No sooner had I left the restroom than my assistant returned, carrying a phone with the recordings.
"Y-e-e-e-s?" Shnyrka asked in a hissing, excited voice, his ears twitching eagerly like radar dishes.
He held the phone in his teeth, but there was no need to worry about its safety—he'd never broken anything. It would be a tragedy for him if he did.
"Good job!" I said. "I'll get you some ice cream. Want some?"
"Y-e-e-e-s!" he chirped happily, diving into the shadow on the floor like a fish.
Tch… left too soon.
I poked around the phone and found it had no password—likely deliberate, hoping I'd try to take it. But I'm too smart to fall for that and hadn't even noticed. Finding the recordings was easy, but there weren't two—there were three. The first was a dud, accidentally stopped.
I deleted them all immediately and was about to hand the phone back to Shnyrka when a brilliant idea struck me.
I walked to a urinal and started recording. Then I duplicated it three times. Done!
"Take it back, but make sure he doesn't notice," I said, dropping the phone to the floor.
Shnyrka's paw caught it before it could shatter.
He used to fetch me weapons like this, but now he's too weak. I don't have enough energy to feed him as I once did. Another reason I need to hunt—to power up Shnyrka so I can have my own spatial pocket.
It's astonishing that Shnyrka followed me here. He gave up all the power he'd amassed during our life together—no small amount. He bound his soul to mine so tightly that I doubt it could be undone, even across several lifetimes. It'd be hilarious if, in my next life, I had no memories and thought some demon lived inside me.
Shnyrka showed me how he stealthily returned the phone to the guy, who didn't notice a thing. The shop was already closed, and he was speeding off somewhere in his car. I had a guess where.
After wandering the mall a bit longer, I realized the taxi driver had definitely been pulling my leg.
He'd said there were no other decent tech stores, but there were—and they were impressive. The last place was a dingy hole compared to these. Here, I easily bought a laptop, a phone, and a SIM card tied to my passport—a mandatory procedure. Now, if the authorities wanted to find me, they could.
I did it without a bank account, despite that rule existing. It just wasn't as the idiot salesman explained. You could buy with cash if you had a passport. Without one, a bank account was used for identification. Sneaky moron…
I'm not hiding, but whether I answer the phone is my choice.
I got high-quality stuff, and it cost me a pretty penny. At this rate, my finances would soon be dire. So, I turned to Shnyrka again.
"You know what to bring!" I said, stepping into a blind corner with no cameras.
He knew. My clever boy returned in five minutes with three wallets—all men's, one bearing an unfamiliar crest. I cloaked my hands in an aura to avoid leaving prints and dug in. The first had two thousand, the second fifteen hundred, and the one with the crest was the worst—only two hundred rubles. Total: three thousand seven hundred. Not bad—about the salary of a high-ranking official here. But for a highborn aristocrat, spending tens of thousands a month isn't uncommon. Quality is pricey.
Even this laptop I bought is far inferior to my old one. That was custom-made and… mmm… I miss it. My precious stayed behind. I had to smash it—no one, especially my jerk brother, would get it.
I can't push my luck too often, or I'll get caught. It might seem like I could steal a million this way, but it won't work. First, Shnyrka's too weak to stray far from me, and Lineage vaults are hardly nearby. He can't carry large items or sustain long tasks. Even if I stuck to wallets, it's not simple. I told him to grab ten, but he brought three.
Mentally, I'd told him to take only those lying loosely, whose loss wouldn't be noticed quickly. Why attract attention so soon? If someone—unlikely—remembers their bill numbers, I'd face scrutiny from summoned gendarmes, or whatever they're called here, politsai.
Since he brought only three, there weren't more to find.
Just in case, I tasked him to keep looking. Money, in my case, is like water. My idiot father didn't even leave me a wristwatch because they were custom-made with the Lineage crest.
I had to find the first affordable aristocrat's store and, after careful selection, buy a watch for two thousand rubles—over half my "haul." I chose a sturdy Swiss brand, not the flashiest, but loved by soldiers for its durability and reliability. Now I'm set, won't lose track of time, and I love fine accessories. My "family" watch cost fifty thousand rubles equivalent. Some weak Lineages don't earn that in a month. No matter—I'll claim what's mine someday…
Kiryukhin Lineage Estate, Saint Petersburg
Office of the Head of Lineage Security
The Head of Security was in a foul mood. His liege had been reckless lately. In pursuit of power and influence, he'd taken some… less-than-ethical measures.
