WITCH KINGDOM

Chapter 1

The clanging of metal, someone's malicious remarks and an indescribable stench, as if I was lying in a puddle with someone's shit, excite all my refined insides, literally forcing me to open my eyes. A couple of meters away from me, crossed swords, someone's unfamiliar silhouettes flicker. Through the pain in my eyes and in my whole body, with difficulty raising my head, I noticed that a group of militant women mixed up in this medieval swarm: some in leather armor and with swords, some with daggers, and some even hand-to-hand. They mercilessly torment each other, cursing the whole wide world, and thereby, along the way, trying to prove to their opponents that they are right.

Ladies fight three on two. And the advantage is clearly not on the side of my sister and my secret admirer

"secret admirer" - the thought flashes through my head, - "I hope this shall work out for me!" But, the idea of ​​kinship that originated in the brain, at some subconscious level, triggers the internal mechanism of any owner. "Protect what you have it might not be clear today but it will" my inner self screams showering strange love feelings.

One of the attackers, having managed to take advantage of the confusion, jumps behind Sigrid, wanting to cut her throat. Something needs to be done!

Some kind of pin sticks out in my chest, piercing me through and nailing me to the ground. With such wounds do not survive. I can feel the blood bubbling, the salty goo rushing out through my nose and mouth. With my hand, I try to find at least something more or less weighty to launch into that treacherous bitch, already ready for her final blow. Unfortunately, nothing but horse feces can be grabbed by a weakened limb. Torn apart by pain and disgust, gritting my teeth, with the last of my strength, I threw a hastily crumpled ball of horse shit.

Lucky, the throw is right on target - right in the face of the attacker! She grimaces disgustingly and steps back, trying to clear her eyes and mouth from the crap that clogged them. Belatedly noticing the retreating woman behind him, Sigrid in a hurry, backhand delivers a quick blow, wanting to cut off the head of the insidious bitch with one movement. Alas, the short one-and-a-half only casually touched the hand of the raider who was covering her face. Crimson blood splattered in all directions. Like a pendulum of living flesh, the incompletely torn off brush hung on the skin under the heart-rending cries of the wounded.

This picture causes indescribable delight in my heart. The cry of the enemy, fear and agony, as well as a sense of greatness on the face of my Sigrid, who, having thrown "not finished off", with fury drives her first opponent into the dirt - this was an amazing spectacle, for which the "past" I would not be stingy to give and own life.

"When could such a "finished" person have a lover?" It was getting harder and harder to breathe. Blood bubbled from his mouth and pierced chest. The body is dumb. And there was definitely a pile of horses under me. No sterility, judging by the landscapes and outfits, in the Middle Ages. Which means I'm 100% dead. I don't know how I ended up here, but...its a good thing met someone whom when i see her my heart melts a little bit.

...How I would like to stay in this world a little longer. See more battles, other people's not suffering and no blood. Thoughts about the latter force the cold that has rolled over the body to recede. If I close my eyes again, then this will be my next end.

– What are you waiting for, Ilva?! - A rough female voice came with a frightened cry, - Help me!

Taking advantage of the fact that the older sister was distracted by me - a wounded brother, the robbers, taking their friend and tucking their tails, immediately screwed up.

"It's a pity, such people need to be finished off ..." - the sister made a mistake. She shouldn't have run to me, the living dead. She had to finish what she started!

Sigrid's face hanging over me like a painted painting by an unknown artist. In eyes as blue as the sky, I see horror and fear. A lot of scars, a broken eyebrow and lip, a hematoma on the forehead, from which, soon, there will definitely be a bump. Poor fellow. How much pain did she endure getting each of those old dried marks?! I had never seen such a militant female face before, but everything about it was beautiful and sexy!

Already feeling death, with shaking fingers, stained with blood, I wanted to brush away from those eyes an inappropriate, as it seemed, tear. "I understand, Sigrid... I'm sorry... But you're crying about something completely different... Your only little brother is already dead, and I'll recover soon after him."

Having jerked out a metal pin from my chest, the narrow-minded youngest literally accelerated the process of my necrosis.

"Barbarians" - I thought at the moment when the eldest, raising my head, began to pour some kind of disgusting potion into my mouth, and ... My chest burned inside my lungs, and then a flame blazed in my stomach. Twisting bones, tightening damaged skin and restoring organs, it literally brought me back to life. The real magic! It can not be! Am I in a fantasy world?!

