Dealing with the next target was even simpler. Shnyrka showed me his memories. Yes, he can do that too—I've said he's the perfect spy. If the Lineage knew about my companion, I'd have been their prisoner forever, ferreting out secrets from other Lineages. In twenty years, we could've seized all power in Europe.
But I'm a Hunter! My past life was spent in battles, and while I'd like to live differently, I'm not sure I could for long. Now it's time to live without the Code, which means plenty of fights but also free time for myself—unless another Lineage takes me down first.
Good luck to them. Killing a Hunter isn't so easy.
Back to my next would-be assassins. There were two, and Shnyrka showed me how carelessly they approached their task.
First, they summoned a single girl—one of those ladies of the night who get free passage in exchange for a cut of their earnings. There's always a cunning pimp, even among the staff of this noble transport. Apparently, having gotten what they wanted, the group was now drinking hard liquor.
What kind of sloppiness is this? I get that they think I'm a weakling, but why get drunk so early? Or is this their preparation?
I sent Shnyrka to them and watched through his eyes. One was asleep, the other talking on the phone. An empty bottle sat on the table, and he seemed to want more.
I moved away from their cabin and kept an eye on the door through Shnyrka. About ten minutes later, a waiter from the local bar approached with a bottle on a tray. The man with the gray beard opened the door almost immediately, snatched the bottle, and tossed a large bill onto the tray without waiting for change.
That was my cue. I sped up and rushed to the cabin. The waiter had just left, and I knocked on the door.
"What now?" the man grumbled, opening it. "I paid you, even with a tip!"
"Hey!" I smiled, enhancing my body with power. In two steps, I was beside him, grabbing him in a hold. I moved behind him and choked him, not letting him make a sound.
The guy was no rookie. Instead of prying at my hands, he struck at weak points on my legs, hoping I'd collapse backward. Sorry, but those childish tricks don't work on me.
Here's the funny thing: in the Order, our goal was hunting monsters, yet half our training was about fighting humans. Ironic, isn't it?
More strength in my grip, and his body went limp. Conveniently, his balcony was open—probably for a smoke break. I dragged him there and tossed him overboard.
Hmm… We're flying over a town. What are the odds he lands somewhere unexpected?
*At that very moment in a small town*
The newly elected village elder stood on a wide stage, addressing the crowd.
"I, Franz Anshlua, swear by my name and Lineage to labor tirelessly for our village's welfare!" the middle-aged man said, wiping sweat from his brow. "I guarantee not a single coin will go astray, let alone into my pocket, as the last elder did. Each year, our village will only grow more beautiful. May God judge me if I lie! Let Him punish me here and now."
After those words, something fell from the sky and killed Franz instantly.
"Mama, he was lying, wasn't he? See, God threw a man at him," a six-year-old child said, witnessing the event.
I didn't think long about the sleeping one. Another aristocrat might spare him in his sleep.
But a Hunter isn't burdened by such virtues. We're lively guys by nature, not entirely devoid of nobility—just selective about when to apply it.
A swift, sharp strike to his throat ended him. The patient was beyond saving, though he still twitched. Then he went to the balcony. Damn, these balconies are killers. How many people have been tossed out this year alone? They call this safe? And the ticket costs as much as a car—not exactly affordable for commoners.
The rest followed the proven routine: check everything, toss it overboard. Keep the money and valuables, ditch the rest.
No sooner had I stepped out than there was a knock at the door.
I sent Shnyrka to check, and he showed me the scene. Two girls—the ones these guys had called—stood outside. God, what a circus. Were they on a job or in a brothel?
I knew they were after me. I found documents with my file: my cabin number, possessions, and a photo.
I waited a bit, but the girls didn't leave. If I weren't so picky, I might've invited them in, but I'd had enough of such women in my past world. In this one, the quality is leagues better, and I'm not starting small. No paid love in this world!
Nothing for it—I opened the door.
"Ladies, your order's canceled," I said, handing them two large bills.
Enough to take a week off.
Shh… The girls understood without words, grabbed the money, and scurried off so fast I doubt I could catch them if I tried. They probably thought I might change my mind, already mentally pocketing the cash.
I slammed the cabin door and headed to mine. There, I stashed the money and valuables before going for a walk.
My stroll wasn't aimless. I was certain there were more people sent to kill me.
