《Dark Wizard's Case. LitRPG series》


 Preface

    The year was 2031. And while it would have been not unlike any another year, what made it remarkable was the Magic Lens market release. Although to be fair, it wasn¡¯t your normal release. The blueprints, documentation, and everything else for the breakthrough device appeared out of the blue on Reddit on September 1, 2031, instantly spreading across the internet like wildfire.


    Who posted the dump? Who created the device, one that hides smartphone-esque computing power and microLED image quality in what look like plain contact lenses? Half a century later, that remains a mystery.


    All we have is a screen name: Prophet.


    Growth shot through the roof for the company manufacturing Magic Lenses. Software was supplied by a variety of developers, including some industry giants.


    In just one year, the Magic Lens became as ubiquitous as smartphones. Many people got rid of their smartphones, in fact.


    But it was then, on September 1, 2032, one year to the day after Prophet posted the lens blueprints to Reddit, that he struck again with a new piece of software for the Magic Lens.


    It was open-source, available to everyone absolutely free of charge.


    We all remember how quickly the entire world downloaded it.


    But when they installed it¡­


    At first, everyone thought it was a game.


    It took two or three days of people having a blast destroying monsters, using magic, and beating dungeons to realize that it actually wasn¡¯t. It was reality.


    It was reality revealed by the Magic Lens.


    Some governments tried to ban the lenses and their software, but Prophet had taken care of that by making everything open-source and available online. It would have been easier to shut down the internet than to keep humanity from their magic.


    That¡¯s when the research began.


    Magic had always been around, it turned out. The problem was that with each generation, fewer and fewer humans were capable of seeing, feeling, and sensing it.


    As a result, the magic that had once been an inherent part of everyday life was confined to legends and fairy tales. The mortal world and the magic world co-existed as two sides of the same coin, only never interacting with each other. Humans, with very rare exceptions, were unable to spot the magic creatures. The latter kept their distance.


    To be fair, the exceptions on the magic side were far more common. That explained why about ten million people around the world went missing every year, never to be heard from again.


    The magic creatures, vampires and all the rest, needed food. Vampires require an absurd amount of blood just to stay alive, while werewolves¡­ Well, they¡¯re in a category all to themselves.This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    The Magic Lens restored the gift of magic to humanity. Research showed that its ability to transform mysterious magic into ordinary numbers and figures was based on quantum uncertainty, hyperposition, string theory, ray gravity, and the distortion of time-space by speed, or the gravitational difference between two points. There¡¯s more, but the list gets even more incomprehensible from there.


    In 2032, regardless, magic once again became a normal part of life on Earth again.


    Humans suddenly discovered that the Ural, Himalayans, and Andean Mountains are inhabited by dwarves, and the forests of Canada and Siberia by elves. Fish swim side by side with mermaids, nagas, kappas, and other magic creatures. And it isn¡¯t just birds soaring through the skies; there are also dragons, phoenixes, griffins, and even creatures whose names had long since disappeared from legends and fairy tales.


    Ogres. Trolls. Wargs. Goblins. Orcs. Fairies. Giants. Cyclopes. Medusas. Centaurs. Cyclopes¡­did I mention them already? Regular old humans were suddenly in contact with all of them.


    Remember Tony Stark¡¯s speech in one of those superhero movies? (How quaint they look today.) You know, the guy in the iron suit who started by fighting normal people before moving on to superhumans, aliens, and even gods. That trajectory, it turns out, extends much further than previously thought.


    But magic has been advancing by leaps and bounds since 2032. Humans have been working on it. Studying it. Believing in it. (At least, if the clerics and other zealots of the Word are right about everything on Earth being moved by Faith.)


    In other words, magic didn¡¯t become just another part of life on New Earth. It worked its ways deeply into every aspect of life, developing and transforming as it went. The age of digital technology was followed by the age of magic and technology integration.


    They even found Atlantis.


    Sure, it wasn¡¯t that hard. For thousands of years, the state of Atlantis had been thriving on a continent hidden from the mortal world under the water, with just its tip protruding above the waves for everyone¡ªNew Zealand.


    It also turned out that the old non-magical technology we used to use had failed to grasp Earth¡¯s full size. The planet is almost half again as large as people used to think.


    Scientists went back to the drawing board, poring over what they thought they knew to combine physical laws with the laws of magic and sorcery.


    Just to take one example, no one yet knows why the larger Earth discovery didn¡¯t change the number of days in a year, the number of hours in a solar day, or even gravitational acceleration.


    Fifty years later, in 2081, our stack of unsolved riddles still dwarfs the ones we¡¯ve figured out the answers to.


    But humans went on living.


