Chapter 86
– Hello, Magical France! Your permanent host, Jacques Chabrol, welcomes you…
– And Chirac Dirac! We are delighted to welcome you to the opening ceremony of the 358th World Junior Fencing Championships!
– First of all, I’d like to congratulate those lucky enough to get tickets to the Arena; the stands are packed to capacity, including with foreign guests…
– And for those who were unlucky or, due to circumstances, were unable to attend such a significant event, my friend and I are broadcasting live on Koldoradio!
“That’s right, Chirac, all of Magic France knows our voices! Radio MagFrance-FM is the voice of freedom and common sense!”
– You’re right, Jacques, I love listening to the radio, sipping fine wine and enjoying the excellent cuisine at the Frog’s Leg restaurant on Funfyrie Street!
– I agree, it’s a great place! Dear radio listeners, turn up the volume on your radios! Meanwhile, we’ll try to describe all the events in detail and vividly!
– And of course, let’s not forget about our precious spectators, how many of them have gathered today! Jacques, just look?!
– You’re right, Shirak, the delegation from the Qin Empire alone is worth something!
Yes, dear viewers, you heard right, this year the number of participants has grown significantly! In addition to Magical China, this year we were honored with visits from Transylvania and the Ottoman Empire!
– And we were also visited by implacable enemies, in the form of the USA and the Soviet Union!
– Yes, yes, dear viewers and radio listeners, you heard right! This year, after much debate, Muggle-wizard countries were allowed to participate in the competition!
– And this means that every self-respecting wizard, regardless of age and place of birth, dreams of possessing the Golden Sword, but only the most worthy will receive it!
– Jacques, you forgot to mention the return of Magical Britain, the islanders also put forward their champion!
– Yes, Chirac, but because of her age I can’t take her seriously, she’s too young…
– What if she has talent?!
“We’ll find out soon enough! The incorruptible judges are already in their seats, and our dear Minister of Magic is ascending the arena to deliver his ceremonial speech!”
The Minister of Magic of Magical France stepped into the center of the Arena and delivered an inspired speech for about an hour. When the esteemed wizard finished his speech, some of the spectators were dozing off, and the listeners of the wizard radio turned down the volume and went about their business.
“What wonderful words, Monsieur Delacour was always a wonderful speaker! Yes, Jacques?” A sob of affection was heard.
“Yes, Chirac, his words about the future and well-being of our children touched my hardened heart… Excuse me…” The commentator blew his nose uncivilly and the sound of a bottle being uncorked was heard. “To Minister Delacourt, who is leading our country to a bright future!”
– To Magical France! – The clink of glasses is heard.
The national anthem began to play and the audience, as well as the patriotic radio listeners, stood up and drained their glasses; not everyone liked the minister, but everyone loved their country.
– Mmm… I’ve been drinking Chateau Blue since 1974… What a taste and aroma, I adore this wine.
– I completely agree, Jacques, let me remind you that the wine house Chateau Blue is the main sponsor of this event!
– Meanwhile, the minister took his place in the main box, which means that our participants are about to appear!
“Traditionally, the French champion goes out first. Look how beautiful she is! Short and slender, her snow-white locks fluttering in the wind…”
– Oh yes, little Fleur Delacour is very talented and is the favorite of this championship, they say that she was trained by Monsieur Drochist himself!
“I heard he coached Vincenzo De Sosoni, and here he is! Magical Italy, as always, has put forward a worthy candidate for the victory; I’ve already backed this guy!”
– Ugh, how unpatriotic, but in some ways I agree with you – Italians have always been excellent with a blade.
– And here is the German champion – Drankel von Schwaltzkopo XII, what excellent form, and what posture?!
– Let me remind you that his older brother, Zhrankel von Schwaltzkopo XI, won bronze at the last championship, and that’s an indicator!
– And here is Magical Greece, represented by Christina Popadopoulous, let’s see what this slender beauty is capable of.
– I like her black curls and sweet smile, good luck to you, Christina!
– This year, Magical Poland is represented by Marysia Kwinto, a very sweet person with a doll-like face.
“I wouldn’t be fooled by that. Just look at her movements. Years of hard training are immediately evident!”
Meanwhile, a Soviet champion has appeared in the Arena – Boris Shipitko, a descendant of Don Cossacks. Rumor has it that if he loses, his entire family will be sent to the Gulag. So this big guy has to try his best!
Like his ideological adversary, Clark Kent has arrived to defend America’s honor. He’s quite a handsome fellow, stately and broad-shouldered. I wonder what kind of blade he wields?
– Most likely a year and a half old, I heard that, despite his farming origins and age, Monsieur Kent has already been accepted into the Legion.
– The elite of the US armed forces against the famous Russian Cossacks, let’s see who wins!
– I wouldn’t be surprised if the fight turns out to be fatal; Russians and Americans have long been implacable enemies…
“Like the English, look who’s entered the Arena! Rigel Hellsing! The future head of the Order of Protestant Knights and the future avenging sword of the British Crown! Just look into those sparkling green eyes, you could drown in them! I’m amazed and enchanted!”
“Shirak, don’t even dream about it. She’s only twelve, even though she looks a little older. Right now, due to her age, young Rigel is considered an outsider.”
– I agree, Vincenzo is much older and more experienced, a girl doesn’t stand a chance against an Italian.
– Jacques…
– Yes, Chirac…
– We only drank one bottle, right?
– Absolutely right, what’s the matter?
– Don’t you see?! The Scandinavian champion has entered the Arena! Who the hell is this guy?! This big guy looks about thirty! And… And… And why is he showing up with a war hammer?!
