Chapter 19.

- Sorry, boy. But I can't lose to you! - Captain Aston was good-natured and clearly sympathized with Ned. Which, however, will not stop him from beating the young sergeant according to all the rules of the tournament.

- Understand, I need these three hundred coins - to be honest, I'm out of money. So I'll have to give you a good beating. By the way, when you recover from your bruises - give that impudent Shusard a punch. That young impudent fellow is too arrogant, boasting of his origins. Well, are you ready?

- Gentlemen! Enough talk! We will never start like this! - shouted Major Sert. - Time is running out, get started!

"Ready," Ned smiled slightly and froze in a strange stance that surprised the captain of the swordsmen. He held the swords with the blades facing him, in a reverse grip, which was not accepted among the officers of the corps. Moreover, none of them had ever seen such a style of fighting.

The conversations died down, people fell silent and peered intently at what was happening on the platform, forgetting about their glasses, mugs and pieces of meat roasted on coals. All attention was on the fighters slowly converging in the center of the platform.

Aston was very fast and strong. His attacks, like blows from two hammers, rained down on Ned so that another man, if he had not missed the attack, would have already dropped the sword from his hand - the blows simply dried up his hands. But Ned did not meet the swords like an ordinary man trained in the army. His sliding oblique swings, reminiscent of the movements of a praying mantis, knocked the blades to the side so that each time the captain almost lost his balance.

Alas, it meant nothing – Aston was as fresh and strong as at the beginning of the fight, despite the fact that the fight had already lasted for ten minutes at a high speed, inaccessible to most of those present at the tournament. The blows did not weaken, the blade stung just as skillfully, finding flaws in the enemy's defense. Unfortunately for the captain, there were no flaws. Ned glided easily over the platform, softly deflecting blows as if the blades were an extension of his arms.

Finally the captain became angry, turned red and, as impossible as it seemed, increased his pace even more.

Now the training steel blades merged into one whirlwind, which washed over Ned like a torrent of water after a tropical downpour, flooding a roadside ditch. The spectators were seized with delight at such a spectacle and, as always, being on the side of the clear winner, they slowly, then faster and faster, began to chant:

"Es-ton!" Es-ton! Yes-wow! Yes-wow! Yes-wow!

The shouts of the spectators seemed to infuse new strength into the captain, he gave it his all, demonstrating incredible fighting skills... and suddenly it all ended, under the deathly silence of the crowd.

The steel whirlwind disintegrated, and Aston slowly bent over and fell forward face down – his left arm remained under his body, his right arm had frozen in the attack and was now lying on the ground, pointing towards the enemy. Ned stood a little to the side, carefully examining the fallen man. Then he approached him, felt his neck and nodded to the jury of senior officers:

- Alive. Please send a doctor.

And then the audience exploded with thunderous applause, shouts and cries:

- Ned! Ned! Glory! Glory to the sergeant!

Zheresar immediately approached the captain, slightly out of breath from walking, made a sign to his assistants, and the captain was carried off to the doctor's office. Zheresar approached Ned and, smiling, said:

- Strong! No one has been able to defeat him with swords in five years! What a shame - I didn't make it in time for the beginning! I had to go to the city on business, I couldn't. But I still made it in time for the most interesting part! Let's go! Make room for the next couple.

He grabbed Ned by the shoulders and, like a draft horse, dragged him to the bench where Sanda, Tiraz and everyone else were sitting. Sanda immediately threw herself on her husband's neck, biting his lips, hung on him for about five seconds like a pear, then, breaking away, caught her breath and said in his ear:

- You were so... manly! I want you so much! You are a real man!

- Hey, hey, you're taking a shower at night! - Zadara shouted and, pushing Sanda aside, she also hugged Ned, leaving traces of flower-scented powder on his cheek. - Well done, boy! Goraz, clever boy, did you teach him that?! I'll hug you too! Come here... o-o-o-o! Who is this we have here?! Kosta, darling! Go quickly to Aunt Zadara! I haven't seen you for ages! Oh, you've grown so big... what a bear! How can Elsa stand you? You'll crush her!

"She's holding up just fine," boomed Zheresar, hugging the old woman. "And you, auntie, are as energetic and beautiful as ever!"