    They learned magic at the schools of witchcraft and wizardry. They visited the lands of sapient magic creatures. They hunted non-sapient magic creatures. They explored dungeons. They loved. They betrayed. They gave birth. They died.


    They fought wars, too.


    Back in 2040, the First Magic War changed the global map and all but destroyed the planet. More on that later.


    Reddit was successful in its mission to change the world. (For better or worse? Hard to say.)


    Some are still adamantly set against the usage of Magic Lenses, rejecting all forms of magic. But they¡¯re few and capable of nothing more than scattered terrorist attacks.


    We¡¯ve already gone through two generations¡ªand there¡¯s a third maturing¡ªfor whom magic is just as commonplace as the internet once was. (Of course, the internet is still around.)


    Just don¡¯t be surprised if you come across an elf wearing sneakers and a baseball cap, drinking Starbucks, and tapping away at a Mac laptop. Of course, you¡¯re still unlikely to come across one like that, be it in New York, Tokyo, London, or Moscow, unless you can get your hands on a pass for the city sector occupied by the magic races. That¡¯s your best shot.


    The only place where you can bump into someone from one of the magic races is Myers City, the capital of Atlantis deep in the Pacific Ocean. The birthplace of magic.


    But how did magic come to be?


    Who was the Prophet?


    Why was the Magic Lens created?


    Alex Doom, also known as Alexander Dumsky, had no idea.


    And who is Alex Doom?


    Good question.

 Chapter 1

    Straightening his shabby leather jacket, Alex waited for the gate to rattle off to the side, revealing an old, time-worn asphalt road.


    ¡°Get out of here, Doom,¡± boomed a voice from behind him.


    Alex turned to the steel tower and the fat guard behind the reinforced glass. He couldn¡¯t remember the tubby man¡¯s name, though that didn¡¯t keep him from flashing a middle finger tattooed with the word DOOM.


    The guard shouted something back, but Alex was already too far away to hear what it was.


    Flipping his jacket collar up, he left the grounds of the Special Correctional Institution for Uniquely Gifted Humans. It was a prison for wizards, in other words, and it was where Alex had spent the past few years. The past four years, to be precise.


    His hands shivered from the cold as he fished a crumpled pack of unfiltered cigarettes out of his pocket. Catching a glimpse of it, he smiled, tossed a cancer stick out, and caught it deftly out of the air with his lips.


    Odd as it may be, he¡¯d actually hadn¡¯t learned that trick outside prison. It had been back in those barracks buried several miles underground, the ones where everyone wore magic-inhibiting collars.


    Alex rubbed his neck. He could still feel the weight of the adamantius, the accursed metal used by the government to inhibit wizards when they broke the law. Of course, that wasn¡¯t all they used. There were also the bullying guards who were only too happy to overstep what they were allowed to do, not to mention plenty of other unpleasantries.


    ¡°Damn it,¡± Alex muttered. By force of habit, he¡¯d brought a thumb to the cigarette only for it to not light up.


    Glancing at the heavy manacle around his left ankle, Alex cursed again. He was going to be without his magic for a while longer.


    And he didn¡¯t have a lighter. How were you supposed to get one onto an island forgotten by gods, humans, spirits, demons, fairies, and all the other beings and connected to Myers City by just a single bridge?


    Leading to the bridge was a broken road traversed once a day by a bus. Given that the sun was already sinking toward the ocean in the west, Alex had been released shortly after the solitary steel lifeboat had left.


    Alex picked up the gray bag he¡¯d had with him when he was arrested by the Department of Law and Order, walked to the bus stop, and sat down on the wooden bench.


    There was a piercing northern wind blowing. Myers City had a short summer, and the weather had already gone downhill with August still up on the calendar. Alex wrapped his thin jacket tighter around himself, anxious for some warmth. Chewing on his cigarette, his mind wandered to what was left of his life. He didn¡¯t have many choices, not fresh out of prison with a serious, black-magic conviction on his record.


    And, to be honest, magic was all he was good at.


    ¡°Life is such a blast,¡± he drawled, peering out over the endless stone ridge battered by the cold sea waves. The prison was rumored to be a replica of once-famous Alcatraz. It was the first prison for wizards modeled after a regular one.


    His reflection on that particular historical irony was interrupted by the squeal of brakes as a long, imposing limo came to a sudden stop next to the rusty bus station. The plentiful chrome accents accentuated its black, all-business look. The classic gas exhaust spoke volumes about the car owner¡ªin an age of magic modules, few people could afford the ownership tax on a classic gas car, let alone buy one.


    A man got out of the driver¡¯s seat. Tall, broad-shouldered, and wearing an insanely expensive suit and dazzling shoes, his face was crisscrossed by scars.