– Ha-ha-ha… Shirak, I understand perfectly, I just forgot to warn you. Ragnar Aivars is a werewolf. In the north, as in the Soviet Union, they are full members of society and even study magic!
– How wild… – The sound of a bottle being uncorked and glass clinking. – Look at him! And the hammer!? What the f… Ahem. I thought we were having a fencing championship! Let him wave a flamberge or a claymore! Isn’t that against the rules?!
“The panel of judges also wondered about this, but the Nords insisted on historical precedent. It turns out… Where was it…” The sound of rustling parchment sheets, the clink of glass goblets, a hearty sip. “Oh… That went well… So, in 1689, Eric the Red won the championship, and he used a war hammer!”
“Jacques, let me guess, no one’s thought to change the rules since then?” The sound of liquid pouring into a glass and a sip. “Although… Why am I surprised…”
“You haven’t seen a representative of the Celestial Empire yet! Heh-heh. Even the Nords would be surprised. Will you?” – The sound of a match being lit. “Cigars are usually lit from a real fire…”
– Especially Cuban cigars from the Italian house of Castrazio! – A deep drag. – Castrazio Trading House – we’ve been smoking with you for two hundred years!
While we were tasting and reflecting, we missed some of the champions entering the Arena, but we did catch a representative of the Ottoman Empire!
– Mehmet AlaWal ibn Selim abu Suleiman ibn Mustafa I the Cruel! – A contented sigh. – You’ve spoken!
“Oriental names have always grated on Europeans, but just look at this eastern prince! What grace, he’s like a tiger out of his cage!”
– I don’t like his look, it’s too dismissive… He clearly underestimates his opponents.
– It doesn’t matter how he looks, what matters is how he wields his saber! Oh! And here comes our Chinese champion! Sun Wyn himself! The heir to the ruling dynasty, by the way!
– Cough-cough! – The sound of a thump on the back. – Guan Dao?! (Author’s note: a Chinese bladed weapon, similar to a glaive or halberd, consisting of a long shaft with a combat part in the form of a wide curved blade.) Seriously!? Jacques, this thing is almost three meters long!
“Shirak, Ragnar’s hammer isn’t much shorter… But what a spectacle awaits us!” A contented whistle. “Look at the spectators? They’re in anticipation!”
– I can’t disagree with that. I’m interested in seeing a duel between sword and hammer myself! – The clink of glasses. – To Magical France, gentlemen!
“For France!” Most of the spectators supported the commentators, especially since skimpy veil vendors walked through the stands selling wine and cigars.
– Dear Sir and Madam, all the champions have entered the Arena, which means it’s time for the ceremonial fireworks display! Viva la France!!!
A colorful show lit up the sky above the enormous amphitheater located in the heart of France’s magical quarter. The finest illusionists from across Europe delighted the audience with their talent. In addition to fiery flowers and vibrant signs, ancient heroes appeared in the sky. The humble David defeated the colossal Goliath, followed by the mighty Merlin taming a colossal dragon, and finally, Soviet illusionists showed the legendary hero riding the famous Gorynych. The audience was delighted; the French, as always, were at their best! No one even noticed how law enforcement discreetly escorted drunk or overexcited spectators from the stands. There were only a few of these, but Minister Delacour decided to play it safe and reinforced his limited force with their foreign counterparts—the country’s prestige was paramount.
“What a sight… Hmm… They say the Chinese are the best at illusion magic for a reason! Their Golden Long Wang (Author’s note: in Chinese mythology, the head of the dragon-moons, the ruler of the waters) was so lifelike! I even ducked when he flew over us!”
– You’re not the only one… But I liked the Russian Gorynych more, and he really does exist!
– It’s a pity that Koldoradio can’t convey our emotions… I’m simply delighted!
“But everyone in the Magical Quarter could see this amazing show! I remember watching similar spectacles from the roof of a nearby shop as a child. Ah… Those were the days…”
– Jacques…
– Shirak…
– Meanwhile, the panel of judges activated the White Stone, and the champions began to take turns presenting their blades, or whatever they had…
“Let me explain for those who don’t know…” The sound of a luscious gulp. “A personal blade is a true work of art, and during production, it is enchanted so that even the slightest scratch can be fatal. Therefore, many centuries ago, the best European craftsmen created an artifact that creates an exact replica of the champion’s weapon. The resulting blade matches the original in weight and balance, but is completely devoid of magic and cannot even channel it. Thus, champions use familiar weapons, and the mortality rate among participants has significantly decreased…”
“But not to zero… Our champions, despite all the efforts of the mediwitches, manage to kill each other every time. Just look at how the Chinese and the Italians look at the athletes from the Soviet Union and Britain! So much hatred and contempt!”
– They won’t risk attacking outside the Arena, they don’t have the guts.
– Why is that?
– Look at the podium! In the royal box, besides Integra Hellsing, Diomid Shipitko and Sergei Cherny are sitting next to the minister!
“I agree, these three are generally called something completely different, but it’s not for us to judge. Personally, I would avoid their hiding place, and I advise everyone else to do the same!”
“So, the copies have been created, and now the judges are storing them in a cold-iron safe, the most secure vault in Magical France. By the way, those greedy green-skinned runts refused to sponsor me, so I transferred all my savings to Switzerland, to the dwarves. Those runts are also greedy, but more reliable, and their interest rates are much higher. I won’t even mention the cashback and customer support.”
– You’re right, my dear friend! The Diamond Bank – is it a deposit or a pickaxe in the eye for us?
