ã€ŠWorld of Iron and Bloodã€‹


 Chapter 1. The Boredom of Modern Life

    Gray weekdays replaced one another, devoid of inspiration and meaning. Work, home, rare meetings with friends - all of it had long become part of an endless cycle. Alexander, a middle-aged man, lived on autopilot, having long grown accustomed to this routine.

    There was a time when he loved his job, enjoyed the small joys of life, but now it all seemed empty and tasteless. Modern life, filled with every comfort, no longer brought him any happiness. Each new day felt like an exact copy of the one before.

    The only thing that still sparked a glimmer of interest in him was history. In his youth, he had dreamed of great campaigns, admired kings who changed the fates of nations, and imagined himself as a knight shaping destinies on the battlefield. But those dreams were buried in the past, smothered under the weight of daily monotony.

    One evening, while sitting at his laptop and mindlessly scrolling through an online store, Alexander stopped. His gaze caught on an unusual book title:

    "How to Survive and Transform the Medieval World"

    He frowned. The title sounded strange, even absurd, but something about it struck a chord. The book''s description was concise yet intriguing:

    "A practical guide for those who not only want to survive but also achieve power in the harsh world of the past. From farming to politics - all the secrets in one scroll"

    - What nonsense, - Alexander muttered, smirking skeptically. - Who even writes books like this?

    However, his fingers, as if guided by curiosity - an old, forgotten feeling he hadn''t experienced in years - clicked on the "Read" icon.

    From the very first page, he was captivated by the style. The author didn''t just describe the medieval world - they brought it to life. Every detail, every little nuance - from how to start a fire in wet weather to surviving at the court of a treacherous king - was written with such precision that it seemed the author had lived through it all.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    "Remember," the book said, "in the Middle Ages, it''s not about what you have, but how you use it. Talents, knowledge, connections - these are your tools for survival"

    Alexander didn''t notice how an hour flew by. His eyes, fixed on the lines, absorbed every word. It seemed as though he could hear the clash of swords, smell the cold iron. For a moment, he even thought the thunder of knights'' cavalry echoed through his room.

    When the free chapters ended, he stared at the screen, disoriented. A message flashed: The continuation is available in the full version.

    - What the¡­! - he exclaimed, as though someone had torn him from a vivid dream. Without hesitation, Alexander ordered the book. A few days later, it was in his hands.

    For the next few evenings, he couldn''t tear himself away from it. Each chapter was astonishing:

    "Can you survive in a world where life is worthless? How will you build your empire in a place where you have neither allies nor knowledge of the world?"

    He imagined himself in the heroes'' shoes. How would he negotiate with lords? How would he outwit the merchant guild or win a knightly tournament armed only with 21st-century knowledge? The book made his mind work in ways it hadn''t in a long time.

    These pages became more than just a story to him. They were a manual, a guide to action. He felt as if he had rediscovered himself, tasting life anew, a sensation he thought he had lost forever.

    When he finished the last page, the emptiness returned. Closing the book, Alexander placed it on the table and stared thoughtfully out the window. The city beyond the glass lived its own life, but it no longer touched him.

    - If only I could try it myself¡­ - he murmured, absentmindedly drumming his fingers on the book''s wooden cover.

    That night, he dreamed of castles, battlefields, and tall gray stone walls. He saw people in armor, their faces hidden behind visors, their eyes glinting with cold light. Banners soaked in sunlight and blood fluttered above their heads.

    - Alexander! - a voice boomed. Powerful, deep, like the tolling of a bell.

    The world around him began to spin. Light and shadow blended into a whirlwind, and he felt himself being pulled into a dark abyss. His body was enveloped by a warmth - alien yet enveloping. A sword appeared in his hands, heavy and cold.

    When he opened his eyes, everything around him had changed.

    He stood among bodies, the smell of burning wood and decay thick in the air. Steel glinted all around, warriors fiercely battled one another, and the clamor of swords drowned out all else. Something heavy and cold pressed on his head.

    His hand gripped the hilt of a sword, his palm slick with blood - his own or someone else''s, he didn''t know. For a moment that felt like eternity, Alexander froze. He couldn''t understand what was happening. Was this a nightmare or a new reality?

 Chapter 2. Awakening

    The darkness was alive, like a dense cloud - cold and enveloping. It seeped into his body, gripping it with a sticky hold, dragging him into a void from which there was no escape.

    The air was thick, as if saturated with resin - heavy and unyielding. With every breath, his throat tightened, his lungs filled as though with liquid metal, leaving behind a burning pain.

    Alexander tried to move, but his body wouldn''t respond. It felt as though he were submerged in a sticky gloom, devoid of light, motion, and hope.

    Panic struck him suddenly, like an icy grip. He felt trapped, like an animal in a snare, every attempt at movement binding his body tighter. His heart pounded so violently it echoed in his temples, and cold sweat ran down his back, sharpening the edge of his fear.

    And then - there was a flash of light.

    Fumm.

    It tore through the darkness like a lightning strike. The blinding light seared his eyes, followed by a sound. Deep, resonant, like the tolling of a massive war bell, it reverberated through the space, splitting the world apart.

    The world cracked.

    An earsplitting crunch echoed around him, like the sound of shattering glass. The darkness vanished, yielding to a new reality.

    When Alexander opened his eyes, he saw rough stone walls. The air was damp, heavy with the scent of moisture and a faint aroma of incense. The dim torchlight revealed details: a wooden table, an empty bowl, cracked walls. Everything looked alien and frightening, like a dream turned into reality.

    His body ached as though he had been beaten, every movement met with pain. He looked at his hands. They were younger, thinner than he remembered. The skin, rough and covered in small cuts, wasn''t his. His fingers barely managed to clench into a fist.

    - These aren''t my hands...

    He ran trembling fingers over his face. His nose, cheekbones, skin - none of it was right.

    - Olexander... - a hoarse, unfamiliar voice escaped his lips. He flinched at the sound of his own voice.

    It was as though the former owner of this body had awakened within, his voice echoing, shattering Alexander''s consciousness into fragments. Memories surged in an unstoppable wave: faces, voices, laughter, screams, the clash of swords.

    It all blended into chaos, leaving no room for coherent thought. Alexander clutched his temples, as if trying to contain the rising storm. But the memory of another life engulfed him completely, like a tempest washing everything away.

    - Your Highness, you''ve awakened. Praise the gods!

    A clear, commanding voice broke through the panicked silence. Alexander raised his head. By the wall stood a man, broad-shouldered and sturdy, with a thick gray beard. His face was stern, his eyes heavy with resolve. His simple clothing couldn''t hide his military bearing.

    - Where am I? - Alexander croaked, his voice alien to his ears.

    - Safe, my prince. That''s what matters, - the man replied. His voice was deep, steady, but tinged with weariness. - I am Stanislav, a boyar of your father and head of his retinue. I swore to protect Prince Iziaslav¡­ but I failed. Now, I swear to protect you

    Prince? Iziaslav?

    The words echoed in Alexander''s mind like tolling bells.

    - My¡­ father? - his voice trembled, struggling under the weight of the words.

    Stanislav nodded slowly, a shadow of grief darkening his face.

    - Forgive me, my prince¡­ We couldn''t save your brothers

    Brothers? The words hit like a hammer. He never had brothers¡­ or did he? Memories - his or someone else''s - swirled, tangling his mind.

    - No¡­ This is impossible, - he whispered, clutching his temples. Flashes of faces, laughter, then blood, screams, the clash of swords.

    - They''re all¡­ dead? - he managed to choke out.

    Stanislav averted his eyes.

    - The Polovtsians and the Pechenegs. They struck simultaneously. Prince Iziaslav fell in battle. Sviatoslav was killed in Chernihiv, Vsevolod near Pereiaslav. The others were caught in ambushes. We thought you had perished as well, but the gods were merciful. When we arrived, only you remained standing

    The words were like a dagger driven into his heart.

    - No! - Alexander shouted. - This is impossible! I''m supposed to be home! I¡­ I was just reading a book! This is a dream!

