I woke up to some noise and, as soon as I opened my eyes, I saw Liza in my room, pretending to tidy up. Bold, and persistent too.
Impressive. She'd go far with that combination.
Noticing I was awake, she bent over as if to pick up some invisible trash. Her short skirt rode up just enough to reveal transparent panties. In response, I felt a familiar tension in my groin, and my underwear grew tight.
Right then, the door opened and Varvara peered in. Not the best timing.
"Liza, what have you been doing here for half an hour? You'll wake the master," she snapped.
"I'm not sleeping," I said. "What time is it?"
"Three in the afternoon," the girl answered brightly. Her smile was all sunshine and innocence, as if that little incident in the shower had never happened. Varvara gave her niece a sharp look, then turned to me.
"How are you feeling, sir?"
"Excellent," I replied. And I wasn't lying.
Compared to the day before, I felt remarkably good. My head was clear, my thoughts sharp. All the disjointed fragments of memory and confusion from earlier had somehow settled into place. Everything made sense now, and each piece fit in.
I had no doubt that my mind and soul were working wonders on Sokolov's brain. With every passing hour, the fusion between us grew stronger, the boundaries faded, and our thoughts intertwined.
"I'll call the doctor, see if he can drop by in the evening," Varvara said.
"No need. I'm fine. Better start thinking about lunch."
"Of course. Liza, come help me," the maid muttered, and the two of them left the room.
It took me about forty minutes to wash up, choose some decent clothes from the wardrobe, and make my way to the dining room. Most of that time, I spent evaluating the clothes.
After a quick dive into the internet earlier, I had a basic idea of what the local youth considered fashionable. Sadly, I had to conclude that Sokolov had terrible taste. Yes, Vetrovo wasn't exactly a fashion capital, and nice clothes cost money, but even so, he was a nobleman, not some back-alley merchant.
In the end, I chose jeans and a worn shirt. It wasn't new, but it was the most neutral and acceptable option available.
For lunch, there was meat and a salad, which I washed down with juice. I would have preferred a glass of cool, dry wine, but there wasn't any wine in the house. The only alcohol around was the same cognac Varvara had poured into my coffee the night before. That wouldn't do. I didn't like strong drinks in the middle of the day.
During lunch, the maid looked ready to go about her business, but I had other plans. It was time to extract from her everything she knew about the state of affairs in Vetrovo. I didn't intend to conduct a full audit, I just needed enough information to grasp the broader picture and understand what kind of mess I had inherited. After all, the property was mine now, and a decent owner ought to know a few things.
"Varvara, until today, were you the only one managing my money?"
"Well, I didn't spend anything extra, not a penny. Just enough to keep the village running."
"That's not what I meant." I waved a hand. "How much money is there in the bank?"
"About two hundred rubles," she replied at once. "I haven't taken anything for myself, only covered repairs and wages. And really, this isn't the kind of money I'd risk everything for!"
"So, no manager?" I said, ignoring her last words.
"There was one. A thieving drunk. So I sent him away. Easier to do things myself."
"I see. And how much does the village bring in per year?"
She paused, thinking, then began counting on her fingers.
"Out loud, please."
"All right then. We've got a large chicken coop, five thousand hens.
Brings in about fifteen hundred rubles a year. Then there's the fish farm, that's another four hundred. The honey adds maybe fifty rubles more. You do the math, sir."
Thanks to the internet, I had a rough idea of the pricing system in the Russian Empire. I didn't dig into the fine print, but I had a general sense of things. And from what she said, it was clear that my village brought in a modest income. Not exactly the kind of fortune that made life interesting.
"What's there to count? Just add up three numbers?" I smirked.
"Now I know why I don't have a decent shirt in my closet. I'm asking because I'll be leaving Vetrovo very soon, and I'll need some money. I'll take about a hundred and fifty rubles. You can live on the rest. Keep running the household as you've been doing. I'm not taking any income from it. Oh... why are you crying?"
"I knew you would leave, master," Varvara began to wail through her tears. "Turns out my premonition didn't deceive me."
Of course, she felt it coming. She must have read the letter from my father, that was all the premonition she needed. He told me to join the Planewalkers.
"Let's say you have the gift of foresight," I said. "You were going on about this long journey of mine yesterday, weren't you?" She nodded.
"So I'm going to Saratov. I'll enroll at the Imperial Academy of Planewalkers, just as my father instructed."
"You can't join the Planewalkers, master, you're in poor health."
"With my pedigree, I don't have a choice. There are no other options. You don't really think I'll sit around here with you and Liza until I grow old, do you?" Varvara sobbed and wiped her eyes with her fist. It looked like I'd just crushed a few of her lingering hopes. "I've been here for two years without any real purpose. I almost forgot who I was. I'll sort out my health. We Sokolovs have strong blood, and you can't water it down forever. Eventually, it pushes back... Why are you still crying?"
"Sir, you're so serious now... You've grown up overnight. You look so much like your father, Mikhail..."
