This conversation happened before Stas began his experiments with the obtained artifact of chaos.

The "ray of destruction" technique used by Ordyntsev was too noticeable due to its characteristic black color. And the all-devouring black cloud that rose above the explosion was pretty suspicious as well.

Of course, Kenta might not know it or have even heard that the Deathbringers had such techniques.

After all, using techniques of that level was tantamount to voluntary transformation into a vampire, as the ether would severely contaminate the user's body.

Nevertheless, Stas was not one to let the situation run its course.

"Shiro-san," Kenta greeted Stas, finishing up skillfully peeling potatoes for their upcoming dinner. The supply of ready-made food in the scrolls was finite, after all.

The knife, a blurred shadow, flickered through the warmaster's fingers, swiftly removing the unwanted skin from the whole tuber. As it turned out, skills honed in slicing open throats could also be adeptly applied to peeling vegetables.

Nearby, a kettle quietly bubbled over the fire, and beside it, cleanly peeled potatoes lay on a cloth.

Off to the side, Leviathan, almost biting her tongue in concentration, was using telekinesis to skin and gut the caught rabbits. The ready meat pieces zipped through the air, one after another, dropping into the kettle.

At the sight of this assembly line, Stas nearly licked his lips but suppressed the vague desire to eat. He needed to be serious right now.

"Kenta-san," Stas said, creating an earthen chair beneath himself with a light flick of his finger. The grass continued to grow on it, adding softness and comfort. "I would like to discuss the recent events with you."

"Of course, what would you like to know?" another potato joined the growing pile.

"What is your opinion of what you saw?"

"Abomination," the corners of the supreme's lips twitched in distaste. His perpetually melancholic facial expression gave way to pure revulsion for a moment. "I cannot even find the words to describe the filth we encountered in that basement. On the way, I even bought new boots and trousers. The old ones I burned."

"I understand you perfectly," Stas nodded. "And what do you think about the casualties among the estate's residents?"

"Fully justified," Kenta's voice regained its firmness, and he gave Stas a serious look. "That monstrosity had to be destroyed. No matter what."

"I'm glad you think so," Stas nodded to his thoughts. "And now, I would be glad to hear your opinion on the technique I used at the end of the fight. What do you think of it?"

The knife in Kenta's hand froze, and so did Leviathan, who was busy cleaning the meat.

Unexpectedly, the supreme found himself almost between the Serpent and his loyal pet. Kaede and Mari were surprisingly timely sent on reconnaissance.

The sound of branches rustling in the wind seemed deafening in the ensuing silence.

"So, that is what interests you," Kenta slowly put down the knife next to the potatoes and began stirring the stew with a long spoon, his gaze closely following the forming froth. "That wasn't your lineage, was it, Shiro-san?"

Stas and Levi watched his every move with immense tension. Yes, Kenta was terminally ill, but he had spent decades in never-ending war and had such an array of lethal skills that a mere thought of it was frightening.

"What if I say you're right?" Ordyntsev did not show that the question affected him in any way, but the atmosphere grew even heavier.

"Then I..." Kenta paused and sipped the stew, thoroughly rolling the liquid on his tongue. "Then I would say it changes nothing. In this situation, nothing depends on me anymore."

"Really?" Stas frowned, not understanding what Rinako meant. "Could you clarify your point?"

"Of course," Kenta picked up the knife again. "After we left Midjo lands, I spoke secretly with my daughter. I asked her if she realizes who her master is. Using forbidden techniques is a grave crime. I thought I could persuade her."

Kenta sighed heavily.

"I was wrong. My own daughter told me, her father, that if I even think about causing you, Shiro-san, any harm, she will personally do everything possible to kill me."

The man chuckled sadly.

"She said it doesn't matter to her what techniques you possess. And since it doesn't matter to Mari who you are and what you do, it doesn't matter to me either. If that's my daughter's choice, I'm ready to accept it."

"I can understand your decision," Stas acknowledged, to which Kenta nodded silently. "In turn, I would like to inform you that I've found a new path, completely different from the Deathbringers'. I have no reason to kill and drain other people to maintain my youth and strength."

"I believe you," Kenta smiled at a surprised Stas. "It's simple. I've never heard of the Deathbringers being able to create something like that," he waved his hand, implying the destruction ray. "And you haven't changed at all after such a powerful technique, though I've been watching you."

"I see you're also knowledgeable about Deathbringer techniques?" Stas joked, but Kenta just shook his head.

"To my shame, I tried to contact them to cure my disease," Kenta's voice hinted at regret. "And I even managed to find them. They are much more willing to communicate with various famous renegades. There are even rumors they accept particularly strong ones among us into their ranks."

"And what happened?"

"They said they couldn't help me." Kenta threw a potato down harder than necessary. "They claim their 'thirst' considers the crap drying out my channels as part of my body, so I can't be healed that way."