    Alex shuddered. He¡¯d see people like that before, just not as drivers. They¡¯d been the best fighters the High Garden gangs had to offer.


    Analyze, Alex commanded the neurochip in his lens.


    A reddish message flashed in front of his eyes.


    [Name: ??? Race: Human. Mana level:4561]


    Alex almost choked on his cigarette. Four and a half thousand conventional mana points made for an awfully strong Adept.


    What kind of monster could afford to hire a full-fledged Adept as his driver? Alex didn¡¯t know, and he didn¡¯t want to know either. But he had a feeling that he wasn¡¯t going to have a much of a choice.


    The introduction was going to be made.


    The driver pushed his cap over steel eyes that could have belonged to a soldier or a hitman before opening the passenger door.


    ¡°Thanks, Duncan,¡± a sleek, melodious voice said. ¡°Get in, Mr. Dumsky. We have some things to discuss.¡±


    Alex glanced up at the gray, overhanging sky. Shrouded in dark clouds, it weighed on his shoulders like a granite coffin lid.


    Any normal person in his shoes would have refused, only to get tucked into the limo anyway, just less presentably.


    When a clearly official car stops in front of you, declining an invitation isn¡¯t stupid. It¡¯s suicide.


    Shouldering his bag, Alex walked over to the limo and smiled insolently at the driver. ¡°Hi Dunk,¡± he said with a wave before ducking into the car without waiting for a response.


    He had to admit, even in his good days, his buttocks had never felt such comfort. Far from a regular car seat, it was an actual armchair. The upholstery was beige leather, and it had wooden armrests, a footrest, ventilation, massage rollers, and presumably a whole litany of other absurdly expensive and incredibly expensive features.


    Sitting in an identical armchair facing his was a middle-aged man. In the outside world, one of racist and sexist mortals, he wouldn¡¯t have escaped being labelled as Asian. But here, in the land of magic, he was just a state official with yellowish skin and narrow eyes.Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    His well-groomed hands, shiny with fresh body lotion and nail polish, held a plain file folder. That¡¯s right¡ªnot a tablet or even a smartphone. It was a hard copy. Alex didn¡¯t think anyone used them anymore, at least outside the mafia.


    Analyze.


    [Name: ??? Race: ??? Mana level: ???]


    Just as Alex suspected, the suit worked for some government agency. No one but high-ranked officials were permitted by Myers City law to hide their race and mana level.


    Shit.


    Alex didn¡¯t even feel the limo start moving. His only clue was the scenery outside starting to coast by.


    ¡°Alex Dumsky. Raised at the St. Frederick orphanage. Escaped at age seven. First brought to the police station at eight. For stealing¡­¡± The suit stopped turning the pages lazily and raised his eyebrows. ¡°A cat?¡±


    ¡°Troubled childhood,¡± Alex replied, specifying that he¡¯d been robbing an apartment when the cat had swallowed its owner¡¯s earring. Crazy animal.


    ¡°Joined the Tkils gang at ten, according to the police. The youngest gang member ever?¡±


    ¡°I have a gift,¡± Alex said with a smile.


    ¡°No argument here.¡± The suit nodded. ¡°Two hundred mana points at age twelve points to incredibly rare potential. By twelve, you¡¯d already hit five hundred mana points and the Practitioner level. If you¡¯d been studying at a public school, they¡¯d have labeled you a genius.¡±


    ¡°No, they wouldn¡¯t have.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re right,¡± the suit agreed. ¡°Most likely, they¡¯d have done mental body surgery right away to keep you from practicing dark magic.¡±


    ¡°¡­which is not prohibited.¡± An evil note crept into Alex¡¯s voice as the suit¡¯s words stirred up an old grudge. ¡°But you use it as a reason to maim children.¡±


    ¡°We spare them a hard and unnecessary fate. But that¡¯s not what we¡¯re here to discuss. So, a young boy of twelve with Practitioner power¡­no, a Practitioner dark wizard decides that the Tkils gang isn¡¯t quite right for him.¡± The suit turned a page, and Alex spotted a few pictures. What he saw there was even less to his liking than the dreary view out the window.


    ¡°When he saw that, Duncan noted that you deserved a bunk in a mental hospital, not a prison.¡±


    ¡°And the gangsters thought I deserved a bunk in the next world.¡± Alex kept looking out the window. ¡°I disagreed.¡±


    ¡°I see,¡± the suit said, nodding again. ¡°So, for a long time, our un-attested Practitioner dark wizard fall off the radar. And two years later, the city¡¯s black market was booming.¡±


    Alex couldn¡¯t help chuckling smugly. He¡¯d had so much fun working with the old dwarf back in those days.


