"Isn't that enough already?" I asked wearily of the chief commissar, who had personally arrived to interrogate me.
I ended up here after calling for help, and they hauled me in as the main witness. The girl, by the way, survived and might even be back on her feet in about a month, provided the healers patch her up properly and she doesn't rely solely on her own energy.
"I beg your pardon, Mr. Galaktionov, but you must understand our position. An attack on a noblewoman and a DAC fighter is a very serious matter. We need to gather as many details as possible. Very well, let's start from the beginning. How did you end up in that place?"
As if I'm an idiot—but no. First, I didn't wish the girl dead; she was, in a way, kindred in spirit. After all, she's a Hunter too, albeit a minor one. Second, I wanted to get acquainted with the local authorities and their procedures.
In the Prussian Principality, everything was strict in this regard, but rumors about the Russian Empire varied widely. To me, either they're lying, or barons are simply treated differently here. They didn't threaten or disrespect me; they were just doing their job.
"As I've already said, I'm not local and was trying to get to my hotel quickly to be safe, far from the Rift," I repeated, my memory sharp enough to recall exactly what I'd said before.
If they thought they'd catch me on inconsistencies, they were mistaken.
"And you still haven't recalled anyone suspicious?" How could I, when I wasn't even there? How amusing…
"No…"
In total, they kept me for another hour until another officer entered and informed the commissar that the girl had regained consciousness, allowing them to clarify the situation.
First, they politely asked me to accompany them to her so she could see my face.
They informed me beforehand that I could refuse, as I had every right to. I agreed. Why not?
I rode in style in a service car, complete with flashing lights.
In the hospital ward, the girl looked pale and weak but could speak. Her people were already there, recording her statement and piecing together what had happened. They asked if she recognized me, and she weakly shook her head.
"Lady Inga, in that case, remember his face—he saved you," the commissar told her briefly, visibly relaxing.
Well, the case was solved, and I wasn't a criminal. He had no further need to deal with me.
"Thank you for your cooperation, Your Honor!" The commissar extended his hand.
It was a delicate moment. I could refuse to shake his hand, as was my right—a commoner versus a noble. But his status far exceeded mine, and refusing would show disrespect.
It felt like a test to see if I was a jerk.
"Likewise," I said, shaking his hand.
They assigned a car to take me back to the hotel, but I seized the opportunity. Since I had the chance, I shared my situation with a regular policeman and asked for advice on how an aristocrat, a citizen of the Empire who had lived abroad his whole life, should proceed to officially establish himself here.
He suggested visiting the Imperial Archive, and I asked to be driven there.
"Imperial Archive." I despise bureaucracy. Always have. In my past world, it was simple: to claim a reward, you just presented a soul to the Elder.
Yes, that straightforward. Sure, there were maniacs or collectors who cut off parts of the monsters they killed—trophies. Old Mack was one such enthusiast. His shack was stuffed with beaks, claws, tentacles, and other junk he was immensely proud of, but that wasn't my thing. You killed a monster, took its soul—why desecrate its corpse?
Yes, we were paid for killing monsters. The Order paid. Whatever fees they collected from interested parties, we didn't care. But Elder Tooth never miscalculated, doling out the exact number of full-weight crystals we earned, minus the mandatory contribution to the Order's needs. We didn't mind, as the Order covered all expenses if a crystal golem smashed you and you needed months to recover—a sort of professional insurance.
The room I needed seemed to have never seen sunlight, though it was on the fifth floor, not a basement. I climbed the narrow staircase by habit, never missing a chance to stay active. I also disliked elevators—confined spaces made it hard to defend against sudden threats, and I was always on guard. Paranoia? Perhaps. But as old Mack said, "A hunter too bold is a hunter dead!"
Curtained windows, a dusty floor long overdue for cleaning, and a pretty girl at the counter, daintily covering her snub nose with a white lace handkerchief. Her simple dress of cheap fabric and a lone ring on her middle finger suggested modest means at best. I was never a snob, but in this life, I'd learned to read people by their appearance—though I sometimes erred, encountering devotees of the creed, "A good bluff is worth more than money."
"Good day, miss!" I smiled charmingly at the visitor. "Am I next?"
"Yes," she nodded, her gaze lingering on me. Indeed, I looked "rich and refined." She couldn't know this was my last intact, clean suit, tailored by one of Europe's priciest seamstresses—a final gift from my Lineage, given only because it bore no family crest.