- What a ladies' man! Believe me, he was once such a handsome man, all the girls were crazy about this doctor! True, he was big even then. Many girls were afraid - what if he got the squeeze... Elsa wasn't afraid - and she wasn't wrong, he turned out to be a great family man. Beautiful healthy children, a great family - just the envy of everyone. His daughter is a beauty, you should have seen her, no worse than your Sanda!

- He saw it, - Zheresar winked sheepishly, - and he saw the kids. He even taught them a little sense. By the way, there they are sitting, watching! - The doctor waved his hand, and two smiling young men answered him from the edge of the platform. - Ned, did you hurt Eston too much there? Where did you put him?

"He struck the captain in the groin with his right sword and hit him in the back of the head with his left," Tiraz grinned, "a clean win. In a real fight, he would have castrated the guy and then chopped off half his head. Well done."

- F-f-fu-u-u... castration is so cruel! - Zadara winced. - To deprive a man of the most precious thing, what he thinks!

- Hmmm... I wonder then, what do you think women think? - Zheresar drawled thoughtfully.

"I won't tell," Zadara muttered crossly and burst into loud laughter. The hanger-on cooks, Sanda, Ned and all the others started laughing after her. They rolled with laughter so much that the spectators watching the second duel started looking at them.

However, it ended very quickly. In a matter of moments, Shusard smashed the swordsman's lieutenant's jaw with his sword, which made Zheresar wince and say that now he would have to use the services of the magicians and go to them.

"Why aren't they here today?" Ned asked, puzzled.

- Of course - they are above everyone else! The show is not for them, and they have never taken part in public festivities. Of course - they are magicians! They are not allowed!

"Why do they dislike mages so much in the corps?" Ned asked with interest.

- Why? - Zheresar frowned. - Why... who knows? Well... we just don't like them, that's all. They are always separate, always clean and important with their secrets and arrogance. Maybe we are jealous, - he honestly admitted with a crooked grin, - but we will never say so. Mages always have money, always have a special position, they even have separate food, like colonels or generals. And we, sometimes, gnaw on crackers. And also - people do not like something unknown, strange, beyond understanding. That's why it is not only we who dislike them. All the inhabitants of the city. Mages live separately, even in a military town they do not leave the territory of the agara. That's how it is... You are being called! Good luck!

The next fight ended quickly. The lieutenant of the crossbowmen was frankly afraid of Ned, and he dealt with him in an instant - knocking out the enemy's blade with a long sword, and putting the second, short one to his neck. The crossbowman sighed with relief, saluted Ned, ran to get drunk on beer - and at the tournament he shone under the admiring glances of the ladies, and received no injuries. Surely this is worth celebrating with a glass of beer?

Shusard dealt with his opponent just as quickly. It had long been clear that the two duelists would meet on the tournament grounds. Everyone knew about the duel. There was not a single person left who did not know that Shusard had promised to nail Ned's head over the estate gates, and also that Ned had accused the lieutenant's father, retired Major Shusard, of murdering Colonel Ivarron.

The news, having gone around the entire parade ground, acquired new details, and now one half of the spectators said that the major was definitely a murderer and where were the guards looking. The other half claimed that Ned and the lieutenant were fighting over Ned's wife, whom he allegedly caught with Lieutenant Shusard in bed after returning from duty. As usually happens, the sergeant forgave his wife (how could he not forgive SUCH a beauty?!), but he decided to castrate the lieutenant and nail his "property" over the gates of his house.

No one cared that Ned had no home of his own and therefore could not possibly have caught his wife in the lieutenant's arms. But everyone was sure that Ned would try to carry out his intentions, since he had already conducted a training session on Eston, punching the unfortunate captain in the groin.

The subsequent duels passed unnoticed, rather routinely and even boringly. Ned and Shusard were busily destroying the swordsmen's hopes for a big score, and it was obvious that the tournament management was setting up the participants for the duels so that the lieutenant and the sergeant would not meet each other until the very last, final battle.

There were about twenty participants in all. Among them were those who had come with the general. Either they were seriously counting on winning a large prize, or they simply wanted to show off in front of the spectators, but in any case their hopes were not destined to come true: Shusard and Ned cut them down like a mower cuts fresh meadow grass - with a rustle and a whistle.