“Great words, Jacques.” The replica blades are in the safe, and the judges are finishing their final checks, while our champions have begun the draw procedure. To do this, they drop a piece of parchment with their name in a special bowl. This is how we’ll find out the competition standings, but that won’t be until tomorrow!
An impartial judge will decide the fate of our champions! Who will be the winner?
– The safe slammed shut, the urn was covered in a yellow fog, and our champions headed for the exit…
“And that means exciting and deadly battles await us tomorrow! Who do you think will take the Golden Sword, Shirak?!”
– We’ll find out soon! Dear viewers and radio listeners, we say goodbye to you! With you were Chirac, Dirac, and…
– Jacques Chabrol, see you tomorrow!
***
– NO!!! – Just now, before my eyes, the Italian chopped off Borya’s head and while she was flying, he managed to chop it into four pieces. – I’ll kill you, you creature!!!
I lunged forward, but before I could take a single step, my body was paralyzed, and Sergei’s strong hand landed on my shoulder. Grandfather grabbed me by the scruff of the neck and shook me like a kitten, then forcefully sat me down and delivered a resounding slap. I even tasted blood in my mouth. This method proved effective and brought me back to my senses, well, almost; the anger and hatred were still there. I continued to glare, unblinking, at the satisfied Italian, who was bowing to the excited crowd.
Taking a few deep breaths, I leaned back in my chair and looked at Diomede. The battle-hardened old man clenched his fists tightly, a single tear trickling down his cheek. He knew perfectly well that his grandson was dead; even magic couldn’t heal such injuries. It hurt to look at the grief-stricken old man, and I turned away, a feeling of emptiness and loss deep within me.
I hadn’t known Boris long, but in that time I’d become friends with him, even somewhat attached. A shy, kind face appeared before my eyes, and I couldn’t help but smile, then my gaze fell back on the Arena. There, in a pool of blood, lay my decapitated friend and brave defender. As the healers packed his body into a black bag, the events of the last couple of days flashed through my mind.
The competition began with a scandal: Mehmet ibn hu*ibn al-Halal didn’t like the fact that I was his opponent. At first, this miscarried camel screamed loudly that he wouldn’t soil his saber on a dirty and worthless woman. Then he declared that after winning, he’d cut off my ears, brand me like a slave, and take me to his harem, where he’d abuse me in every way. How Borya ended up facing the Arab, I didn’t understand, but I clearly saw the Ottoman prince’s teeth flying in all directions and his gouged-out eye. Then Shipitko Jr. apologized profusely for not shutting up the loudmouth sooner. This outburst almost got the guy disqualified from the competition; they barely managed to heal the loudmouth in time for the match. It would have been better if they’d disqualified him… Then he would have lived…
Commentators and the press have already dubbed this championship one of the bloodiest and most brutal in history! What can I say, more than half of the losers are dead! This isn’t an arena, it’s a fucking Colosseum!
In the very first duel, a huge Viking crushed the Spanish champion’s head with his hammer. Frail Josephine tried to close the distance and was hit in the sweet face with the hilt, dropping her sword in the process. The girl needed to roll away or admit defeat, but she reached for the blade, and as a result, her skull shattered into a bloody mess. I watched in disgust as spectators in the front rows collected shreds of flesh and bone fragments from the floor as souvenirs.
The Chinese fighter was next, and he sliced the Polish woman in half, from head to groin, and then urinated on the remains of the unfortunate Marysia. In contrast, the German and the Frenchwoman looked dignified and commanded respect: Drankel chopped off the Belgian’s hand, and Fleur ripped open the Greek’s stomach. Their opponents remained alive, which didn’t please the heated crowd. Boris and Clark’s performances also didn’t win universal approval. Not only was the duel long and almost bloodless, but at the end, the defeated American shook his Soviet comrade’s hand, much to the dismay of the representatives accompanying them.
But my duel with the Arabian prince delighted the bloodthirsty crowd. This loudmouthed camel lover needed to be punished, and I deliberately aimed for his crotch. Mehmet was quite nimble, and every time I dodged, he insulted me in every way, though not for long. A couple of minutes later, I caught him, and my broadsword chopped off his bells, along with the pod. The spectators cheered, and the castrato screamed in monotone and showered me with curses. I wanted to simply knock him out, but he yelped something about my mother… That liar didn’t let go of his saber, meaning the duel continued, so the blade of my blade entered his vile mouth and exited through the back of his head. To be sure, I also twisted the hilt a couple of times, so that his meager brains would turn to mush. At such moments you understand that the human body is very fragile and no magic can fix it.
The last fight of the day was between the Italian and the Dutchman, and I found it the most disgusting. From the very first moments, it was clear to everyone that Vincenzo was far more experienced and stronger than his opponent, but he was in no hurry to win. The snarky spaghetti-head spent about ten minutes taunting the Dutch champion, inflicting minor scratches and cuts, and when he’d had enough, he cold-bloodedly killed the guy, just like he did with Borya… And I warned him…
After the championship opening ceremony, we relaxed a bit and decided to take in Paris. During our walk, Borya and I got chatting and discovered we had a lot in common: he also loved science fiction and was fascinated by artifact making! It was a pleasure and interesting conversation, and we ended up chatting late into the night. Back then, when my eyes were drooping, I told Borya that the Italian was the most dangerous of all the champions and that he should be careful. The Russian giant merely chuckled but promised to be more careful. I didn’t see any seriousness in his expression and reminded him that although Vincenzo looked the smallest, he moved incredibly smoothly, as if he had no bones or his joints could bend in any direction. Borya then laughed and said he’d tie the spaghetti man in a knot.