"Allow me to introduce myself: Alexander Galaktionov," I nodded briefly, keeping my eyes on her.
"A pleasure! Anastasia Gorodetskaya!" She smiled, offering her hand. I thought kissing a lady's hand was customary in the Empire, but I wasn't sure. So, I gently took her delicate wrist with two fingers and gave a slight shake, mimicking a greeting.
It seemed to work.
"What brings such a charming creature to this realm of dust and oblivion?" I asked, noting a faint smile on her face.
"My mother sent me to retrieve a document regarding an inheritance. Our grandmother passed, and now we need to re-register the estate," Nastya reported candidly.
Beautiful and naive—a common mix for young, titled fools whose fathers were foolish enough to avoid giving their daughters an education that might intimidate future husbands. On the marriage market, intellect ranked last, just after missing limbs and before cross-eyes.
"Here you are, Ms. Gorodetskaya, please sign," a creaky voice announced. From the archive's depths emerged a stooped old man in a dusty, outdated coat—a true archive rat, no doubt!
"Thank you so much," the girl beamed, reaching out, but the clerical rodent deftly pulled the documents back, smirking slyly.
"That'll be fifty rubles, miss!" proclaimed the dusty gnome.
I frowned. What was he playing at? A wild country, indeed…
"But…" The girl faltered. "Mother said all fees and taxes were already paid."
It seemed the rules had changed, or the old man was simply fleecing the naive girl. The situation intrigued me, and I kept watching.
"That's the archive fee, miss. It's separate!" the old man declared unabashedly, grinning.
"But… I don't have that kind of money," she stammered, flustered.
So, her Lineage wasn't wealthy, not giving her extra cash.
"Well, what can be done! Come back tomorrow," the official shrugged. "Though… no, tomorrow won't do. Let's say, in a month."
That was a blunder, old man.
"But we urgently need these documents to claim the inheritance!" The girl seemed on the verge of tears.
I wanted to slap myself and drag a hand down my face at such a fiasco. Why say that? It only made things worse. A true "hothouse flower" thrust into the harsh adult world.
"Yes, yes, I know! The Arnautsky estate… By the way, valued at forty-five thousand rubles!" the old crook squinted. A damned extortionist!
It wasn't a fortune, but for a cash-strapped Lineage, it could solve most problems.
"Allow me to pay for you," I said, struck by an idea to amuse myself.
I wasn't a good Samaritan but enjoyed fun. What's better than thwarting a greedy old man's plans? I wouldn't be surprised if, after I left, he suggested she pay another way—though unlikely, as she might kill him on the spot if she had the nerve.
"What? No, please don't!" she protested, turning to the archivist. "Sir, please understand our situation! We can't pay that much now. But if possible, I'll call Mother today, and she'll transfer the money. I'll have it in three days."
"Permit me," I confidently took her arm and led her to the corridor. "Sit and rest. Don't worry about a thing; I'll handle it."
"But you don't have to," she weakly objected.
"Nonsense! On the contrary, it'll be my pleasure. A gentleman's duty is to aid a lady in distress."
"Lovely?" She blushed.
Oh, dear, don't blush so sweetly. You're too young and innocent for me, I'm afraid, and not my type.
If you saw me swat a fly, you might faint from fear.
I returned to the archive, closing the door. Honestly, I wanted to throttle this greedy weasel—not just for trying to make a quick buck, but for taking pleasure in troubling an aristocrat and priding himself on it.
Should I conjure an illusion, say, a swamp demon, to give this dandelion a heart attack on the spot? But I had a better idea.
"This is for Ms. Gorodetskaya," I handed over five ten-ruble notes, which vanished instantly from the counter.
"Here you are," he handed me the document packet pompously. "Anything else, sir?"
He looked at me expectantly.
"Galaktionov. Alexander Galaktionov," I smiled charmingly. "The thing is, I've been absent for a long time on… Lineage business. Now that I'm back, I can't locate some relatives to sort out my property."
"Your documents, please!"
I handed them over. I didn't know if my father forged them or if they were real, but the old man, donning pince-nez and squinting nearsightedly, examined them thoroughly, even sniffing them for some reason. He seemed satisfied. Then he flipped through two massive dusty tomes, then another, sneezed loudly from the dust, and looked at me with teary eyes.