    ¡°Dozens of top-level spells, all the way up to Mystic, and a gang war triggered in the High Garden district.¡± The suit turned another page. ¡°Then you made a mistake, Mr. Dumsky: you underestimated law enforcement. However skilled you were at averting eyes, buying a sport car with a magic drive at fourteen is ridiculous. That¡¯s more than I can afford with my government salary.¡±


    Alex coughed. If his guess about the suit¡¯s position was true, the suit could afford a dozen of them.


    ¡°And that was how they got you,¡± the man posing as a simple civil servant went on.


    ¡°You don¡¯t happen to have a lighter on you, do you?¡±


    ¡°No smoking in here,¡± the suit snapped. ¡°Two years spent chasing down a mouse like you, and the whole time you were living a street over from the High Garden police department. The nerve.¡±


    Alex had a different opinion. As the two-bit scammers said in the streets that were his alma mater, the best hiding places are in plain sight.


    ¡°Then two attempts at detention. A sixteen-year-old at the Mystic level, twelve hundred mana points strong. I¡¯ll admit, I¡¯ve never seen anyone like that before.¡± There were more pictures, and that set filled Alex with pride. ¡°You sent three operatives, all seasoned Practitioners, into intensive care. Four more spent months at the hospital recovering from a variety of injuries.¡±


    Alex hadn¡¯t been looking for a fight that day. But they smashed his car! And even though he could have easily afforded a new one back then, it was a matter of principle. He¡¯d invested so much energy in the fraudulent scheme it had taken to buy the thing that the memories were really what he cared about.


    Or maybe he was just the sick bastard the media portrayed him as. He tried to remember if he¡¯d kept that article.


    ¡°For a whole month, no one hears a peep from you until you pop up in a meaningless bar brawl. Ridiculous.¡±


    Alex winced. That memory wasn¡¯t a pleasant one.


    ¡°You were in custody a week later.¡± The suit glanced over another page from the file and whistled. ¡°Detained by an Adept forty Mystic-level operatives. They really came at you.¡±


    Alex would have escaped that time as well if it hadn¡¯t been for that bloody Adept. The trained Mystics had been stupid and clumsy. If it hadn¡¯t been for that bloody Adept.


    ¡°Then the court hearings. Your case had seventeen volumes, almost as many as you were old, no? And what did they throw at you? Fifteen counts of theft. A hundred and ninety-nine counts of illegal dark spell crafting with intent to sell. Five counts of aggravated assault. Thirty-six counts of assault on an officer of the law. Seven counts of murder by dark magic.¡± The suit coughed and pressed a button. Wooden cabinet doors opened, revealing the gilded interior and a china set that a complex mechanism instantly filled with water. It even dropped some ice in. ¡°None of the seven counts held up. Otherwise, I¡¯ll be frank, we wouldn¡¯t be having this talk.¡±


    It didn¡¯t escape Alex that the suit stole a glance at his ankle cuff. Damn. Damn!


    The whole thing was heading somewhere very bad.


    ¡°And the cherry on top: demonology and demonic magic. Both of those are prohibited by law.¡±


    Alex chewed the cigarette silently, oblivious to the fact that he¡¯d already eaten just about the entire thing.


    ¡°Given the fact that you weren¡¯t a first-time offender, you were sentenced to¡­three hundred and fourteen years in prison.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s nothing,¡± Alex replied with a nervous snort. He had a sudden urge to throw open the door and hurl himself onto the sharp rocks. He liked that ending better than what was coming.


    ¡°Released on parole four year later, on the condition that you keep that cuff on for the rest of your life.¡± He glanced back at the ankle adorned by the artifact blocking Alex¡¯s magic.


    The suit slammed the file shut and leaned back in his armchair. With his little finger waving in the air, he took a noisy gulp of water from a faceted glass. ¡°So, what do we have here? One incredibly talented, even brilliant, self-taught wizard choosing dark magic and reaching levels of power most can only dream of at the age of sixteen.¡±


    If it hadn¡¯t been for that bloody prison and the four years I lost, Alex thought, I¡¯d have your Duncan on his knees.


    ¡°The state can¡¯t¡ªwell, can¡¯t and shouldn¡¯t¡ªwaste a gift like yours. So¡ª¡±


    ¡°Let me interrupt,¡± Alex said, raising a hand like a student at one of the schools he never attended. ¡°Why did you get me out of prison?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re quick. We wanted to make it a surp¡ª¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    They stared at each other for a few seconds.


