Immediately after the restaurant door closed behind me, the sounds of unrestrained fun became much quieter. The soundproofing in the establishment turned out to be quite good. I looked around. Even with the evening lighting on, it was rather dark on the deck.
After I finished with that self-confident piglet, I would need to ask the waiter whether it was possible to dine out here in the fresh air. There were tables available that I didn't notice upon entering, and I would gladly have exchanged the noisy, smoke-filled restaurant hall for the quiet deck.
But that would have to wait. I had more pressing matters to attend to.
Just then, I heard a frightened female voice from somewhere on the right. Without thinking, I went in that direction. I had no doubt who it was.
Rounding the corner of the restaurant, I saw the girl, Gedeonov looming over her, and the guard standing behind him.
I walked slowly along the wooden deck, wondering what to do with this underage jerk. In my world, we had energy swords for situations like this. Nobles defended their honor in duels. If I had been on Epsilum, I would have given the boy a light nudge, and that would have settled things.
Here, dueling with swords had long been considered outdated.
Nobles relied either on their own Gift or on hand-to-hand combat if they lacked magic. As for me, I had no problems with either, but I was not so sure about Gedeonov. It wouldn't be good if I fried him with my fire powers or broke him. On one hand, I didn't want to hurt him. On the other, he clearly needed to be taught a lesson, since nobody at home had taken the time to teach him basic manners.
While I was thinking, the Viscount said something to the girl, got a sharp response, and proceeded to slap her. What a little bastard.
"Hey, Ivan, why don't you go back to the restaurant?" I asked loudly, making sure they heard me.
It worked. The guard turned around, and the Viscount lost interest in the girl. He looked at me, clearly trying to focus. The girl, seeing an opening, wisely moved away.
"Who are you?" asked Gedeonov, apparently trying to remember if he knew me.
"Baron Sokolov," I said. "No need to think so hard, Viscount. You don't know me."
"Baron?" Gedeonov asked, disappointed. "So what do you want?"
"Well, I happened to be an unwitting witness to your conflict with this lady and came out to hear you apologizing to her. Isn't that why you ran out into the fresh air? I understand, sometimes you say all sorts of things in the heat of the moment and then regret it." I approached him, stopping just a few steps away, and positioned myself so that his escort was in my line of sight. "So don't be shy. It's never too late to apologize to a girl. There's nothing wrong with that."
The young man frowned. Understandably, his judgement at the moment was very poor, and the scene unfolding before his eyes probably looked completely illogical. There was something to consider. I didn't look like an athlete; I was half his size, yet I dared to open my mouth. And with a bodyguard standing next to him, and my rank lower than his, it all must have seemed absurd. So how was he supposed to respond?
"Mikhail, what is he talking about? I can't seem to understand," he asked his loyal hulk. "What apology?"
The bodyguard thought for a moment, glanced at me, and, unlike his employer, seemed to sense something in my behavior that made him wary.
For now, he decided to try resolving things peacefully.
"Sir, maybe you should go about your own business. The Viscount is on vacation. Why look for trouble?"
"I don't seem to be in a hurry," I said, disappointing him. "What kind of business could I have on a ship? It's still a whole night to Saratov. I have plenty of time. I'd rather wait until your employer apologizes."
"Mikhail, punch him in the face," Gedeonov said lazily, then grinned.
Here on Earth, those without the Gift who still longed to rise above the ordinary often turned to hand-to-hand combat and followed the Path of Force. Their strength, much like in magic, was measured by rank they held.
Of course, someone Gifted was always more dangerous, but a truly skilled fighter was a serious threat and never to be underestimated.
Vladimir's memory offered this reminder, quiet but timely, urging me to take the situation seriously. I didn't know how skilled the Viscount's bodyguard might be, or what rank he held, if he held one at all, but I had no doubts about my own abilities. In my world, nobles were trained from childhood in every known form of hand-to-hand combat.
The fight was brief. Mikhail swung at me lazily, a smug grin twisting his face, certain that the frail-looking boy before him would take the hit and stay down until morning. Instead, I stepped aside and struck a clean, precise blow to the neck with the edge of my palm.
The impact wasn't as strong as I would've liked. Sokolov's body was weak, his muscles untrained, but my technique compensated for it. The bodyguard gasped and clutched his throat, eyes wide with disbelief. I followed with another strike, breaking his nose. Blood splattered across his sleeve as he stumbled back, howling in pain.
I watched him collapse, already thinking that I needed to begin serious training as soon as possible. I had the skills, but I definitely needed a stronger body.
Gedeonov stood frozen, mouth agape, only now beginning to realize that his loyal Mikhail would be of no further use to him.
"You bastard," he said when it finally dawned on him. "You'll be licking my boots."
"You shouldn't have done that, Viscount. I didn't insult you. I only wanted you to apologize to the girl, but now you've forced my hand."
Before he managed to process my words, I stepped towards him and hit him in the face with my right elbow. We were about the same height, so it was very convenient. The blow landed on his chin. Something crunched, and Gedeonov collapsed onto the deck like a sack of potatoes.