If anyone could compete with these two fighters, it was Aston, but he sat on the bench by the table, sullen, hunched over as if he had diarrhea, and drowned his sorrows in a mug of the strongest beer the merchant had, cursing Ned with the worst words. Today he had to visit a high-ranking and very pretty lady who adored dashing swordsmen, and his genitals were a solid bruise and swollen to the size of udders - why should he love Ned? In addition, his head ached terribly, to the back of which the sergeant's merciless sword struck.

Aston recalled with slight annoyance and shame how he had bragged to Ned, discussing how to deal with him, and cursed the day when this unsmiling guy appeared on the corps parade ground.

Ned sat on the bench next to his loved ones, and he felt good: a beautiful, loving wife, friends, a healthy body - what else does one need to be happy? Perhaps Ned was happy.

However, he had nothing to compare it to. From a completely vile, cruel reality, he was suddenly thrown into another world, in which he found himself on top. And Ned could not believe that he was not dreaming and that all this would not disappear one fine day. Life had taught him that short pleasant moments usually give way to long periods of trouble, and Ned subconsciously expected this deterioration and did not relax.

Several times he thought: why did he go to the Shusards and declare the major a criminal, a murderer? At first he himself did not know what pushed him to do this. He suddenly understood - this MUST be done. And now, sitting on the bench during a break between fights, he reasoned - so why, what happened to him? It is clear that he was pushed to take this step by the second "I" sitting in his brain. But why did he do it?

And after a while he came to the conclusion – it was necessary, yes. Helping Zadara? What was there to help her with? She already knew who the killer was. If she had wanted to punish him, she would have punished him long ago. She felt more guilty than she placed it on Hagar. If Zadara had behaved more modestly and not slept with Shusard, then most likely her husband would still be alive. At least Hagar would not have killed him. She was the prize that the men fought over. And being an intelligent woman, Zadara understood this perfectly well.

So what? A personal relationship between the lieutenant and the sergeant? Oddly enough, yes. They are going to the front, where the same lieutenant will have the power to live and die for Ned. And if he sends the sergeant into hell, to certain death, he will have to go. And Ned has read in the lieutenant's brain a certain desire to settle scores with Ned. By any means. Either kill him, or bring him to an officers' court, accusing him of unwillingness to follow his orders. If Ned refuses to follow even a knowingly stupid, murderous order from the lieutenant, this is a serious military crime.

Why did Shusard hate commoners so much? His upbringing, of course. How many nobles look down on common people, consider them half-animals, unworthy of human treatment? And even among them, Shusard was distinguished by his extreme extremism, carefully nurtured and cherished by his "father". However, his mother too - she came from an old family of the tenth rank, almost a royal family, so she looked down on everyone who was lower in origin than her. The exception was Colonel Ivarron - a real stud, even if he was from a noble family of only the fifth rank. But he was a handsome man and beyond praise in bed, unlike Shusard, a sluggish and flabby type.

So it was definitely to Ned's advantage to get the lieutenant out of his way, if only to save his own life and health. Reading the minds of others is sometimes absolutely necessary to save your own life...

Of course, it's unpleasant to constantly hear other people's thoughts, especially evil and cruel ones, from people you don't like, but if it can save your life… what can you do?

Ned tried not to listen to other people's thoughts, but from time to time he deliberately eavesdropped on those on whom his fate depended. And, as it turned out, not in vain.

In fact, Ned plotted to kill his commander using the laws of the kingdom. He did everything so that the lieutenant would give him a reason to challenge him to a duel. Or so that he would challenge him himself. And here's another thing - Ned knew that he needed to move up the career ladder, which meant that he would need the image of a desperate swordsman, a duelist.

Ned made decisions intuitively, simply knowing what he needed to do. And so far, his other self hadn't let him down.

Sometimes he felt annoyed - where was he thinking, and where were the thoughts of his second essence? How to understand where Ned was thinking, and where his double was? But after painful thoughts on this topic, having acquired a headache, a spoiled mood, Ned stopped trying to separate thoughts. So far everything was fine, so was it worth straining his brain?

