Posts from The Empire of Reimia (3) Auto-translated

“Don’t be shy,” Linnea said with a wide smile, giving Iмир a friendly hug and patting him on the head. “It really suits you. Doesn’t it, Shogo?”

- Okay, - Bert replied, trying to hide his disappointment at his friend's refusal. - What are you talking about?

-Well... - Parfinore found it difficult to lie, but she decided to consider it a lie for the greater good - it was indeed quite possible that war could be avoided. After all, economic sanctions are not yet war. It is the 9th century, and countries are learning to resolve such issues in a civilized manner. And who would dare to interfere with such a powerful alliance as ours?

- Yes... You're right. There will be no war, what am I even saying!
Anelotta was visibly pleased with the picture that had formed in her mind, but Eli, who had finished her pudding, intervened in the conversation.
- Wars have started over much less, - the girl made an ill-considered comment, licked the remaining pudding from the spoon, and began to gather her things, and Anelotta burst into tears again, - huh? What's wrong?

Added 7 minutes ago

- Phew, it's nice here, it's fun! I'm not sure, though, that I'm physically strong enough for this style... But you haven't shown me everything yet, have you?

- Of course, this is just the basics! But even studying them can take more than a month.

- Don't be shy, - Linnea smiled broadly, gently hugged Imir, and patted him on the head, - it suits you very well. Doesn't it, Shogo?

In response, Shogo raised his thumb up, but then lowered it down, as the rulers of antiquity did, deciding the fate of gladiators in the arena, - it has definitely become better than it was, but it still cannot compare to true femininity.
Shogo's comment made Imir sigh with relief and, at the same time, for some reason, feel a little sad.

Added 3 minutes ago

- Well, okay, - Bert replied, trying to hide his disappointment at his comrade's refusal. - What are you talking about?

- About the end of the world, what else? - Light replied instead of Berwang. - About how women ruin everything.
- Come on, Light, - Relgar disagreed, - the news is not pleasant, of course, but you are exaggerating the scale of the tragedy.
As Bertrand could see, there was uncertainty in Relgar's voice.

— Of course, these are just the basics! But even studying them can take more than a month.

— Yes, with our schedule, — Xenomia mumbled, a little confused. — Thank you very much!
"I don't even know what to do. I probably need to focus on physical training and learn a bit about weaponry and engineering... If I'm weak, I'm afraid unarmed combat won't help me anyway, even though it's interesting. And... even more importantly, I need to train my willpower, improve my decision-making speed, and my memory... I need to find a way."

In the latest tests, Moriner gave it his all—and the positive result didn't take long to follow: now, perhaps, he will be able to lighten his academic schedule at least partially.
On his day off, he dreamed more than anything of catching up on sleep and resting, or at least seeking help regarding that wretched statuette; instead, at dawn, with a shabby travel bag slung over his shoulder, he stood on the platform of the capital's station, waiting for his train. Fortunately, the trip to his hometown was quite short, and Moriner intended to return to the academy by evening, as required by the schedule.

