Showing results by author "Alexey Kovtunov" in All Categories

I was the most powerful healer in my world—the best, having devoted my entire life to mastering the art of healing. And yet, for whatever reason, my brother feared that I sought to claim his throne, and he marshaled his forces against me. Anyway, it doesn't matter, all the same I'd been...

Events are intensifying around Mikhail Bulatov. The emperor is starting to wonder how he could be just an ordinary Healer, and he's even considering entrusting him with a matter of special importance. Yes, the emperor suspects a lot, but not that Bulatov has geese working for him, and that Leonid himself considers him a friend. And that's just the tip of the iceberg . . . What will happen should the emperor finally realize the truth about Mikhail?

Ich hätte alles werden können: Koch, Chauffeur, Pianist, Künstler, Aristokrat. Aber wo wäre da der Spaß geblieben? In meinem früheren Leben war ich einer der berühmtesten Dämonologen. Gehörnte Fürsten und Meister der Hölle waren vor meinem Namen zurückgewichen und hatten vor Furcht gezittert. Mein Name war immer noch gefürchtet und jagte den Dämonen Angst und Schrecken ein. Aber das war erst der Anfang, denn in meiner neuen Welt hatte ich beschlossen, Soldat zu werden. Warum, mag man fragen? Ganz einfach. Die Armee bot ein wildes Abenteuer, das man selbst erlebt haben musste, um es zu glauben.

Why, oh why, are so many loath to have dealings with Healers? In other worlds, at least, everyone knows how powerful Healers of his rank are. But why is it no one realizes how great Healers are at negotiating and concluding contracts? And, moreover, they're fabulous managers. Although that might well be why there are few who want to do business with them. Not when they can make geese work. And if Mikhail can force poultry and pigeons to work for him, what hope do mere people have of not falling into bondage under him?

Mikhail isn't greedy, no! He's simply thrifty, practical. And he cannot fathom how anyone can leave trophies behind on the battlefield. No way does that mean he's stealing them! And of course Mikhail isn't a slave master! Although those who he corralled into signing service contracts might not agree.

Mikhail came here from a world where not just force, but also a man's word, meant something. But here in his new home, it was different. Not only were there few here who possessed strong Gifts, or were truly powerful mages, there were still fewer who knew how to keep their word. How, then, was he to restore the status of the Bulatov Family? Of course, as the head of the Family, Mikhail would never give up, and he always managed to find a way to outsmart his adversaries.

Gangsters, aristocrats, offworlders . . . What difference does it make? To Mikhail Bulatov, none whatsoever. Any of them could be friend or foe, and he could care less what world they're from or what their place is in the social order. As for his enemies, any conversation will be equally brief, even if different in content. And yes, those out to get him are ramping up their efforts, and increasing in number. Not that there's any question of his ability to handle it all. That being said, he must not lose sight of who he is. First and foremost, he is a Healer.

This world never fails to surprise me! I take care of one problem only to be confronted by yet another—my unceasing enemies want what is mine. Is it that hard for them to comprehend that I, the Archmagister of Healing, can't be had so easily? Why, oh why are healers in this world seen as the weakest of the Gifted? It makes no sense to me. In my former world, everybody knew that Healers were to be respected and feared. Ah, well. It won't be long before they wish they'd never crossed my path.

It turns out that this world is far from simple. The sharp-toothed rabbits around the village were thought to be the greatest enemy at first. But then came the squirrels . . . The humans dealt with them too and things seemed to be going well until—surprise!—the wolves appeared. As enemies grow in number, there is finally a light at the end of the tunnel. Another sapient race!

The village continues to grow and develop, but this harsh world will never leave its residents alone. Anyone who stops developing is bound to perish. New, even more dangerous opponents await, but so do new opportunities.

Mikhail's adventures continue. He's finding out ever more about this world, and the Empire in which he lives. But he's in for some surprises, still. They've tasked him with training the most hopeless students from the Department of Healing Arts. Perhaps this was meant to be a way of punishing Mikhail, but in the end, it's tough luck for the students. After all, look at who they got for a teacher! One thing's for sure, no way will these students end up as mediocre Healers!

What could be simpler? On my very first day in this world, I was given the title of a count along with all the trimmings: a castle, name, lands and power. You'd think I had it made, but no . . . They seized my castle, took my lands, and now, I'm surrounded by enemies. Moreover, it's nothing but one headache after another with the authorities. And even though I wrested my castle back, the neighbors aren't going anywhere, and they live and breathe to tear off chunks of my land, and eliminate me, the new head of the family.

Mikhail's power had only grown with every new day, and his Family was also flourishing. However, so were their enemies. New ones had emerged, and old ones who'd long ago written them off were now stirring. But really, was this a problem? He was a healer, and there was always a remedy, and mandatory "treatment" could not be stopped! Indeed, his enemies would pay handsomely for it. At least, whatever remained of them.

The residents of the Village have managed to overcome all the trials and tribulations. Under Nicholas's leadership, they have achieved the seemingly impossible. Combined the incompatible. Reconciled the irreconcilable.

A good Healer, they say, must use his Gift professionally. Really? No one in my past world would spout such nonsense! Everyone there knew full well what a Healer from the Order was capable of . . . And they also know that a Healer doesn't have to kowtow to anybody. But now, I'm no longer in that world. And in this world, I am not only a great Healer, I am also a great count, one that can do far more than heal, as my enemies know full well. But little do they know that I've only just begun!

They were just a bunch of ordinary demonologists trying to summon an ordinary demon...but at the moment of summoning, something went wrong. Still, demon or demonologist—what was the difference to them, anyway? Either way, they were going to have fun.

The threats I've been facing in this world, well, it's like playing whack-a-mole. The local aristocrats are still conspiring to put roadblocks in the path of the ever more powerful Bulatov Family. And then I have the offworlders from another world—they haven't gone anywhere, either. They're still opening portals and sending through invaders, although, thus far, these attacks have been isolated grabs for loot and prisoners. A portal opens, offworlders dash out, get what they can, and retreat.

To anyone looking on, it would appear that a certain very young count is beset by too many enemies, especially considering that his Gift has nothing to do with combat. It’s as if the northern region that houses his county is a magnet for offworld invaders. But his enemies also include his competitors, and, of course, neighboring aristocrats who seek to seize the lands and assets of this impudent upstart, this Count Bulatov.

The System is here! Most of the population of the planet were suddenly turned into zombies, while the rest acquired new abilities. Abilities that let them run from the zombies, save themselves, hide, and try to survive. But it only takes one bite that almost always means death. Our hero was standing in line when the apocalypse came. He was lucky at first to be caught in a crowd when the zombies tried to bite him on the leg. Really lucky, because those trials unlocked new abilities for him.