That simple-minded fool hadn’t listened to me, and now I was racked with remorse. I should have been more persistent and convincing, not left it to chance. Borya, I will definitely avenge you, I promise. The Italian isn’t just a rival now; he’d killed someone close to me and become an enemy, and Hellsing’s enemies don’t live long.
“Rigel, how are you?” The platinum blonde sitting to my right put her arm around me. “You need to pull yourself together and calm down.”
“It’s okay, Mom.” I smiled tightly and looked into her eyes. “I’ll kill that bastard.”
“I recognize my daughter.” The woman patted me on the shoulder. “Diomid Ivanovich will be very grateful to you.”
– Where is he? – I turned my head, but the militant pensioner was not nearby.
“He went to get his grandson’s body, and then he’ll go home through the portal.” Mom sighed sadly. “Sergey and Maria are with him now; the old man is very depressed.”
“I can imagine…” I swallowed the lump in my throat and looked at the contented Italian guy sitting in the distance. “Why?”
– On demand! Pull yourself together, wimp! – Victoria nudged me from the side. – You have to perform soon! And if you lose to Fritz, I’ll call you a stinker for the rest of my life!
“I won’t lose, don’t get your hopes up.” I grinned evilly and clenched my fists. “I still have some revenge to settle.”
“Victoria, don’t distract Rigel.” Mom pinched the vampire’s side. “Have you gained weight?”
– Me? N-n-it can’t be! – The girl jumped up and began to examine and feel herself in a panic, and then looked at me pitifully. – Sis! And the lady is calling me names, she said I’m fat!
– Maybe I was mistaken, let me check again, come closer. So… – The Baroness beckoned her subordinate. – Turn around, hmm… – Wham, the vampire got hit in the lower ninety. – Snitching is not nice!
– But you yourself… – The vampire frowned and appeared behind me. – Sister, the mistress is fighting! Tell her!
“You shouldn’t have eaten that kidney pie Mrs. Weasley sent all by yourself! I wanted to try it too!” Mom chuckled and, stretching, spanked the girl on the bottom again. “We’ll check your fat tonight.”
“I’m not fat!” Victoria folded her arms dramatically across her chest and sat down next to me. “I’ll complain to the Boss, that’s it!” She stamped her foot.
Such antics made me smile and distracted me from the death of the guy who had managed to become so close to me in such a short time. I knew Mom and Victoria had staged this spectacle on purpose, and I’d definitely thank them later. Meanwhile, I turned my attention to the Arena; Fleur Delacour would now be battling Sun Wyn. The Frenchwoman simply had to win; she still had to compete in the Triwizard Tournament! Hearing the familiar name, I immediately remembered it, or rather, the films from my past life. Naturally, the real Fleur was very different from the movie version. For starters, she was much more beautiful, and she looked much smarter, with a cold, calculating, and judicious look in her eyes.
The French champion stepped into the Arena, and I couldn’t help but admire her—this Veela was incredibly beautiful! Her chiseled figure, luxurious hair, stunning blue eyes, fluffy eyelashes, and that predatory smile and even white teeth… I just wanted to grab her and… Wait! Is this Veela charm working on me?! What the hell?! I shook my head, and the spell faded a little, but the girl didn’t stop being beautiful and attractive, and continued to evoke certain desires. I glanced at my mother and Victoria, but they looked completely calm, unlike the glassy-eyed men in the front rows, choking on drool. Just in case, I wiped my chin with a handkerchief.
I think I’ve figured out this cunning beauty’s tactic—she wanted to charm the Chinese man and win quickly, but her plan backfired. Maybe Sun Wyn is a castrate or gay? Weil’s charm not only had no effect on him, but actually made him incredibly angry! His face twisted in disgust, and after the whistle blew, he lunged at the girl with a wild scream. For several minutes, Fleur demonstrated her excellent flexibility and acrobatic feats to the spectators. The sword was significantly shorter than the guan dao, and to win, the Frenchwoman would have to get very close. The narrow-eyed man understood this perfectly well and kept the nimble girl at bay, simultaneously attempting to chop her to pieces with his monstrous spear.
Veila danced around the Chinese man for over fifteen minutes, during which time she sustained several deep cuts and lost part of her left ear, but continued to wear her opponent down. A long spear with a meter-long blade attached to its tip isn’t the most comfortable weapon, and it’s also very heavy, so Sun Wen began to lose steam. The Chinese man’s movements became jerky and slow, but the Frenchwoman didn’t even lose her breath and went on the attack. The girl deftly dodged another lunge and dashed forward. The narrow-eyed man tried to push her back with the shaft, but it was too late. The tip of the sword sank into his stomach up to the hilt, while the girl began twisting the hilt, thereby wrapping the opponent’s intestines around her blade. The Chinese man screamed loudly and swung his sword, but the girl deftly jumped aside and smiled predatorily. In response, Sun Wyn rushed forward, but with a hole in his belly, he couldn’t run very far. The Frenchwoman easily sidestepped him and delivered the winning blow. This time, the blade entered the back of his head and exited through his eye socket, and the woman even twisted it several times. The victory was beautiful, bloody, but well-deserved. No one pitied the Chinese man; his desecration of the Polish woman’s body earned him universal contempt.
“What a stunning victory!” one of the commentators roared. I’d been so caught up in the fight that I’d barely heard anything around me. “The lovely Mademoiselle Delacour has proven her mastery once again! Bravo!”
