**Office of the Head of the Monster Slayers Training Center, Duke Khrulyov**
"Vasily Petrovich, may I?"
"Come in, Sergei!"
The center's chief analyst wasn't a Slayer, but he was an exceptional analyst, fully earning his substantial salary.
"What's up?"
"A very peculiar case, Sergei Petrovich."
"Go on, Seryozha, details," Khrulyov set aside the papers he was reviewing. When the chief analyst used such words, it was truly "peculiar."
"A fresh Rift, minimal Category 1, but highly problematic. Sverchkov's group tried to close it aggressively, but failed. They even lost two people."
Khrulyov grimaced. He remembered. Each lost Slayer stirred regret in him, which he took as his own failure. They lost many…
"Right, a colony of cave spiders and eared bats, if memory serves. We sent Semenov's group to clear it, didn't we? And, if I'm not mistaken, the Rift is closed!"
"Correct," the analyst nodded, unsurprised. Their "old man," as everyone affectionately called their commander, had a phenomenal memory. "But Semenov's group didn't close it."
"Free Slammers beat them to it?" the old man scowled. He disliked that reckless bunch.
They were unavoidable, though. There were always those who shunned rules, taking a riskier, freer, sometimes lucrative path.
"You could say that," Sergei hesitated. "A Free Slammer. Solo! Well, not entirely free. He's one of ours but works alone."
"Really?" the Center's head raised his gray eyebrows. "Why would a 2nd or 3rd-class Slayer bother with a beginner Rift? Broke, poor guy?"
"He was 5th-class, Your Grace!"
"Whoa!" the veteran exclaimed. "How's that possible?"
"No clue!" the young analyst shrugged. "His profile says he shouldn't have managed! Semenov's group followed and found over a hundred gutted monster corpses! He did it in one go, no rest breaks."
"Impressive!" the puzzled commander shook his head. "Who's this prodigy?"
"Alexander Galaktionov, Your Grace."
"Why am I not surprised?" Khrulyov rubbed his bridge. "Right! From this moment, all Galaktionov's reports on my desk. Where he goes, who he's with, what he clears. This is intriguing."
---
"Hey! What the hell?!"
I woke to a large, wet tongue giving me a bath.
"What are you doing?!"
A massive, toothy maw loomed over me… reproachfully?
"What do you want? Oh! Walkies? Hang on…"
I pried my eyes open, threw on a tracksuit and sneakers, and, after some "ritual dancing," convinced the shameless beast to accept my last belt as a leash. The panther was cooperative, especially after lightly biting the belt and realizing she could break free effortlessly. Maybe I should buy a proper leash?
The concierge, still shell-shocked from yesterday, watched us as we headed to a nearby park. I unclipped her "leash," crouched, and gave clear orders: "No eating people." I knew she could send mental images back, but she stayed silent, though she understood.
My phone rang.
"Sanya! Save me!" Androsov's voice blared.
"What do you want?" I grumbled, shivering in the cold, drizzly rain.
"Woke you again?"
"Nah, I'm walking my pet!"
"YOU'RE WALKING WHAT?!" Andryukha sounded stunned.
"Got myself an animal. Always wanted a kitty."
"Don't they use litter boxes? Or your slippers… Heh…"
"Quit joking, or I'll hang up. What's up?"
"'What's up,' you sound like a thug, not an aristo!" my friend chided.
"I'm hanging up," I informed the cheeky bastard.
"Wait! I need your help!"
"Androsov! Finally decided? Blonde or brunette?"
"Uh… Ugh, forget you! I'm serious!"
"So am I!"
"I've got a hand-to-hand exam in a week."
"And?"
"And… Train me! Please…"
"What's in it for me?"
Silence on the other end.
"Uh… What do you need?"
"Kidding!" I smirked. "I'll come… In an hour… If this beast finally pisses…"
"Who—"
"No time to explain! Wait!" I hung up and waded into bushes to find my cat.
"Bad! No!" I yelled, seeing her chew something. "Where'd you find a squirrel, you fiend?"
The panther gave me a disdainful look and spat out a fluffy red tail.
"Like you're starving! Let's go!" I spotted aristocrats walking their pedigree dogs in the park. If my kitty ate them, it'd be awkward.
Locking the beast in the apartment, I threw on a tracksuit. My wardrobe's lacking. At least it's justified today.
Catching a quick taxi, I first swung by Archip's, stuffing yesterday's loot into the trunk. I smirked, recalling the armored transport I had to call from the Center after several cabbies politely told me to get lost. Maybe I need my own vehicle. Or rent one. With the panther, my options are limited.