    Alexander jumped to his feet, but a sharp pain in his body forced him back onto the bed.

    - My prince, the Rurik dynasty has no one left but you. Kyiv awaits you. You are their last hope, - Stanislav said firmly.

    - Hope? Me? - Alexander scoffed bitterly. - I''m no prince. I''m just an ordinary man

    Stanislav paused, seeing that the young prince Alexander was deeply shocked and continued to speak nonsense. But he needed to explain:

    - You have no choice, my prince. If not you, then who? Kievan Rus is waiting for its ruler, - Stanislav paused, his voice softening but not losing its firmness. - Rest now. This attack seems to have left deep marks - not only on your body but also on your mind. We will do everything to keep you safe

    Before Alexander could protest, Stanislav bowed deeply and left the room without waiting for a response. Beyond the door, he stopped and, with a restrained but firm voice, gave orders to his best warriors, Mstislav and Myrnomyr:If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

    - Guard the prince as if he were the most sacred treasure. No one enters without my permission. Kill on sight, if necessary

    - Understood! - the warriors responded in unison, their faces unflinching.

    Mstislav and Myrnomyr took their positions, their gazes turning cold, hands confidently gripping their swords. They were the embodiment of resolve, ready to strike down anyone who dared approach. Stanislav, without pausing, strode confidently toward the Council Hall.

    Soon, Stanislav entered the Council Hall with a confident stride, as if carrying the weight of destiny itself. His imposing figure, emphasized by broad shoulders, commanded not only respect but a faint sense of awe.

    The rough sound of his boots striking the stone floor cut through the tense silence in the hall. Inside were only Metropolitan Illarion and Head of Department Oleg - two of the most influential men in Kievan Rus. Others - the chief military commander and the head of diplomacy - were absent, preoccupied with matters deemed more urgent.

    None of them believed Alexander would survive. For them, the question wasn''t whether the prince lived but what to do when the power of Kievan Rus would be left without a ruler, and the lands plunged into chaos.

    The death of Yaroslav the Wise and his sons had shocked all of Kievan Rus. So many losses in such a short time. The people whispered of the tragedy, speculating about the forces behind the ambush. Were the Polovtsians and Pechenegs truly responsible, as witnesses claimed? Or were treachery and conspiracies brewing within the boyar nobility, aimed at undermining central authority?

    The animated debate between the councilors ceased the moment Stanislav crossed the threshold.

    - Praise the gods, Stanislav! - Illarion spoke first, his usually steady voice trembling, betraying the tension he struggled to conceal. - What news of the young prince?

    Oleg, frowning, raised his head. His narrowed gaze was sharp and penetrating, like a man accustomed to seeking hidden meanings in every word. Yet even he couldn''t hide the faint spark of hope that flickered in his eyes.

    - The prince lives, - Stanislav declared loudly, his voice rolling through the hall like the tolling of a bell. - Moreover, he has regained consciousness. He''s recovering faster than expected

    Illarion immediately clasped his hands in a gesture of prayer. His face lit up as if he had witnessed a sign from the heavens.

    - This is a blessing from above! Our prayers have been heard, - he proclaimed solemnly.

    Oleg, in contrast, maintained his mask of restraint. He nodded as if confirming what he''d heard, but his eyes betrayed a glimmer of caution, almost suspicion.

    - So, there is still hope, - he said dryly. - But let''s not delude ourselves. What matters now is that the people learn of this. Kievan Rus must not appear weak. The prince lives, which means the authority remains steadfast and unshaken

    Illarion nodded, his gaze hardening.

    - The people must know, - he agreed, though his voice grew more pensive. - However, we must proceed with caution. The wounds inflicted by the deaths of the princes have not yet healed, and our enemies may exploit even the slightest hint of instability. If we act too hastily, it could work against us

    Stanislav felt a fire ignite within him. He knew that Alexander''s survival was not just a miracle. It was an opportunity that could not be squandered.

    - We will do everything to maintain order, - he added firmly. - Right now, the prince''s recovery is paramount

    - Indeed, Alexander is the sole heir left to us by the Great Prince Yaroslav the Wise. Together, we must help him become what the gods destined him to be, - Illarion nodded, looking at them.

    Oleg nodded cautiously, but unease flickered in his eyes. His sharp, pragmatic mind was already contemplating possible scenarios.

    - The people must hear of the prince''s return, - he said, softening his tone. - But they also need to see that authority remains strong. We must handle this carefully. Let the heralds announce it in the squares, and the priests proclaim it in their churches, - Oleg added, glancing at Illarion.

    The metropolitan nodded, but his face darkened. He knew the church was not just a spiritual pillar for the prince but also a tool of politics.

    - The church will always stand for truth and justice, - he said quietly but firmly. - But remember, Oleg, if we play at intrigue, we will lose what makes us strong - the people''s faith.

    Oleg merely grunted, while Stanislav cast a glance at both of them.

    - Tomorrow, at the gathering, we will decide what to do next. Send word to everyone in Kyiv. Let no one be late

    - Agreed

    Meanwhile, Alexander lay on the bed, feeling exhaustion and pain slowly recede. The air was thick with the scent of incense and dampness; the crackling fire in the hearth was the only sound tethering him to reality.

    His body still ached from the wounds, but not enough to keep him immobile. His eyes wandered across the stone ceiling, where the torchlight danced in restless reflections.

    He closed his eyes, trying to make sense of what was happening. This wasn''t a dream. The cold stone floor, the weight of the blanket, the flickering flames - it was all too real to be an illusion. And then there was the pain.

    - I''m in Kievan Rus, - he whispered to himself. - This can''t be real¡­

    He turned onto his side, feeling a sharp pain in his ribs, and stared at the wall. His thoughts darted between the past and the present, as though two worlds were tearing his consciousness apart. What was he supposed to do? How could he live in this world? How could he return home?

    - I have to go back. I don''t belong in this time. My life is there¡­ - But his voice faltered, barely audible in the silence. - Is there anyone waiting for me?

    The question cut so sharply that even the pain momentarily receded. Who truly waited for him in that world? A wife who had left, taking their child, because he couldn''t offer them anything but empty promises? Parents who were no longer alive? Relatives, scattered across their own lives? A job he hated but endured for the sake of stability?

    - No, - he whispered, closing his eyes. - No one is waiting for me there

    His breath hitched, and he fought to suppress the surge of pain that gripped both his body and soul. But his gaze fell on an object lying beside him on the bed. A simple book. The kind of book that had been plentiful in his 21st century - but here, in Kievan Rus? How? From where? Could it be¡­

    His fingers slowly reached out, brushing the dark cover as if it might vanish at his touch. His heart pounded as the familiar texture confirmed his suspicions. He had seen it before. Turning it over, he read the title slowly:

    "How to Survive and Transform the Medieval World"

    The book he had been reading before it all began. His breathing quickened as he hurriedly opened it and began flipping through the pages. The words danced before his eyes, almost beckoning him into this new, terrifying world:

    "A practical guide for those who not only wish to survive but also to achieve power in the harsh world of the past"

    Alexander froze, realizing he was holding something extraordinary. His fingers traced the lines, feeling their weight. How had this book ended up here? And why? But there were no answers - only the lines that seemed to be written specifically for him.

    He started reading. Advice on building fortresses, developing economies, negotiating with lords, recruiting armies, avoiding betrayal. Each word came to life before his eyes. He turned the pages until one phrase pierced his consciousness like a knife:

    "Power is not given to the weak. If you want to survive, use what you have: knowledge, cunning, determination, and strength."

    His gaze lingered on those words. He closed the book and set it aside. His heart was still racing, and his eyes burned with newfound fire.

    - Hadn''t I always dreamed of this? - he muttered.

    In his youth, he had loved stories about knights, kings, and great battles. He could spend hours imagining himself in armor, shaping destinies on the battlefield. But now, facing the truth, Alexander understood that this world was far from romantic dreams.

