Over the past year, much had changed in Khaal's life. At the very least, he was no longer confined to bed. There was just one "but" – that bed was so multifunctional that it could even give him a massage.
And now he was forced to endure the fact that in the future he would not only have to sleep on cold mattresses, warmed by coals in an iron box, but also... Relieve himself in a wooden privy. Lined with velvet, decorated with some mosaics, but wooden!
His life had not prepared him for this...
Nor had it prepared him for finding himself in another world after death. Fortunately, not as some peasant, but as a prince. Even if it was unclear what would happen with his inheritance in the future. There were some strange rules of succession for the country's main stool – the throne.
"...and the northern neighbor is the kingdom of Balium." At the enormous map occupying the entire wall stood a gray-haired old man. With a pointer, he outlined the borders of various states and explained something to the nobles' children. They sat at desks, drawing something with quills on scrolls. "It is under the protection of the Black Gates sect, which is why we do not wage war with them. It would be equivalent to suicide."
"Record," Khaal mentally commanded.
[Processing request... Request processed. Data entered into the "General world information" catalog.]
"Why don't they attack us?" raised her hand the owner of amazingly beautiful eyes and slender wrists.
"What would a vassal of the Black Gates want with such a small kingdom as ours?"
Khaal, hiding in the corner of the hall, tried to roll his eyes, but his body responded poorly. Besides, it had taken him nearly two hours to crawl from his chambers to the hall with the map where future officials and scholars were being taught. Not that he crawled slowly, just sometimes he would pass out.
The neural network informed him about energy deficiency, and then he would fall asleep.
Now he understood why infants slept so often if even crawling a couple of meters required such effort from him.
"And we are all in the sphere of influence of the Darnas Empire."
The First Court Scholar continued his lecture, while Khaal gazed hungrily at the map. The first time he saw it – then still from his mother's arms – he nearly lost consciousness. Although probably at that moment he was falling asleep again, but that's beside the point.
Overall, the palace alone was larger than several city blocks. If we're talking about cities from his old world, of course. The ceilings here were so high and the walls so long that one could easily get dizzy. And stretched across this entire marble wall, which could easily serve as a fortress wall, was a map sewn from the skins of various beasts.
The seams on it represented mountains, veins – rivers. Not that the people of Lidus were barbarians, just that originally the map was very old. And very old by local standards meant several million years. Yes, people here lived abnormally long, but more on that later.
So – new territories were simply "sewn on" to the map in memory of the ancestors. And since Khaal had been an educated person in his past life, he calculated using geometry that Lidus was three times the size of the Eurasian continent.
It would seem to be a huge piece of land. Gigantic even. But on the map, you couldn't find it without a magnifying glass. Just a village, nothing more. A small piece of land in the expanses of a titanic world.
Why days here lasted the same twenty-four hours despite such volumes was incomprehensible even to Khaal's neural network. Although it had lost most of its functions. All that remained after rebirth were recording and playback capabilities and very limited analytical mechanisms.
Though it would be wrong to complain – by all rights, he shouldn't have had it at all now.
"Under whose sect's influence is our kingdom?" asked a rather impudent-looking boy.
"Very good question." The scholar put down his pointer and returned to the podium. "For exactly the same reason that Balium does not attack us, the sects are not interested in us either. The level of martial arts development in our land is very low. For comparison, to become a disciple, not an official one, but an 'ordinary' disciple of the Black Gates, you need to be no lower than the eighth level of the Bodily Rivers."
The students let out a collective gasp, and Khaal gave his neural network the command to record. The locals had some strange fetish about martial arts, which most likely transformed from local magic.
Well yes, he had been reborn in a world of sword and magic, so what? Better than being a vegetable.
However, this evolutionary quirk could be explained by the fact that wars and the constant struggle for survival here were more commonplace than a Friday shopping trip in his old world.
"And that's not the most difficult part," the scholar continued. "This level must be achieved before the age of sixteen. Otherwise, the adept will not be accepted."
Another wave of sighs swept through the audience, if this place could be called that.
"I hasten to remind you that the path of development is long and winding. Everyone begins at the Bodily Nodes level, which is divided into nine stages. Next awaits you the Bodily Rivers level with its twelve stages. And only after you cross the threshold separating a mortal from an adept will you reach the formation stage and be able to consider yourself an adept and part of the martial arts world."
The crowd sat with open mouths. They all certainly knew this already, but the scholar had a way of speaking that made even familiar material seem very interesting. Especially to Khaal, for whom every crumb of knowledge was important.
"Who can tell me what level a warrior must be to become a junior officer in our army?"
Immediately a forest of hands. In the literal sense of the expression. Of the nearly two hundred children, almost half wanted to answer.
"Please, Viscount Veil," the scholar nodded.
A red-haired boy of about ten stood up. Although what right did Khaal have to think so, when he himself was only a year and two weeks old.
"Eighth stage of the Bodily Nodes."
"Absolutely correct, sit down." And the boy sat back on his stool, looking at his comrades as if... well, not very pleasantly. "And this is considered a decent level. To become a mid-level officer, one must cross the threshold and reach the Bodily Rivers level. Senior officers in the army are those few who have reached the third stage. Our generals are at the fifth stage of the Bodily Rivers."