I might have broken his jaw and knocked out a couple of teeth, but at the moment, it didn't bother me much. I had seen enough of these arrogant jerks in my life and enjoyed bringing them back down to earth when the opportunity arose.
At that moment, I heard hurried footsteps behind me and turned around. It was the same young man the Viscount had attacked in the restaurant. The collar of his shirt was torn, and his lower lip was split.
When the girl saw him, she ran to him without hesitation and hid behind his back.
By that time, Gedeonov's bodyguard had already recovered a little and made, in my opinion, the most sensible decision under the circumstances. He lifted his young master from the deck and hoisted him over his shoulder.
"Count Gedeonov will have questions for his son's offender once I tell him the details," Mikhail growled, his voice low and rough as gravel, his glare burning into me. "Where can he find... you?" He spat out the last word as if it tasted foul.
"At the Academy of Planewalkers," I replied evenly. "I haven't acquired a business card yet, but I'm sure you'll manage to find me if you're eager enough."
Mikhail held my gaze for a long moment, the promise of vengeance flickering in his eyes. Then, without another word, he slung the unconscious Viscount over his shoulder and turned away.
As soon as they were gone, the girl stepped out from behind the young man and smiled.
"My name is Anastasia."
"And mine is Vladimir," I replied.
The blonde then looked at her brother.
"Peter, this young man—" "Yes, I understood what happened, sister," he interrupted her and extended his hand to me. "Merchant of the First Guild, Peter Ermolov."
A First Guild merchant at such a young age? Commendable. It was clear his father had something to do with it, but at least he was well-mannered and potentially even smart.
"Baron Vladimir Sokolov."
"Thank you for your help."
"Oh, don't mention it," I said with a dismissive wave.
In truth, the situation was awkward, and the merchant knew it all too well. First, I could easily have chosen not to interfere since they weren't nobles, and it wasn't my concern. Second, I had watched him take a blow to the face, and no man easily forgot that kind of humiliation. And third, judging by my appearance, I seemed at least five years younger than the merchant, yet I had brought down both the Viscount and his bodyguard without breaking a sweat. That, more than anything, must have stung. Pride was a fragile thing.
"As I understood, you were heading to Saratov?" he asked, his tone cautious but curious, as if trying to restore a sense of normalcy.
"Yes."
"Our family lives in this city. Here is my card. If you find time, I would very much like to invite you to dinner as a thank you," he said.
"Well, if you don't mind, of course."
"It will be my pleasure," I replied and glanced at the smiling Anastasia. The girl really seemed very nice, so I thought I would definitely find time for dinner.
"Give us a call anytime," she said and waved goodbye.
For a moment, I looked at the card before slipping it into my jacket pocket. Ten minutes earlier, I hadn't known a single soul in Saratov, and now I already had someone to dine with. Of course, after this little incident, I might have made a few enemies as well. Well, nothing could be done about that. I would handle problems as they came, if they came at all.
I drew in a deep breath of cool river air and caught myself thinking that, despite the evening's adventure, my appetite hadn't vanished. On the contrary, it had only grown stronger. Hopefully, there wasn't another drunken Viscount waiting for me back at the restaurant.
* * * The ship arrived in Saratov around ten in the morning, gliding gracefully through the mist that still lingered above the river. For first-class passengers, breakfast was included in the ticket price, which was very convenient. The night before, I had paid nearly ten rubles for dinner at the restaurant, and considering my current finances, that had been a rather costly indulgence.
As a modest consolation, I had asked the waiter to set my table outside. He had agreed at once, smiling a little too quickly. I doubted it had been genuine enthusiasm; more likely, he had wished to spare himself my displeasure after I'd made it clear that his earlier pompousness would not be tolerated.
At the river station, I took a cab and gave the driver the address. I wasn't in a particularly good mood, but at least the driver kept quiet. Still, I could sense he was itching to ask who I was and where I came from.
The building of the Imperial Academy stood at the opposite end of the city. It was an impressive, old structure that resembled a medieval castle and was surrounded by a large park. I liked it immediately.
I walked slowly along the alley leading to the main entrance, and it was clear I stood out. Most of the cadets wore black uniforms, not civilian clothes like mine. I also seemed younger than most of them. A few were my age, but they were the exception. It looked like nobles my age were only sent to become Planewalkers if no better option was available. Their families probably preferred to arrange something safer for them in the service of the emperor.
At the entrance, they checked my documents, confirmed the presence of a family ring, and directed me to the second floor for enrollment and the so-called introductory briefing.
As I walked down the corridors, I looked around with interest. The longer I stayed in that building, the more I liked it. Everything felt solid and purposeful. It didn't seem like the kind of place where they taught geography or similar sciences. Here, they taught something else entirely.
How to kill evil spirits and how to stay alive.
Finally, I reached the door I needed. Above it hung a patriotic poster that read, "Wearing the uniform of a Planewalker is the highest honor for a true nobleman." I wondered whether that was aimed at uncertain cadets or if the empire was struggling to fill the ranks. Something told me it was probably the latter.
I pushed the door open and stepped inside. The office contained two massive tables, behind which sat a pair of men in uniform. One wore a patch depicting a silver shield with two crossed swords, while the other's bore the same symbol, but with a skull on the shield. I didn't know the Planewalkers' hierarchy, so I had no idea what ranks they held.
