Сhapter 13. The call of Darkness. Part 3.
The Kingdom of Fenn. The Royal Capital — Amanoki.
"Feels like we've walked straight into a samurai movie," remarked the Russian diplomat as he took in the magnificent temples, traditional Japanese-style buildings, and the formally dressed locals whose eyes gleamed with curiosity. They strolled along a stone-paved street lined with lush sakura trees, their delicate petals drifting gently to the ground, adding an almost mystical atmosphere to the scene.
"Yeah, I have to agree," replied the second diplomat in Japanese, his gaze lingering on the intricate details of the local architecture. He was mesmerized by its grandeur and tranquil beauty. The corners of his lips twitched slightly when he noticed a samurai gliding past with extraordinary grace, his katana held firmly in his hands.
At that moment, the sliding door to the room shifted open, revealing a middle-aged man with a shaved head and a neatly trimmed goatee. He was clad in a traditional samurai kimono, exquisitely embroidered with gold and silver threads, and his hand rested confidently on the hilt of his katana. His piercing gaze immediately fixed on the Russian diplomats as he spoke with a faint accent.
"Apologies for the wait," he said with respect. "The King of Swords, Shihan, has arrived."
Two aides entered the room alongside him. Their movements were so composed and graceful that their presence exuded both authority and subtlety at the same time.
Shihan, inclining his head slightly in greeting, seated himself across from the diplomats. His eyes were dark as the night, his expression an unreadable mask, concealing any trace of emotion.
"I am honored to welcome you as envoys of the Russian Federation," he said, his voice carrying a barely perceptible note of respect.
One of the Russian diplomats leaned slightly forward, his gestures polite and measured. He raised his hand toward an attaché, who, as if on cue, reached into his bag and presented a selection of gifts before Shihan.
"We come in peace, and we ask that you accept our gifts," the diplomat said.
The offerings included: a pair of sneakers, a forged katana, a string of pearl beads, a beautifully packaged bottle of vodka, and a sports jacket.
Shihan maintained his composure as he carefully examined the gifts. A faint smile flickered across his lips when he picked up one particular item. The sneakers—an unusual yet intriguing gift for this setting. His eyebrows lifted slightly.
"Oh! Such unusual footwear. Light and comfortable," he noted after slipping them on.
"I am pleasantly surprised. Very interesting," he said, rubbing his goatee while admiring the shoes.
After removing them, his eyes settled on the elegant bottle encased in a luxurious box. It was vodka, sealed with golden foil and featuring an exquisitely designed label. He lifted the bottle and inspected it closely. The engraving on the packaging caught his eye.
"What is this?" he asked with genuine curiosity, shaking the bottle slightly. "Hmm…"
Noticing his interest, the diplomat quickly responded:
"This is our special drink, something like sake, but stronger."
Shihan carefully unsealed the bottle, and as the intense aroma hit him, he flinched slightly. Pouring a small amount into a cylindrical "ochoko" cup, he brought it to his lips and took a tentative sip. His eyes widened instantly.
A fiery burn surged through his throat and spread throughout his body, engulfing him from head to toe. The taste was sharp, almost aggressive, unrelentingly powerful. He took another sip, as if testing his initial impression. The flavor wasn't just strong — it was electrifying, like a bolt of lightning. This was a drink that didn't allow one to remain indifferent.
"Oh…" Shihan exhaled, his face momentarily contorting from the unexpected intensity. He felt the vodka's fire blaze within him, and his gaze became more focused. "This… this is nothing like sake," he admitted, barely suppressing a grin. "Sake is soft, harmonious, even gentle. But this… this is like a strike to the head, the very essence of strength."
"I thought I was prepared for anything, but this drink… this drink has shattered my expectations."
Shihan's companions were equally captivated. A young woman with long hair, dressed in a traditional kimono, delicately lifted the string of pearls. Her face lit up with admiration.
"By the gods! This is exquisite! Such perfect pearls… How… how did you obtain them?" she exclaimed, unable to hide her astonishment and delight.
An older man, sporting a mustache and graying hair, also reached out to take one of the gifts. A smirk appeared on his face as he examined the sports jacket. There was an undeniable contrast between the medieval setting and these modern items, but he accepted the gift with sincere respect.
Meanwhile, Shihan meticulously inspected the katana, unsheathing it and gently shifting the blade to assess its balance. His eyes sharpened with deep interest.
"The rumors of a land capable of forging such weapons are indeed true," Shihan mused, lifting his gaze to the diplomats. "The abundance of gifts from the Russian Federation has shown us just how skilled your craftsmen are. Any trading nation would thrive by partnering with you," he stated, allowing his words to sink in.