"You've been absent a very long time, Baron Alexander Galaktionov."
He tried to hide his curiosity about me, but failed miserably. What had he seen to stare like that?
"Lineage matters, you understand," I shrugged.
"Yes, yes! I can assist… but…" He gave me a meaningful look.
"Archive fee, I presume? How much?" I smiled radiantly, opening my wallet.
"Well…" His eyes darted, trying to peek inside. I "accidentally" tilted it toward him. I never carried all my money in my wallet—never put all eggs in one basket. Paranoia, indeed.
"Fifty rubles!" he declared. "Come back in a week for the documents."
"I'd prefer today," I smiled sweetly.
"Then another hundred!" The old crook—blind-looking but sharp enough to count my bills.
Smiling, I emptied my wallet onto the counter. This archivist must have a Gift—the Gift of making money vanish. I barely caught his swift move.
"Come back in two hours! It'll be ready!"
"I'll be here," I nodded and stepped into the corridor, sneezing fiercely.
"Bless you!" The girl smiled.
"Thank you!" I nodded. "Here are your documents."
"Do I owe you money?" she asked warily.
"Not at all! I resolved it for free. The esteemed archivist was delighted to accommodate me."
"How did you manage that?" She frowned but took the papers.
"My boundless charm!" Her smile widened. "But… you do owe me something…"
"What exactly?" She tensed, and I realized I'd underestimated her intelligence.
Why was she so scared?
"I'm not local. My… ahem… order will take two hours, and I'm starving but don't know where to go. Will you save me? Keep me from dying of hunger?"
"Of course," she smiled, taking my offered arm.
A small restaurant with a charming courtyard and summer terrace was nearby. After getting menus and ordering drinks, we struck up a light conversation.
Anastasia was the daughter of an impoverished landowner who moved to Petersburg to make ends meet, taking a government job. A failed duel left him dead, his widow and two daughters nearly penniless. The good news was improved relations with their grandmother, their mother's mother—a real old hag. The late son-in-law had been a sore point, despised by the mother-in-law. After his death, she softened, providing for her relatives. A month ago, she died suddenly, overindulging in her beloved Crimean Madeira—at ninety-two, no less.
I listened to the girl's chatter, wondering why I was here. The food was excellent, but why her?
Then a merry, tipsy group stumbled into the courtyard, and one fat backside looked familiar. The Vorontsov Lineage's eldest heir in the flesh!
"Hey, fatso!" I cheerfully greeted the drunken, half-blind noble scion.
I don't know why I did it. Maybe I was bored. Maybe I felt justice hadn't been served. Or I just wanted to see how duels worked here.
Alas, no duel ensued. This Vorontsov was so drunk he summoned his aura to attack me, but his bodyguards quickly restrained and dragged him away.
"You insulted my master," one bodyguard approached, thin, bespectacled, but in an expensive suit. "There'll be no duel, as he… doesn't stoop to such riffraff today," he faltered. "Give your name so I can tell his father who dared speak so to his son."
"Alexander Galaktionov," I tossed lazily, like a bone to a dog from a lord's table. "You can also tell him his son's a fat pig, devoid of manners or dignity, shaming his Lineage!"
"Is that so?" The bodyguard's eyebrows shot up.
"Now, unless you want a workout, get lost—I'm relaxing here."
The girl looked at me with admiration.
Later…
"Y-e-e-e-s!" Shnyrka declared affirmatively, appearing from the shadows on my shoulder.
"Yes! Thank you, little guy!" I took a wad of crumpled bills from his paws, including a few hundreds. "Great job. You're my provider."
Shnyrka purred contentedly, offering his scruff for a scratch. He'd brought far more, even finding the dusty "Scrooge's" stash, but I felt no shame. Greed is a bad trait.
The documents made for an amusing picture. I had no relatives left—none at all. I was the sole representative who hadn't renounced the Lineage. Here's the catch: my Lineage didn't die out naturally but lost a clan war, meaning they were helped to die. Now that I'd surfaced, I'd likely be the next target. My Lineage had property and bank accounts, but to claim them, I had to officially assume the role of heir and head of the Lineage. I was willing… despite the troubles that came with it.
I didn't fear fighting Brothers in the meat grinder at Crooked Peak against a dragon pack, so why fear now? These are just people…
The old man took pity on me, or so he thought, and gave me more information than required, on his own accord.
I needed to visit the city administration and meet the manager.