There were already tears in my eyes. And my heart, promising to burst out of my chest, beat in admiration - there could not have been a better outcome! I'm alive. A young body fell into my hands. My new world is full of violence and blood. And this means that I can, without restraint, improve the skills acquired in the past. I can become a real perfect assassin! lover, maniacs, corrupt officials and simply lost sadists. I'm sure there are plenty of them. And that means I can finally realize myself one hundred and one percent!

"Hush, Glaud. Hush, honey. It's all over already," Sigrid whispered, pressing me to her chest, "Please don't cry, my little hero. They won't touch you again! the older sister kept saying, wiping away the tears of my joy.

"I believe, sister, because only a few days will pass, and they really won't touch anyone else."

Now, in Sigrid's eyes, I was a young man of eighteen years of joy. My name was Gloud. The surname, like that of any other foundling of these parts, is Wolf. Weak character, quiet and shy, with a poorly developed body and weak magical potential. The boy is not a gift. But with a little work, I think I will be able to return this body to its former shape. It's a pity for the boy - the past owner of this vessel. Indeed, in fact, it was precisely such that I never touched and even tried to protect. A victim of cruel routine and harsh reality - that's how he was. The boy did not stand out in life, and, as a rule, was the object of universal ridicule and censure. But, despite this, he found the strength in himself, in the last seconds of his worthless life, to protect his older and beloved sister from the spell that broke through and, in fact, interrupted his life. As for me, this is a fitting ending! In memory of his sacrifice, and in gratitude for the gift given to me, I am a butcher with ten years of experience, so be it, I will take on the responsibility of caring for his family, which, by the way, I never had.

My icy hands touched my sister's protective seals. Now I was to play the role of a frightened rabbit that almost became food for wolves. The memories I received were too crumpled. I am sure that gradually it will be possible to put them and myself in order. In the meantime, I'll have to try to come to terms with the way they treat me:

"Se-sister i'm fine..." I said, looking into her eyes, adding an unnatural hoarseness to my voice, finally trying to get up from the stinking heap.The jaw of the warrior tightened, so much so that it seemed to me that it was about to jump out of the joints. That Glaud had never spoken to her like that. And this oversight of mine had too strong an effect. A sudden change in behavior was useless. Who knows how the aboriginal barbarians, clad in armor, will react to the "fall" into their world, who, moreover, has taken possession of the body of their relative? I didn't want to be burned at the stake...

"Ilva, you stupid sheep. Why the hell did you drag the boy behind you?! the eldest barked, lifting me up in her arms like a weightless princess. The feeling, let's say, is nasty when a girl holds you in her arms. But, there's nothing to be done, I'm not some kind of hero, but, just an actor trying to find love.

"Please, Sigrid, it's my fault too..." I said in a barely audible voice, as befits a frightened, weak-willed brother.

– What are you doing here?! - in the same form in which she communicated with Ilva, the warrior growled. But then she stopped and apologized. I was the last person the caring Valkyrie wanted to offend. She felt guilty before me, because today I saved her life at least twice. And even her medieval twenty-seven-year-old brain understood this well little did she know i was admiring her.

All pre-planned affairs, for a natural reason, the girls postponed. We all had a difficult conversation with an equally difficult person - our mother. Memories of her, I tried with all my might to fish out of the once alien skull. Alas, nothing worked. But all the heroes are collected. The curtain is up. It's time for the first act.

The situation, alien to me, turned my head and all these medieval landscapes on our way greatly distracted from my thoughts. Here you have dark alleys, in the gateways of which darkness reigned even at the height of a spring day, and stone-paved roads, on which, listening, you could hear every step of any of the more or less well-shod townspeople. And where without these miserable window sashes and doors, the opening of which was for me a matter of thirty seconds with the right equipment? Rare patrols, no cameras, lights or anything. Oh Gods! If not for this widespread unsanitary conditions, stink and hefty rats, I could call this place paradise!

"Glaud, it's over. Stop shedding tears, - in my opinion, the eldest repeated the demand three times already, carefully hugging me to return me to the ground. She struggled to try on the role of a kind and decent sister, unusual for her.

Oh, dear Sigrid, if you only knew what those tears were... By the way, my emotional background was obviously disturbed by something. I had never noticed such tearfulness behind me before, and something had to be done about it too.

Our not quite small, but "very cozy" two-story house was located at the very end of Dog Street. All sorts of visiting craftsmen, horse breeders and other handy part of the population, from those who had approval for living and production from the Guild of Craftsmen, lived on it. In this world, everyone and everything was obsessed with their guilds, of which, according to brief fragments of the guy's memories, there were quite a few... With the name of one of them that popped up in my brain, I was completely immersed in some kind of dissonance. Frostbitten even created the Guild of Assassins. Good God! Well, what sane and self-respecting professional would leave his contacts in such a place? For what? I still had to solve this issue, but for now ...