The crowd scribbled with quills on scrolls, while carefully listening to the instructor. Right now, in their wild heads, they were probably fantasizing about becoming the strongest adepts in the kingdom. Fortunately, gender rights were all in order here. Khaal personally had seen an enchanting lady in armor with general's regalia.
Are you capable, strong, skilled? Go ahead – all roads are open to you. Well, how else, if such a lady is quite capable of not only stopping a galloping horse, but also lifting that same horse with her left hand and throwing it a couple of meters.
"So you can imagine how difficult it is to reach the required level of development to not only interest the Black Gates but simply to participate in their entrance exam."
"You said 'ordinary' disciple. Are there others?"
"Of course," the scholar nodded. "In most sects, disciples are divided into the following groups: outer or 'ordinary' – there are countless numbers of them."
The children exchanged glances. Countless young men and women at the eighth stage of the Bodily Rivers?! They themselves had not even begun training yet, as their bodies were too weak for it. Even despite all the stimulants and medicinal preparations they had been fed since birth.
"Next are the inner circle disciples or the 'close ones'. I don't know about other sects, as they are either too far away or simply not interested in us."
Khaal mentally whistled. Too far away in the local world was something like the distance from Earth to Mars.
"But in the Black Gates, only those who have reached the formation stage before the age of twenty are admitted to the inner circle exam. For comparison, our two first persons – King Haver IV and his brother, the military commander, Primus, reached this stage by sixty years of age. And they are considered the strongest warriors of their generation and the entire country."
This time the wave of sighs grew into a tsunami of whispers, and Khaal tried to keep his consciousness from cognitive dissonance. A year ago he thought his mother was only twenty years old. But, as he later discovered (when he was able to understand the local language thanks to his neural network), she was closer to a hundred. His father had been treading the earth for three centuries.
How old Primus was, considering the gray in his beard, was frightening to think about.
"And beyond that?" asked the girl with beautiful wrists.
"Beyond that are the senior disciples. These are those who have earned the personal attention of teachers in the sect. For this, one needs to be an extraordinary individual. I knew only one such adept. And by twenty-five years of age, he was already at the Heavenly Soldier level."
This time the children couldn't contain themselves and bombarded him with questions in chorus. Is it true that a Heavenly Soldier can fly? Is it true that with a wave of his hand he can summon fire? That his sword can cut an enemy at a distance of two hundred paces? Is it true that with an arrow he can hit a slit in a helmet at a distance of five kilometers? Is it true that for a Heavenly Soldier, living a hundred years in seclusion during meditation is as easy as a day is for an ordinary mortal?
"Quiet." The scholar lightly slapped his palm on the podium.
And from this slap, an air wave spread, turning over several scrolls and ruffling the hair on wild heads even in the back rows. The crowd immediately fell silent.
"All true, children," the scholar nodded. "After an adept passes through the formation and transformation stages and can break through the second serious barrier between stages – he can reach the true level of an adept. He will cease to be an ordinary mortal, touch eternity, and become a Heavenly Soldier. And in the opinion of many, only then can a person truly be considered an adept."
Someone raised their hand again, but was probably going to ask a silly question. Given that it was that impudent little viscount, it would be something from the realm of a Heavenly Soldier's bedroom capabilities.
So Khaal, forgetting himself, raised his sausage-like hand and asked:
"And what exactly should be formed and transformed? Why nodes and rivers? What kind of sick imagination did those who invented all this have?!"
Deathly silence immediately fell in the hall.
Khaal, standing on all fours, dressed in silk and velvet, slowly lowered his hand back to the floor. He had forgotten that in his performance these questions sounded approximately like:
"Goo-gaga-goo? Agloo-am-sa-a-a-a-a-a-magloo? Ga-ga-gaguma-a-a-ag."
[Bearer's speech subject to deformation: 100%. Possibility of correction: 0%]
One of the quick-witted jumped to his feet and, pressing his hand to his chest, bowed. These were from the most noble – children of dukes. Simple nobles fell to one knee, and future ladies dropped into deep curtsies.
The scholar bowed low.
"Your Highness," he said. "How did you..."
The doors of the hall opened, and on the threshold appeared a being feared even by some generals. The elderly but very sprightly royal nurse. Royal, because in her time she had nursed Haver IV and his brother. Legends said that she herself had once been a general. And not of just any unit, but of the cavalry. The elite of elites.
"Your Highness!" she roared with such power that the gigantic map trembled. "How did you manage to escape again?!"
Khaal wanted to answer that he had managed to dig a hole in the door of his chambers over the week, but most likely, they would figure it out themselves. Besides, he couldn't answer. Nor could he stand at attention. Although he really wanted to. And apparently, he wasn't the only one.
"I beg your pardon, Scholar Southern Wind." Yes, names here were sometimes strange as well.
The nurse picked up Khaal in her arms. Despite her stern face, she did it so carefully, as if holding not a person but a fragile vase. She wrapped him in a prepared blanket. Khaal protested, but couldn't cope with the nurse. And as soon as he found himself in warmth and comfort, nature took its course, and he immediately fell asleep.
At that moment, warriors were already pouring out of the corridor. They surrounded the nurse and together with her left the hall, leaving the shocked students and scholar alone with their thoughts.
The nurse mentally sighed, imagining what a scandal the king and queen would cause again. It was no wonder the warriors were checking their armor and shields. If Elizabeth started throwing plates again, they would have to call architects and builders to extract them from the walls later.