I didn't suspect deceit and did just that. From the archive, I took a taxi to the administration, where there was a long queue—for commoners. Nobles had a separate, unobstructed entrance.
"Pardon, I need to establish inheritance rights. Could you point me the way, dear lady?" I gently caught the arm of a hurrying woman.
"Huh?" She didn't immediately grasp what I wanted but quickly pointed to a sign.
For all inquiries, contact the registry!
And off she went… What's with people? Why not just help?
The registry directed me to the right office, which I found thanks to Shnyrka. The building was large, with many strong Gifted and guards.
Knocking at the office of "Andronov Denis Pavlovich," I mentally checked my documents to ensure I hadn't forgotten anything.
"Come in," a voice called—a woman's, the secretary.
I wanted a secretary like that. Did his wife know about her? If so, jealousy-fueled scandals were guaranteed.
The secretary asked routine questions, offered tea or coffee, and permitted me to enter.
"Your situation is interesting, young man," the gray-haired man smirked, reviewing my documents. "You're technically our citizen, all officially confirmed, but…"
"What, have I been stripped of citizenship?" I smiled, not ruling it out. I knew it wouldn't be easy, and my father might've set me up.
"No, that's fine, but your legal status could get you arrested," he said, meeting my eyes, then pressed a button on his desk. "Lenochka, bring two coffees; we're in for a long talk."
From his words, my life was a total mess. My father likely prepared these documents long ago and held onto them, which was the problem. He should've registered me as officially living abroad, but instead, I was listed as traveling. So, I owed the Empire.
From age sixteen, every noble must join group Rift expeditions at least once a year or pay a sum to the treasury.
Alternatively, a clan squad could go in their place. But that wasn't my case—my debts had piled up, with penalties growing. For each year of unpaid duty, I now owed ten expeditions, a daunting task for a lone aristocrat without a Lineage's support.
Until I met the quota, I wasn't considered an aristocrat, and I could be detained for a "preventive talk," or even face trial.
He spoke at length, and I didn't grasp everything, nor needed all the nuances, but the man was thorough. Seeing my ignorance, he explained everything.
"In simple terms, you're branded a coward," he said plainly after his complex arguments. "No Lineage will welcome you. Those who do might kill you if you don't disclose your status upfront. It's in your file, and my advice: find a squad quickly and spend two years clearing your debts."
"Is that all I need to do?" I clarified.
"No…" He shook his head, seeming to pity me. "Your estate in Siberia will be auctioned within six months."
"Is that legal?" I was stunned by the twist.
"Quite," he disappointed me. "If over ten parties petition to buy the house, it's legal. Papers were sent to you, and you ignored them, implying consent."
Right… So, a mailbox was opened in my name at a fictitious address, storing all correspondence.
Did I want to give up my ancestral estate? No… Hunters were like hamsters, hoarding for the Order and loathing to share against their will. You never knew what might come in handy.
"What's the debt amount? How long do I have to settle it?"
My estate had racked up debts like a reckless gambler in a casino.
"If you file a paper now, opposing the sale and committing to repay the debt, the auction will be delayed six months. If you fail, you can't pull that off again," he offered some hope. "But I must warn you," he leaned back, "without power behind you, they'll likely just kill you."
"You say that so casually," I raised an eyebrow with a smile.
"I'm an aristocrat too, and I'm telling you how things work," he returned my smile. "You're only an aristocrat on paper—effectively, a nobody. Tough luck, kid. You'll have to achieve everything yourself. Better yet, leave if you can, back to where you were."
The estate's debt was seventy thousand—not its value, but the owed amount. He was shocked seeing it on his computer. Clearly, someone inflated it or bribed officials to ensure a surprise heir couldn't interfere.
The estate might not even be worth that. But from the Prussian Principality, I knew one truth: you have a name and an ancestral estate. Lose one, and you lose respect.
My Lineage is ancient, and my blood should be highly valued. Aristocrats obsess over long pedigrees, but without an estate or a ring, I'm nothing.
Amusing, isn't it?
This kindly aristocratic official improved my view of them. He genuinely tackled my problem and helped as he should, and best of all, it was free. The Empire paid him for such consultations. I couldn't linger in this city—not yet…
My path led to Siberia, to an ancestral estate I might reclaim who-knows-when.
Time to buy tickets… They say bears roam the streets there, but that's unconfirmed…