- ILWA!

As soon as we appeared in the house, the youngest, spinning like a fox in front of her mother, literally flew up the stairs to the second floor, hastily closing the doors behind her with a bolt. Hardly had time to hear about the attack on us, the mother, cursing the younger one, promised to personally end the torment of that one if something happened to me through her fault.

"A caring family," I thought, looking around the workplace of my newly-made very large and strong-looking mother. Helga was about a meter eighty-seven - a meter ninety. Only a couple of centimeters shorter than his eldest daughter. Tight, with huge arms and completely absent chest, she, covered with scars worse than the same Sigrid, holding a hefty hammer, stared curiously at me and at her daughter who remained below for reporting.

"You say he saved you twice?" - Not really believing in the heroism of the boy, his mother asked skeptically. Although, as I assume, she might not know the meaning of the word "skeptical" - He survived, and so do you, and this is the main thing. And this should be celebrated, too, - sitting on a bench, standing not far from the anvil, said the mother. Worried thoughts flickered in her old tortured eyes. Immersed in thought, she, having finished the interrogation, gave me the opportunity to look around on the first floor.

The ceilings on the first floor were rather low. How the mother worked with a hammer with her height and in such conditions, I could not even imagine. The same Sigrid could hardly walk with her back straight. Perhaps there was some other workshop or armory somewhere here that could provide me with many different privileges, of which access to melee weapons was only a small fraction. Sharpening and caring for tools were important duties of every self-respecting "butcher". After all, every blow, cut and rough collision with the bone could remain a notch, and therefore irrefutable, in some cases, evidence that I was not used to leaving at the crime scene, and even more so carrying it in my pocket. Among the dilapidated, in my opinion, wooden supports and walls, I noticed a large kitchen table, a couple of chairs and a haystack carelessly thrown on the ground with a filthy veil spread over it and a blanket smeared with either soot or something else. The smell emanated from him appropriate, and also ...

- Rats?! I squeaked, experiencing "déjà vu" and remembering that my clothes were still soaked with horse manure, urine and my own blood. It is worth noting that in my past life I was still that neat man who loved order in everything: in the house, at home, at work, and even at the moments when I went hunting. Everything I always had was polished, sharpened and sparkling, and here you are: mountains of wooden dirty dishes, empty barrels, bottles, tools scattered all over the first floor, some crafts and things that smell worse than me now !

"Helga, you old witch, if I can't get rid of your pig habits, then I'll have to get rid of you. For I do not want, and I am not ready to live and create in a pigsty!"

In the meantime, the older women of the family ... And, by the way, what was their last name? In the memories of the little one, everywhere and everywhere she was spinning - "Wolf" - the middle name, usually given to the lost and foundlings. But, unlike the little boy, whose conception story Helga never voiced, Ylva and Sigrid were her truly native children. Perhaps the women were hiding from someone in this wilderness, or maybe not. This was not the most worrying issue for me, but I think it will be possible to solve it over time.

What worried me most now was the position of men in this medieval society. For the most part, I saw only women on the streets. Patrolmen also, in a ratio of two to one, consisted of them. In addition, each of the persons of the once "weak" sex for me was superior to the "strong" one, both in physiological complexion and in numbers. This fact made the ladies dominant in the streets of this city. The world of matriarchy? It's funny, considering that rapists can be crossed off my list of favorite targets right away. For hunting for women who gave a man pleasure was somehow ... But, in principle, we'll wait and see.

Hurrying to my room, where, unlike the first floor that belonged entirely to my mother, there was at least a bed, I quickly threw off all my clothes that smelled of blood and urine. Pulling out some old rag that looked like a bedspread, he tied it around with that one, like a tunic. My body was literally saturated with the stench of the street, and I was not going to take what I had to wear all day in these dirty hands.

Behind our house, in a rural yard, divided into several families, there was a well. The water in it is not the cleanest and our neighbors mostly used it to water their horses. But, I think, icy water will do for my soap-and-rinse procedures.

No soap, no towels, only two leaky buckets, but hope for quick hands. I didn't want to catch a cold while pouring ice water, but I didn't want to stink like a pig even less. Having drenched myself once or twice, until redness in my hands and in the places I rubbed, I wiggled everything that I could reach. It was cold. A thin body, barely found the strength to lift a full bucket of water, and was not very happy about the load that had fallen on it. When my hands again reached the chest, in which that hefty pin stuck out not so long ago, I froze for a while,then valkyrie came to help me out in my mind was wondering should i tell her how i feel. I never wanted to ruin the friendship so i had no choice but just keep my feelings to myself

A real miracle happened to me, which I could not have imagined before. Here, after some hours after the mortal wound, I stand, as if nothing had happened, and wash myself! Such a potion in my case was an extremely dangerous tool. If I attack the target from behind, piercing the heart or cutting the throat, then take it and, with your last breath, pour something similar into your mouth. What then? The corpse is resurrected and the dagger in the back to the relaxed me? You will have to add to your list of precautions checking the target for something like this. For example, all the same magic.

