right. He should focus as much as possible on gaining strength.
Fortunately, he had ideas on where to move forward.
One year and three months had passed since the end of the war with the Sansa clan.
*****
The Mizuno warmasters' squad arrived at the prearranged position. It was here that the Sumada treasurers' convoy, carrying a large sum of money, was supposed to pass.
Nevertheless, the Mizuno commander couldn't shake a bad feeling.
The Shadow Stone had been acting suspiciously toothless, as if... preparing intensively for something, which led to the withdrawal of some squads from other directions.
This boded ill.
As if on cue, a dense fog descended on the forest where they were stationed, reducing visibility to just a couple of meters ahead.
The Sumada struck with almost perfect force and precision.
The commander learned of the attack exactly when he saw the first vague movement through the fog.
His body, honed by hundreds of encounters, parried someone's skilled but not fast enough strike and, with a fluid motion, first broke the arm and then, with a water blade that sprouted from his hand, split the attacker in two.
His fighters didn't need orders to know what to do in such a situation. Each was an experienced saboteur with years of fieldwork and hundreds of kills behind them.
It was hard to see through the fog, but it was clear they were vastly outnumbered. They had been expected here, and the trap closed successfully.
That meant the only correct tactic in such conditions was immediate retreat.
Every surviving Mizuno unleashed a series of water techniques designed to disrupt the coordination of enemy forces and rushed to break through.
The water clan's warmasters spared no prana channels, tormenting their bodies and pushing through as much prana as possible.
With a roar, trees were swept away by dozens of rivers, waves, whirlpools, and water tornadoes that sprung from nowhere.
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They faced unyielding earthen walls, pits, gorges, and stones that were trying to stop and crush the audacious intruders.
Pure chaos ensued in the poor forest, typical of any battle involving warmasters.
The fog, thickened by the abundance of water techniques, swirled into bizarre figures from the numerous shock waves of colliding techniques and prana-charged blades, hands, and feet.
This was one of the warmasters' problems. Their speed, strength, and variety of techniques negated any tactical finesse their commanders might have.
It was impossible to know exactly what a particular group of warmasters could do and would surprise with. Maintaining any semblance of formation was out of the question.
Nonetheless, there were exceptions among the combatants.
The Mizuno commander, a warmaster close to reaching the supreme rank, fought fiercely but not with the aim of retreating. On the contrary, his actions only drew the Sumada forces around him to give his subordinates time and a chance to withdraw.
The mighty water jets effortlessly exploded rocks and boulders trying to encase him in an indestructible prison. Water mist sought to penetrate the skin and reach the insides, and the rain that began to fall from above turned some droplets into the sharpest needles.
Takeru was ready to accept his defeat but was not going to drag his subordinates to the grave with him.
Unlike the Sumada, the Mizuno were not so cruel to their clanmates. Perhaps the reason for this was the relatively small difference between the main and subordinate families. Even marriages between these two branches were not uncommon, which was unthinkable for the Sumada.
From this perspective, it's understandable why the Mizuno had far more subordinate clans than the Sumada. Unlike the earth warmasters, the water ones did not treat those who were weaker as dirt.
Or at least they didn't do it so openly.
Due to Takeru's reckless act, the Sumada were forced to focus all their attention on him alone. Nevertheless, they didn't rush forward to their deaths.
They circled around, provoking him into new techniques, draining his prana reserves, and preparing to strike a death blow.
Takeru understood that as long as he had prana, he would live, but once it ran out, it would be his end.
At that fateful moment, he intended to use one of the forbidden water techniques and take as many enemies with him as possible to the afterlife.
But what he didn't expect was to be attacked when he was about to end this game.
Dozens and dozens of snakes bursting out of the ground were no surprise to Takeru. He already knew who had attacked him that day.
In recent months, Shiro the Serpent had become notorious in these secret wars for mystically knowing all their moves and plans.
The Mizuno leadership was frantically searching for traitors, executing one spy after another, but there was a feeling that the Serpent's network of agents was only expanding.
Furthermore, his rare strikes almost always resulted in severe damage to the combat capabilities of the Mizuno forces.