– Sergeant Ned Black and Lieutenant Anton Shusard are called to the main fight of the tournament! Gentlemen! In view of the fact that the opponents have agreed to a duel to the death, the fight will be conducted with military weapons. Both are requested to present their weapons for inspection. Seconds, deliver the weapons to the master of ceremonies!

Tiraz nodded to Ned, picked up both swords and walked slowly, under the gaze of the spectators, to the table of senior officers. Everyone was watching him closely, and someone must have recognized him, because a whisper went through the ranks.

The lieutenant's second was his father, who, sullenly, paying no attention to those around him, quickly walked in front of the ranks and placed the swords on the steward's table.

Ten minutes later, the inspection of the weapon was finished, and the seconds returned to their places. Now they were responsible for the weapon with their honor and even their lives. After the fight, they would inspect the weapon again, making sure that there were no additives on it, such as a film of poison, and that it was the same weapon that was inspected. But if the listed dirty tricks were discovered, the second would be held accountable to the full extent of the law. Up to and including deprivation of his life.

This was monitored very strictly. Duels were part of the life of high society, and it, this very society, did not want to remain a fool. Especially if bets were made on the duel. And this was almost always the case - after bed adventures, bets on duels, on horse races, on anything, were the main entertainment for the king's subjects. And for the king himself - too.

"Opponents, meet!" the steward commanded, and Ned, taking both blades in his hands, already freed from their black lacquered garments, slowly walked to the center of the square, where Shusard was waiting for him – tense, predatory, like a wild animal preparing to spring.

Step... another step... and another... eye to eye... slow, stealthy movements. The noise around has died down, and only the wind rustles in the ears and somewhere in the sky a bird whistles long and long, hunting for insects.

Who will strike first? It is always harder to be first. Any mistake you make can lead to an unpredictable, or even sad, result. It is always easier to go with the flow, but to choose your own path, your own way...

The right hand is pulled far to the side, the left is stretched out towards the opponent. He is just as tense, just as wary as you are. His foot in soft boots moves slightly from side to side, as if pressing more tightly to the ground of the parade ground, looking for support... for what? For an attack? Yes!!! Let's begin!

Criss-cross slashes and soft blows at the same time, leg sweeps, lunges – missed. Precious blades with a subtle singing take the enemy's blow on themselves, trembling and wanting to drink his blood. Now, now, my dears, you will try this beautiful, thick, salty liquid, the basis of all that exists!

The whistle of the Right, the short rustle of the Left – there! On the enemy's hand a red line swelled, swollen with blood, and the parade ground was decorated with red stars, marking the enemy's steps.

Just a scratch, yes, but it has a psychological significance – the enemy is already slightly shaken. A thought flashes through his mind: "It can't be!" Before this, he had almost never received wounds or injuries in duels. Natural speed and acquired skills allowed him to mock his opponents the way he wanted. And now – what is this?! He understands that he can actually die, and this thought freezes his hands, fetters his legs with a grave cold. But the enemy is too experienced. He overcomes the chilling fear with an effort of will and enters a battle rage, increasing strength, speed, allowing him not to notice wounds, pain and fatigue.

Yes, there is such a way to win, which is available to only a few masters, but this method is vicious. It washes away the body's strength. After such a fight, the master will lie in bed for a day and lose several zusan weight. But he will win. Or he will fall on the platform without strength, exposing his head to the opponent's sword. But the opponent still needs to live to this moment.

Ned twists, turns, meets enemy blades with his own, runic ones, lets enemy swords pass so close to his body that one of them cuts off a piece of his shirt collar, as if it were not silk fabric, but a spider web. The blades are extremely sharp, cutting through a light woman's hair in flight. One mistake - and you are dead.

There are no thoughts in the lieutenant's head. It's as if he has become an extension of the blades - a merciless fighting machine.

Ned knew that Shusard had been practicing fencing since he was a baby, and that he had gone on to study at the best school in the capital. It was no accident that the lieutenant had won the Silver Sword. In fact, he was the strongest in the school, but… the first place went to the headmaster's son, also a strong master. He should have won, and he did, that guy. He was the headmaster's son. It was unfair, yes.

This guy never figured out who killed him when the winner left the tavern on a dark night. Neither the master's reaction nor his skills saved him - what can you do against a sword coming down on your head from around the corner? The principal was grieving, the whole school was worried - and the killer was never found.