"How interesting," Stas mused, earning an irritated look from Kenta. Few people want to hear "how interesting" about their deadly disease. "But I actually wanted to talk to you about it."

Kenta looked attentively at Stas.

"I've thought a lot about how to cure your disease. It's a fascinating and unusual case in my practice. And after some reflection and experiments, I managed to devise a treatment."

"Wait," Kenta darkened. "If you're saying this just because of my loyalty, then don't bother. As I already said..."

"Kenta-san," Ordyntsev interrupted him. "Don't insult me. I'm a healer and..." Stas fell silent, unsure of what to say. In this world, not only did they know nothing of the Hippocratic Oath, but Stas himself had been very liberal with it in recent years.

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The supreme's words, as much as Stas didn't want to admit it, hit a nerve.

"No, as I said, I've devised an effective treatment for your problem. Remember a couple of weeks ago, I took your hand and used the Healing Palm? Then, I applied a new approach to a couple of your affected prana channels. And you know what? Some of them healed."

Stas faltered under his interlocutor's intense gaze.

"There's only one problem. The disease has affected your prana channels unevenly. Those inside your body are less damaged than those near the skin."

"What does that mean?"

"It means," Stas didn't know how to soften the following words. "That if I manage to cure you, you'll never be able to create techniques again. Only those prana channels that allow you to strengthen and accelerate the body will remain. But you'll have to forget about techniques, as all external channels will be destroyed."

Kenta remained silent. Stas did too, not knowing how the supreme, for whom the pursuit of developing his magical arsenal was everything, would react. Perhaps he would even take such an offer as an insult?

During this time, the supreme began to laugh softly until his chuckles turned into open laughter.

"Shiro-san, I thought you'd announce something truly grave!"

"But your techniques..."

"To hell with them," the supreme snorted, wiping away a tear. "I've been slowly dying for several years. For a chance to survive, I'm willing to make even such sacrifices."

"Alright, but I must warn you, while I have the concept of your treatment, I need to work out the details. I advise you to continue limiting the use of prana as much as possible so that your deeper prana channels receive as little damage as possible."

"As you say, Shiro-san," Kenta cheerfully began tossing potatoes into the kettle. Next, fiery spices followed. "Thank you very much for your work."

"It's too early to thank me," Stas smiled kindly. "When you're cured, you can repay the favor."

*****

'Attempt number two. Damn my luck. I'm sticking my head into the maw of a lion or something even worse again.' Ordyntsev, with a hint of fatalism, examined the artifact lying in the runic circle.

The others stood by, ready to knock him out again if necessary.

The thought to contact Minoru involuntarily arose in Stas's mind, but he irritably dismissed it.

Not only had their last conversation infuriated him, but Kaede also swore that her mentor had passed on to her all the methods of protection against chaos known to yokai.

This meant that contacting the lamia was pointless, as she herself hardly knew anything.

And Stas had no doubt that if he spoke to her, she would start preaching something along the lines of 'I helped you, and now you can't even accomplish this.'

Ordyntsev shook his head and looked suspiciously at the container.

'Could this filth have learned to whack my brain even through the box? No, it's just my thoughts.'

The earthling took a deep breath, stepped forward, and reached for the lid. After which, with a curse, he stepped back.

'I'd be damned if I go near that filth alone again!' What he was about to do, Stas utterly disliked. But he simply saw no choice.

He knew that he would later deeply regret it.

It was a lowly and terrible decision that he might regret for the rest of his life, but he could not avoid it.

He had to stick his head into the true abyss.

*****

"Oh, my dear Shiro-kun has arrived! Don't stand on the threshold, come in, come in!" Takehiro Satoshi hospitably spread his arms as if offering a hug.

But Stas would rather hug a rattlesnake than this person.

"Hey, Ryu, scoundrel! Bring me and my dear guest the imagawayaki we bought. They make them nearby, so delicious that you'll lick your fingers."

Stas just nodded silently.

A few minutes later, the door opened, and Ryu entered.

Stas turned around, and his gaze immediately froze on the face of the apprentice. More precisely, on his disfigured eye socket, which, after being struck by something akin to a whip, no longer held an eye.

Ryu's single eye met Stas's eyes, and Ordyntsev easily read the burning hellish hatred within the apprentice.

His message was clear without words, as it was because of Stas that Ryu was punished.

"Stop standing there, you lousy brat," Satoshi waved off his frozen assistant, gleefully biting into the sweet pastry with his rare teeth. Popping, the filling of adzuki bean paste flowed out, staining the old man's gray teeth a brownish-burgundy color.

The runic master took sincere pleasure both in the suffering and hatred of his assistant and in the sweet pastry melting on his tongue.