    This world was brutal. His brothers, his family - even if they weren''t truly his - had been mercilessly slaughtered. He was the only one left. But solitude brought something else: a chance.

    A chance to become what he had always dreamed of being. A chance not just to survive but to change everything.

    He clenched his fists, feeling tension surge through his body. This was no longer a dream from books or youthful fantasies. This had become his reality.

    Alexander realized that if he merely drifted with the current, he was doomed. This world spared no one who showed weakness.

    Here, the law was made of Iron and Blood.

    - I will survive, - he said softly at first, but his voice grew stronger, gaining a steel edge. - And I will become the Great Prince of Kievan Rus

 Chapter 3. The Council on the Brink of Change

    These years were truly the Golden Age of Kievan Rus. The state stood at the peak of its power, flourishing thanks to the wisdom and foresight of the Grand Prince Yaroslav the Wise. His name had become synonymous with stability, strength, and order, and his reign - a symbol of unity.

    However, with his death, this greatness came under threat. All of Kievan Rus began to sink into chaos.

    Before his passing, Yaroslav bequeathed the division of the lands among his sons, so that each would lead his own principality. At first glance, this decision seemed wise: the division of power was intended to ensure peace and order. But fate decreed otherwise.

    After the funeral of the Grand Prince, each of his heirs departed for their principality, but on the way, they were overtaken by the shadows of conspiracy. The attacks were as unexpected as they were ruthless. Among the killers were nomads, mercenaries, and spies from neighboring lands. It was a cunning and carefully orchestrated blow - a plot to eliminate Yaroslav the Wise''s heirs and turn the once-unified Grand Principality into a battleground of chaos.

    However, the conspirators overlooked one thing: Yaroslav''s sixth son, Alexander. The young prince, whom some considered too modest for power and others too unthreatening, was not an obvious figure in the political circles of the boyars. His name rarely echoed in the chambers of the court, as he always remained in the shadows, preferring the forge of the blade and strict training to palace intrigues.

    But within those shadows lay a strength that even the most discerning advisors failed to see. He devoted days and nights to training, becoming a master of the sword, yet being indifferent to worldly vanity, he stayed in the background of his brothers.

    Had the conspirators known how strong Alexander truly was, they would have sent not one squad of assassins but two. At twenty, he possessed inhuman strength, reflexes, and a masterful command of weaponry.

    Alexander not only focused on mastering the sword but also on hardening his body. From childhood, he walked barefoot in the snow and bathed in the icy waters of the Dnieper. His body had grown accustomed to deprivation and pain. These habits, honed over years, became his salvation.

    Even his extraordinary skill could not fully protect him. On the road to his city of Iziaslavl, in Halych, Alexander was ambushed by a large force. The attack was brutal, and the enemy''s numerical superiority nearly decided the battle''s outcome.

    Only he survived. When reinforcements arrived, Alexander, barely alive, was pulled from a pile of corpses. His body, wounded and exhausted, still clung to life. He was taken to Kyiv, where every step of the dangerous journey felt like a battle against death.

    There, healers did everything in their power to save the prince. They used extracts from herbs known for stopping blood, compresses of honey and resin to heal wounds, and poultices of celandine and nettle placed on his chest. His body was wrapped in warm cloths soaked with bear fat. One of the oldest herbalists, kneeling at Alexander''s bedside, whispered ancient incantations, calling upon the forces of earth and sky to aid the prince.

    The deep wounds and loss of blood left him in critical condition. Their faces darkened with worry, and their words were filled with despair:

    - He clings to life like a lioness protecting her cubs, but we cannot promise a miracle, - one of the elder healers said.

    It seemed that Alexander''s body, tempered in countless battles, had finally reached its limit. Each breath came with difficulty, as though fate itself was preparing to strike the final blow. Hope flickered like a dying flame, leaving only grim anticipation of the end.

    But a miracle occurred. Alexander survived, defying all expectations. His miraculous recovery stunned the advisors and boyars. They saw it as a possible sign from above - a testament that the heavens had chosen him for a great mission. Alexander, the last son of Yaroslav, became the sole hope for restoring unity and greatness to Kievan Rus.

    However, it was far from simple. The advisors and boyars knew little of Alexander and his abilities. To them, he was an inexperienced youth suddenly placed at the forefront of the princely throne.

    Each of Yaroslav''s sons - from the eldest Iziaslav to the youngest Alexander - had their supporters. But the chain of tragic deaths forced the boyars into a difficult dilemma: to support Alexander, the last legitimate heir, fulfilling their oath of loyalty to the late prince, or to attempt to manipulate the young ruler, turning him into a puppet for their ambitions.

    On the surface, real power remained in the hands of the boyar council, but key influence was still held by those loyal to Yaroslav. These faithful boyars understood that dividing the principality into fragments would be catastrophic. For them, the loss of unity in Kievan Rus was not just a threat but a tragedy to be prevented at all costs.

    For some, Alexander was a symbol of continuity and hope for the restoration of former glory. For others, he was merely a tool to be used for their purposes. But there were also those who saw an opportunity in the chain of princely deaths. They began to wonder: - What if we divide Kievan Rus for good, becoming the true masters of its lands?

    Yet Alexander''s position turned out to be far stronger than the boyars and neighboring rulers had anticipated. Upon hearing the news of Alexander''s survival, those loyal to the memory of Yaroslav the Wise and his legacy, led by the seasoned leader Stanislav, rallied to the young prince''s side.

    These boyars saw in Alexander not just an heir but the last hope for preserving the unity of Kievan Rus. They realized that chaos and fragmentation would destroy everything their great prince had built.

    These individuals, hardened by years of service and loyalty, understood that the disintegration of the state would spell the end of its glory. Rallying around Alexander, they not only emphasized their allegiance but also sought to demonstrate to all others that Kievan Rus remained strong.

    The next morning brought not only the dawn but also an important event. Understanding that delay could prove fatal, Stanislav gathered all significant figures of Kyiv in the spacious hall of the princely palace. There, beneath high arches steeped in echoes of the past, the fate of Kievan Rus was to be decided. Waiting for others was not an option - time was working against them.

    The grand hall, illuminated by the flickering light of dozens of torches, seemed even more majestic due to its high ceiling and massive wooden tables adorned with carvings. The heavy doors closed behind each arrival with a deep thud, emphasizing the gravity of the moment. Outside, the city''s noise reached only as a faint echo, leaving those inside alone with silence and tension.

    The first to enter the hall was Ignat, the Chief Commander and representative of the boyars'' militant faction. His steps echoed across the stone slabs, and his stern face, scarred like a map of past battles, remained inscrutable. His heavy gaze swept across the empty hall, as if expecting to find a threat even there. Ignat took his place, resting his hands on his belt, standing in a wary pose.

    Next came Stanislav, head of the late Yaroslav the Wise''s retinue. Tall and broad-shouldered, he exuded the aura of a man ready to protect the prince at any moment. His gaze lingered on Ignat briefly, and they exchanged short, tense looks, as if testing each other. The air in the hall instantly filled with unspoken tension.

    When the doors opened again, the representatives of the clergy entered. Metropolitan Illarion led the way, his tall and imposing figure draped in a heavy mitre that seemed to cast a radiant glow. Following him was Bishop Luka Zhidiata, known for his wisdom and measured reasoning, walking with a reserved expression.

    Last came Abbot Antony of Pechersk, whose modest frame and quiet steps might have gone unnoticed if not for his name, already a legend. His gaze held a power capable of moving mountains.

    Behind the clergy appeared Oleg, the head of Kyiv Rus'' administration. His broad shoulders and calm demeanor revealed a man accustomed to maintaining control. He was followed by Dobrynia Vsevolodovich, the overseer of the prince''s estates. His focused gaze and stern appearance reflected someone intolerant of idle chatter and deeply aware of time''s value.

    Following Oleg, noble boyars from various alliances began to arrive, representing a multitude of interests. While the concept of "factions" did not yet formally exist, boyar alliances were well-known. They formed around common goals, familial ties, or territorial proximity, uniting influential individuals in their pursuit of power, wealth, or the defense of their lands.