"Was I not like him before?" I stood up from the table. "God rest his soul. I'm going for a walk."
"Alone?" Varvara threw up her hands.
"Are the bandits really that bold these days?"
"God forbid," she said and crossed herself. "Why would bandits come here?"
"Then why the strange question? Of course, I'm going alone. Who else should I go with? Better start packing my luggage for the road. I might leave tomorrow before lunch."
* * * I couldn't say the local landscape made much of an impression on me. I'd seen all of this before, on different planets in my world. The strongest resemblance was to my native Epsilum. The humidity there was higher, and there were more palm trees, but otherwise, it was more or less the same.
I walked through the village, attracting surprised glances from the locals. They nodded happily when they saw me, and some even waved.
Clearly, I was a novelty. That made sense. The former Sokolov hadn't been one for strolls in the fresh air. He preferred to sit at home with his laptop or take short walks around the house with Varvara.
So, while sorting through Vladimir's memories, I made my way to the river, which ran just outside the village. I passed the fish farm Varvara had mentioned and eventually found a quiet, shaded spot on the riverbank where I could focus on Sokolov's energy. I'd always worked better near water. It calmed me, helped me get into the right state of mind quickly.
I took off my shirt, sat down on the grass, and pulled my phone from my pocket. The thing was a relic. Back home, we hadn't used devices like this in centuries. Still, that wasn't the issue now.
In my home world, I had been born with a rare magical Gift — one that had made me the elusive Silvian Crass, known across the Universe. I possessed the magic of time manipulation. I could slow it down, speed it up, or influence a single person or an entire area — whatever I needed. The strain such manipulations placed on me, along with the time required to recover before I could repeat them, was a nuisance, but the power was worth it.
This magic had been passed down through the Crass line. I could only hope it had survived the transition into this world. I had felt a faint response before, just enough to suggest that my magic was still within me.
But how much of it remained? Were there enough energy flows here to draw from? That was what I came here to find out.
I focused on the center of my chest. This time, it happened much faster than before. Within seconds, a pleasant warmth spread through my body. Better than the first time, but still not good enough. It needed to happen faster, and warmth wasn't the feeling I was after. I should have been burning to activate my time manipulation Gift.
By the time I finally achieved the desired result, a couple of hours had passed, and I was drenched in sweat. But I did it. At last, I could activate my Gift on command. Lord of Empires, the magical flows on this planet were a disaster! I had seen worse, certainly, but this was still frustrating. When you had to burn energy just to access your Gift, that was already a problem. I'd have no energy left for the use of magic.
Still, I was pleased. It was time to put the magic into practice.
I picked up my phone, tossed it into the air, and tried to slow it down. The result? About as effective as trying to slow the Sun. The device spun upward and dropped into the grass with a satisfying thud.
Right. Back to the beginning.
I spent nearly an hour trying to apply some form of time manipulation to that wretched piece of technology. Eventually, I almost gave up. One last throw and then I'd get some rest, I told myself. I flicked the phone up, and something clicked. Just before it hit the ground, it froze in midair for the briefest fraction of a second.
I caught it.
It worked.
After a few more attempts, I managed to make it land gently on the grass, exactly as I intended.
So there it was — the final proof that I was still a time mage in this world. One less problem to deal with.
Now it was time for the second act of our dramatic performance: the unlocking of Sokolov's Gift and spells. I hoped they were worth something.
If the boy's frailty wasn't compensated by some remarkable talent, then we were in trouble.
I had already tried to pull scraps of memory related to his magic, but nothing surfaced. Not a trace. Just like with the Internet, his records had been wiped clean. It wasn't natural. Something or someone had clearly tampered with his memory.
And yet, oddly enough, I couldn't recall any trauma that might have caused memory loss. No head injuries, no spells gone wrong, no accidents in fencing or fistfighting practice. Those memories remained perfectly intact.
Some things were still there. For example, I remembered his magic teacher, Lev Pavlov — tall, thin, sour-faced, with a goatee sharp enough to cut glass. I remembered his name, his look, his voice. But I couldn't recall a single lesson. Not a spell, not a piece of advice. Nothing.
And yet I remembered my magic rank. Third, which meant I was an apprentice.
How was that possible? How could I remember a title but not the knowledge that helped me earn it?
Nonsense.
Encouraged by my recent success with my Gift, I spent another half hour combing through the memories, desperate to uncover something hidden or lost — a spark, a whisper, anything. But there was nothing.
Someone had done a good job. The realization irritated me more than I cared to admit. Nonsense. I needed to clear my head.
I took off my jeans, socks, and shoes, put everything in a neat pile, and walked toward the river. After that round of training, cold water was exactly what I needed.
I swam until I felt like myself again, letting the chill sink into my skin and wash off the strain. Then I climbed out, dried off as best I could, got dressed, and returned to my practice. I wasn't about to quit now.