Ned knew a lot, a lot about this man who had become his commander. How ambitious he was, how far his plans extended, and how unscrupulous the lieutenant was in the means to achieve these goals. And how strong he was.

Ned had no illusions – Shusard was almost his equal in swordsmanship. Almost… but that "almost" was everything. What was "almost"? Almost won? Almost died? There was no "almost" in battle. Either you died or you lived. And if your skill, all things being equal, was greater than your opponent's, you were the winner.

From the outside, it seemed as if Shusard was winning – continuous blows, the ringing of which echoed across the silent field. Ned retreated back, twisting like a snake, and with obvious difficulty parrying the blows of his maddened opponent. But why was only the lieutenant bleeding? Why was Ned unharmed and seemingly reluctant to parry Shusard's blades, not wanting to lie down and die as befits a lowly upstart?

One mistake and the left-handed sword flies off along with that very hand, or rather, its wrist. Blood spurts like a fountain, flooding the face, turning it into a terrible, demonic mask.

Several women gasped and fainted at the sight of the horrific sight, the men began to buzz, discussing what had happened, but the fight did not stop. The enemy, who felt no pain, who had practically lost control of his mind, continued the fight with one hand, laughing as he aimed the blood-spurting stump at Ned's face, filling his eyes and not allowing him to blink.

Ned took a couple of steps back, as if trying to escape, the lieutenant rushed forward with a roar and... the sword crunched through his ribs, entering halfway through his body.

Turn! The tip pierced the solar plexus, coming out of the back. Ned's opponent impaled himself on the blade, stepping forward in another swing.

Ned took his sword on the Left, tore the Right from the dead but not yet aware of its death body and with a slanting movement from bottom to top, right to left, cleanly cut off Shusard's head. Then he stepped aside so that the headless corpse would not fall on him, and froze, lowering both swords.

Silence. Silence again. Only the sobbing on the bench – the elder Shusard was crying. Not from pity for his son. He had never had any particular paternal love for the offspring of the one he had killed. No. Shusard was crying from rage, from the impossibility of doing what he wanted. And he wanted to kill, tear to pieces, destroy this impudent boy who had destroyed everything he had built up over many years – his status, his position, the respect of the people. Now he was a retired major, a murderer whose guilt had not been proven, but who was known to everyone. A man whom it was shameful to receive in your home, indecent. It was indecent even to shake your hand, let alone deal with such a scumbag. In such a tight enclave, parasitizing on the infantry corps, it was very, very unpleasant. A tight little world in which you couldn't hide, the same people, the same faces. Now – the only thing to do was to leave. To leave the city. And maybe the country.

The people on the benches are making noise, clapping, shouting! Even the well-bred ladies are shouting as if they were not noble mothers of families, but simple street vendors, accustomed to expressing their opinions with furious cries. Ned is the idol of the crowd today. He has given them an unforgettable pleasure, an adventure the likes of which they have never seen before. And for that they love him with all their souls. In their closed, eventless world, he has given them a Spectacle. Glory to Ned!

* * *

- You were magnificent! - Tiraz was solemn and laconic. - You are the Master!

"I'm delighted!" Zadara happily tugged at Ned's sleeve while Sanda carefully wiped the blood from her husband's face. "We should drink to this!"

"I don't drink…" Ned tried to resist, but the old woman had already handed him a large mug of wine, and Ned, wincing, slowly drank the red, tart liquid. His head immediately began to buzz, the world became bright, noisy, colorful… spun, twirled…

He was congratulated by people he knew and didn't know, they patted him on the shoulders, hugged him, kissed him. Some women, young and not so young, hung on his neck, Sanda pushed them away and almost got into a fight with one girl who bit Ned's lips.

He was presented with an award and introduced to the general, who mumbled something for a long time about real young officers, the hope of the kingdom, blah-blah-blah-blah...

Ned seemed to switch off, becoming a doll, perceiving everything as if it was not happening to him. He smiled, said something, answered someone, but all this passed by his consciousness. Then he was left alone, in no small part due to Sandy and Zadar. They, like hens, attacked anyone who tried to disturb Ned's peace, and then simply dragged him home, putting him on a cab, of which there were about a dozen and a half at the gates of the base - everyone found out about the holiday, and after all, people would be leaving, so all the sharks of the whip and reins gathered at the fat trough.