He looked at the Russian diplomats with newfound respect and continued:
"We, too, would like to establish diplomatic relations with the Russian Federation."
The diplomats exchanged glances. One of them, noting the faint smile on Shihan's face, calmly responded:
"So that means…"
"Wait, dear envoy!" Shihan interrupted, his voice noticeably firmer. "We would like to witness the firepower of your iron fortresses firsthand. You see, we have four old warships docked in our harbor, and we want you to treat them as enemies and sink them."
The Russian diplomat raised an eyebrow, concealing his surprise as he asked:
"You wish to witness the military might of our fleet?"
"Precisely," Shihan answered curtly, his gaze unwavering. "You see, to truly understand a nation's strength, one must witness it with their own eyes. Do you agree?"
The Russian diplomat nodded, his expression composed.
"Yes."
Shihan's lips curled slightly upward as he stood, lifting his chin.
"Excellent! When can we begin?"
"Shall we choose a time and location for the demonstration?"
"Yes, that matter will be arranged," Shihan said, glancing at his advisors. Receiving his silent command, they respectfully bowed and exited the room. Shihan watched them leave before turning back to the diplomats and speaking with measured finality:
"And with that, our discussion is complete. I invite you to be guests in my home."
"We appreciate your hospitality," the Russian diplomats bowed, their expressions reflecting both gratitude and respect.
The Russian Federation. Moscow.
When the Russian Federation was transported to another world—or perhaps another planet—scientists were still debating the nature of the anomaly that had ripped the country from its familiar reality. Weeks of nonstop strikes, protests, and unrest followed as chaos engulfed Russia. Factories shut down, people panicked, trying to grasp what had happened. Electricity, the internet, communications—everything collapsed like a house of cards. At times, it was hard to believe this was real and not some kind of nightmare.
A week after the unexpected event, the Russian government worked tirelessly to stabilize the country. Troops were deployed to suppress particularly violent groups that disrupted factory operations and set buildings on fire. While moderate protesters could be handled by police forces, extremist factions grew increasingly dangerous. Out of nowhere, cults armed with firearms bearing erased serial numbers began acting like terrorists—taking hostages and screaming about the End of Days.
However, despite the growing chaos, the FSS (Federal Security Service. Rus ФСБ) and the Ministry of Internal Affairs (rus. MВД) acted swiftly and decisively, eliminating threats with ruthless efficiency. By the time electricity was restored and the internet was back online, the president of the country appeared on television. His speech was both sobering and hopeful. He made no concrete promises but informed the people that scientists were still working to understand the anomaly. The president emphasized that, at this moment, Russia was one nation stranded in an entirely unknown world, and that everyone had to unite to face whatever threats lay ahead.
"We must stand together," he said. "Or we'll get obliterated. By who? Hell if I know."
Despite the uncertainty in his words, his speech instilled trust, and people began returning to work. Laborers went back to the factories, teachers to the schools. Slowly but steadily, industry started to recover. If the process had taken any longer, a full-scale crisis would have erupted. But daily life was beginning to stabilize.
But let's not get sidetracked. Back to Moscow.
After the transition to the new world, foreign embassies ceased to function. Ambassadors from the old world had settled across Russia, finding new places to live. The capital, however, remained filled with foreign diplomats, though the former embassy buildings were now occupied by emissaries from this new world. These new envoys observed the political situation with great interest, though they remained cautious.
The FSS kept a close watch on these guests, ensuring that outsiders did not interfere in matters that did not concern them.
In a Specialized Restaurant for Guests from Outside the Civilized Zone.
In one of the lobby areas, separated from the bustling main hall, a conversation between diplomats from the Kingdom of Sios took place. They sat around a table surrounded by exotic plants, with dim lighting creating an atmosphere of seclusion.
"I believe that the Russian Federation will not only be an important ally but also a guarantor of security for the Kingdom of Fenn," said an elf with a confident tone, bringing a cigar to his lips. He carefully lit one end, savoring the taste before closing his eyes slightly in satisfaction. "I have observed the actions of the Armed Forces of the Russian Federation, and I can confidently say that there is no force comparable to them."
A beastman sitting across from him thoughtfully reached for his glass, running his fingers through his thick fur before responding.
"Agreed," said the Lion, taking a brief glance away from the conversation. "But let's not forget that our region has other ambitions at play. Parpaldia also has its sights set on Altaras and Fenn. If the rulers of these kingdoms make a misstep in diplomacy, it could have serious consequences for their sovereignty and resources."
He took a sip of his red wine, his gaze serious, as if he could already see the consequences unfolding. "If the interests of the Russian Federation and Parpaldia collide, war will be inevitable."