First, I summoned the familiar energy in my chest. That part came easily. But then something else stirred, something deeper and unfamiliar.
Come on, Vladimir, who are you?
This power didn't come from the chest or heart. It came from the stomach, and I couldn't work with it the way I worked with my own. It slipped from my focus whenever I tried to grasp it, like it was deliberately avoiding contact with my mind.
Fine. I would figure it out step by step.
I tried directing it to my legs. Nothing. Next, to my arms, that seemed more promising.
At first, I felt no change. Then something shifted. Barely noticeable, but it was there. I rested and tried again. Yes, something moved. There was a response. The current ran better through my arms, not perfect, but familiar enough to build on.
Then came the tingling.
It felt like tiny needles pushing outward through my skin.
Unpleasant, but manageable. I wondered how bad it would get if I pushed harder. Would the tingling turn into pain?
Apparently, my instincts were spot-on. No sooner had the thought crossed my mind than my right hand flared with pain so sharp it felt like a knife had driven through my palm.
I cried out.
Then the invisible knife twisted. The second wave of pain was worse, but with it came release.
A fireball.
It burst from my hand and shot forward, tracing a glowing arc of white and yellow across the river before exploding on the far bank with a sharp blast. A startled flock of ducks took off in a flurry of wings and noise.
I sat there, breathing hard, my hand still tingling.
So that was what this was. It explained the stomach.
Vladimir Sokolov had turned out to be a fire elemental. That meant that, on top of everything else, I was now a fire mage as well. Good news.
My struggle to awaken that unfamiliar energy hadn't been in vain.
Elemental mages were rare in this world — that much I already knew — and such a Gift was found only in ancient noble families, passed down by inheritance. Perhaps, if I hadn't ended up in Sokolov's body, he would never have remembered his Gift at all, buried beneath a lock placed by some agent of the Imperial Secret Chancellery or whoever had destroyed his family. At least that was my conclusion at the time. But that was another matter entirely.
What I didn't like was the pain. Fire magic wasn't gentle. It tore through the veins, scorching them from within, demanding strength this body didn't have. It was enough to make anyone lose interest. Maybe, with time and experience, the sensation would grow more bearable. I didn't know, and Sokolov's memories offered no help.
But then, without warning, vivid flashes of memory returned. One image replaced another in rapid succession — scenes from my lessons with Pavlov, and all the spells Sokolov had learned by the time his training was interrupted.
Considering that young Vladimir hadn't practiced for the past two years, and his last lessons had taken place when he was fifteen, he actually remembered quite a bit. Of course, a young fire mage couldn't compare to a Bear-class intergalactic imperial cruiser in terms of raw firepower, but Vladimir was no weakling either. At that moment, I could say I had truly become Vladimir Sokolov — someone with the right to wear the family signet ring. It was a shame Vlad hadn't applied himself to fencing or hand-to-hand combat, but I would make up for that part of his upbringing myself.
My own instructors had been strict and thorough.
In the end, I had spent the evening well. I'd achieved everything I had set out to do. Still, I could barely stand after all that training. My new body had reached its limit.
* * * Although I came home close to eleven o'clock, Varvara had waited for me and warmed up dinner. She had even found a bottle of wine somewhere, remembering my earlier complaint that wine would be better than kvass. I asked her to bring me clean clothes and then sent her off to bed.
I didn't linger long at the table. I was exhausted after the day and just wanted a shower and some rest.
But, as usual, things didn't go according to plan. I got into bed quickly, settled in, and closed my eyes, but sleep wouldn't come. I had only just begun to relax when the door creaked open slightly and Liza peeked into the room.
She paused for just a moment, then stepped inside and closed the door behind her. Her bare feet slapped against the floor as she tiptoed across the room. Without hesitation, she shrugged off her nightgown and slipped under the blanket beside me.
And now what?
She lay still for a minute, then placed a hand gently on my chest.
"Vlad, are you asleep?"
What was I supposed to do with her? They say you couldn't straighten a hunchback, and you certainly couldn't reason with a shameless girl. I had said no, clearly, but here she was again.
Her fingers moved lightly across my skin. I realized that, all things considered, I was not that tired after all. A bit of rest and affection didn't sound so terrible. My body, evidently, agreed with me.
"You again?" I whispered. "Can't sleep?"
"My aunt said you're leaving tomorrow."
"And?"
"Well, I'd miss you. Don't be angry with me. I wanted to..."
I didn't answer. I just touched her cheek and kissed her. But I had no time to take the lead. She had clearly been waiting for that kiss. So much for tenderness... She bit my lip, first gently, then with more pressure. Her hand slipped into my underwear.
Well, if she knew what she was doing, I wasn't going to argue. After the day I'd had, I didn't mind handing over the reins.
Before I knew it, Liza had removed the rest of my clothing and climbed on top of me.
What a little devil.
I let out a noise, louder than I should have, considering Varvara's talent for appearing at the worst possible moment. Liza leaned down and gently placed her hand over my mouth.