The man with the skull emblem gestured toward a chair opposite his desk. I sat down without a word and waited to see what would happen next.
"My name is Arseny Kochetkov," he said. "I'll be conducting your interview for admission to the Academy. May I see your documents?"
I handed them over. While he examined the papers and typed something into his computer, I took out my phone to finally look up what their insignia meant. As it turned out, the Planewalkers had twelve ranks in total. These two belonged to the fifth and sixth levels. The one without the skull was a stormtrooper, while Kochetkov was a first-class stormtrooper.
At that moment, Kochetkov gave a knowing chuckle — quiet, almost amused — then picked up the phone and called someone.
"Sofia, are you too busy? We have a very interesting cadet here. Yes, I think the situation requires your immediate attention."
What was it about me that had caught their interest? I looked at Kochetkov, hoping for a hint, but his expression remained unreadable, calm to the point of indifference. Still, I already had a fairly good idea what this was about.
Soon, a pretty girl of about twenty-five walked into the office.
Unlike the men, she wore no stripe at all, so her rank was anyone's guess.
She glanced at me with interest, then walked over to Kochetkov and looked at the monitor where he showed her something. She frowned and picked up my passport.
"You are Vladimir Sokolov, the son of Mikhail?" she asked. "Is this a mistake?"
Exactly what I thought. What else could have drawn their attention if not my pedigree? Hearing my last name, the second stormtrooper looked up from his computer and studied me too.
I didn't say anything. I simply showed the girl my signet ring.
"A silver falcon on a scarlet field," she said, more to herself than to the room. "Yes, that matches. The documents say the same."
"Is something wrong?" I asked. "Or is his son not allowed to become a Planewalker?"
"No, it's not that." She pursed her lips. "It's just... are you certain you're still Gifted? According to our records, after the trauma of your parents' deaths, you lost your magical abilities. Only a person with the Gift can become a Planewalker. Without it, I'm afraid admission is impossible."
"I remember something like that," I said, nodding. "For a while, I did have issues with my magic. But everything is in order now. I wouldn't have come otherwise. I could show you something, though I'd rather not burn down your office."
"Fire element?" The girl glanced at Kochetkov. "Check it, Arseny."
Kochetkov typed a few things on the keyboard, and after a few minutes, he confirmed what I had said.
"If his abilities really have returned, then it fits. Before his father's execution, he was an elemental mage with the Gift of Fire."
"In that case, congratulations, Vladimir." The girl smiled. "It would be a shame to lose a Gift like that."
"Thank you." I nodded. Judging by the way she took a seat beside Kochetkov, she clearly had no intention of leaving.
"All right, you may proceed," she said.
Despite the absence of insignia, she was unmistakably the senior officer in the room. At her word, Kochetkov launched into a long series of questions meant to assess my political reliability. It probably seemed suspicious that I wished to serve the same emperor who had sent my entire family to the executioner's block. But I had nothing to hide; that was the truth.
The only thing I omitted was that it had been my father's wish. I simply said I wanted to become a Planewalker. To dispel any lingering doubt, I added that, given my background, it was the best way to rise in this world and restore some respect to my family name. They exchanged glances, apparently finding the explanation convincing enough.
Once they were satisfied with my motives, they moved on to practical matters, wanting to know whether I would be afraid to face the spirits.
Eventually, the questioning ceased. Kochetkov leaned back and wagged a finger at me.
"Look, Sokolov, if you decide to run away from here, we'll send you a bill for the uniform, food, wasted time, and then we'll fine you too."
"I'm not planning on running away just yet, but... Fine me for what exactly?" I asked. "Just so I understand."
"For not meeting our expectations," Sofia said with a grin.
"I see," I nodded. "Are there a lot of people like that around here?"
"Plenty. As soon as they end up in the first Portal, their desire to serve the homeland disappears," she said. Then she stood up from her chair and looked at Kochetkov. "Have him fill out the paperwork. Walk him through all the offices, and then send him to the third department. They need an elemental. Put him on an individual accelerated program."
"What's the hurry?" Kochetkov frowned. "A few extra days won't make a difference, and he might use them."
"Why would we waste time if he is eager to prove himself? If he really is an elemental mage, I don't see a problem. Only benefits for the common cause. By the way, tell our master of magic not to forget to check the Gift with him during the first lesson. No point in waiting until practice," Sofia said, then left the office.
Apparently, I hadn't made the best impression on her. Otherwise, where would that hostility have come from? I'd have to prove myself. In my case, first impressions could be misleading.
Meanwhile, Kochetkov handed me several sheets of paper and winked.
"By the way, Sokolov, she seems to like you. Did you see how she was with you?"
"I didn't notice any particular sympathy," I said, taking the papers.
At the top of the first sheet was written: Cadet's questionnaire.
"You just don't know Tagantseva well," Kochetkov smiled. "If she didn't like you, she wouldn't have reacted to you at all. Okay, fill out the form and let's get going. We've still got plenty to do today."
I wondered what would have happened if she hadn't liked me? Or if she liked me too much?
Where was I, again?