At that moment, a man dressed in Renaissance-era clothing placed his knife and fork onto his plate. Leaning back in his chair, his expression remained calm, but there was a resolute glint in his eyes.
"Fortunately, our kingdom has excelled in trade relations with the Russian Federation," he said with a slight smile. "The treasury is flourishing, the people are well-fed and content."
"Of course. And why wouldn't our country prosper? We are the trading hub between continents. Russia, Rodenius, and Fillades—all these lands are essentially connected through our kingdom."
At this point, one of the guests paused in thought before addressing the group.
"And what about the Kingdom of Topa? What do we know about it?"
"The Russian Federation has made the first move," said the elf, exhaling a slow stream of smoke as he examined his cigar with interest. "They have sent a delegation to Topa to establish diplomatic relations. Apparently, it's for researching the Northern Sea and fishing for... 'seafood.'"
"Seafood?" one of the diplomats asked, raising an eyebrow in confusion.
"Yes, crabs and other marine delicacies," the Lion replied with a smile, clearly imagining the taste.
"I've tried crab brought from Topa. A real delicacy, absolutely mouthwatering," he continued, a light smirk crossing his lips, barely concealing his enjoyment.
"The Russian Federation has been sending delegations to other countries as well," the Renaissance-clad man added. "But curiously, they seem in no rush to send their diplomats to Parpaldia..."
Kingdom of Topa. Fortress City – Tormeus.
Moa and Gai finally reached Tormeus, their breath heavy, their eyes filled with unease. Behind them, endless forests and mountains stretched into the distance, carrying with them the eerie rustling of demonic forces—a foreboding whisper of doom. When they finally arrived at the fortress, they wasted no time and rushed straight to the commandant, their hearts pounding in sync with the terrifying news they carried. The message they bore was so grim that even the stone walls seemed to tremble under its weight.
"A twenty-thousand-strong army is gathering along the southern borders," Moa reported, his voice strained, as if each word cost him immense effort. "These aren't just orcs and trolls. We're talking high orcs, wild goblins… and something far worse lurking behind them."
The fortress commandant paled, his troubled gaze scanning the faces of his advisors, as though searching for a glimmer of hope. But his expression betrayed only doubt and fear.
"High orcs…" he murmured, as if trying to convince himself it wasn't true. "They went extinct three thousand years ago. If this isn't a mistake… If this is real—" He didn't finish his sentence, but everyone in the room understood. If it was true, then Topa was doomed.
Gai tightened his grip on his sword and met the commandant's gaze. There was no fear in his eyes — only determination. He knew their mission wasn't just a warning. It was the first desperate act of resistance. Tormeus was the last stronghold on this path. If it fell, the entire kingdom would be left defenseless.
At that moment, a guard burst into the room, panting, his face twisted in horror.
"Captain! Dire news!" he cried out, barely able to catch his breath. "The Gates of Worlds have fallen! The garrison has been wiped out, and the demons… they're marching here! They'll be upon us soon!"
"What?.. How?.." The commandant froze, struggling to process the words. His breathing became unsteady, his hands trembling under the weight of realization. "Destroyed… Are you absolutely certain?"
"I'm telling you the truth!" the guard gasped, still trying to steady himself. "The Gates are gone. The demons are coming. We have to prepare now!"
The commandant exhaled sharply and turned to Gai and Moa, his gaze filled with both gratitude and sorrow.
"Forgive me," he said, his voice carrying the weight of exhaustion. "You've done well. Get some rest while you can. We will fight. There are five thousand of us. We'll hold Tormeus until reinforcements arrive."
He turned to one of the mana-com operators.
"Send an urgent message to Berngen through magical communication. Inform them that a demonic army is on the march, led by Nosgorath. They must prepare for an attack."
"Yes, sir!" the operator replied with grim determination before hurrying out of the room.
The commandant, now steeling himself for the inevitable battle, approached a cabinet filled with ancient tomes. Carefully, he retrieved one and began flipping through its pages. His eyes carried the weight of sorrow, but beneath it, there was also a deep longing—perhaps for a time when the horrors of the past had seemed like nothing more than distant myths.
"I never thought I'd live to see this nightmare," he mused to himself as he found the page he sought. His voice turned solemn as he read aloud:
"The Messengers of the Supreme God drove the demonic legions back to Grameus and, alongside humans, dwarves, elves, and beastkin, built a fortress. Then, boarding their vessels, the Messengers departed through the whirlpool of light from which they had first arrived. A thousand human warriors launched a final assault, determined to rid the world of demons once and for all. But against Nosgorath stood Ta Lou, Kijje, and Luca — a man, a dwarf, and an elf. At the cost of their lives, they sealed the Demon King away. It was left to the beastkin, Kenshiva, to raise and guide the future generations of all peoples. After enduring a long campaign, Kenshiva returned and delivered a single warning: Nosgorath may yet return. The end."