Having settled comfortably in a single seat by the window, Moriner silently watched the mute skyscrapers of the capital pass by. It was a sweltering July day, the height of summer, and inside the carriage—crowded with faceless people—it was especially stifling and hot. A student sitting opposite him, engrossed in reading a textbook with some plants on the cover, was unceremoniously shoved aside by a plump woman in a sweat-soaked blouse, who then self-satisfactorily plopped down in his place. The young man, discontentedly adjusting his large-lensed glasses, decided not to start an argument; he put the book in his bag and hurried to lose himself in the foul human biomass.
Soon, a hunched shadow of a frail old woman loomed over Moriner, looking as if she had seen the times of Reisen Reiman.
"Young man, give up your seat for an elderly woman!" the hag wheezed in an authoritative tone.
"Of course, my apologies," Moriner rasped through his teeth, vacating his cozy seat.
Sighing and groaning, the old woman finally managed to find a comfortable position, after which she began slowly rummaging through her vast bag, same-colored as the road dust and earth from which it was hopelessly dirty.
"Lunnachka, Haplick, come eat some cookies!" she croaked, clutching a crumpled paper cone with unknown contents in her hands.
Cheerful children's voices were heard from somewhere in the distance, and soon two mischief-makers in hastily patched light shirts and shorts confidently pushed through the grumbling crowd. The older child—with a round, puffy face, cheeks red from the heat, short blond hair, and small, cunning eyes—lunged at his prey like a hawk, not forgetting to give Moriner, who happened to be in his way, a proper shove.
"Hey, Haplick, leave some for me too!" Though a head shorter, the little sister tried not to fall behind her brother, jumping with both feet onto Moriner's shifted bag, leaving colorful gray prints from tiny sandals upon it.
Snatching the cone from the doting grandmother's hands, the children began greedily tearing it to pieces, pushing and biting each other in a desire to get as much loot as possible. Crumbs of capital cookies flew in all directions, covering the dirty floor of the carriage in a thick layer, while the loud smacking of the grandchildren with mouths full of fresh pastry soon blended completely into the single roar of the passenger crowd.
This noise was interrupted for only a moment by a long, agony-filled horn, after which, swaying slightly, the entire iron machine moved forward in one clear motion. The views outside the window also accelerated their hurried flight: a row of countless residential buildings gave way to peaceful natural landscapes. Boundless meadows overgrown with low dry grass, small green groves, lonely farmhouses surrounded by old wooden fences, vast arable lands and fields where various livestock grazed steadily—all this contrasted sharply with the urban landscapes, but for Moriner, such a sight was already familiar and caused no surprise.
Fortunately, it wasn't far to go, and soon he found himself once more on the small but very familiar platform. The hot summer sun seemed to evaporate the very earth beneath his feet, so the student hurried to take cover from it in the shade of young trees that abundantly lined the alley adjacent to the station. Following it to the very heart of his modest town, he finally allowed himself to breathe deeply and looked around. A foul, thick scent of iron mixed with something sour instantly filled his lungs, making the student cough slightly. It seemed the local military plant had been built here about twenty years ago, but had he become so accustomed to it during his life that he simply didn't notice this appalling stench? "Damned soldier-buffs," Moriner thought, and then laughed to himself: in a sense, he had now become one of them! Otherwise, the impressions of the town, where he hadn't been for three quarters of a year, entirely matched his memories: just as quiet, empty, tidy, and deserted. And what could have happened here in such a short span of time? On the other hand, it was frightening even to imagine that only a few decades ago, chaos and ruin reigned in these parts, and perhaps various own disgusting demonic creatures roamed.
Another half hour's walk under the scorching sun, and finally, the home gate, decorated with old white paint that had cracked in places. Opening it with a slight creak, he slowly followed the stony path through a small, long-abandoned garden overgrown with various weeds. His mother once loved to tend to it, but after separating from his father, it fell into decay; the latter didn't care for such trifles and begrudged the money for a gardener. Climbing the low steps of the massive three-story house, he looked with some sadness at the blackening, lonely windows. He remembered how this house was once filled with life, joy, and laughter. His hand reluctantly reached for the dusty doorbell tangled in old cobwebs.
Hurried footsteps were heard behind the door, followed by the grating of ancient bolts moving into place, after which a well-groomed old woman appeared on the threshold, her gray hair gathered in a strict bun.
"Morinchik!" she immediately recognized the guest, squeezing him in a tight embrace.
"Hello, Mityonna," he was glad to see the old servant in good health. "Did you get my letter?"
"Of course, of course, come inside, why stand on the threshold?"
The family home greeted the traveler with long-awaited coolness, cozy twilight, and the smell of books. With a habitual motion, he hung his travel cloak on a rusty hook by the entrance, went to the washbasin, tidied himself up, shook off the dust, combed his hair which had been tousled during the trip, and headed to the living room, where the delighted servant was already bustling about.
"Isn't father having dinner with us?" Moriner asked anxiously, noticing that she was setting food for only one person. "Or is he working today too?" he added hopefully.
"No, Morinchik," Mityonna tried to seem calm, but her voice trembled slightly. "Master Sinon is currently resting in his bedchamber. In recent days, food has become repulsive to him..."
Without letting the servant finish, the student rushed upstairs to his father's room. Carefully opening the ajar doors, he saw the old man sleeping in bed. But it was an unhealthy, bad sleep: anyone could understand this even without a medical education. From time to time, Sinon's facial muscles twitched from pain; he wheezed and groaned loudly, tossing on his back, grimacing deeply and moving his lips as if trying to whisper something.
Standing in numbness for several minutes, Moriner found the strength not to disturb his peace and returned to the living room. During dinner, old Mityonna questioned him about life at the academy, trying in every way to distract him from the unpleasant thoughts that gripped him, but he answered her indifferently, with single words.
"And why are you eating so poorly, Morinchik? Look, your favorite vegetable salad and chicken, fresh-fresh, straight from the market this morning! They must have practically starved you in that academy of yours, look how thin you've become! And what you wrote there about magic, is that true too? Can you, for example, light candles or summon some bug? I always said you were a very talented boy, you'll achieve much!"
The following hours flew by in tedious anticipation. The sun had already begun to dip toward the sunset, casting odd shadows from the low stone houses. Finally, the servant informed him that his father had come around and was ready to see him.
"Moriner, son, is that you?" Sinon whispered in a weak voice, staring with his extinguished eyes straight at the student, though no longer able to distinguish anything.
"Yes, father," he sat beside him on the bed, looking with desperation into the lifeless, faded face.