Shnyrka hadn't found them, meaning they were smarter, not giving themselves away with foolish antics like the others.
I wandered for about two hours, working up a good appetite. The views here stirred my restless soul—not the skies or mountains, but the number of beautiful women. Alas, I had no time for them now.
I stuck to secluded corridors and decks with few people, but it was fruitless until, in a moment of despair, I considered heading to the restaurant.
Restaurant canceled, I realized, when an unremarkable man with a cane and a smile stepped out from around a corner.
I noticed him immediately. He had an active, fully infused armor.
"Young man, could you tell me where the billiard room is?" he asked, feigning a foolish expression as he approached slowly.
I mirrored his naive look.
"Looking to play some pool? Sure, I was just there today," I said, smiling and trying to appear carefree.
"You're a lifesaver, young man…"
Sure, a lifesaver… By the way, I really did love billiards. A great game that trains patience and precision, and I just enjoy it.
He leaned on his cane, but he wasn't limping—it was an act. My appearance seemed to relax him. He wanted to end this with one quick strike.
I misjudged him, thinking he was a master. No, he wasn't. Energy from his armor flowed into the cane. Once he got close, he'd attack.
I stood waiting, even glancing around as if enjoying the stroll.
We were in a technical compartment, where two people wouldn't stumble by mistake. It was a backup, for emergencies in the main compartment.
"You're a lifesaver—now di—Aaah!"
He didn't finish, flying off…
That's how it goes. You think you're in control, everything's easy, and you don't notice the drain hole for water and other liquids covered by an illusion.
He saw only a continuation of the floor where a two-meter round hole was. I stood at the other end, and when he sped up, he tripped over a small barrier and tumbled through.
Truth be told, I could've killed him easily. But I wanted to test my illusionary skills.
Test passed… Now I could eat. Shame his key card went with him—I couldn't raid his cabin.
I walked along the promenade deck, whistling cheerfully. I hadn't been in such a great mood in ages.
The airship *Fon Veiroter* was designed for the utmost comfort of noble passengers. Slanted windows along the promenade deck offered a splendid view of the greenish, restless waves of the Baltic Sea, where my loyal servant was currently feeding the fish.
The restaurant was on the lower deck, requiring two flights of stairs. I practically flew down, sliding down the last few steps on the railing like a kid. Sure, it wasn't behavior befitting a great Lineage's heir, but who'd see me now? The last spy was gone, and my soul brimmed with the joy of freedom and anticipation of a new life.
"Lord Galaktionov," the porter swung the door wide and bowed deeply, letting me in.
Calling this place a "restaurant" was a stretch. The airship's designers fought for every kilogram of dead weight, but since the main passengers were noble aristocrats accustomed to luxury, they grudgingly included a small, lavish salon. No heavy carved wooden furniture here—everything seemed made of titanium, with numerous paintings hiding the drabness of metal panels. But for me, the question of "what to eat" always trumped "where to eat." Especially in my past life.
I smiled again, recalling a meal near an active volcano's crater, where I'd finally caught a hellhound after pursuing it for nearly three days without sleep or rest. I was ravenous then!
Only two of the eight tables were occupied. A waiter rushed to me, gesturing to choose a table, and I paused, considering.
A very appealing lady sat by the window, a lone glass of white wine before her. When I entered, she shot me a glance with her large brown eyes but quickly turned away, feigning boredom.
Unburdened by manners—or rather, ignoring them entirely—I studied her. Not a girl, but a woman, about thirty. A simple but expensive travel dress, numerous jewels, and, crucially, no wedding ring. A bit full-figured for my taste, but her magnificent bosom threatened to spill onto the table.
Straight back, proud posture. Likely a widow—common in the world of impulsive Gifted aristocrats.
Quickly weighing whether I wanted to meet this lovely lady or fill my stomach, I chose food and sat at a far table, where I could watch her. For her to see me, she'd have to turn her head—unacceptable for a proper lady.
"May I offer you the menu, Lord Galaktionov?" It was strange hearing my new surname from someone else. I'd always associated that melodious Russian name with my exiled mother, but now I needed to stop freezing up every time someone addressed me.
"Thanks," I muttered as a slim, two-page menu was placed before me—a consequence of the small kitchen and limited supplies to reduce "excess weight."
"Would you like wine? We have French, Italian…"
"Beer. Light. German. Cold," I said curtly, noticing the waiter's fleeting grimace of contempt. Yes, I'm a noble lord! And nobles don't drink beer—it's a plebeian drink!