“I completely agree with Jacques, it was a tough fight, but little Fleur emerged victorious!” the second presenter yelled. “The final is just around the corner, and it promises to be a thrilling one!”
The girl bowed to the cheering stands and, her head held high, descended from the Arena, straight into the clutches of the Healing Witches. Some of the cuts were very deep. To the cheers of the crowd and the cheerful cries of the commentators, two men in blue robes carried out the body of the Chinese champion and, with a few waves of their magic wands, cleared the blood from the arena. The arena was being prepared for the next match, and I began to feel a little nervous. I took a couple of deep breaths to clear my lungs and braced myself. I absolutely had to win, and then I would send that vile Italian to meet his Maker.
“Daughter, be careful.” Mom looked me in the eyes and hugged me tightly. “Remember what you were taught.”
“Sister, I believe in you.” Victoria patted me on the shoulder.
“Thank you, I love you.” I quickly hugged my family and ran to the platform; the signal had already been given.
“Meanwhile, Rigel Hellsing and Drankel von Schwaltzkopo XII enter the Arena,” the commentator yelled.
“Let’s welcome the champions!” his partner echoed. “Magical Britain versus Greater Germany! Who will emerge victorious?!”
“Who will make it to the semifinals?!” the first commentator shouted. “You can find the answer to this and other questions at the House of Knowledge, located across from the Montpensier restaurant. Our country’s best oracles are ready to predict your future! Hurry, there are discounts on Tarot readings and Tasseomancy (Author’s note: fortune telling using tea leaves) until the end of the championship!”
After listening to the intrusive advertising, I looked at the German: he was slightly taller than me and had a solid build, and he was also much older, soon to be seventeen. He looked completely calm and looked at me without anger or negativity; he was simply assessing his opponent. We walked to the center of the stone platform and stood facing each other, while the referee approached from the side. The short man examined us carefully and handed over our blades. To avoid violations and other such matters, weapons are issued immediately before the duel and are immediately deposited in the safe after the bout.
“Let me remind you of the rules: no magic, no concentrators, and the use of defensive artifacts is strictly prohibited! You may only use weapons given to you by me, and you are also allowed to use your own body.” The judge examined me, lingering on the area below my back. “I expect a fair fight from you. Remember, you can surrender at any time! Enough bloodshed and senseless deaths for today; win or lose with honor and dignity! Is everything understood?!”
– Yes. – I nodded.
– Ya-ya! Ser Gut! – The German nodded politely to the judge, then looked at me and bowed. – Frau Hellsing.
– Herr von Schwaltzkopo. – I replied in kind.
“That’s great.” The Frenchman sighed contentedly and stepped aside.
A protective dome activated over the arena and the signal for the duel to begin sounded. My thoughts immediately left my head, and, adjusting my grip on the broadsword, I began a deadly dance. The German also transformed, chuckling contentedly before making a couple of lunges, testing my defenses. I kept up and even managed to leave a cut on his shoulder. We circled each other for about a minute, occasionally crossing blades. My opponent’s blows were very powerful, but he was no match for Flitwick. Eventually, the German grew tired of this and went on the attack. He moved very quickly, but I was quicker and much more flexible. I parried another blow, dropped into a split, and, with a deft spin, twisted into an unnatural pose—probably something even Neo from The Matrix couldn’t have managed. A somersault at the limit of my abilities, and I found myself on my opponent’s right side. A lightning-fast dash and the blade of my broadsword touched Drankel’s neck. I didn’t want to kill or somehow maim the guy, he behaved very decently, in a sporty manner.
The German froze for a second, then dropped his sword and raised his hands, confirming his defeat. The stands roared, and I returned to reality. I enjoyed this duel; I won with honor and dignity.
– Good morning, Frau Hellsing. – The German boy nodded respectfully.
“Thank you too, Herr von Schwaltzkopo,” I smiled back.
The judge, accompanied by a mediwitch, checked our condition and gave the command to return to our seats. With my shoulders squared and my posture steady, I descended from the Arena. I’m in the semifinals!
Only after I sat down between Mom and Victoria did I allow myself a silly smile, but it didn’t last long. Next up was Sosoni. I still couldn’t figure out how the draw worked; some had one fight a day, others two. The Italian’s opponent was a Scandinavian. I sincerely wished him victory and hoped the Viking’s hammer would crush the filthy Italian’s head.
The duel between the Italian champion and the Scandinavian Viking was short-lived. Werewolves are very resilient, with faster speed and reactions than wizards, and they’re also stronger, but even this advantage didn’t help Ragnar prevail. This time, Vincenzo wasn’t playing around with his opponent: he dodged a hammer flying at him a couple of times, then leaped and found himself lying between the huge Nord’s legs. A couple of lightning-fast movements and the proud Scandinavian was already on his knees, his tendons severed, while the satisfied Italian whistled a tune behind him. Aivars didn’t have time to drop his weapon or raise his hands—Sosoni severed his head first, chopping it into several pieces in the process.
I looked at the Italian’s smug face and couldn’t understand such cruelty. Why?! These people weren’t your enemies and hadn’t done anything bad to you, so why kill them?! But upon closer inspection, I realized—this bastard simply enjoyed it. I didn’t dare turn on my empathy in such a crowd, and I didn’t need it. Sosoni was literally beaming with pleasure and happiness; this maniac was proud of himself and, judging by his eyes, had no intention of stopping. Oh well, tomorrow there’ll be one less maniac, or at least one less green-eyed fool who agreed to this adventure.