"Mityonna told me about your medal... and successes in magic." Sinon gripped his son's hand tightly, and the latter felt with horror how much his usual iron grip had weakened. "I am very proud of you, son," the old man continued to mutter. "Magic is, of course, for all sorts of lazy charlatans, but if it helps you find a place in life, so be it. But just don't abandon what you've started, hear me? I forbid you from doing so!"
"I promise, father. I will make every effort, remember? But why are you talking about me—how is your health? What do the doctors say?"
"And as for the doctors..." Sinon paused to think for a moment. It was evident that perceiving and processing information was difficult for him. "Charlatans too, may demons take them... Burned out like a candle. Completely burned out..." Without finishing the sentence, he coughed violently.
"Is it possible there are no ways? We have money, right? And what about work?"
"That's it, I've worked enough... As for the money, don't worry. It will be enough until you finish the academy. I've provided for everything; I've drawn up a will." Sinon's hand reached toward the bedside cabinet but, weakening, fell helplessly onto the blanket.
"I'm not worrying about myself! And what are you saying, what will?" Tears appeared in Moriner's eyes. "You have plenty of life left to live. You'll still be driving our grandchildren to their studies, for sure!"
But father seemed to completely ignore his son's last phrase.
"So, five years of monthly payments for you, accounting for possible inflation. In different accounts, so they aren't lost if something happens. The old apartment for Marleya, and the house for Regor, yes, that's right... I haven't forgotten Mityonna either; I haven't forgotten anyone. Except for that runaway slut, may she burn in hell..."
"Is that even important?" Moriner exclaimed. He wanted to say much more, but instead sat silently by his father's bed until the latter fell back into oblivion. In parting, he hugged him tightly, kissing his fever-damp forehead.
"Tell me honestly, how long does he have left?" he addressed the servant Mityonna seriously, sitting on a chair in the guest room.
"I... I don't know, Morinchik," the old woman spread her hands with sadness. "But the doctors say there are almost no chances for a favorable outcome."
"I see," the student muttered quietly under his breath. "And those others... did they even come to visit him?"
"Marleya sent a short telegram, and Regor official papers for processing the inheritance..." Mityonna seemed to immediately understand who the young man meant.
"Regor sent WHAT?" The last part of the servant's words made Moriner jump up sharply from the chair, angrily clenching his fists and changing his whisper to a furious growl. "That bastard, instead of spending his last days with a dying father, is worried about how to get as much property as possible?!"
"Not 'bastard,' but your older brother," the servant automatically corrected him. "And Master Regor recently changed jobs and moved to the capital; he has a family and a small child, money is tight..."
"And that's a reason to behave like the lowest scum without a drop of sympathy?" Almost running to the doors, Moriner swept his cloak from the hook, tearing the thin fabric, and headed for the exit.
"But Master Sinon himself tried to raise you this way!" the frightened Mityonna tried to calm him. "He always spoke of the harm of all these 'calf tendernesses,' and that any matter must be approached exclusively from a business side! Perhaps they took his words too literally, but I am sure he himself would be glad to see that you are moving forward in life, not stopping and not allowing difficulties to delay you for nothing."
"If the illness of a loved one is just a 'difficulty that shouldn't delay one on the path' for all of you, then I can understand why Tarvern put a bullet in his head back in the day," Moriner almost screamed, not forgetting to slam the door loudly at the end.
The entire return journey to the capital of the empire flew by for him as if in a single moment. Filled with righteous anger, he paid no attention to the beautiful crimson sunset illuminating the cloudless sky with its gentle light, nor to the first lights of villages preparing to fall into nightly hibernation encountered along the way. Descending onto the capital platform, he ran through familiar alleys, feeling neither pain nor fatigue. Finding the required address was not difficult, and soon he stood before a tiny office building. On the other side of the road, a figure—disgustingly familiar—was moving away from him with an unhurried gait.
"Regor!" Moriner shouted angrily, lunging across the path of the man in a business suit with an elegant work bag in his hand.
"Morin, you?" The latter turned around, looking at the student's face with surprise. "Ah, right, you're here in the acad..."
Moriner didn't let his brother finish the phrase, grabbing him by the collar of his suit and pulling him forcefully toward the corner of the street.
"Wow, you've bulked up." A head and a half taller and significantly broader in the shoulders, Regor nevertheless did not resist his younger brother, observing his anger with interest. "Alright, alright, I'm glad to see you too; you can let go."
"Why the hell, bastard, are you sending father all this crap about inheritance?" Moriner didn't relent, stretching his collar back and forth.
"What are you talking about? Ah, right. You see, our laws are still quite vague on many issues, so I deemed it necessary to ensure everything was done by law and through official channels. Now, that's enough." With a sharp movement, he jerked the student's hand away and gripped his fingers with father's iron grip. "Are you worried that I didn't notify you about this, or are you unhappy with your share? We can discuss this at a time convenient for both of us; after all, we live quite close now..."
"No, you still don't understand a damn thing," Moriner continued to press. "Your own father is on his deathbed, and you're worried about empty wrappers!"
"Tsk, so that's what this is about." Regor released his hand, imperturbably adjusted his suit, and continued down the street. "Apparently, still too young to understand the value of money. But if for you these are just, as you put it, 'empty wrappers,' I can simply strike out your share..."
"I'm not talking about that, idiot!" Moriner grabbed his brother firmly by the shoulder and turned him around. "Do you and Marleya really have no concern for him at all? You didn't even bother to come and say goodbye... How can you be like this?!"
"I am not the idiot here," Regor gritted his teeth. "Marleya and I didn't come precisely because we DO care. What do you think father himself would want? That instead of work and study, we waste the life chances and opportunities he gave us by sitting at his bedside for months, reversing all his efforts and the high hopes placed upon us? Would he be happy to depart for a better world knowing all this? My advice to you, brother: listen to my words and do everything possible so that father can be proud of you too. I will certainly visit him on the first free day in my schedule. And you know, I always considered you more... quiet and restrained, or something. Think about it all carefully. Now, if you'll excuse me, my wife and son are waiting for me at home." Jerking his shoulder away, Regor disappeared into the street twilight.
Moriner stood motionless for some time, swaying from side to side like an evening wind, after which he spat angrily at his feet, turned around, and walked back to the academy. Only upon reaching his room did he finally feel the full weight of the physical and mental exhaustion accumulated during the day, flopping into bed without undressing. All sorts of thoughts coiled into a sophisticated tangled knot in his heavy head, and only a heavy, restless sleep brought an end to his daytime adventures.