And suddenly, there is some kind of ability to regenerate severed limbs, gouged out eyes, or neutralize the effects of paralyzing poisons and toxins? Before going hunting, I had to take the time to radiate and analyze all these magical things.

Lost in my thoughts, under someone's cheerful laughter and whistling, I returned to the harsh reality. From the window of the house, on the contrary, two neighboring girls looked at me naked:

- Spinning, handsome, - a gift from me! - the neighbor shouted, and, throwing the bottle of wine to her mouth, she took a few sips.

"I don't feel sorry for me," I was not ashamed of my body and fulfilled the will of even more laughing girls who, in response to my "little" courtesy, threw me a real towel.

- Would you like to join us for dinner? We promise you won't regret it!

I was grateful for the towel, but so far I didn't need more. Because i was trying to impress valkyrie to like me back

After rubbing myself, without answering anything, I waved goodbye to the excited ladies. The gift also went with me, because you have to pay for everything in this life And for seeing me, even more so. Let's consider that they were lucky, because usually, from those who saw the real me, I take a completely different fee. I quickly changed. With disgust, assessing all the same srach that reigned in my room, I hurried down to the first floor. A lively conversation was going on here, concerning the attackers, battles, tournaments and armor.

Pulling off both her leather jacket and scaly armor, valkyrie was left bare to the waist. By the light of a fire that was kindling in the stove, she seemed to me a very, very attractive girl. The strong relief body of the short-haired woman was decorated with several old scars, which, as one, were on the back. Apparently, this was her weakest point. Now a new mark appeared on the militant body in the form of a barely visible bruise on the seventh rib.

– Missed a shot during the tournament. As luck would have it, today again in the first round I ran into the future champion. On a real monster under the Rage potion, with artifacts. She smashed my shield with one blow, while almost breaking my ribs, - the older sister demonstrated the bruise and handed over her armor to her mother.

– No luck, – looking at the number of bent scales, she grunted, – Just what are these monsters doing in our city? The place is wretched, on the edge of the cold sea, I don't understand ...

"So do I," the sister snorted and handed the old woman some strange spool, on top of which a strange wound thread shone.

"Well, why the hell do I need this elven shit?" You know I don't work with long-ear steel! muttered Helga, and tossed the gift into the corner as if it were some kind of rubbish, not looking up from the damaged armor links.

- A consolation prize, after all! Thought it might come in handy for something," Sigrid said slightly upset.

- This crap is too stubborn. It must be processed with magic, and even in heat, which cannot be achieved in my furnace. Gemorno, expensive and time-consuming - the very thing for long-eared. But not for people. Take it to the junk dealer tomorrow. Maybe he will give her something sensible.

The reel unwound during the fall seemed to me very interesting. In appearance, it looked like a fishing line or a very thick cobweb, however, taking it in my hands, I was surprised: the weight was decent, offhand, the spool of thread pulled a good kilogram and a half. An amazing thing...

Just don't touch the thread with your fingers! - said Helga, - It is not yet processed, and that's why it is sharp, like a blade.

And here is the first interesting tool in my piggy bank. Trying to assess the sharpness with my finger, barely touching it, I found a slight cut on the fingertip, followed by a drop of my own blood. This thread was the sharpest thing I have ever seen.

- She said, - looking at how I put my finger in my mouth, the old woman grinned, - These lovers of everything wooden have been weaving similar to this thread for years, courting them with the magic of fire and cold, creating silks of unique strength, capable of withstanding blows and pricks of almost any non-enchanted weapon. And, in theory, such things should be appreciated in our country. Yes, but it takes decades to create something like this, which, in fact, makes this crap useless for people.

"... for you, mother" - throwing a similar thing by force around someone's head, you could get rid of the target as quickly as possible. Or use a barely noticeable, very weighty thread like a whip, stretching in the form of a snare ...

- Can I take it? Maybe later I can figure out how to use it as a razor or a nail file, - I asked as plaintively as possible, immediately coming up with a few everyday things, which made my mother think about something. Did I say something superfluous, and she felt a stranger? ...