    Later, Igor Rostislavich, the mayor of Novgorod, entered. His confident stride, slightly furrowed brows, and brisk movements betrayed his worry: the delay in the coronation of the young prince could cost his trading city dearly.This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

    Miroslav, the chief diplomat of Kievan Rus, was absent - he was in Byzantium, strengthening ties with the Empire. The head of intelligence, ever secretive, remained as enigmatic as always.

    The last to enter were the representatives of the merchants. Lazar Torgovich, the head of Kyiv''s merchants'' guild, walked with deliberate confidence. Despite his short stature, he radiated energy and cunning. His dark eyes scanned the faces of those present, searching for potential allies.

    Milon Yaroslavich, representing the Novgorod merchants, followed with a slightly mocking smile, signaling that he knew his worth and wouldn''t miss a chance to assert it.

    When everyone had gathered, Metropolitan Illarion raised his hand, and an immediate silence fell over the hall, heavy and profound. The flickering torchlight cast shadows on the walls, creating images of ancient wars and mysterious spirits that seemed to watch over the proceedings. All eyes turned to the spiritual leader of Kievan Rus, whose words unfailingly cut through disputes like lightning through the night sky.

    - Welcome, - Illarion''s deep, commanding voice filled the hall, resonating like the roll of thunder within the vaulted chamber. - With the Lord''s blessing, our young prince has survived the vile attack. But now, we face the most crucial question: where and how to hold the ceremony so that Alexander can ascend the throne and restore peace to the people of Kievan Rus

    His words, steeped in solemnity, elicited a faint murmur of approval. Some boyars exchanged glances, while others quietly crossed themselves, as if the mere thought of the coronation brought them solace.

    The first to rise was Vyshata, a noble boyar, military commander, and head of Kyiv''s garrison. His stern voice rang with the certainty of a commander''s order:

    - Agreed. The people are restless. On my way here, I saw them whispering everywhere - at the markets, in the churches, at the wells. If the prince does not ascend the throne soon, the situation could spiral out of control. If we delay, we lose the people''s trust - and with it, order

    His words carried not only concern for order but also a veiled warning. The crowd gathered in Kyiv could become a weapon - or an enemy - if left without direction. His statement drew murmurs of approval among the boyars, but the sharp voice of Igor Rostislavich, the mayor of Novgorod, cut through the noise, silencing everyone:

    - What are we waiting for? Where will the ceremony be held? Delaying the coronation will cost us all dearly. Our allies are already questioning whether the prince is alive or if it''s just a rumor. And our enemies are merely waiting for the opportunity to exploit our weakness

    - Saint Sophia Cathedral, - Abbot Antony said slowly, folding his hands in a gesture of blessing. His voice, soft but filled with power, resembled a prayer that reached every heart. - This cathedral is more than walls - it is the heart of our faith, our beacon in turbulent waters. Let the coronation take place there, so that the entire nation may see the heavens'' blessing upon us

    A brief, tense silence followed in the hall. Illarion slowly nodded, supporting the abbot, but before he could speak, a voice sharp as steel interrupted.

    - And what about security? - Oleg''s voice sliced through the air like a blade. - The Polovtsians and Pechenegs are not idle, nor are our other neighbors. Do you think they will miss such an opportunity? We risk not only the ceremony but the entire city. What if spies infiltrate the crowd on the day of the coronation? What if there are those among them ready to strike at the most critical moment? What if the prince himself becomes their target?

    His words, like a warning bell, echoed through the hall, sparking a wave of muted whispers. All eyes turned to Ignat, whose granite-like figure remained motionless. He squinted, scanning the room, and with hands folded on his belt, he declared firmly and uncompromisingly:

    - Security will be ensured. We will close all entrances to Kyiv, double the patrols, and on the day of the coronation, the retinue will surround the cathedral in a tight ring. Even if the Polovtsian spies attack, they will not get through. I guarantee it

    His voice, harsh and resolute like the strike of a sword, stirred murmurs of discontent. Before anyone could object, Dobrynia stood, his figure imposing and steady. His voice, even and firm, carried the strength to move mountains:

    - That is not enough. If an attack does occur, without carefully planned measures, the consequences could be catastrophic. We must anticipate evacuation routes for the nobility and prepare fortifications at key positions in the city. Relying solely on the cathedral''s security will not suffice. We cannot afford to underestimate the enemy

    Ignat frowned, his gaze darkened like storm clouds on the brink of a tempest. Before he could retort, Vyshata rose, his voice cold and tense, carrying an implicit threat:

    - If we display fear, it will only embolden our enemies. Show weakness, and they will strike. I tell you, Kyiv cannot be taken. The city is secure, and I will see to it

    His words, firm and confident, echoed through the hall, inciting another wave of murmured agreements. Ignat nodded in satisfaction, his face adopting a calmer expression, though his eyes remained wary. Silence once again settled over the hall, heavy and thick like a storm cloud looming overhead.

    The tense silence was broken by Stanislav, head of the prince''s retinue. His voice, steady and resolute like the beat of a war drum, carried the authority of a seasoned commander:

    - Security will not be an issue. The entire elite retinue of the prince will be fully armed and prepared for any attack. Even a thousand spies will stand no chance. Three thousand elite warriors will form an impenetrable barrier against any foe

    His words left no room for doubt. Questions about safety and protection quickly dissipated as Stanislav assured the gathering that Kyiv''s full military might would be mobilized to ensure peace and order on the day of the coronation. His confident tone and firm, determined gaze extinguished any lingering doubts, like a dying fire snuffed out by the night wind.

    The silence that followed was interrupted by the calm, almost playful voice of Lazar Torgovich. He stepped forward lightly, as though oblivious to the weight of the boyars'' collective gaze now fixed on him. His hands rested calmly behind his back, and his dark eyes gleamed with cunning:

    - Gentlemen, I''m glad that the issues of security are finally resolved, - he began, bowing his head slightly in a gesture of respect. - But we are overlooking a vital aspect. The coronation is not only a tool for internal stability. It is our chance to showcase the strength, unity, and wealth of Kievan Rus to the entire world

    His voice was soft, almost gentle, yet every word was as sharp and deliberate as a finely honed blade. Lazar shifted his gaze to Ignat, who scowled but remained silent, waiting for him to continue.

    - If our foreign guests witness excessive caution, - Lazar continued, his tone taking on a faintly mocking edge, - they may doubt our strength. Surely, we don''t want them returning home speaking of us as timid or weakened?

    Ignat, arms crossed over his chest, sharply interjected, his voice booming like thunder:

    - What strength do you propose to show, Lazar? Do you suggest we leave the city open and allow our enemies to stroll freely through our streets?

    Lazar''s faint smile lingered as he met Ignat''s gaze without flinching:

    - I''m speaking of the strength of wealth. A grand coronation will demonstrate not only Kyiv''s security but also its prosperity. Allies will see confidence, enemies will see power, and the common folk will witness the greatness of their land. Moreover... - he paused briefly, as though ensuring that everyone grasped the weight of his words - the merchant guilds are willing to support the festivities, provided the results align with our shared interests

    A murmur rippled through the hall. Some boyars nodded in approval, while others exchanged grim looks. Lazar appeared entirely unfazed, maintaining his serene and self-assured demeanor.

    Bishop Luka, who had remained silent until now, raised his hand. His voice, stern and unyielding like the toll of a bell, resonated through the hall:

    - Excessive luxury may bring ruin, - Luka declared, his tone heavy with conviction, like a hammer striking an anvil. - At a time when people pray for protection from enemies, feasting is ill-advised. Forget our duty to the people, and we risk losing their faith

    Lazar, unshaken by the rebuke, merely offered a subtle smile. His dark eyes gleamed with quiet defiance.

    - The Lord''s blessing is indeed invaluable, - he replied smoothly, his confidence unwavering. - But a river cannot be crossed on prayer alone

    - And what then, Lazar? When the enemy strikes, shall we hurl gold at them? Prayer may not cross rivers, but it strengthens spirits rather than squanders treasures, - Luka countered, his voice rising slightly.