sorry I went on, won't do it again

“Actually, I think it suits you perfectly! I’d love to see you in another outfit like that. And I’ll say it again, don’t be shy, Imir. You acted very bravely and courageously – that’s something to be proud of,” the girl continued, noticing that the young man was still covering himself modestly. “Moreover, such bravery should be rewarded. How about the three of us going out for a bite to eat afterward? My treat, of course! Although, I’m open to other suggestions.”

— Yes... You're right. There won't be any war, what was I thinking!
Anetta was noticeably pleased with the picture that had formed in her mind, but Eli, who had finished her pudding, interrupted the conversation.
— Wars have started over less, — the girl made an offhand comment, licked the remaining pudding off the spoon, and started to leave, and Anetta burst into tears again, — huh? What's wrong?

—Eli, Anetta doesn't want to fight and is hoping there won't be a war—Parfinora explained patiently—and I don't think wars started over less in the past. But even if they did, we live in completely different times, and we are ruled by completely different people. Remember, weren't there any female empresses before, except for Sonata? And Sonata didn't start any wars.

— About the end of the world, what else could it be, — replied Light instead of Berwang. — About how women ruin everything.
— Come on, Light, — Relgar disagreed, — the news isn't exactly pleasant, but you're exaggerating the scale of the tragedy.
As Bertrand noticed, Relgar's voice betrayed uncertainty.

— I understand you, Light. I'm not happy with the changes that are happening either, — Bert agreed, and then added. — But I wouldn't connect it with "women," as you said, although I don't deny that they might find it easier to come to an agreement and understand each other on certain issues. But if we look at history, there were dark times under the rule of men as well, so it depends more on the individual. In any case, time will tell what all this will lead to, but the preconditions aren't the most encouraging, that's for sure. What do you think about it, Berwang?

— As for me, I think it's perfect! I would love to see you in another outfit like that. And, I'll say it again, don't be shy, Imir, you acted very bravely and courageously – that's something to be proud of,” the girl continued, noticing that the young man was still covering himself bashfully. “Moreover, such courage should be rewarded. How about the three of us going out for a bite to eat afterward? My treat, of course! Although, I'm open to other suggestions.