Ned was brought to his and Sanda's house, after which Zadara left, leaving him in the care of his wife. She gently took the precious swords from her husband, placing them next to the bed, then undressed him and sat him in the bath, washing off the remnants of someone else's blood and slowly combing his hair. After washing him thoroughly, she led him to bed and climbed into the bath herself. Soon they were fast asleep, embracing, as befits lovers.

Ned woke up late at night, before the first roosters crowed. They say that at this time demons roam the earth, looking for lost souls to carry off to their underground kingdom. The world sleeps, the sky sleeps, and only distant stars, torn off by powerful winds, rush across the black sky to fall and drown in the boundless sea.

Sanda was sleeping quietly next to him, her firm breasts with brown nipples hardened by the night chill sticking up into the air, her swollen lips were slightly parted, her neat little nose was making quiet roulades, humming a hymn to the night.

Ned smiled, admiring the sight of his wife sleeping, and carefully covered her with a sheet, protecting her from the cold. It was true that the night had become cool, the peak of the heat had already passed, and the world was moving towards autumn.

His head was splitting, and Ned thought with annoyance that he shouldn't have agreed to drink this demon wine. After all, he knew that wine drinking wasn't his thing. That nothing good would come of it - and here you go! He got drunk from one mug! He didn't even watch the rest of the competitions. Shame!

Then Ned wondered what had woken him up just now. Something was bothering him, spinning in his head.

Ned quietly got out of bed, tucking the sheet under his wife's bare thigh, and went to the bucket of water. He filled the ladle and began to drink greedily, spilling water on his chest.

Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a shadow flash past the window. Ned put the ladle down and quietly, on tiptoe, crept up to the window. That's right! People were running around outside the window, rustling and whispering could be heard. Ned thought with remorse that he had left his spear in the base's armory, and rushed to the swords lying on the floor by the bed. There was no time to look for clothes, and he grabbed the swords, then pushed the sleeping Sanda:

- Wake up! Hurry!

The girl opened her eyes, saw Ned and stretched out her hands to him:

- Darling! Come to me! I dreamed about you just now... so handsome, so manly... I want you so much! Come, quickly!

- Get up! - Ned said sharply, in a quiet voice. - The house is surrounded. It looks like we are about to be attacked. Throw on some clothes and lie down behind the bed! Do not get up under any circumstances and do not come out until I call you!

Sanda jumped out of bed and rushed around the room like crazy, overcome with horror and completely disorientated. Ned silently grabbed the dress he had thrown off that evening from the floor, threw it over her shoulder and pushed her against the wall. The girl sank to the floor and began to dress feverishly, pulling on her clothes and quietly squealing:

- Mom! Mommy! A-a-a-a-a-a…

"Shut up," Ned said heavily, finally saw his pants and boots, put them on in a few seconds, took his swords and sat down on the bed, thinking about what was happening. But he was not given time to think.

The door was torn off its hinges, knocked down by a powerful blow - the attackers dragged a log from somewhere, swung it and with this battering ram knocked down the not very strong barrier.

Men in dark clothes, with their faces covered and swords in their hands, ran silently through the doorway. Ned was already standing in front of the door, in the middle of the room, relaxed, filled with the Force and ready to fight. Swords sang, steel rang. The first two attackers died almost simultaneously, within a split second of each other. The other two died on the threshold, pierced through.

Ned ran out into the garden and immediately found himself in the thick of the enemy. There were at least thirty of them, professionals in their field, they did not interfere with each other, did not crowd, did not push forward. When the attempt to take Ned while he was asleep failed, they changed tactics.

A short man, his dark eyes hidden in the shadow of his hood, quietly ordered:

- Networks!

Immediately, several people appeared who began to prepare to throw thin nets for catching people - these were slave traders who traded in live goods. Then Ned realized - it's time!

He thrust the swords into the ground and began to cast a spell in front of the astonished slave traders.

Unfamiliar words fell into the silence like cast-iron weights, and a few seconds later half of the bandits lay on the ground, twitching in pain, their legs pressed to their stomachs torn apart by pain.