    - Luka, a hungry spirit with a full purse stands a better chance of survival than the reverse. Let''s not forget who fills the treasury, - Lazar retorted, his tone remaining mild but carrying an undeniable edge.

    Lazar''s words, thinly veiled as criticism, rippled through the hall, stirring whispers among the boyars. Tension mounted as some nervously drummed their fingers on the table, while others furrowed their brows, deep in thought. The atmosphere grew taut, like a bowstring ready to snap.

    Luka rose sharply, prepared to continue the argument, but Antony of Pechersk, remaining seated, gently touched Luka''s arm and shook his head slightly. His gaze, filled with calm yet resolute disapproval, seemed to say, "Why argue with those blinded by greed?" Luka exhaled deeply, reluctantly sinking back into his seat as silence once again settled over the hall.

    Recognizing the need to refocus the discussion, Illarion''s voice rang out once more. Rising to his feet, his gaze swept slowly over the assembly, a mixture of sternness and inspiration in his eyes. His voice, deep and commanding, cut through the tension like a sacred blade:

    - Today is the 18th of Berezozol (March 18 by modern reckoning). I propose that we hold the coronation in a week, on the Feast of the Annunciation, the 25th of Berezozol. This day, symbolizing the beginning of new life and the fulfillment of the Divine plan, will mark the start of a new chapter in our history

    A new wave of whispers swept through the hall. Some nodded in agreement, but a skeptical voice broke the murmur:

    - Too soon, - came the cautious remark. - The people might not have enough time to prepare

    Dobrynia, arms crossed over his chest, responded evenly, his voice firm and confident:

    - Or perhaps it''s just the right time. The people are waiting for a sign, not for delays

    His words elicited murmurs of agreement. Luka Zhidiata raised his hand, crossing himself as he spoke:

    - The Annunciation is a sacred day. The people will see this as a blessing from above. It''s a fitting day for the coronation

    Oleg gave a slight nod, adding his measured remarks:

    - I see no objection. At this time of year, the people are free from agricultural work, and the roads to Kyiv will be open. The people will come

    Stanislav, who had been observing the discussion with keen attention, slowly rose to his feet. His tall stature and commanding presence immediately drew the attention of all assembled. His voice, firm and resolute like a battlefield command, carried conviction:

    - Then it is decided. - He paused, allowing the weight of his words to settle over the room. - In a week, on the Feast of the Annunciation, the coronation will take place in Saint Sophia Cathedral. Let this day mark the beginning of our prince''s reign.

    His words hung in the air like a benediction. The hall fell into a tense silence. Some whispered quietly among themselves; others gazed thoughtfully at the table. The atmosphere was thick, charged with the realization that the success of the coronation depended not only on their decisions but also on the will of the heavens.

 Chapter 4. Voices of Hope and Shadows of Threat

    The rumor of Prince Oleksandr''s miraculous survival, the last heir of Yaroslav the Wise, spread across Kyiv like wildfire through a dry steppe. Heralds, proclaiming the joyful news, drowned out the ceaseless hum of the bustling marketplaces with their thunderous voices, forcing even the busiest to pause.

    - People of Kievan Rus''! Your prince is alive! - the heralds cried, their voices ringing across the squares like bell tolls, resonating deeply in hearts.

    In the noisy markets, merchants forgot their trades, discussing the prince''s fate with both anxiety and hope. Someone crossed themselves and exclaimed joyfully:

    - The Lord has heard our prayers! This is a sign from above!

    Yet others whispered, shaking their heads, their voices low and foreboding:

    - But what if the enemies come again? Can he protect us?

    Outside the churches, women clutching their children murmured prayers, their trembling words carried away by the wind, blending with its soft, mournful wail. One woman, bowing her head, whispered as though pleading:

    - Lord, do not forsake us... do not forsake our prince...

    Children, pressed close to their mothers, gazed at Saint Sophia Cathedral with hope in their eyes, as if expecting to see a sign there - a divine glow confirming the miraculous news. In the distance, near the church walls, elderly men stood in the shadows, their faces grim and their words hoarse and restrained:

    - Hope is good. But survival matters more. Without a prince, hard times await us

    The gaze of one old man, weary yet sharp, stretched into the distance as if trying to glimpse the future. His voice was quiet but firm:

    - The great Prince Yaroslav was our pillar. Under him, everything was peaceful. People knew no hardships. But now... can his son rise to his level?

    The other elders remained silent, but worry was etched into their faces. Hope mingled with shadows of fear. Everyone understood that without a prince, without a strong hand to keep Kievan Rus'' united, an era of tribulation awaited. Yet, deep in their hearts, a faint spark persisted - fragile but alive.

    Rumors, like river waves, spread further - along roads, rivers, through forests and villages, reaching the most distant corners of Kievan Rus''. Around every fire, at every crossroads, in every home, the words resounded:

    - The prince is alive!

    These words, like a magic incantation, rekindled hope. The people, shaken by the deaths of Yaroslav and his sons, saw Oleksandr''s survival as a miracle granted by the heavens. But doubts lingered for many. Elderly men, seated by stoves, whispered:

    - Can he hold on to power? And what if the Cumans come again?

    These conversations, like serpents, slithered into homes, leaving behind a thin yet venomous trail of doubt. And yet, despite the whispers, hope warmed many hearts.

    The morning after the princely council brought not only the chill of winter but also a resounding gathering at the square by Saint Sophia Cathedral. Metropolitan Illarion, adorned in his ceremonial robes, ascended the high balcony from which his voice would reach even the farthest corners of the square. From the towering balcony of Saint Sophia, his voice carried over the crowd like rolling thunder.

    - People of Kievan Rus''! - Metropolitan Illarion''s voice boomed like a peal of thunder, capturing the attention of even the most skeptical. - Today, we stand not just before news, but before a miracle. The Lord, in His infinite mercy, has given us a sign. In the hour when our hearts were full of fear, He has returned to us our prince - the last son of the great Yaroslav! Oleksandr is not just an heir. He is our future, our unity, and our shield against the enemy!

    Illarion''s gaze swept over the crowd, his voice rising even louder:

    - Do you see the sky above us? It bears witness that Kievan Rus'' will not fall! God is with us! Oleksandr is with us! And our land will once again be strong and united, as the great Prince Yaroslav desired!

    The crowd, as though one entity, froze. Commoners crossed themselves, and the elderly raised their hands to the sky, murmuring prayers of gratitude. Women in the front rows wept, stretching their hands toward the cathedral. A young man in the center of the crowd lifted his son onto his shoulders and shouted:

    - Praise be to God for saving the prince!

    This cry echoed off the cathedral walls, taken up by dozens of voices, transforming the square into a singular roar.

    - Praise! - resounded from all sides.

    Yet amidst the throng, an old man in a dark cloak whispered to his neighbor:

    - Praise... or farewell? If the enemies have learned of his return, they are already on their way

    The neighbor shuddered but remained silent. The old man''s words were swallowed by the crowd''s roar, leaving behind a lingering unease.

    Even the boyars, standing slightly apart, listened intently. Their eyes reflected understanding. Illarion''s words were not merely about faith; they were a call for unity that could not be ignored.

    - We must rally around Prince Oleksandr! - Illarion continued, his voice growing stronger, like a taut string vibrating to its limit, piercing the crowd. - Only a united people, under a single banner, can stand against the enemy. Our strength lies in unity, our destiny in togetherness! Only thus can we preserve what his father built. Only thus can we restore the glory of our land! God is with us, Kievan Rus'' is with us, and the prince is with us!

    His speech concluded with a solemn hymn, taken up by the clergy gathered beneath the balcony. The crowd joined in, and the voices filled the square. In that moment, it seemed all of Kievan Rus'' sang in unison with Kyiv.

    The voices merged into a single wave that seemed to lift the very ground beneath their feet. Even those who had doubted at first began to sing, feeling how the hymn united everyone - from humble peasants to noble boyars. It was more than a song; it was an oath made to the heavens themselves.