By the way, the unregistered Slayer group didn't interest the Center, but closing the Rift earned me +8 reputation, bringing me to 18 points.
"Hello again!" I dumped tattered bags, some pierced by looted weapons, onto Archip's counter.
"What's this?" he asked after greetings, unfazed.
"All that's left of my employers, whom, by the way, you hooked me up with!" I smiled.
Sensing his tension and the power radiating from him, I quickly reassured him.
"No, no claims against you… Almost none," I corrected. "One of them, before dying, said they had a 'fat' contract on me. From some 'King.' Ring any bells?"
"Hmm…" Archip frowned. "That's the local crime lord, backed by aristos, so no one can touch him. Straight talk, kid. You're in trouble. The King always takes prepayment and never refunds. Because he always finishes the job. Always!"
"Great!" I was slightly floored. "What now?"
"Survive…" he shrugged. "I'd suggest leaving town immediately, but you won't listen, will you?"
"No, I won't," I nodded.
"Thought so," he sighed. "My screw-up too. Though, honestly, I don't care much—you're not a kid and should know such gigs come with risks. Still, it's unpleasant… Didn't vet the info. The source was reliable, but with the King involved, it's no surprise."
"Apology accepted," I smiled. "But I need info. Where to find him?"
"Don't know. Nobody does."
I sighed.
"Then let's unravel this from the start. Where did these wannabe Slayers come from? Can you find out?"
Archip gave me an odd look.
"What? Want payment for info?" I grimaced.
"No, I won't," he shook his head. "I'll dig up what I can. Come back tomorrow."
"Good," I smiled. "Now, back to business." I dumped jellies on the counter.
"Hmm… Red ones? Nice," the shopkeeper perked up. "White jellies today at 150, reds… I'll take at 720 rubles."
"Weapons and trinkets?" I added the bandits' rings and chains. Yeah, I didn't skimp on those.
"Hold on," Archip pulled out a calculator, muttering as he tapped keys. "White jellies… Twenty-two… Reds… two… swords… daggers… Gold… How much here? Right…"
Finally, he looked up.
"Total—nine thousand two hundred, plus the quest reward, makes fourteen thousand two hundred, plus a bonus of two thousand… let's say eight hundred. Grand total—seventeen thousand!"
"Bonus?" I raised an eyebrow.
Archip huffed like a locomotive.
"Don't usually do this, but… It's awkward, kid… Getting old, I guess," the trader got so flustered he switched to "you" and forgot "Lord Slayer." I didn't mind! "Good?"
"Good," I nodded.
"Buying anything?" he seemed to relax.
"Light body armor, under clothes," I mused. What to expect from those lunatics? They might shoot. Killing a gifted is harder than a commoner, but still. A helmet too… I grinned, imagining strolling Irkutsk in a helm. Overkill. "Got a power stone?"
"Only single-use."
"How much?"
A power stone under body armor would be perfect. Why they call chainmail "body armor," I don't know, but whatever. It's like lightweight, enchanted chainmail. Wish I knew a Lineage specializing in enchanting items.
A power stone, or "shield stone," was an external force armor gifted used in danger. A man-made crystal, it activated automatically when life was threatened. Expensive, but vital for paranoid types fearing for their lives. I'm not one, but better safe. A sniper's headshot could kill.
Total, I took 12,500 in cash, bringing me to just over 23,000 rubles. Not bad… Should swing by Goldsmith's, pay the advance. I'm slowly climbing out of the financial pit!
I kept two red jellies and five white ones for myself. Also held onto a bandit's "junk sword"—it'll do for now. Grabbed two power stones and light armor. That's enough…
Archip offered his hand in parting, and I shook it.
"Congrats, you're now my honored client!"
"Hope it lasts," I smirked wryly.
"I believe in you… Lord Slayer 5th-class!" he grinned cheerfully.
The taxi sped me to the Training Center, where Androsov waited at the checkpoint.
In the cab, I mulled over yesterday. The panther was proud and strong. When she let out a "murr?", I froze but played it cool. When she rolled onto her back, squirming and eyeing me slyly, I knew I was done for. She was trying to charm me into keeping her. And I couldn't say no…
I hadn't planned on a cat, especially *this* one. Had I known her personality, I'd have parted ways there. But the devil nudged me, and I offered my hand, sliced with a dagger. Blood dripped, and I waited…
She knew what to do. Approached and licked my blood. Foolish, young cat. Bound her life to mine, like Shnyrka once did. Became part of my soul.
In that moment, I felt it was right. This panther was as intelligent as her master, with no place in this world without me. Likely pulled from a long-closed Rift.