The ambition of weak Lineages was matched only by their arrogance. And he had to clean up the messes. Just yesterday, he'd handled a situation with the eldest heir, who challenged Prince Bolkonsky's heir to a duel, endangering not only his life but the Lineage's welfare.
How could that pup not see he couldn't compete with the powerful Gifted Sergei Bolkonsky? He'd be crushed. Oh, that vaunted aristocratic pride!
"Pyotr Alexeyevich! Karasyov's here."
"Who?" The chief frowned, trying to place the name.
"You know, Karasyov! The salesman from 'Tech for Aristocrats.' Says he's got info for His Honor!"
Ah, Karasyov! Another utopian Lineage project to scam poor sods, boosting the Lineage's meager coffers and status.
"What do you want?" the guard chief growled as a man, looking every bit a weasel, entered. A servant of some generation, educated minimally at the Lineage's expense.
"Lord Khmurov! I conned an aristocrat! A whole baron from the provinces! He signed his own sentence! We can put him on the hook, or—"
"I'll decide what's possible," the guard cut off the groveling. "Play it!"
"Yes, yes! Here!" The "weasel" played the first audio.
A strange sound, like running water, filled the room.
"What the hell is this?!"
The servant paled.
"Must be a mistake! Here's the next one!"
Again, the sound of water, interrupted briefly before resuming.
"Are you mocking me, fool?!" The security chief rose, his massive frame looming.
"I… I don't know! Something's wrong… Wait, there's a third! This pauper said some juicy stuff!"
More water sounds, quickly ending. Then came the flush of a toilet, a short chuckle, and a young voice.
"As old Mack used to say, the soul's under the bladder—piss, and you feel lighter! Haha…"
The chief blanched, then turned crimson, glaring at the idiot.
"On your knees, serf! Hold him!" he barked at two bodyguards.
The hapless conman, too terrified to speak, was tripped to his knees, arms pinned. He only saw the fearsome Pyotr Alexeyevich stand before him, firmly unzipping his expensive trousers.
A loud siren interrupted my morning meditation, joined by a couple of quieter ones. I hate being disturbed, but something interesting was happening outside.
Springing to my feet, I approached the window. I pushed aside the heavy velvet curtain, eliciting a grumble from Shnyrka, who scurried to a shadier spot, and stepped onto the balcony.
It seemed the city's general alert system had been activated. A police car with sirens and lights sped by, followed by two armored vehicles marked DBA.
I glanced at the sky. As my mother joked, Petersburg has three seasons: "mud's wet, mud's dry, mud's frozen." Despite summer, heavy leaden clouds loomed, suggesting the mud was about to shift from dry to wet.
"Track them," I ordered my pet. No sun—perfect weather for my little scout.
Reluctantly skipping a shower, I dressed quickly and dashed down the wide marble staircase, bypassing the elevator.
"Good morning, Your Honor!" The ornate doorman, with his obligatory bushy mustache, bowed low, opening the door.
I tossed him a small coin, which he deftly caught.
"Much obliged, Your Honor!" he bowed again.
After a brief pause, I flicked him another coin. If he was surprised, he didn't show it, repeating his ritual—catch, bow, thank.
"Tell me, good man, the sirens signal a Rift, right?"
"Exactly, Your Honor!"
"What's DAC?"
"Why, the Department of Anomaly Control, sir!"
"Where's the Rift now?"
The doorman squinted, scanning around.
"Likely near the Field of Mars, Your Honor!"
"Got it, thanks!"
I tossed another coin and hurried off, cutting through a narrow alley to save time. Shnyrka scouted a short route and showed it to me, already at the scene.
Besides being my mother's homeland, the Empire had another draw for me: proximity to the Epicenter, making Rifts more frequent than in Europe.
Imperials saw themselves as Europe's "shield." Europeans viewed them as near-barbarians. Still, even Old Europe's noble houses acknowledged the Imperials' greater combat experience against Rift creatures due to frequent battles.
Petersburg was far from the Epicenter, and Rifts here were rare. But procedures for neutralizing them were well-practiced.
Police were cordoning off the danger zone, while civilians inside locked doors and shutters, staying quiet.
Shnyrka showed me an unguarded alley, and I slipped through into the cordoned area, moving closer until I saw the Rift.
The term "Rift" aptly described the phenomenon, officially called an "Otherworldly Anomaly." Gifted like me saw concentrated energy and spatial disturbances. Ordinary people saw a bluish, warped line with chaotic blue lightning bolts. Commoners named it a Rift.