“Maybe I should drop in on a nice guy tonight?” Victoria looked thoughtfully at the Italian receiving her congratulations. “I wonder what he tastes like?”
– No, this bastard is mine! – I looked firmly into my sister’s eyes. – I will kill him personally.
“As you say.” The vampiress made her most honest eyes. “He came with his family, I think, so I’ll console the unfortunates after the competition…”
“The last fight of the day, we’ll soon find out the final participant of the semifinals!” one of the hosts shouted over the crowd. “So, esteemed sir and mademoiselle, the champion of Malta, Matteo Cassar, is calling to the Arena!”
“His opponent will be the Transylvanian champion, Ioan Eminescu!” the second commentator yelled. “One of them will advance to the next stage, and the loser might die!”
“Jacques, that’s enough killing for today!” the first presenter grumbled. “We’re having a sporting event, not gladiatorial combat!”
“Tell that to the audience!” the first one replied cheerfully. “Chirac, look at the esteemed public, they’re demanding bread and circuses! Ioan, Matteo, don’t disappoint us! Give us a bloody show!”
The boys heard the commentators and simultaneously grimaced in disgust, then bowed to each other in unison. Their fight was somewhat reminiscent of my fight with the German—quick and bloodless. At one point, Kassar caught Eminescu, and the Transylvanian champion surrendered. The spectators began whistling and hooting in disapproval, and when the boys shook hands, various uneaten food items and half-empty bottles were thrown at them. The crowd was very unhappy that the final fight was bloodless.
– Today’s fights are over, unfortunately, dear viewers, we have to say goodbye, but not for long – one of the commentators spoke up. – Just until tomorrow!
“After all, tomorrow is when our finalists will cross swords!” his colleague shouted. “Tomorrow, four champions await you, and they will engage in fierce battles for the right to wield the golden sword!”
Ignoring these loudmouthed bullshitters, we headed out through the inner corridors. I had no desire to face the crowd of fans that had formed. I wanted to get back to my hotel room and take a hot bath; this place was becoming more and more disgusting with each passing minute. These bloodthirsty beasts were so delighted at the death of an innocent boy that I wanted to activate Fatty; it was a shame she stayed at Hogwarts. And how they applauded the snide Italian? One elderly purebred whore threw her oversized panties at the feet of an arrogant brat! Ugh, disgusting.
Upon arriving at the hotel, I’d take a bath first, then call my best friend. I desperately needed to vent and take my mind off things. I’d ask about school, catch up on the latest rumors, and pick up my homework. I desperately needed something to occupy my mind! Otherwise, I’d go kill Vincenzo De Sosoni right now, because Borya’s face was still looming before my eyes. This good-natured guy reminded me of Alyoshka, not just in looks, but in character and charisma, and now he’s dead… I won’t even be able to see him off to his final resting place…
Having turned on Occlumency to the maximum, I made my way to the hotel on autopilot. Once in my room, I immediately took the Wonderphone out of my pocket and dialed Hermione.
– Hi! How are you? – I tried to sound optimistic, but it came out badly.
– Fine, we’re sitting in the library, writing another useless essay on transfiguration…
– Exactly! McCat then puts those papers in her litter tray! – Ron interrupted Mia. – Where else would she put all that waste paper? Or light the fireplace!
“We’re having fun, as you can see, only Elvira is missing, but she’s with the Prince right now.” My friend noticed my gaze and, rising from her seat, quickly found herself in the depths of the bookshelves. “Tell me…”
– Remember, I told you about Borya…
***
“Miss Smith, hurry, otherwise you risk being trapped in my office until morning.” Professor Prince looked at his student with disgust. “I would hate that, as the first thing I’ll see after leaving my chambers will be your sleepy face. The sight is too repulsive even for me, so speed up your crooked limbs and follow basic instructions. Now!”
“Yes, Teacher.” The girl looked up from the cutting board and nodded politely.
“Dean, aren’t you too…” Diana, standing nearby, flared her nostrils and tried to stand up for her colleague who had become a friend.
“Teacher! Miss Malfoy, I am your Teacher, and outside the common room, you must, no, you are obligated to call me that!” The Prince looked at the blonde sternly, but without disgust. “Miss Malfoy, you will stand up for your friend when she proves that she is on the same level of evolution as you, understand?”
“Yes, Teacher.” The blonde nodded reluctantly.
“I’m glad you understand human speech on the first try. Unfortunately, there aren’t many like you in this school.” The professor snorted and pointedly buried his nose in the latest issue of ” A Potion Master’s Daily Life .” “Keep working.”
The Slytherin snorted angrily but continued stirring the potion, while Elvira smiled and continued preparing the ingredients. The girl remembered Diana telling her that her father had wanted to make the Master her magical godfather, but her mother had balked. Mrs. Malfoy had declared that the insignificant half-blood would only become her daughter’s godfather once he learned to wash his hair. Professor Prince’s hair still hung in stinking icicles, meaning he had never been granted that honor. Elvira laughed to herself; no matter how hard the Master tried, he would remain a second-class citizen in wizarding society.
Smith grinned and continued crushing the bean sprouts as the Master had instructed. All the instructions said to cut them, but the Master had called the authors of all the textbooks mentally retarded and demonstrated a more efficient method. The Professor was a terrible person, even repulsive, but the level of his knowledge was astounding. The girl sometimes felt like he knew the answers to all her potion-related questions, naturally. She realized how lucky she was and studied diligently, despite his attitude.
