Граф Орлов
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Ushumgallu orders a skink kebab and wine made from poison. As he eats the meat and drinks the wine, the young man cannot shake the feeling of déjà vu. It all felt familiar – the meat, the wine, the gentle nudge from his mentor, and then, onward to a new life, heading in an unknown direction on the path to success.
But what is success? And what does he want from life?
"Barsina!" a sharp voice echoed in his wine-clouded mind. Blood rushed to his face. "She is rightfully mine!"
Ushumgallu knew that in this world, there was only one right – the right of the strong, and right now, he didn't have much of it. But what if not Barsina, but, say, Sugar? In ten years. Ushumgallu thoughtfully stroked his chin. He had always considered himself a cautious person, but now that such thoughts were creeping into his head, something had changed in recent days. The young man remembered the black knight – something had changed after their meeting. Could his answer have been an admission to himself? Perhaps the voice-thought about Barsina also comes from those same half-hidden depths of his mind?
Ushumgallu took a sip of wine. Too many thoughts for his mind, but for now, the conclusion is simple – he needs to stay alive and become stronger, smarter, better. He will deal with the guild's problems later.
Ushumgallu goes home.
E si sui vius, er mi grans benananza,
e si ieu muoir, er mi grans deliuriers
e si ieu muoir, er mi grans deliuriers
Heroist