    ¡°As you¡¯ve no doubt guessed, we¡¯d like to offer collaboration that, if you prove your worth, will let you forget your past and find a place in the upper echelons of society.¡±


    ¡°Just tell me what you want.¡±


    ¡°Okay, I¡¯ll put it simply.¡± The suit intertwined his fingers and flashed a predatory gaze, his good-natured mask gone. ¡°On either side of you are sharp rocks and limo doors badly in need of repair. Behind you is a prison where, as far as I can tell, you don¡¯t have many fans. And in front of you is me, promising you a job and the chance to get that cuff off your ankle.¡±


    ¡°Sounds delightful.¡±


    ¡°A better offer than what most get.¡± The suit held up his hands. ¡°So, what will it be?¡±


    Alex glanced into the suit¡¯s eyes. They were made out of cold steel. Shit. Which department is he from exactly?


    ¡°Four years getting myself off in my bed,¡± Alex sighed. ¡°I never thought I¡¯d be screwed by government officials the minute I walked out the door.¡±


    ¡°Is that a yes?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think I have much choice,¡± Doom replied with a nod and a sad smile. He¡¯d long since gotten used to the nickname, almost forgetting his actual last name. ¡°What¡¯s the job?¡±


    ¡°In a nutshell, you¡¯ll be entering First Magic University,¡± the suit replied, smiling disarmingly. ¡°You¡¯re going to be its Professor of Dark Magic.¡±


    Pausing, Alex waited for the suit to say that he was joking. He didn¡¯t.


    ¡°Wha-a¡­¡±


    Alex¡¯s stunned cry dissolved into coughing as he swallowed the remains of his cigarette.

 Chapter 2

    Turning up his jacket collar, Alex made a fist and flicked his thumb up. A small tongue of flame flashed over its tip.


    [Elementary magic action. Mana used: 0.5 points/sec]


    Anyone even at the lower end of the Apprentice level (0-250 mana points) was used to messages like that popping up in their peripheral vision thanks to the lenses they wore.


    That was particularly true there, in Myers City, the heart of New Earth¡¯s magical world.


    But not for Alex.


    Four years. The four goddamn years he¡¯d spent in the underground prison kept him from taking the little things for granted.


    Lens messages. The freedom to use magic. Unlocked doors. The joy of taking a shit any time he wanted to without having to wait for the moment when none of his roommates were eating.


    ¡°Your belongings are at the safe house already, Mr. Dunsky.¡±


    ¡°Dumsky,¡± Alex replied.


    ¡°Whatever,¡± Duncan responded blithely before pressing the button that controlled the limo¡¯s windows, closing them in Alex¡¯s face. ¡°I hope you fuck it up.¡±


    Any old-school dark wizard worth their salt would have cursed Duncan for his lip. And at the very least, it would have been a curse that covered his penis in boils the next time he tried to get it on with a woman.


    But Doom was cut from a different cloth.


    He adjusted his glasses with his middle finger, the one that had DOOM tattooed on it in the runic script of the Fae people.


    He hated those bloody fairies.


    Sidelights flashing, the limo vanished around a corner. Alex followed it with his eyes, bowed low and mockingly in that direction, and wheeled around, only to immediately bump into the breasts of a very tall lady. In her cashmere coat, the collar of which had been made from a two-tailed fox, she looked like just another working girl.


    ¡°You lost, boy?¡± she snarled.


    And it wasn¡¯t a figurative smile. No, she actually snarled. Her skin was green, and she smelled something like an animal, or maybe like a dried raisin. Her claw-like nails and fangs were yellow, all pierced with golden rings.


    [Name: ??? Race: Troll Mana level: 129]


    ¡°Ma¡¯am,¡± Alex said, reaching to tip his hat to her but suddenly remembering that he hadn¡¯t gotten it back when he¡¯d been discharged from the city¡¯s best all-inclusive resort. Bastards.


    ¡°I¡¯m a miss,¡± the troll hummed. ¡°Want a look at the goods?¡±


    Alex just turned the pockets of his pants inside out to show that they were empty.


    ¡°Fuck off then, beggar.¡± The troll gave him a shove so forceful that he almost stumbled out onto the street. ¡°You aren¡¯t the only one here.¡±


    Doom glanced over at the dark alleyway behind her. There, in the glaring light of a cheap hotel¡¯s neon sign, stood a bunch of half-naked women, all from several races. Alex could have sworn he even spotted some with the white pointed ears of Elves, but he told himself he had to be imagining it. Even the poorest Elven families were wealthier than the desert sheiks.The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°Why you stickin¡¯ ¡®round ¡®ere?¡± Someone shouldered Alex.


    ¡°What you gapin¡¯ for?¡± When Alex turned around, another shoulder drove itself into him, knocking him off balance.


    Tipping over the edge of the sidewalk and almost falling onto the asphalted road, Alex just missed a speeding bike that shot by a second before he¡¯d have been run over.