    Kyiv immediately began preparations for the grand event. The city buzzed with noise and activity. Merchants hurriedly brought offerings, their carts creaking under the weight of goods. Boyars arrived in decorated carriages, their retinues of warriors proudly marching behind them. Peasants traveled from distant villages, carrying nothing but hope and a desire to see their prince.

    The streets were filled with the scents of freshly baked bread, the smoke of forges, and the burning of resinous torches. Masons, their hands wrapped in coarse cloth, tapped at the cobblestones, inspecting every crack. Carpenters, shouting and laughing, erected platforms for the nobility, their axes rhythmically striking like a tolling bell. Nearby, farmers carried baskets brimming with gifts - apples, honey, flax. In a corner of the square, where beggars gathered, children argued loudly:This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

    - I saw him! The prince''s sword is taller than me!

    - And I heard he''s going to give gold to everyone who comes!

    These words brought laughter and wistful smiles to the adults, but no one dared interrupt the children. On the day of miracles, even childish fantasies sounded like promises.

    Children darted among the workers, loudly discussing how "the prince himself would give them gifts."

    Ignat stood on the city wall, his figure a dark silhouette against the gray winter sky. The wind tugged at his cloak as if trying to carry him away, but he stood motionless, carved from stone. His sharp gaze scanned the bustling crowd below. Every stranger seemed a threat to him, every smile a veiled danger. A glimmer of vigilance flickered in his eyes.

    - We must remain vigilant, - he said, his voice low but taut like a drawn string. - In this crowd, there may be not only spies but also traitors ready to strike

    Beside him, slightly apart, stood Stanislav, the head of the princely druzhina. His stern face was thoughtful, his gaze following the movement of the masons erecting platforms by the cathedral. Their axes struck rhythmically, as if counting down to something inevitable. He frowned, folding his arms across his chest.

    - These seven days will demand quick and precise action, - he remarked quietly, without looking away. - Every person entering Kyiv must be checked. We must reduce the number of spies to zero, even if it means working tirelessly day and night

    Ignat turned his head slightly toward Stanislav, his voice harsh, tinged with irony:

    - Easy to say, Stanislav. Do you have any idea how many people will enter Kyiv in these days? This isn''t finding needles in a haystack. It''s an avalanche, and behind every smile, there could be a dagger

    Stanislav briefly glanced at Ignat. His face remained impassive, but a glimmer of resolve shone in his eyes:

    - That''s why we need to act decisively. We can''t afford a mistake. This isn''t just a coronation - it''s a matter of survival for all of Kievan Rus''

    Ignat nodded, turning his gaze back to the crowd. His expression remained stern, as if etched in stone. He said nothing more, but his eyes revealed a thought: the coming days would test not only the prince but everyone prepared to defend him with their lives.

    While Kyiv hummed like a giant hive preparing for the coronation, tension gripped the steppes in the heart of Polovtsian lands. Inside a large tent, dimly lit by oil lamps, Khan Kirchan stood before a scout. Shadows from the flames flickered across the walls, forming shapes of predatory beasts ready to pounce. Each gust of wind made the flames dance, as if the steppe itself tried to eavesdrop on the words of the khan.

    The scout trembled like a leaf, drenched in sweat under Kirchan''s piercing gaze. He struggled to speak, his dry lips moving soundlessly.

    - Repeat that, - Kirchan''s voice, cold as a winter wind, lashed the scout. - Say it again. I want to hear how you explain your failure. - His eyes, sharp as steel blades, bore into the scout, making him tremble even more

    The scout swallowed hard, barely keeping his knees from giving way.

    - My Khan... - he whispered, his dry lips barely able to form the words, as if each was a knife to his throat. - Our people, along with the Pechenegs and others... They failed. One of the princes, Oleksandr, survived. - His voice broke, and his hands trembled so violently that he instinctively clasped them to his chest. - Spies in Kyiv say... they plan to crown him in a week

    Kirchan froze, his face hardening into stone while his eyes ignited with fury. Suddenly, he slammed his fist onto the table with such force that one of the oil lamps wavered, spilling droplets of oil onto a map. The wood cracked under the blow, and the scout yelped like a frightened animal, cringing to the floor.

    - You fools, useless, incompetent idiots! - Kirchan roared, his voice like the crack of a whip echoing through the tent. - Everything was planned perfectly! One boy - just one! - and you couldn''t even handle that!

    He leaned forward, his eyes flashing cold hatred.

    - Do you know what happens to those who fail me?

    The scout dared not lift his head, his lips moved, but no sound escaped. The khan''s anger hung in the air like a thundercloud before a storm. The scout''s knees buckled, and his words seemed to stick in his throat. He knew that any word he spoke could be his last.

    Kirchan straightened, running a hand over his face as if to regain control. His fingers trembled for a brief moment before he waved dismissively, as though swatting at an irritating fly.

    - Get out of my sight before I decide you''re as worthless as dust on the wind

    The scout scrambled to his feet and bolted for the exit. The heavy tent flap fell closed behind him with a faint rustle. In the silence, Kirchan remained motionless, like a statue, until he spoke again, his voice hoarse but calm:

    - Summon Tarkhan

    Minutes later, a tall man entered the tent. His figure, carved like stone, radiated strength and confidence. His heavy armor glinted faintly in the lamp''s light, while his face remained emotionless. This was Tarkhan, one of Kirchan''s most skilled and loyal warriors, whose name inspired both respect and fear.

    - You called for me, my Khan? - His voice was deep and steady, carrying an undercurrent of power.

    Kirchan gestured for him to sit but remained standing, his gaze fixed on the map littered with markers of attacks and routes.

    - Tell me, Tarkhan, what makes the steppe wolf strong? - Kirchan''s voice was contemplative, as though he posed the question to himself.

    - Its fangs, my Khan, - Tarkhan replied after a pause.

    Kirchan smirked, though something dark flickered in his eyes.

    - No. Its hunger. Hunger makes us strong, drives us to seek more, to take what isn''t ours, to survive where others perish. But hunger can become a curse if you let it control you

    He turned to Tarkhan, his face set like stone.

    - Kievan Rus'' is a fat stag on our pasture. It has weakened and is nearly divided, ready to fall. But if we allow it to regain strength, that stag may become a wolf that comes for our herds. This isn''t just a war. It''s survival

    Tarkhan nodded silently, his face impassive but his eyes gleaming. He was accustomed to Kirchan''s ruthless orders, but even he understood that this mission was different. He inclined his head slightly, signaling his readiness to do whatever was necessary.

    - You will take charge of this matter. Gather the best men, those who won''t flinch in the face of death. Take the tukmakchi and kantari. Have the Pechenegs send a unit as well. The young prince Oleksandr must join his father and brothers in the afterlife. Failure is not an option

    - It will be done, my Khan, - Tarkhan replied calmly, bowing slightly.

    Tarkhan left the tent, his steps heavy, like hammer blows on snow. He went straight to his men - elite warriors who understood the price of blood. Their eyes gleamed in the night like those of steppe wolves ready to hunt.

    When the tent was empty, Kirchan remained alone. Silence enveloped the space, broken only by the occasional crackle of oil lamps and the sound of the wind outside. He picked up a cup of kumis and took a long, thoughtful sip. The flickering flames cast shifting shadows across the walls of the tent, forming the shapes of predatory beasts and the echoes of past victories.

    - They say this boy is chosen by the gods... - Kirchan sneered, raising the cup. His voice was low, laced with contemptuous mockery. - But haven''t gods fallen before? I''ve seen them die in the flames of our arrows, their temples crumble under the hooves of our horses. No so-called chosen one will stand against the steppe

    He slowly set the cup down and bent over the map, illuminated by the dim light of the lamps. His finger traced the cities of Kievan Rus'', as though already claiming their riches.