Elvira sometimes felt hurt. The Teacher might insult Diana, but he did it with respect, so to speak. That greasy-haired bastard had never looked at her with such disgust and contempt, and he didn’t allow himself to say the things he said to her. Malfoy said it was a test of sorts, that she needed to be patient, that he was the kind of person he was, but it was hard to believe.
Having finished with the ingredients, the girl began helping her friend. The potion was indeed complex, but completely useless. Who would need an elixir to remove moles on their heels? The girl shook the thought out of her head. The potion might be useless, but the techniques for making it…
“Very good, for your level, of course.” The teacher sniffed the bottle’s contents critically. “You could even sell it below cost and with a surcharge, but still…”
The girl watched as Professor Prince tested the potion they’d brewed, and this time he was satisfied with the quality. Finally! On their third try, they succeeded. They still couldn’t figure out what had gone wrong the first two times, but the Teacher knew best.
“Miss Smith,” the teacher gave her another disdainful glance. “I remind you that if you truly want to become a talented Potions master, and not just a pathetic nobody who’s learned a couple of basic recipes, you absolutely need a set of professional tools. Your current equipment is comparable to the tools of a primitive man. Take a cue from Miss Malfoy.”
“Okay, Teacher,” the girl nodded politely. “I’ll call Lady Hellsing today and ask her…”
“What did I say about forbidden words?!” The Head of Slytherin angrily slammed his fist on the table. “In my office, it is forbidden to mention your mistress’s last name or the names of certain stars!”
“Sorry,” Elvira lowered her head and, smirking to herself, added, “I’ll pass your words on to Captain Seras.”
“I won’t keep you any longer,” the Teacher replied, pale. “Sorry, I can’t see you out. I’m tired of your company. Goodbye.”
The girls silently left the Potions Master’s domain and found themselves in a dark corridor. Lights out had been over two hours ago, so their eyes were already starting to droop.
“Elvira, should I walk you home?” the caring blonde turned to her friend. “It’s late, and your friends are already in the living room. Wait a few minutes, I’ll call Crabbe or Goyle.”
“Diana, don’t bother. Let the boys sleep.” The girl smiled back and lied. “I thought I heard Mr. Filch, he’ll show me the way.”
“Call from the common room.” The Slytherin girl took the Wonderphone out of her pocket. “I won’t go to bed without your call.”
– Agreed. – The Gryffindor smiled back. – See you tomorrow.
Without waiting for an answer, Elvira headed to the living room, wanting to be alone. She needed to calm down and collect her thoughts, but that contemptuous gaze of the Teacher loomed before her eyes again. First, her parents had looked at her like that, then the teachers at the orphanage. How the girl hated it. No matter, despite it all, she would absorb all the knowledge the Prince imparted, and then burn out his eyes with acid she’d brewed herself.
Today, she’d specifically mentioned the bloodthirsty vampire; Smith wanted to knock the arrogant brat down a notch. The girl herself was a little afraid of Victoria, but she hoped she wouldn’t harm her, unlike the Prince, whom that monster had tortured all night. Rigel had told her about it once; the girls had told her a lot of things, but Elvira preferred to remain silent and listen. She’d been used to it since childhood, or rather, since the moment she’d ended up in that horrible orphanage.
The girl turned the corner, but couldn’t see anything around her. Thanks to Occlumency, she remembered her father’s face when he took her to the “amusement park.” Elvira was so overjoyed that she didn’t immediately notice the grimace of disgust and revulsion on her father’s face. The orphanage staff accepted her with the same expressions. Then they shaved her head, dressed her in some sackcloth, and led her by the ear to the common room.
The first night in the new place was the hardest; only by evening did the girl realize that Mom and Dad didn’t love her anymore. Why? She hadn’t done anything, had she? She’d tried so hard to please them! She always obeyed them, ate her porridge, and what crafts did she make for Mother’s and Father’s Day? Even this morning, she’d polished Dad’s shoes and helped Mom make breakfast. Why? Why had they abandoned her? Because of Fluffy? But Elvira herself didn’t know how it had happened; she just wanted the hamster to come back to life! Or maybe because of Father Joe? She’d heard him tell her parents that there was no demon in her and that she wasn’t possessed. So why had Mom and Dad stopped loving her?
Naturally, the little girl burst into tears, but instead of consolation, she received beatings—if you can call kicks and blows with bedposts that. The next morning, bloodied and battered, the homegirl went to complain to the teachers, earning herself a week in solitary confinement. That’s what they called a windowless, heatless room in the basement, where they fed her only once a day. Upon leaving, the girl was beaten again, but this time she didn’t complain; she didn’t want to go back to solitary confinement. Although Mindy said it was quite nice there; all you had to do was do something with that thing Teacher Pitty pulls out of his pants, and you’d have delicious food and even coloring books with crayons.
Elvira recalled her time in the orphanage reluctantly; she had experienced constant fear and pain. Her roommates often beat her and took away everything valuable, but she was even more afraid of going to the teachers. Smith was a smart girl and sometimes noticed how some of the children’s gait changed when they left the director’s office or the office of his assistants, of which there were five. But most of all, she dreaded being sent to night detention, as the other children at the orphanage called it. Sometimes, about once a week, the older girls would take one of the younger children outside the fence and put them in a parked car. The next morning, the children would be brought back, covered in fresh bruises and often limping, and once, upon returning, one boy locked himself in the storage room and hanged himself. However, Elvira escaped such a fate; perhaps the Creator had mercy.