    ¡°Got a spare head, moron?¡± The wind carried the shout over to him even despite the roar of the gasoline engine. The rider had to have been a gangster¡ªin High Garden, Myers City¡¯s main cesspit, only gangsters could afford the gasoline tax.


    Well, that¡¯s not quite accurate. They just didn¡¯t pay it.


    Shaking his head and popping his jacket collar again, Alex turned around and looked up at the dark sky. The clouds were dense and illuminated by searchlights flashing regularly through the darkness, not to mention the occasional magic airship or glider.


    High Garden was the only place in the city where the sky didn¡¯t look like a Christmas tree. Not far away, the night never really had the chance to take over, what with how brightly lit the sky was.


    Alex was in one of the central districts in Myers City. Despite being twenty subway stations away (and that was actually including a shortcut), they were visible even from High Garden.


    Think Manhattan in the 2010s. Make the island six times bigger, merge it with Hong Kong, and you¡¯ll have downtown Myers City.


    No one could count all the skyscrapers, as there were more of them popping up every year. It was a jungle of chromium and steel, metal and glass.


    And there were thirty-six million sapient creatures living there, from humans to fairies.


    It was an anthill that never slept, was always active and lively, and was soaked through with magic, from the sewer system where the troglodytes dwelled (Alex had personally killed three of them and would¡¯ve killed the fourth if he hadn¡¯t escaped, almost chopping Alex¡¯s leg off in the process) to the spires of the highest towers the ever-wandering thunderbirds sometimes alighted on.


    Alex breathed in deeply.


    The fragrance of perfumes mixed oddly with the stench of mud and trash-quality dope. It stank of money and misery. Even the gleaming shop windows of the best boutiques were overshadowed by the darkness of the alleys and dens, and the roar of luxury sports cars was sometimes drowned out by the noise of diesel-powered self-propelled guns.


    A city of contrasts.


    A city where all the races dwelled.


    The capital of Atlantis.


    The city of magic.


    ¡°There¡¯s no place like home,¡± Alex said with a smile. Reaching out, he snatched a black hat right off some random guy¡¯s head.


    ¡°Hey,¡± came the protest, though his victim slipped into the maze of alleyways when he saw the misty lilac flash of a magic seal on Alex¡¯s palm.


    ¡°And there¡¯s certainly no place like High Garden.¡± Alex adjusted the brim of the felt hat, his favorite kind, and ripped the stripe off the crown for a more predatory look. ¡°Well, Mr. Bromwoord, I¡¯m coming to take what¡¯s mine.¡±


    Shoving his hands into his pockets, Alex started toward the lower park. Not far from the orphanage where he¡¯d been raised, next to Seven Corner Square where he¡¯d fought in many a gang war, and some two blocks away from the house of the crazy old man who¡¯d taught him dark magic, there was an inconspicuous shop. The sign read Hunting & Fishing. No one but a few (that is, everyone in High Garden, including the policemen who were in it for the cash rather than the honor of the badge) knew it was one of the biggest smuggling fronts in the district.


    But Alex had something more important than smuggling in mind.


    He had to find out what the hell the government needed from him. Whatever it was, they needed him badly enough to yank him out of the wizard prison, knocking several centuries off his sentence in the process.


    And he had to find out why the hell they wanted him to attend the First Magic University. As a professor!


    Professor of Black Magic, huh? Anyone who actually had that title would¡¯ve sold their soul, and their ass to boot, for the knowledge Alex had in his head.


    As a side project, he wanted to figure out who Duncan and the narrow-eyed man really were.


    And finally, while a trifle barely worth mentioning, he needed to repay his debt to one of the biggest crime syndicates in the city. They¡¯d kept Alex from ending up a spinner around someone¡¯s genitals while he¡¯d been in jail. It was a debt of one hundred thousand credits, which converted to dollars at a rate of one to ten.


    Neat, huh?


    The clock on his debt was already ticking.


    But Alex¡¯s most pressing concern was finding some grub. He blew his nose into a dumpster and inhaled deeply before adding out loud, ¡°and someone to fuck.¡±


    ¡°Oh, you made up your mind?¡± the female troll called out from behind him.


    Alex did the exact same thing he always did when he wasn¡¯t sure what to do.


    He breathed in deeply, blew out a ring of smoke, flashed his DOOM tattoo, and trudged off down the street.


    One bearded dwarf in particular, one who owed him buckets of money and a good dinner, was probably tired of waiting for him.

 Chapter 3

    ¡°It¡¯s like I didn¡¯t even spend the last four years on vacation,¡± Alex drawled, flicking his cigar butt into the trashcan at the bus stop.