    - When he falls, Kievan Rus'' will collapse like an old yurt, - he declared, his words a grim verdict. - Its lands will be ours, its gold mine, and its people slaves

    A glint of avarice flashed in the khan''s eyes. He envisioned the future - caravans laden with gold flowing into his tents, princes kneeling and begging for mercy, and the steppe stretching endlessly to the horizon, conquered under his rule. He knew that becoming the mightiest among the Polovtsian khans was his destiny, and Kievan Rus'' was the key to achieving it.

    Outside, the neighing of horses and the clang of sharpening blades echoed through the camp. The encampment, like a massive predator, breathed tension, preparing to pounce. Every sound seemed to belong to a single rhythm - the rhythm of war.

    Kirchan raised his cup again, his lips curling into a crooked, almost predatory smile. His voice was soft, but it carried the full weight of his ambitions:

    - To the hunger that makes us stronger

    Taking one last sip, he flung the cup to the floor. It rolled across the wooden planks with a dull thud. Beyond the tent, the wind howled, lifting sand and tugging at the fabric, as though answering its master. The lamps flickered, their light unsteady, like the breath of the steppe itself.

    The wind grew stronger, whistling through the tent with whispers, as if the steppe spoke to Kirchan, affirming his plans. The khan, unmoving, lifted his head, steel determination burning in his eyes.

    He knew the storm was coming. But he also knew that this storm was his chance to rewrite the history of the steppe.

    ***

    I improved chapter 4 of Preparing for the coronation and split it into two separate chapters.

 Chapter 5. The Library of St. Sophia

    Meanwhile, in Kyiv, the incredible speed of the young prince''s recovery became the subject of much discussion. The healers and herbalists were in shock. Just recently, the prince had been lying covered in blood, and now half of his wounds had already healed, and he was awake and even able to walk.

    - This is simply unthinkable, - said the chief healer Myroslav, astonished as he observed how the prince''s serious wounds were nearly closed

    - In all my years, I''ve never seen anything like this

    - The young prince is truly chosen by God, - added the senior herbalist Sviatomyr, equally shocked and delighted. - No one else has visited him except us. The strength and endurance of the prince''s body are extraordinary. I heard that he loved training intensely, but to have a body like this... it''s truly astounding

    After the healer and herbalist had left, Oleksandr once again immersed himself in his thoughts. While the council was being held in the next room, he used the time to delve deeper into the memories of the previous owner of this body.

    Oleksandr, the sixth son of Yaroslav the Wise, had been a military genius. By the age of twenty, he had mastered numerous sword techniques and demonstrated incredible skill in archery.

    He trained relentlessly, hardening his body through hours of practice, but he didn''t neglect his studies either. He had knowledge of various sciences, crafts, and even a couple of languages. However, despite his versatility, political intrigue and diplomacy had never interested him.

    With each passing hour, Alexander felt more and more like the true owner of this body and a part of this era. The initial shock and uncertainty caused by his arrival in this time were gradually giving way to resilience and determination.

    If at first he had been confused and unsure of how to proceed, now, after fully merging with the consciousness of the body''s previous owner, Alexander had gained confidence and a firm will to act.

    These changes were so natural that it seemed as though he had always been this way. Alexander was somewhat frightened by such sudden transformations, but after reflecting on them, he concluded that perhaps it was for the best.

    Now, instead of the indecisive man from the future, he had become a confident and unwavering prince, combining nobility, strength, and intellect.

    He no longer needed to adapt to the conditions, customs, and everything else in this era, as it had already become part of the natural order for him. He knew this time, its laws and traditions, as though he had lived in it his entire life.

    He even began to think that perhaps all of this was truly God''s will. Though he had never been deeply religious, the miracles surrounding him made it impossible to deny the existence of divine intervention.

    He lay on a wooden bed in his room, listening to the sounds coming from beyond the walls. What he had once thought of as history had now become his reality.

    On the table beside him lay the book - the very same one he had held before his transition. It looked exactly as it had when he first read it. But now, the book filled him with a strange sense of unease. Slowly, he flipped through its pages, trying to find anything that might explain why and how he had ended up here.

    - If I''m here because of this book, - he thought, - then it must contain the answer. Or at least a clue

    He read chapters about culture, governance, and warfare in the medieval era. Everything he had once considered theory could now become his only weapon. In the end, he found no direct clue but came across information he could use to form his plans.

    Immediately, he began drafting a plan, step by step, carefully considering how to act. He remembered that this was the Golden Age of Kievan Rus'', giving him, one might say, the perfect starting point - aside from cunning boyars, treacherous Cumans and Pechenegs, and other threats yet to be discovered.

    The first and foremost goal in his plan was a single word: survive.

    Next came strengthening the army and defenses, developing trade and the economy, and then, once all of this was firmly established, focusing on diplomacy and conquest.

    Alexander was confident that with a professional army, powerful siege engines, and reliable fortifications, no boyar would be able to challenge him. And neighboring states, seeing his strength, would think twice before attacking.

    The army and economy would develop together, each supporting the other. A robust trade and economy would not only sustain the army but also improve the lives of ordinary people.

    Alexander could hardly imagine how common folk lived in these medieval conditions - in dampness, cold, with barely glowing fires in their hearths, and with modest, often meager food. Even in the prince''s chambers, he felt uncomfortable as a modern man: the dim lighting, lack of cleanliness, and uncomfortable bed.

    - How do the peasants manage? But they''ve lived like this for centuries, - he thought

    This thought filled him with a strange mix of pity and determination.

    - Let''s start small and change not only my life but theirs as well

    With every point added to his plan, Alexander felt his confidence grow. He knew that changes would not come quickly, but step by step, he would build a Kievan Rus'' capable not just of surviving but thriving.

    By the second day, he already felt significantly better. His body still ached, but he could walk normally. Sitting in his chambers all day was both boring and unproductive - he could use this time for something more valuable.

    He remembered that the St. Sophia Cathedral housed a great library full of useful knowledge. While he had inherited the memories of the body''s previous owner, they were clearly insufficient.Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

    Most of the knowledge pertained to military matters rather than governance or other sciences. This was why he needed to fill these gaps by reading the works of this era, ensuring that his innovations would not be too far ahead of their time, as such knowledge would surely confuse people.

    Exiting his room, Alexander immediately noticed that the prince''s palace was bustling with activity. Everyone was hurrying about, preparing for the coronation. At the doors stood Stanislav''s loyal guards Mstyslav and Myrnomyr. Seeing the prince, they bowed briefly and greeted him.

    - Good morning, Your Grace! - said Mstyslav, straightening his shoulders.

    - Good morning to you as well, - Alexander nodded to them and looked around.

    Servants scurried down the corridors, carrying fabrics, goblets, and scrolls. Heralds loudly issued commands, passing them from one to another. Alexander noticed a familiar face in the crowd.

    Stanislav was energetically discussing something with another man and several senior guards. That man, Alexander realized, was Oleg, the head of his father Yaroslav''s administration - if his memory served him right.

    A little farther down, he saw Metropolitan Illarion surrounded by priests, leaving the palace and heading toward St. Sophia Cathedral.

    Everyone was absorbed in the preparations for the ceremony, and this worked to Alexander''s advantage. He quickly realized that now was the perfect moment to slip away to the library. Waving to his guards, he signaled them to follow, and headed toward the cathedral, relying on the memories of the library''s location.

    Along the way, he passed servants and guards busy with their tasks. Many bowed upon seeing the prince but quickly returned to their duties, not pausing to linger.

    Before long, they reached the cathedral and entered. The dim stone walls, illuminated by torches, seemed alive and almost speaking, their echoes filling the space with the soft sound of footsteps.

    Alexander confidently made his way toward the library, and soon the doors appeared before him. Two guards were stationed outside, assigned to protect the valuable knowledge within. One of them, recognizing Alexander, smiled and nodded respectfully.

    - Glad to see you on your feet, Your Grace, - the guard greeted him.

    - Thank you. I''ll be in the library, - Alexander replied briefly, gesturing for his guards to remain outside.