One morning, Chuck from the older group approached her and announced that she was going for a drive that night with a nice gentleman. At that moment, the girl’s stomach sank, and then Madam Sprout arrived at lunch! From that moment on, everyone forgot about her; the teachers and the other children simply ignored Elvira! For over a month, the girl read textbooks and enjoyed her new, albeit hand-me-down, clothes. Smith thought that once she got to Hogwarts, she would escape this hell, but the Wizarding World turned out to be only the lower circle.
That’s when Elvira decided to grasp at a straw in Rigel, who turned out to be more than a log, but a dam blocking a river of crap. This green-eyed girl changed her life dramatically: she gave her shelter, friends, protection, and confidence. The latter was most important, as Smith had previously been afraid of her own shadow. Rigel, Hermione, Justin, and the other kids actively supported her and were always by her side. They tried to help and encourage her, but Smith deliberately distanced herself; she was used to keeping everything to herself. Her new friends understood this and didn’t pry too much, and then the cowardly orphan met Laurie and gained an older sister. It was this disfigured girl who became her support system and helped her regain her self-confidence. They spent a lot of time together during the holidays, and while at Hogwarts, they called each other every evening. Thanks to Rigel’s influence and Lori’s support, the downtrodden girl stopped being afraid and became self-confident, but out of habit she continued to remain silent and imitate furniture.
Elvira’s confidence was boosted by her necromancy teacher, Valentina. This Russian wild child taught the girl a lot, including how to kill. She didn’t tell Rigel and Lady Hellsing, and they didn’t ask, but she raised two Infernals that summer. True, before that, she had to personally kill two people: a Chinese saboteur and a woman who drowned her child. Smith didn’t contradict her beloved teacher and followed instructions to the letter. She felt no pity for these people, nor was she tormented by pangs of conscience; at that moment, she didn’t care. The girl had mastered Occlumency well and could shut off her emotions at the right moment, leaving only a cold mind. According to her teacher, this was how it should be; victims were just expendable material, like nails in a house.
Elvira agreed with the experienced and knowledgeable woman in everything, especially since Laurie had ordered her to obey her Russian mentor. Her sister was generally reserved and a little embittered, just like Smith, which may have been why they quickly became almost like sisters. Besides Valentina and Laurie, the girl had another friend, perhaps even her best. Elvira sometimes observed Rigel and Hermione’s behavior and was kindly envious; the two understood each other without words. Just like her and Ira, this girl was also an orphan and a necromage. This quickly became the girls’ best friend, and considering the teacher’s trials they had endured together…
So, every evening, as soon as she’d pulled the curtains, Elvira would call Lori and eagerly share the latest events or ask for advice on this or that topic. Then came the obligatory call to Valentina to report on the day. The woman always listened attentively and inquired about her state: emotional ups and downs, new voices from beyond the surface, and so on. The teacher always looked at her demandingly but respectfully, even when the conversation was about trivialities or something personal. And always, before bed, she would spend at least half an hour gossiping and chatting with Ira—her best friend, now dead…
Valentina never hid anything from her, so yesterday she honestly told her that Ira was no more—she had killed her. There are few necromages for many reasons, but the main one is a breakdown. At some point, necromages begin to hear voices from beyond the grave, and, succumbing to persuasion or losing control, they can orchestrate a breakthrough and unleash demons, spirits, or worse into our world. Valentina said that the consequences of some breakdowns were difficult to eliminate, as some entities are immaterial and not so easy to drive back. Yesterday, Ira was learning control and lost her grip while spending the night in a small cemetery. The teacher was nearby and almost made it in time. Her student went mad and unleashed a flock of hungry spirits into our world. The nimble creatures quickly inhabited fresh corpses and began constructing a necrotic construct around their new host. Valentina saw how the rotten and decayed flesh was growing together with the girl’s body, so she put an end to the poor girl’s suffering.
Elvira was hurt by the loss of a close friend, and on top of that came the Prince’s disgusted glances. She just wanted to be alone, and then there were those voices on the periphery of her consciousness… How they got on her nerves!
The girl was so lost in thought and withdrawn that she didn’t notice the rustling sound behind her. Then three powerful Stupefys flew at her back, the first two knocking out her shields, and the last knocking her unconscious.
***
Professor Prince was sitting in his office, reading his favorite magazine, when he suddenly received a response from one of the trackers scattered throughout the school. Three sixth-year students from his house, judging by their student marks, had just knocked out the Mudblood Smith and were dragging her away. The man frowned and, rising from his chair, beckoned a bottle of Firewhiskey; he had no intention of interfering.
This Mudblood has owners, so let them sort it out. It’s not his fault the Black brat is now in Paris. He hoped with all his heart that Zabini’s promises would come true and that this green-eyed brat wouldn’t return to Hogwarts. As for her mongrel dog, he’d already received his tuition fees, and he’d already taken precautions.
Severus deliberately inserted a clause into the apprentice’s contract prohibiting sexual relations between teacher and student. He had then explicitly told Dumbledore that he was not a bestiality afflicted and had no intention of having sex with girls of that origin. He later clarified that since she was a Hellsing vassal, she wouldn’t require the protection of the Potions Guild, so he also removed that clause from the contract. The Headmaster and the Platinum Bitch didn’t object; now they could deal with the consequences and protect their Mudblood, and he couldn’t care less. Teaching a friend’s daughter was an honor, but sharing knowledge with a lesser creature… Ugh!
The man took a long sip and leaned back in his chair with satisfaction. If his students did everything right, there would be no problems, but if not… Well… He’d never liked these three, or their families. Severus didn’t like anyone; he hated them all equally, including himself.
“I don’t care, let them figure it out themselves.” The man lured in a couple more bottles of firewhiskey and went to visit a fortune teller.