    High Garden was the only area in the city that still had electric buses instead of the usual magic-powered ones. For magic buses, you needed a special kind of pavement that had been recently (if four years prior counts as recently) laid on most downtown streets. But High Garden still had regular asphalt, albeit the good, durable kind.


    Doom was standing by a small two-story building. The crooked Hunting & Fishing sign swayed in the wind. Some of the neon letters on the sign were burnt out¡ªif it hadn¡¯t been for the light cast by a nearby streetlamp, it would have been difficult to make sense of the whole thing.


    The shop was flanked by taller, five-story apartment blocks. Made from red bricks and peppered with wooden shutters covering plain glass windows, they looked more like anthills than homes for self-respecting Atlanteans. They were where the city¡¯s blue-collar workers lived.


    Head to the factory in the morning. Work all day. Back to the doghouse at night.


    ¡°Doghouse¡± was the only word that really fit the tiny apartments, especially since there were always six to eight family members cooped up in each one.


    After seeing the inside of one of them back when he was little, Alex had realized that he¡¯d rather live on the streets than in one of those cramped hellholes.


    Walking up to the stone porch leading to the shop entrance, Doom wiped the soles of the sneakers he¡¯d been arrested in on the familiar, almost comforting stone path.


    He pushed the door open and shuddered the way he always did at the banshee-like howl of the magic doorbell. A curse later, it struck him that nothing had changed. ¡°How many times do I need to tell you to get a new doorbell?¡± he snarled, holding the door open behind him.


    Four years may have passed, but everything was the same inside the old dwarf¡¯s shop. The same shabby green carpet was still on the wooden floor, making the spacious room appear even larger.


    The wooden tables by the walls featured glass display cases housing a variety of tools. Fishing tools on the left; hunting tools on the right.


    Driven by curiosity, Alex approached the table on the right. A long, jagged knife instantly caught his eye. It had a carved, wooden hilt and several runes along the broad, gray blade.


    [Item: Hunting Knife. Item rank: F. Maximum mana level: 12. Price: 145 credits.]


    ¡°The old man lost his last scrap of conscience.¡± Alex whistled. ¡°A hundred and fifty credits for an F-class item? I¡¯d rather rip a Dark Rat¡¯s throat out with my bare hands than pay that much.¡±


    F was the lowest class of magical items, meaning that a knife like that could only have been used to hunt Dark Rats or other random mutants.


    Of course, for beginner monster hunters, that was possibly enough. For non-magic hunters, anyway. An artifact with 12 mana points was a blessing from heaven to them.


    Hanging on the walls above the tables were clothing items. Pants and jackets were on racks, while the boots were on shelves.


    ¡°Columbia Jacket,¡± Alex read on the price tag of a dark green double-buckle jacket made from apparently very durable fabric.


    [Item: Jacket. Item rank: F. Maximum mana absorption: 7.5. Ice resistance: 0.5%. Price: 210 credits.]The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    Alex was so astonished, he almost started muttering a prayer, just about forgetting that prayers were worse for dark wizards than holy water was for vampires. Once, back when he¡¯d been young and stupid, Doom had walked over to the entrance to a church. The gang had to spend an entire week nursing him back to health.


    And the burns he¡¯d gotten while being tortured with a cross back in prison would probably never heal.


    ¡°Are you looking for something specific or just browsing? Mr¡­?¡±


    Alex turned toward the voice. Behind the counter, leaning on a retro-style cash register and looking bored out of his mind, stood a pimply student listening to a single wireless earbud.


    His pimples had nothing to do with his age¡ªhe wasn¡¯t much younger than Alex. It looked like he¡¯d just never washed his face with soap.


    Getting ready for a life in jail.


    But Alex wasn¡¯t going to spend much time joking on that topic. He¡¯d already graduated, or left it, and he had no intention of ever going back. Not in the near future, nor any time after that¡ªnever again.


    ¡°Where¡¯s Jeremy?¡± Alex asked, stepping closer to the student. He reeked of cheap cologne, and his sweaty armpits cut a sharp contrast to the soft, sweet smell of the baby cream on his wet palms. The perspiration on his forehead and the tablet that was turned over face down told him exactly what the old dwarf¡¯s shop assistant had been up to.


    Does this Probationer¡ªlet¡¯s call him that¡ªknow there are cameras everywhere?


    ¡°There¡¯s no Jeremy here anymore,¡± the Probationer answered unpleasantly.


    ¡°May his memory stay with us forever,¡± Alex replied, lifting his hat slightly.