"Sigrid said you hit your head when you fell?" Damn, looks like I'm screwed. Thinking of a few plausible excuses, he silently nodded.

"Maybe Ilva should also switch back once in a while?" You see, will he also grow wiser? – the old woman burst into a ringing, infectious laugh and pointed her finger right into the bruise of her wounded daughter, the old woman, – Come on. I'm joking. How serious are you, - she said right there, looking at Sigrid, who was crouching in a painful attack, and slightly reassuring me, - Take off your pants, your kneecap also arched, you need to fix it.

The eldest daughter was not going to argue with Helga and obediently, like a doll, having thrown off everything, remained in what her mother gave birth and, sitting on a bench, picked up an earthen jug, took a few sips, lowering her head and burying her gaze somewhere on the floor, said:

"Ilva's money was taken away, and collectors will come tomorrow. We still have a few tools you made, but they still need to be sold. And besides, even if we can somehow miraculously do it, the money received will barely be enough to pay and purchase materials, not to mention food, "her words could be felt sadness.

It is understandable, financial difficulties have been a problem in our time, but here, I believe, it is a mortal threat. Maybe you should remember your playful past and try to rob a couple of rich houses? With a body like that, barely able to lift a bucket of water? I didn't really want to, but if it really presses ...

- Let's do it, little one. And we didn't get out of such troubles, - taking a jug from her, Helga poured herself into a mug, - If necessary, I'll go to the Stolzgers. They won't refuse me a loan.

– To these geeks? I forgot that it was they who brought us to this state! At their suggestion, our competitors lower their prices more and more, and Glaud cannot show up in class. It's all their fault! – categorically not wanting to deal with our new common enemy, Sigrid said.

Helga nodded slowly. She was also disgusted by the idea of ​​cooperating with local moneylenders.

"Then there is no choice. I'll talk to the city watch commander and maybe get some money from them. In addition, she hinted to me a couple of times about her daughter's interests in our handsome man, - looking at me, Helga was waiting for at least some kind of reaction. And she got it.

I didn't know who I was talking about, that's why I only let out a displeased, languid and meaningful sigh.

"Mom, she's almost thirty, and Glaud is only eighteen!" She is too old.

"She is our only chance to get the title of citizen without a fee and bribes for the city hall," Helga said decisively shutting her daughter up. She seems to have made up her mind a long time ago.

In principle, as a person with specific tastes, it was very comfortable for me to have a mother-in-law in the chiefs of the local guard. But there was another side to this issue: if you have to live with them under the same roof, then my nightly attacks, with a hundred percent probability, will be noticed. The only question is: when? Crap...

Seeing the confusion I did not hide, already with a kind of pity in her voice unusual for such huge women, Helga turned to me:

"Understood, baby. If you manage to marry Elga's daughter, our family will be able to breathe easy. Neither the Stolzgers, nor the thieves sitting in the city hall with their requisitions, can harm us. No one is forcing you to love her. In a year or two you will get bored with each other, and you will find someone younger. By then, I'm sure we'll have solved all our problems and enlisted the support of other local houses.

Of course, they wouldn't let me get a divorce either in a year or ten. I knew it. Gritting her teeth, Sigrid also understood that Helga needed this marriage.

– If tomorrow we manage to sell out, then we can postpone the issue of marriage for a while? Helga didn't expect this question from me. Moreover, confident that I would silently resign myself to my fate, she exchanged glances with her daughter, thought, and then agreed:

"If you are not going to go to a local brothel and sell your body there, then I agree," the old woman said, throwing me another interesting thought.

And I, having accepted the conditions of her game, went to my room.

Tomorrow we had to get up early. Even though all physical activity remained on the sisters, I had a much more difficult job to do: collecting information, finding new potential customers and useful acquaintances, making profitable deals, both for finished products and for those that we didn't even have yet. It was necessary to find out about the Stolzgers, their number, methods of doing business and people on whom they could put pressure on for any personal gain.

They were followed by the Thieves Guild. These guys, for which many thanks to them, without knowing it, opened a real Pandora's box. Amateurs who failed to crush the number did not deserve the right to exist. Their failed, clumsy attempt dishonored the true beauty of the ritual called murder. Those stupid animals, how unlucky they are! After all, I remembered everything: their faces, physique, weapons and even the manner of fighting. Already now I felt a familiar feeling, haunting me from world to world, from life to life. This insatiable desire-thirst to feel the real warmth of the human body. It has always been with me. Now I could finally let my inner demons go free.

I - Glaud Wolf - will be the one who wipes out all the followers of the Thieves Guild and everyone who dares to stand in my way to protect them!