Takeru was also unsurprised by the weakness that suddenly weighed on his back, causing his prana to drain away rapidly.
The commander gritted his teeth in disappointment. His attacker had planned everything, striking at the exact moment needed to take the necessary prana for the last technique.
"Come out, Serpent!" Mizuno shouted furiously, scrutinizing the flooded and ravaged landscape. "Fight fairly!"
But his opponent had no intention of making such a foolish move.
The ground where Takeru stood flared with purple light and began vigorously draining the last of his prana.
Mizuno managed to create water beneath himself and stand on it, but the rocks bursting to the sides, glowing with the same mystical light, not only resisted his waves but also began to drain his prana from them, dispersing the technique!
Yes, by straining, Mizuno overpowered the stone, but it took far more prana than he had expected.
And no matter how hard Takeru peered in, no matter what threats he made, his despicable and cowardly enemy refused to show himself.
Even if his body signal appeared somewhere - the human body does consist of water, after all - it immediately changed location, dodging Mizuno's water techniques.
And prana continued to drain due to the Serpent's treacherous techniques.
Then, as if to mock him, a small, inconspicuous stake that emerged from the ground pierced his heel. The tip didn't penetrate deeply. But it was too late when Takeru realized it was coated with some fierce poison.
There was no choice.
Yes, he couldn't end it in style, but he refused to be taken prisoner.
His hand flew to his neck, intending to end his life, when unknown forces suddenly paralyzed the warrior's body.
It took only a second for Mizuno to overcome the inexplicable influence, but that second was more than enough for his opponent to suddenly appear next to him.
Emerging from the ground, the Serpent looked terrifying.
The purple cloak of prana-devouring technique that flared around him immediately clung to Takeru, causing him to groan and sway.
And when the attacker deflected his blade and placed his hand glowing with purple light on his chest opposite his heart, Mizuno finally lost consciousness from exhaustion. The controlling water, having lost its will, flowed downwards.
Ordyntsev's hand, grabbing the enemy's armor, prevented him from falling into the churning water.
"Well done, Leviathan," praised Stas, as the snake that used telekinesis at the right moment. "You're definitely making progress."
Levi briefly stuck her head out from under the ground, pleased, before immediately hiding it back.
The surrounding warmasters burst into joyful shouts. Stas had specifically ordered them not to interfere to capture the commander alive.
With the involvement of other warmasters, the chance would have been much lower.
It was also good that Takeru, whose name Stas knew, decided to kill himself with an external technique, not an internal one. Otherwise, Leviathan's telekinesis would have been useless.
Ordyntsev didn't need to fuss, as the advanced warmasters were already giving orders to their subordinates. The wounded were quickly loaded up and carried away from the battlefield. Some techniques had delayed activation and could explode even five to ten minutes later.
And the mess of water, chunks of stone, and overturned earth was a dubious place for a hospital.
The wounded and surviving Mizuno were also carried away, though they were first shackled in prana-draining manacles.
Of course, they were not as advanced as the ones Jishin wore, but unlike the prince, the prisoners had to be unconscious all the way.
Stas walked calmly while the surrounding warmasters watched him with tense glances.
Since the prince sent them and the Serpent to fight against the Mizuno saboteurs, five quickly passing months had elapsed. Their daily life during this time looked like training and very rare "business trips."
And during this period, the Sumada warmasters had plenty of opportunities to be convinced that there was something not quite right with the prince's friend.
For instance, no one knew the true size of this man's prana reserve.
Of course, the sensors reported certain values, but in real combat, the Serpent could use much more prana than was declared. Some speculated that he was actually hiding his true strength and that in that battle with the supreme warmaster, it was he who did everything.
Others whispered that the rumors of his fight with the dragon were pure truth. And that he was the victor in that battle, but to hide such a strong trump card, the clan leadership decided to lie.
As if that wasn't enough, after every battle, all enemy warmasters who couldn't provide valuable information were taken by him for some gruesome research and experiments.
And if, at first, such an attitude outraged the Sumada, then later they radically changed their point of view, although they continued to regard the Serpent's personality with tension.