Each bolt brought monsters that had plagued humanity for ages. Predicting specific types was impossible, but catalogs and countermeasures existed for each.
On a nearby rooftop, Gifted were sealing the Rift with a spell, making it flicker. I arrived late, but there were still ten minutes before DBA's "portalmakers" closed it fully.
In the "field," "physical impact" specialists were eliminating the filth crawling from the Rift. I peered from the alley to assess. Today's guests were the "Wolf Pack," a collective name for furry, four- or six-legged beasts vaguely resembling wolves.
Another burst of lightning spat out a dozen creatures—badly timed for the fighters, who thought they'd prepared. Rifles cracked, spells hissed, wounded beasts howled. Three uglies charged straight at me!
I stepped back twice. One beast yelped, and a dead body rolled into the alley—someone had shot it. The other two survived and appeared before me.
These were Largens—"jungle scavengers" that fed on carrion, hunting only when necessary. That was in my world; I didn't know how it worked here.
Weakly Gifted creatures, their magic enhanced their bodies in a pack. I knew this from the vast "database" in my head, far surpassing local Monster Catalogs.
It took a split second, and my body outpaced my mind. Two short wheezes, and two furry bodies lay at my feet. I was "richer" by two souls. I felt a twinge of shame—for a true Hunter, these weren't opponents, just a nuisance.
But the sensation… it was glorious… Fresh souls left the monsters' bodies and flowed into mine, hitting my chest. It's embarrassing to admit, but these were my first souls in this world. I hadn't had chances to reach Rift sites without risking exposure, which would've kept my former Lineage on my tail.
The souls felt good, but I grimaced. These Largens were scared, though they meant harm, so I did the right thing. Still… I'd only meant to observe… It was too early for action. In my world, I was taught to approach hunts methodically, never skipping preparation.
I glanced around. The alley's walls were solid, windowless—no witnesses to my brief fight. But at street level, basement openings had partially glassless windows. I tossed the bodies into a basement, ruffled my hair, feigned panic, and pressed against the brick wall.
"They went that way!" I shouted hysterically, pointing, as DBA fighters ran into the alley.
"Get to safety, citizen!" one heavily armed fighter snapped, glaring at me irritably, and the group rushed in the direction I indicated.
I peeked around the corner. The Rift was contained and would soon be fully closed.
Today, I saw my first monsters here and relaxed. I'd worried they'd be different, their souls incompatible with me. That would've been my downfall.
I'm not the weakest, but without this, I'd never join the strongest. And trailing behind forever? That's not me—it's against my nature.
I brushed off invisible dust, smoothed my hair, and ordered my pet to find a restaurant, preferably with a view. As my friend, the veteran Hunter Kurt, joked: "Time to shit, and we haven't eaten!" I smiled at the thought. A Hunter's life differed vastly from a local aristocrat's—full of action and far less refined manners.
I asked for a restaurant, but my pet found something else. He signaled me to come without sending an image.
Shnyrka's fully sentient, with his own will and personality, often acting as he pleases. My commands are more like requests he chooses to fulfill.
He led me to a foul-smelling alley. Trash bins lined one wall, while the other, a steaming brick wall, bore signs of a recent fight.
A few steps in, I sensed Shnyrka waiting at the dead end. Infusing my body with energy and cloaking my aura, I moved forward silently, like a cat on the prowl.
My steps were so quiet, even sharp-eared creatures wouldn't notice, let alone the person rummaging in the corner.
At the dead end, I found an intriguing scene. A girl in a DBA uniform sat slumped against the wall. At first glance, she seemed unharmed, but closer inspection revealed several stab wounds near her abdomen, which she clutched. Her strength was gone, eyes rolled back, and she could only wheeze. A dirty man—likely homeless—hovered over her, "helping" by rifling through her pockets, muttering and grinning.
Sure, "helping." The DBA must be in rough shape if a homeless man could overpower their fighter.
Shnyrka clarified everything with his memories.
The girl had chased three unfamiliar fire-type creatures here. She fought them, though she was weak, honestly. She defeated them but was immediately stabbed by two men hiding here—criminal types conducting shady business. Naively, she turned her back, reassuring them she'd protect them. They weren't scared; they eliminated a witness. Then they fled, taking the creatures' corpses, likely for crystals.
Tch… A boot to the back of the bum's head, and he collapsed beside the girl.
Out of the kindness of my heart, I picked up my phone and dialed the police.