Her options were death or asking me to take her to Siberia's remote forests for a lonely life. But what, I've got nothing better to do? She didn't ask, either… Instead, she figured life with me could be good. Or maybe, since I was tied to her former master's death, she decided I'd be next.
Damn, Shnyrka's enough. What'll I feed her? Who'll clean up?
But she's strong… When I linked her to my soul, I felt the power surge to heal her battered body. She could become a loyal ally and killing machine. Like Shnyrka, she's bound to me, feeding on my energy to grow. Now I need even more Rifts to "eat for three."
"You took your time," Androsov grimaced, offering his hand.
Instead of a greeting, I jabbed his gut, doubling him over.
"What the—?" he gaped.
"Lesson one! A true fighter's always ready for attack!"
"You nuts?" Andryukha stared.
"Come on! I'll make you a killing machine yet!"
Androsov straightened warily, keeping distance.
"To the gym!" I glanced at the gray sky. "Weather's no good today!"
En route, I caught his resentful glares and pondered how to help. He's no fighter, frankly. If I had six months… Runs, strength training, combat basics… I trained my whole life—last one too. What do I do with this pampered boy?
The gym had a few future Slayers training. I dragged Androsov to a corner to avoid disturbing or being disturbed.
"Look, buddy! No offense, but if you don't drop your opponent in two-three hits, you'll get thrashed! Don't tell anyone I'm your sensei. Let's go."
For an hour, we studied pain points. His Gift helped immensely, thank goodness! Androsov knew human nerve centers well; now he needed to learn not to ease pain but inflict it!
"Go!" I nodded. "Attack!"
Andryukha awkwardly swung a fist. I blocked, and a wave of pain shot through my arm.
"Not bad, but more pain!"
"What?!" he stared. "That should've paralyzed your arm!"
"Not enough!" I socked his stomach lightly for emphasis. "Again! Hesitation in battle costs lives. I used a fist, but it could've been a dagger or a powered strike to crush your skull!"
For half an hour, puffing like a locomotive, the young prince tried to wear me down. Unpleasant but bearable. He might be Apprentice-level in aristo terms, but that's for healing. Causing pain? Different story! And he's low on energy!
"Hold up," I stopped him, pulling a "pouch" of jellies I carried for emergencies. "Here, eat!"
"Like, chew?" he gaped.
"Yeah, faster that way!" I nodded seriously.
He stared, shocked, and reached for his mouth. Damn it!
"Stop! Kidding!" I roared with laughter.
Andrey glared, confused.
"Yeah, just squeeze it, like usual!" I grinned.
"You jerk!" he huffed.
"Getting repetitive, Your Excellency!" I teased. "Why don't you know basic jelly stuff?"
"I know…" he muttered, sulking. "Just tired and rattled… You're a bad influence."
Andrey squeezed the jelly, drawing its power. It took fifteen minutes, so I looked around.
"Done!" he announced, fully absorbing the substance and recharging.
"Now, again! Don't hold back!"
Two minutes later, one arm was fully paralyzed, the other partially, and I barely powered my armor to dodge a shock to my solar plexus. I was just defending, but the kid's good!
"Ow!" Androsov yelped, knocked aside by my kick.
"Sorry, buddy, you got carried away!" I smirked, struggling to regain arm sensation. Not going well.
"You said full contact!"
"Nah, you did right. I… ahem… misjudged my strength. Stay here, don't move!"
I approached two trainees sparring in the ring. Full contact, no ranged techniques, pure melee.
"Hey, fighters!" I bellowed.
"What?" a blond hulk asked. His face seemed familiar—some viscount or baron.
"I bet a white jelly you can't beat my fighter!" I smirked.
"Your fighter? Androsov?" he laughed. "Deal!"
"Got a jelly?" I asked.
"Nope," he shook his head.
"I'll take rubles," I didn't miss a beat.
"How much?" he took the bait.
"Two hundred!"
"They're never that much!" he shook his head.
"Scared?" I grinned.
"Me? Of Androsov? Accepted!"
"Great! Andryukha!" I called my friend. "This cocky guy wants to smash your face!"
"Viscount Slobodskoy?"
How does he know everyone? I'm too lazy to remember every passerby. If they survive their first year, maybe I'll bother. Why clutter my mind with future corpses? Had enough in my last life…
"Probably," I shrugged. "Go! To the ring! What's key in our line of work?"
"What?"
"Don't chicken out! Go, my gladiator!" I cheered.
Trainees gathered, buzzing excitedly.
"Ladies and gentlemen! Place your bets!" I raised my voice, fishing out my wallet and waving five hundred-ruble notes. "Five hundred on Prince Androsov!"