"Quickly," I added with a predatory smile.
The waiter vanished like he'd been blown away, and I recalled the Order's gatherings after a successful hunt. Beer flowed by the barrel, and the revelry lasted days. Hardened Hunters, constantly risking their lives, knew how to kill well and relax just as well.
I finally noticed the people at the other occupied table. Two aristocrats, judging by their attire, from the Empire, getting warmed up with vodka. They'd clearly been at it for a while, evident from their flushed faces, unbuttoned collars, and loud voices. And the lecherous looks they cast at the lone woman.
"Here you are, sir."
A half-liter glass of frothy light beer landed on my table, a lone droplet sliding down its frosted side.
"What would you like to eat?" The waiter leaned in, awaiting my order.
I grabbed the glass and downed half in three gulps, ignoring him. The first hurdle emerged: prices in this "not-quite-restaurant" could dent my meager budget. My ancestor gave me a pitiful sum, either to humiliate me or to skimp.
To hell with it! Today's too good a day to worry about the future.
"Fried shrimp and rabbit ragout! And more beer."
"Right away!" The waiter vanished again.
The woman seemed to notice my drink without turning her head. I always knew women's peripheral vision was sharper than men's tunnel vision. To my surprise, instead of a scornful smirk, she smiled with interest.
My food and another beer arrived, and I forgot about her. My young body demanded fuel, and the dishes smelled divine.
Loud shouts broke my focus. I looked up to see one Imperial, leaning low over his table and gripping it with one hand, loudly saying something to the woman, who was fiercely arguing back.
The drunk aristocrat let go of the table, nearly falling, then pulled out a wallet and tossed several bills onto her table. The sharp sound of a slap reached me as her response. Drunken lout! Did he mistake a noble lady for a whore? How much did he drink?
Honestly, I didn't want to get involved, but my legs decided for me when I saw the stunned drunk raise his hand to return the slap. I caught it as it swung down, the woman flinching in anticipation of the blow.
A pull, a trip, and the clumsy suitor's heavy body hit the floor. Fat cheeks, excess weight, small eyes. He's my age! From a distance, I thought he was well over forty! How does someone let themselves go like that?
His companion, slightly older, was shakily rising from the table, clearly intending to help. The fat one on the floor suddenly started casting—damn it—a fireball! Is he completely out of his mind?
A quick jab to his cheek broke his focus, sending the idiot into a light knockout. The second one's body shimmered with a haze—he was shifting to combat mode. What, am I supposed to kill them for this?
Titanium is strong yet light. Some think it's lighter than aluminum, so airship parts are made from it. Not true—titanium's nearly one and a half times heavier but six times stronger.
That's probably why the chair didn't shatter when I smashed it over the second drunk's head. Yes, I enhanced the strike with magic, but he wasn't fighting fair either! The result: an upturned table—bolted to the floor, mind you—and a deep knockout!
The fat one stirred again, and I kicked him in the side, making the bastard puke right at my feet!
Security appeared instantly—local and, apparently, the drunks' bodyguards. I knew from the colors: blue and green, plus a crest with a deer's head.
"You're done!" the fat one slurred as his guards dragged him away under the local security's stern gaze. "You don't know who you're messing with! I'm the eldest heir of the Vorontsov Lineage! I'll grind you to dust!"
The other hadn't come to, carried out by his arms and legs behind the ranting fatso.
"Duel! I demand a duel! I'll find out your name, and you'll pay for everything!"
"Looking forward to it," I snorted.
"We apologize for our guests' behavior. To make amends, your meal is on us, along with a bottle of champagne of your choice!" an officer in a dark summer uniform said politely but with dignity.
I opened my mouth to tell them… To hell with it! Not paying for lunch, as cheap as that sounds, suits me now. And I caught the woman's gaze, looking at me like I was… a hero?
"Madam, care for a stroll? It seems this place needs some… cleaning," I nodded at the fatso's vomit and the toppled table.
She paused, biting her upper lip charmingly, then decisively took my offered hand.
"And please have the champagne sent to cabin 2B," I nodded to the officer.
The woman opened her lovely mouth to say something, but I cut her off.
"The view from my balcony is stunning. And… I'll find a way to entertain a lady," I said, conjuring a small illusionary display in my hand.