Bowing, Ryu almost ran out of the room.

"Shiro-kun, you should eat. It's quite tasty," the old man advised.

But Stas had no intention of touching the treat. Eating anything in Satoshi's house meant courting death.

"Thank you, but I'm full," Stas replied, and the old man just smirked understandingly.

"And what brings you here? Surely a very important matter."

"You're right," Stas cautiously lifted and placed on the table the chest previously sold by Takehiro. And judging by how the old man tensed up, he hadn't forgotten why Stas had purchased such an artifact.

"Is it exactly what I think it is?" he asked, this time without any jokes.

"Yes."

"Hmm, have you already opened it, and something went wrong?"

"Yes. My subordinates managed to close the chest in time and drag me away."

"Ah, it's been a long time since I've dealt with something like this," Satoshi thoughtfully stood up and began to pace the apartment, occasionally kicking scrolls and sheets of paper in his way. "Do you need my help to protect against this filth?"

"You're right."

"It will be costly," Takehiro immediately stated. One might think the old man should be pleased with such a situation, but instead, he was tense. "Chaos always causes problems. No matter how hard you try, no matter how you defend yourself, something will eventually go wrong. We may even have to review our dea..."

"Satoshi-san," Stas interrupted. "I haven't told you why I need this artifact."

"Oh, indeed, let's hear it then?" Takehiro stopped.

"My goal is to learn how to destroy chaos by any means possible. Let me repeat, by any means." Ordyntsev particularly emphasized the last word.

"So that's how it is," the old man's sparse eyebrows twitched with interest. "And what do I have to do with this?"

"I'm sure you'd also like to be able to destroy chaos," Stas sneered ominously. "After all, when you become immortal, there's a chance you'll live to see another invasion of the deadly forces. And then this skill might come in very handy."

"Hmm, I like the way you say 'when' not 'if' I become immortal. And there's a grain of truth in your words about chaos. Alright, you've convinced me, Shiro-kun. I assume you're short on time?" Satoshi perked up with a researcher's itch.

"Yes, it took me three days to get to you. I only have four days left."

"Then let's not waste time and start right away," the old man decisively slapped his robe. "But first, we need to prepare. We don't want to end up with new limbs or unpleasant neighbors in our heads, do we?" Takehiro giggled at his own joke.

Stas, on his part, didn't laugh. He didn't find it funny at all.

*****

The world froze in terror.

"Retreat! Retreat immediately!" the Sumada commanders shouted in fear, looking somewhere behind the backs of their fleeing soldiers. Drops of sweat streamed down their faces, nearly invisible against the rain that covered them.

One would think their opponents, the Mizuno, would be pleased that the Sumada were in such panic, but the water-wielders were no better.

Their water techniques exploded in dozens of places, sending their creators as far away from the battlefield as possible.

Heck, even the ones commanding these armies, Jishin Sumada and Aoi Mizuno, were tense as they peered through the slanting rain streams.

Any battle with the Mizuno turned even the hottest weather into a triumph of the water element.

Sure, the crazed, tormented weather would later take revenge with crop failures, droughts, and floods, but the warmasters didn't care. It would be peasants' lot to worry about it.

Now, everyone's attention was focused on two solitary figures standing on a giant battlefield.

Everywhere, craggy rocks jutted out, or, on the contrary, gaped gorges and pits filled to the brim with water. In some places, the water boiled, bubbling up, whereas, in others, it was sealed with a frosty crust. That's where the warmasters with water lineage left their marks. The Mizuno always tried to bring such clans under their wing. No matter if it was with money or force.

But despite how small those two figures seemed, what mattered was that their presence made flee the hundreds and hundreds of far-from-the-weakest warmasters, samurai, and mere ashigaru.

"Nice day, isn't it?" the warmaster in blue robes asked with a hint of a smile.

"I prefer a clear day," was the calm reply of Goro Sumada, the head and officially the strongest warmaster of the great earth clan.

"Once it's all over, I'm sure it will be," agreed Otomoto Mizuno, the full-fledged head and, by extension, the strongest warmaster of the great water clan.

There was about a hundred meters between the two, but due to their inhuman hearing, they could converse as if they were next to each other.

And for fighters of their level, what's a hundred meters? Merely one step.

The two greatest warriors of their time and this world patiently allowed their troops to leave the would-be impact zone of their techniques to decide once and for all which of their clans had the right to continue existing.

"Is it time?" Otomoto listened to something.

"Yes." Goro leisurely raised his sword vertically. Meanwhile, Otomoto positioned his blade horizontally.

For a second, the supreme among supremes stood still, and then the world shuddered as earth and water collided.

The ashigaru, running a couple of kilometers away from the battlefield, fell to the ground with cries as the earth shook violently beneath them.

The warmasters were more agile - they continued to retreat with all their might.