Ordyntsev stopped in front of six wounded Sumada. Only a couple of them were conscious.
"Koro, Tetsu, come here." The advanced warmasters, with heavy sighs, extended their palms to Stas, onto which he placed his left hand.
The earthling began carefully scooping up natural energy from the surrounding space, mixing it with the prana drawn from his subordinates, while releasing a greedy ether on the resulting mixture.
Over the past months, he had refined the technology he had uncovered earlier, increasing its efficiency and reducing concentration requirements.
He had also spent a lot of time enhancing the most effective earth techniques with ether. All those rocks and walls glowing with purple light were from this category.
But let's get back to the ritual.
Having waited until the ether produced enough life force, Ordyntsev waved his right hand and directed six almost invisible ether threads straight into the bodies of the wounded, through which he sent the life force.
In that very second, right before the eyes of the onlookers, the wounds on the lying warmasters began to close slowly. The warriors who were conscious clenched their teeth in pain but managed to refrain from screaming.
When the advanced warmasters ran out of prana, their subordinates stepped forward one by one.
Of course, they didn't give up all their prana, but they handed over a significant portion.
Nevertheless, it still wasn't enough, so an additional ten ordinary warmasters had to be used.
However, when the healing was complete, the wounded were able to stand and move on their own.
For the very act of this healing, the surrounding fighters were willing to forgive their commander all his oddities and madness.
Even if it turned out, as many suspected, that Shiro the Serpent was actually tormenting and then devouring the prisoners, it wouldn't particularly upset anyone.
After all, he was eating the enemies, right?
Yes, he was more like a serpent than a human, and yes, he had a frightening character and habits. But if you were even mortally wounded, there was always a chance to survive and recover.
That was worth a lot.
And thanks to the captured and killed saboteurs, each of them had already earned high esteem within the clan.
Meanwhile, as Shiro the Serpent dispersed the technique and cleared his body of residual ether and natural energy, on the border of Chinetsu, the country where the fire warmasters resided, a movement of huge masses of people started.
Armies of samurai, ashigaru, and squads of Hizoru warmasters, which had stood at the borders for the last few months, began to move, crossing into the smaller countries neighboring Hogoro.
At the moment, they had been promised that they would not be touched, as the fire warriors wished to battle only the air wielders. Therefore, the "buffer" had no choice but to grant the right of free passage. But everyone knew that when the great countries clashed, the small ones suffered.
At the same time, in the forts and strongholds of Hogoro, alarms were urgently sounded, and warriors hastily donned armor and assembled into units.
And though other countries had not yet entered into this grand melee, only a few days remained until that moment.
Merchants, agents, or couriers – anyone who could run carried this terrible news further to towns and villages, where, like a virus, shock and panic spread.
Mothers grabbed their children and hurried them into their homes. They didn't know why they were doing it, as their country hadn't even entered the war yet, but some deep instinct drove them forward. Hide, play dead, become useless – hysteria was rapidly gaining momentum.
This is what the common people felt.
But samurai and warmasters had very different thoughts. Their eyes flared with a grim fire, and their hands, calloused from weapons, gripped their instruments of death even tighter.
Their gazes, thirsting for glory, deeds, and wealth, were greedily directed toward other countries.
But only a few of them understood that instead of all the above, they would receive only mud, blood, and death.
These individuals were mainly experienced samurai and warmasters aged thirty-five to forty years old.
Veterans smirked at the excitement of the youth, seeing in them nothing more than cannon fodder. Terrible images rose in their memories, but the most frightening thing was that they were ready to descend into that hell once more.
"Why?" someone might ask.
It's simple. In previous wars, these veterans were just as young, snotty, and clueless. Their battles then were filled with dread and incomprehension. They survived only by a miracle, every second fearing and fighting for their lives.
But now, many of them had long been advanced warmasters, and some had even become supreme.
This time, it was their turn to unleash a nightmare on their enemies and show them the full depth of hell.
And this brought them to an uncontrollable euphoria. To transform from victims into predators – their dream was soon to become reality.
Another world massacre threatened to unfold, but the world only greedily welcomed it.