The captain sighed, closing the book before placing it back on the shelf. A heavy silence filled the room as the realization settled in. This wasn't just an ancient tale. It was prophecy turning into reality.
He turned to Gai and Moa. The two warriors already understood what lay ahead. In their eyes, he saw unwavering resolve—but beneath that, an unspoken truth.
This battle… might be their last.
After two days, the demons completed their march and set up camp at the walls of Tormeus.
A quiet yet oppressive murmur rippled through the demon camp as they, in their chaotic sort of order, settled at the gates of Tormeus. The darkness brought by Nosgorath's army thickened over the land, swallowing the light, while the air hung heavy with the stench of dirt, blood, and madness. The demons tended to their fires and laid out their supplies, but even in these everyday tasks, a sinister, frenzied energy pulsed through them, making the ground tremble beneath their feet.
— Throk brogb, â izish gan lugûth dhaub. (I'm starving, my gut's killing me again.) — grumbled a high orc, perched atop a pile of tormented goblins, desperately rubbing his belly and letting out a noise that was neither a growl nor a creak. His skin, coated in a layer of grime and grease, stretched tight over massive muscles, and his wild eyes bored into the space around him, hunting for something to eat. But his nauseating complaints didn't bother the others.
— Nar brumg. (Quit your griping.) — snarled another orc in reply, a hulking brute with skin glistening from dirt and sweat. Without a second thought, he grabbed a nearby goblin and, without any fuss, used him as a makeshift scratcher for his back. The orc's rough palm scraped across the goblin's scrawny body, making him snort and twitch in discomfort.
— Hey! — the goblin squeaked indignantly, but realizing he stood no chance of fighting back, he just clenched his fists and muttered: — Thuk dzugh-dzugh! (Hope you bust wide open!)
The orc didn't seem to hear a thing, carrying on with a smug look plastered across his face. When he'd finished scratching, he tossed the goblin aside like a useless rag and let out a booming belch.
— A lbai plashnák ashbazg âps. (Elfes gals sure are tasty.) — he said with a smirk, clearly pleased with himself, glancing at his companion while completely ignoring the goblin.
The goblin, battered and humiliated, somehow managed to scramble to his feet. His eyes blazed with fury, but all he could do was spit on the ground and whisper under his breath: — Ghrash grod. (Damned freak.)
The orc, who paid him no mind up until then, swung his club at him. After that, the goblin vanished without a trace.
Meanwhile, in the organized chambers of Nosgorath, complete silence reigned around his camp, despite all the wildness of what was happening around.
— Akhoth! Az gol latishu dôf! Plathrok ghâr albai asht atish latob dushum bal! (Sir! I've brought food for you! Broth made from the bones of elfes creatures restores magical powers well!) — said the Blue Ogre, carefully bringing a pot of dark, burnt soup in plain sight. His broad, dark-scaled hand was trembling with excitement, and every gesture was as ruthless as the army of Nosgorath itself.
Nosgorath, standing at the ancient altar, did not pay attention to his subordinate, absorbed in a deep dark thought. His hand, covered in a black haze, emitted an ominous light, like the shadows of the world he came from.
"Spare me that speech. Nosgorath whispered, his voice filled with contempt. He slowly looked at his hand, where the light had been eclipsed, and felt magic spreading through his veins. This power was his only desire, but with it came hatred.
—I'm sorry, my lord. The Blue Ogre said humbly, tilting his head in respect, his voice low and subdued.
Nosgorath turned to him, his gaze as sharp as a sword blade. Soulless rage flashed in his eyes, and his lips curved into a predatory grin.
"Hmm?" People have multiplied a lot in my absence. They believe that these lands belong to them... Nosgorath said, his voice filled with contempt and rage. "Hoh, we need to teach these lower life forms a lesson. Their very existence makes me angry! All of this belongs to the Ancient Sorcerous Empire and the Mage Emperor. I will destroy all these lower life forms, and when the Emperor returns, we will sprinkle blood all over the continents... Nosgorath rumbled, and his lips formed a predatory grin, like someone who sees his prey, but still enjoys the moment of waiting.
The shadows around him deepened, and he continued to stare into the dark distance, where there was still no horizon or life to be seen. It seemed that his words were a harbinger of the coming dark times, when Topa might become only a part of his greatness.