    ¡°No, it¡¯s not that!¡±


    ¡°What then?¡±


    ¡°He was fired.¡± The Probationer shrugged and, probably thinking he was being smooth about it, slipped the tablet off the countertop and onto the bottom shelf. What he didn¡¯t realize was that there was a reflection of the screen in the cabinet glass. Kids really watch stuff like that? ¡°About four months ago.¡±


    ¡°Why was he fired?¡± Alex was surprised. ¡°I really liked him. He always offered me a cookie, and it doesn¡¯t look like you have anything for me.¡±


    ¡°Well, I¡¯d say you¡¯re asking too many questions,¡± the Probationer said as he squinted at Alex. ¡°If you¡¯re not here to buy anything, fuck off, beggar.¡±


    Alex sighed, easing his glasses upward to massage the bridge of his nose. ¡°You¡¯re the second person to call me a beggar tonight. And that¡¯s helping my rotten mood.¡±


    ¡°Oh, no? I apologize for ruining your evening.¡± The Probationer moved subtly, bringing a non-magic but still deadly Colt 45 up to point at Doom¡¯s face. ¡°Might this improve your mood?¡±


    ¡°Do you know how to¡­¡±


    The Probationer clicked the safety off deftly.


    ¡°¡­use it,¡± Alex finished calmly. ¡°You do. But why the big hole?¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m just saying, your hole¡¯s caliber is too big.¡±


    The Probationer blinked, looking confused.


    ¡°Damn it,¡± Alex spat. ¡°I¡¯m trying to say you¡¯re a bottom boy. A knob jockey. Been dropping any soap in jail? Hey, stop it, I¡¯m not kiddi¡ª¡±


    ¡°Oh, I got that!¡± the Probationer yelled. ¡°Are you crazy? I could shoot you right in the¡ª¡±


    Before he could finish, Alex latched his right hand around the student¡¯s wrist, locking it down firmly, and rested his thumb against the trigger. His left hand shoved the muzzle away. Then, using both hands, he jerked it toward himself.


    Everything happened faster than the Probationer could blink. Suddenly, there he was, clutching a sprained wrist and staring down the barrel of his gun.


    ¡°I told you,¡± Alex said firmly, no longer clowning around, ¡°I¡¯m in a bad mood. Where¡¯s Bromwoord?¡±


    ¡°H-he t-told m-me n-not t-to l-let a-anyone i-in,¡± the Probationer stammered.


    ¡°Would you be so kind as to make an exception for me?¡± Alex smiled.


    He probably shouldn¡¯t have done that. The smell of cologne and baby cream was instantly complemented by the sharp, sour stench of ammonia. Spreading over the floor between the boy¡¯s feet was a pool of unpleasant-looking liquid.


    Oh, wow. Jeremy was much tougher.


    ¡°S-s-sure.¡±


    The student pressed something beneath the counter. A part of the wall with a griffin¡¯s head mounted on it (a fake one, of course; just one real griffin¡¯s head would¡¯ve bought half the old man¡¯s shop) slid aside, revealing a passage that led to a staircase spiraling down into a dark cellar.


    Dwarves sure do love their caves.


    ¡°Good,¡± Alex nodded.


    Letting some magic seep into his hands, he used a bit of mental force to draw a simple pentagram on his palm and then cast a rotting curse.


    ¡°These kinds of toys aren¡¯t for kids¡­ They¡¯re not kids¡¯ toys at all. Hell, what am I saying? I sound like an idiot.¡±


    Lamenting the fact that he¡¯d apparently lost his gift for eloquence, Alex headed toward the staircase as the Probationer, still trembling, watched his gun dissolve. It spread over the counter like an odd discoloration in the wood.

 From the author

    Hello all!


    The release date is close. So, these chapters are the last ones. I''ll give you a couple of days and then delete the text here.


    Thank you guys for your support, reading, and feedback. If there is such an opportunity, leave a review on Amazon or Good Reads after the release date. I appreciate it much!


    I hope you like the book and will continue reading The Wizard on Amazon. The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    The 2nd book of the Wizard is being translated now, I plan to continue publishing it here after the test is ready.


    That''s the plan) but the life is so unpredictable, and sometimes all plans seem nothing)


    >>>>>>>>>>>>>  Pre-order is here <<<<<<<<<<<</a>


    Follow me on Facebook to catch the news first</a>


    Leave a review on Good Reads</a>

 Available in KU for Free

    Hi folks!


    The book was released today. Welcome! As all of my books, it is available in Kindle Unlimited for free, so, welcome!


    Now I publish here, on RR Dragon Heart the 3rd book. CLICK HERE OR READ IT </a>This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.


    Or read the whole series at Amazon in KU</a>


    Also I want to recommend you reading more Russian authors, who are translating the books now and publish here on RR


    Class Neutral: Stranger is Coming by Sergey Belsky</a>


    World Without Wizards by Ivan Shaman</a>