The crowd exchanged glances. The viscount matched Androsov's height but was thirty kilos heavier. His muscles bulged, looking formidable.
"Hundred on Slobodskoy!"
"Two hundred on Slobodskoy!"
"Another hundred!"
"Bets closed!" I smirked, stacking the bills. "Fighters, fight!"
It ended fast. Androsov took a shiner, nearly derailing my plan, but stayed up. He knocked out the viscount, tagging his neck.
"And… Victory to Prince Andrr-rosov!" I roared like a pro announcer, yanking him from the ring. "Let's go before the nobles wake up and start whining. We scored enough cash to party."
I hadn't even sweated, so I waited in the hall while Lord Androsov freshened up.
The men's and women's locker rooms were adjacent, with trainees bustling about.
Two female trainees exited the women's locker room, shooting me curious glances before walking off, whispering and glancing back. I'm becoming a "celebrity," maybe! Also, they left the door open, and…
Absorbed souls were pressing hard on my libido, urging reckless acts. In my line of sight, a lovely female leg appeared, its owner slipping on a white stocking. Hot damn!
I glanced around. No one nearby. I crept inside, feeling like a hormone-crazed teen spying on older girls in the shower. Damn hypersexuality!
Peeking from behind a locker, I couldn't hold back.
"Whoa!"
Helga, in the flesh. In white lace panties and bra, pulling on her second stocking. She looked… delectable!
Her reaction surprised me. No shrieks or shy covering. She leapt from the bench and threw a right hook that nearly dislocated my jaw. Involuntarily, I noted her strength. Seems I'm not the only one playing weakling here.
I could've dodged… But as one teacher said, if you wrong a lady, be a man and take your punishment, or it'll be worse later.
"I'LL KILL YOU! OUT!" she screamed, pointing at the door.
My legs moved before my brain, and I bolted out, slamming the door and leaning against it. Nervous laughter overtook me.
A freshly showered, neatly combed Androsov emerged, eyeing me oddly.
"What's up?"
"Nothing…" I calmed down. "Remembered a funny joke!"
"Tell it?" he perked up.
"Not today," I shook my head, debating whether to wait for the fiery warrior or slip away quietly. Chose the latter.
"Listen, Andryukha! My beast's unfed, I'm zipping home quick. Then we hit a bar!"
Seeing his grimace, I added, "With or without you! I *need* to hook up tonight!"
"Ugh, so crude, Galaktionov!" Androsov wrinkled his noble nose.
"Think what you want, but I've got a real problem. Pent-up tension's messing with my brain."
"Your brain's already… not great," Andrey tried to quip.
I silently jabbed his gut, but he blocked.
"Better, but!" I clipped his head with my other hand to keep him humble. "Joke's a miss. Need more practice. I'm off! We'll talk!"
The cabbie dropped me at a butcher shop, where I stared blankly at the display.
"What's the Lord Slayer want?" a butcher in a not-so-clean white apron appeared.
"Need to feed my kitty…" I scratched my still-sore chin. Helga's got a heavy hand.
"Well… I've got chicken giblets. Or mince… How much? Half a kilo? A kilo?"
"Hmm… What's that?" I pointed at carcasses hanging on hooks behind the counter.
"Lambs, sir—the best in Irkutsk! Look here," he gestured to the display. "Hindquarters, ribs, even tenderloin!"
"Give me two half-carcasses… Like… a whole one! Yeah!" I decided.
The butcher eyed me suspiciously.
"Pardon my boldness, but you said for a kitty?"
"Right," I nodded. "It's… a big, hungry cat!"
To his credit, he asked no more, just checked the inked tags on the carcasses.
"Twenty-eight kilos! Enough?"
"Hell if I know," I shrugged. "Probably. Wrap it… in something!"
I paid, tossed the packages in the taxi's trunk, and it sped me home.
Darting past the concierge, who scanned my bundles like an X-ray, I hopped into the elevator and reached my apartment.
"Murrr!" the giant cat rubbed against my leg.
"You rascal… Smelled it, huh? Here! Eat!" I tossed half a lamb onto the kitchen tiles.
The panther sniffed it cautiously, then lay down, paws around it, and ate leisurely.
I sat on a stool nearby, pondering.
"What to call you? Oh! You'll be Caramel!"
An indignant snort came from her side.
"Don't give me that face! Caramel's cute, all the ladies'll love it! If you don't eat them, that is… Haha!"
I ruffled her scruff and went to freshen up. The young baron fought well, and now he wants to party and have fun! And hook up! Really, *really* wants to hook up!