One of those who remained on his feet screamed shrilly, tearing through the night darkness:

- Run! Save yourself! It's a black magician! What idiot said it was a simple sergeant?! Freaks!

About ten robbers rushed to the gate, and some ran to the fence, hoping to escape in the darkness.

No.

Two squads of demons, released by the black magician, rushed after both groups and knocked them to the ground, devouring them from the inside, turning their entrails into bloody mince.

Ned waved his hands, said a short phrase, and a clot of white flame shone over the garden, small, dim, but enough to see what was happening - after all, he had learned to use this spell.

Then Ned drew the Right Sword, walked up to the groaning bandit and slashed him lightly across the neck, releasing a fountain of blood that spurted out to meet the blade and washed the sharp blade in a warm, steaming stream. Ned's mouth opened and words poured out - terrible, hissing, like the roar of a beast and the hiss of a snake. The blood boiled and began to be absorbed into the metal before our eyes, as if it were porous, like a sponge. The blade shimmered, the runes glowed, a demon burst from the body of the dead man, and was immediately drawn into the sword, sucked in like rainwater into a manhole. The sword shuddered in his hands, accepting the guest, and calmed down, becoming warm like blood.

Moving on to the next man, Ned did the same for the Left Sword. It didn't take long.

Then Ned went through the garden, killing anyone who was still alive. He tried to strike as if they had died in a sword fight. The demons that were eating the bandits would leave their bodies when they came into contact with the cursed swords and return to where they came from. Where? Probably to the Underworld, where they belonged.

Ned walked around to all the bodies and pierced each one with his sword, driving out the demons. Finally, only the corpses and the glowing ball remained in the garden, which Ned extinguished with two words.

- What was that? - Sanda's voice suddenly came from behind. - Ned, are you a magician?! So it's true - what you said?! You're a black magician?!

Ned walked up to Sanda, who was looking around in horror, and, looking into her eyes, quietly said:

- You saw nothing. You know nothing. Remember that!

His eyes were dark, like two wells, terrible, and Sanda thought she saw underground fire in them. The girl shuddered and involuntarily recoiled from Ned's hand, with which he touched his wife's cheek. She nodded slightly, so frightened that she almost wet herself with fear.

With an indefinite, muffled sound, Sanda ran to the corner of the house and vomited for a long time, tearing her insides apart, painfully and terribly.

Ned waited until the attack stopped, went to his wife and took her inside the house, put her to bed and covered her with a blanket. Sanda was shaking, shuddering, curled up into a ball, and did not pay attention to Ned or to what was happening around her.

He sat next to her, waited until the girl finally fell asleep, and then began "cleaning up." He dragged the four corpses, which had covered the entire floor of the house in blood, one by one into the garden and threw them on the ground. Then he lifted the door and tried to somehow put it back in place. None of this worked, of course, and Ned abandoned the idea.

And then a terrible thought came to him. Grabbing his swords, Ned ran to Zadara's two-story house, where he discovered with horror that the door had also been knocked down. Carefully entering the room, Ned went up to the second floor and immediately came across Asana's body.

A huge dark-skinned woman lay in the hallway, holding her heavy axe. Near her were four corpses, cut almost in half. The woman had several deep sword wounds, and a pool of blood beneath her.

Further on, at the door of Zadara's bedroom, there is Pegry's corpse, a crossbow lies nearby, and a bolt is sticking out of the wall. She missed.

Zadara lay next to her broken neck, looking at the ceiling with calm, bright eyes. The killer's corpse lay on her, the tip of the dagger that Ned knew, the one Zadara never parted with, sticking out of his back.

Ned's eyes burned, but he didn't cry. He didn't know how.

After standing by the body of the old woman who had become almost a mother to him, Ned looked into her eyes for the last time, leaned down and closed them – forever. Then he went out into the corridor, went down the stairs and went into his house. Having searched the surroundings with his mind-hearing, he was convinced that there were no more robbers left in hiding. Then he dressed completely, put on his swords and went to the gate – he needed to inform the authorities about what had happened and demand punishment for the one who had sent these people. But most likely, Shusard was no longer in the estate.