In response to Linnea's offer, Imir said nothing, instead politely asking them to leave so he could change back quickly. When he was finished, his face was still as red as a tomato, so Shogo hastened to assure him that nothing terrible had happened and he shouldn't worry about it.
— You don't understand...
— You think I haven't tried it myself? Pfft, you don't know anything.
— Uh-huh...
— But without breasts and the right waist-to-hip ratio, no outfit will solve the fundamental problems of a male figure, not to mention other very important details. In short, guys, no matter how good-looking they are, will never compare to the true beauty of a woman's body. — Shogo shook his head. — I'm ready for a meal, where should we go?

-Emy, Anelotta doesn't want to fight and therefore hopes that there will be no war - Parphinora explained patiently - and I don't think wars started for less in the past. But even if they did - we live in completely different times and are ruled by completely different people. Remember, weren't there female empresses before, except for Sonata? And Sonata didn't start any wars.

— Sonata, who is that? — Eli pondered, then slapped her fist against her palm. — Oh! That's the one the public house was named after? — Then she understandingly put her hand on Anelotta's shoulder and tried to cheer her up. — Don't worry, there's nothing scary about war, you'll get used to it quickly!
— U-u-u... — Anelotta wiped her eyes with her sleeve and grabbed Parphinora's jacket sleeve.

- I understand you, Light. I'm not happy with the changes that are happening either," Bert agreed, and then added. "But I wouldn't tie it to 'women,' as you said, although I don't deny that they may find it easier to come to an agreement and understand each other on certain issues. But if you look at history, there were dark times under male rule as well, so it's more about the individual. In any case, time will tell what all this will lead to, but the prerequisites are not the most encouraging, that's for sure. What do you think about it, Berwang?

— Me? I don't know... But I will defend our country if anyone attacks us!

- So, what are you going to do? - Bert asked Relgar and Lyte.

— Actually, not always. You can take a push-up bra, choose the right style of clothing, and, voilà, you won't be able to tell the difference without taking it off. I have a catalog from my parents' workshop in my room, with photos, so I can even show you later what I mean, in terms of style. Well, if you're interested. As for the place to eat, I suggest "Akeso"; I've been wanting to go there for a while. Any objections?

- So, what are you going to do? - Bert addressed Relgar and Laithe.

— We just gathered to sit down and discuss pressing matters, — Relgar replied.
— Relgar, why don't you draw a picture of our precious empress? — It was clear that Laithe was not in his usual cheerful mood today; he was angry and irritated. — For example, how she is being torn apart by dogs or **by demonic offspring?
— Listen, stop it already. What happened is not a reason to be...
— What do you understand? You've been hanging out with your whores and completely lost your mind.
In response, Relgar punched Laithe in the face, causing the latter to lose his balance and fall to the ground. He quickly got up, and a fight broke out between the two guys.

— Actually, not always. Take a padded bra, choose the right style of clothing, and, voila, you won't be able to tell the difference without taking it off. I have a catalog from my parents' workshop in my room, with pictures, so I can even show you later what I mean in terms of style. Well, if you're interested. As for the dining place, I suggest "Akeso"; I've been wanting to go there for a long time. Any objections?

The fashionable solution to the current issue, as it seemed, did not impress Shogo, but it did make Imir blush again. However, no one objected to visiting the restaurant, and after a short time, the three of them were sitting at a table in "Akeso." Imir ordered risotto with vegetables, while Shogo couldn't decide what to choose for a long time.

Having finished her order, which consisted of mushroom julienne and a signature cream pastry for dessert, the girl noticed that her second companion still couldn't make up his mind.
— Do you need help?

“I just remembered something,” Shogo ignored Linnea’s question. “In recent years, a Dark Elf custom has become popular in the capital. It’s customary for a boy to give the object of his affection a sprig of fir decorated with a festive ribbon and a heart image on December 31st, as a sign of acknowledging his most tender feelings. I’m now curious to see which of our boys will decide to give a gift and to whom. I think Imir will give one to Parfinore. Yes, Imir?”
“Um, uh… I… Mmm…”
“It’s hard to judge the others. Moriner, for example, is a mystery; sometimes I even forget he’s in our class. Although, you seem to interact with Ifeon more often than the others. Do you think he’ll give you one?”

- And is that why we didn't go to the circus, Berwang? - Bert asked, looking at his comrade and sighing wearily, - Well, alright, help me break them up.