    - Very well, Your Grace, - said Mstyslav, exchanging a glance with Myrnomyr. They remained at the doors with the other guards, not entering.

    Alexander wasted no time and stepped through the threshold of the library.

    When he entered, he was struck with a sense of reverence. The walls were lined with shelves filled with birch-bark manuscripts, parchment scrolls, and richly decorated books.

    The air was filled with the scent of old paper, wax, and incense. This place, he realized, was a true treasure trove - the legacy of Yaroslav''s wisdom.

    - Beautiful. Now I need to find useful books, - Alexander said with a hint of admiration as he looked around.

    He carefully walked between the shelves, quickly skimming the titles. Monks copying books only briefly glanced at him but didn''t ask any questions. His goal was clear: to study everything he could, starting with the laws, culture, military affairs, and diplomacy of this time.

    - Archaeology didn''t preserve much for us, - he thought as he flipped through ancient texts. - So much fascinating knowledge

    Alexander sat down at one of the wooden tables, illuminated by the faint light of an oil lamp. The soft glow of the flame created a cozy twilight around him, making each page come alive.

    Immersed in reading, he completely forgot about what was happening around him. Every line, every word revealed new ideas that could form the foundation of his plans.

    He was surprised to realize that he could understand nearly all the texts. Thanks to the memories of the body''s previous owner, he knew Old Slavic, Greek, Latin, and even some Arabic.

    Additionally, his own modern knowledge included English, German, and French. Such linguistic skills allowed him to fully dive into the ancient texts.

    However, he soon realized that time was critically short, and the amount of information he needed to study was overwhelming. Every scroll, every book or document could contain key data that would significantly ease the implementation of his plans.

    The day flew by unnoticed. Soon, it was lunchtime, and then evening. Mstyslav and Myrnomyr, his loyal guards, had twice reminded the prince that he was skipping meals. But Alexander didn''t care; he didn''t feel hungry, so he asked only for a light dinner to be prepared and left in his chambers.

    When he finally finished reading one of the scrolls, evening had already turned into night. Alexander realized that he had done enough for the day. Sighing heavily, he turned to the senior librarian nearby.

    - I''ll take a few books and scrolls to my chambers. Is that possible? - Alexander''s voice was calm but firm.

    - Of course, Your Grace. But please, return them as soon as you''re done reading, - the librarian replied respectfully, bowing slightly.

    - Certainly. That''s not up for debate, - Alexander assured him and then called to his guards. - Mstyslav, Myrnomyr, help me

    The guards immediately responded, quickly approaching the prince. They had thought something had happened, but upon seeing that he was fine, they relaxed.

    - Yes, Your Grace? - Mstyslav asked, glancing around as if expecting danger.

    - Don''t worry, everything is fine. I called you to help me carry these books. These stacks will go with me, - Alexander pointed to several books and scrolls.

    - Handle this book carefully; it''s already fragile. And this, - he gestured to a pile of birch-bark manuscripts, - don''t lose them. They contain important records about land management.

    Mstyslav and Myrnomyr exchanged glances and, without further questions, got to work. One carefully took the old folio, while the other gently stacked the scrolls. Alexander picked up a box of writing supplies and led the way to the exit.

    Before long, all the books and scrolls were in his chambers. Wasting no time, Alexander began to eat his dinner while reading one of the scrolls. Looking at his meal, he decided he would definitely work on improving both the variety and quantity of food.

    The table and floor of the room soon became covered with scrolls and scattered pages. Some books he flipped through quickly, searching for important details, while others he read slowly and thoroughly.

    Meanwhile, Stanislav decided to check on the young prince. He had been informed that Alexander''s recovery was progressing remarkably fast. He had even visited the library and spent the entire day immersed in books.

    Despite the bustle of preparations for the coronation, Stanislav found time to visit Alexander. As the head of the retinue and a loyal advisor, he considered it his duty not only to protect the prince but also to monitor his health. This was not just an obligation but part of his oath.

    When Stanislav approached the prince''s doors in the evening, he was met by the guards on duty - Sviatomyr and Volodymyr, who had replaced Mstyslav and Myrnomyr for the night shift. They immediately saluted him.

    - Commander Stanislav, we salute you

    - How is the prince? - Stanislav asked with interest.

    - Prince Oleksandr still hasn''t rested, - Sviatomyr replied, then added, - He''s too engrossed in books, not tearing himself away for a moment

    - Yes, he''s reading as if trying to comprehend in one evening everything that the great prince Yaroslav gathered over years, - Volodymyr added with a slight smile.

    - I see, - Stanislav nodded and decided not to disturb the prince.

    He paused for a moment, reflecting. He was surprised that Alexander, previously known only for his interest in military affairs and constant training, had suddenly taken to studying books and scrolls.

    Perhaps the attack and the death of his brothers had changed him? Or had becoming the Grand Prince made him reevaluate his priorities? If so, Alexander might follow in the footsteps of his father, Yaroslav the Wise.

    - But why does he need this knowledge? For action or for appearances? - the thought crossed Stanislav''s mind. In any case, he knew he would find out soon enough.

    He simply nodded to the guards, gave Volodymyr an approving pat on the shoulder, and walked away. He knew that all hidden truths would eventually come to light - it was only a matter of time.

    Deep down, however, he held onto the hope that the young prince could become not only a strong ruler but also the wise leader Kyiv Rus'' so desperately needed.

 Chapter 6. The Map and Plans

    On the third day, Alexander once again headed to the library of St. Sophia Cathedral to return the books he had already read. The morning was fresh, and the air was filled with the scent of damp earth mixed with the aroma of incense wafting from the church.

    Alexander was in a good mood. With the new information he had acquired, he now understood the answers to many of his questions. All that remained was to learn the approximate geography of his own lands and those of his neighbors during this era.

    Following behind him were Mstyslav and Myrnomyr, who had replaced Sviatomyr and Volodymyr to allow them to rest after their night shift. They carefully carried the scrolls and books Alexander had finished reading.

    When they entered the library, Alexander once again felt the same reverent awe he had experienced before. The spacious room with its high vaulted ceilings, lined with shelves, resembled a temple of knowledge.

    The senior librarian, a wiry man with a wrinkled face and piercing eyes, approached them immediately. Noticing the books in the hands of the guards, he gave a slight bow.

    - Good morning, Your Grace, - he said in a low but resonant voice. - You''ve returned more than I expected. This speaks to your diligence and faithfulness to your word

    - Good morning, - Alexander replied with a nod. - I''ve returned what I''ve studied, but today I''m not here for books. This time, I need maps, any that you have

    Hearing the request for maps, the senior librarian hesitated. His gaze dropped slightly.

    - Forgive me, Your Grace... - he spoke cautiously, as though fearing to say too much. - All the maps we once had were taken by your brothers. Some were carried off to their lands; others were lost. We... we don''t know where they are now

    Alexander frowned but quickly composed himself. He thought for a moment before speaking with firm resolve:

    - Then let''s do this. Bring me the materials: a large piece of parchment, ink, and a quill. And find everything you have on records about our lands and our neighbors

    The senior librarian nodded quickly and hurried to fulfill the request, while Alexander walked to a small wooden table near a window. Sitting down with his hands folded, he gazed thoughtfully at the view beyond the cathedral.

    Soon, the librarian brought all the necessary materials. Alexander wasted no time and got to work. In front of him lay parchment, ink, and a quill. The absence of maps was not a problem for him. If there was no map, he would create one himself.

    Images of modern maps floated through his memory, like fragments of the past. Although he was not a professional cartographer, he had a sharp mind, dexterous hands, and a vivid imagination. That was enough for a basic map, which he could refine later.

    He knew that an overly detailed and complex map could raise suspicions. So Alexander approached the task cautiously. The map needed to look like the result of stories, observations, and common sense, not some miraculous sorcery.

    He began by sketching the main features of the terrain. The Dnipro River became the central artery, followed by its tributaries, drawn as thin lines. He marked cities with simple symbols - circles for Kyiv, Novgorod, Chernihiv, and Pereiaslav.

    He roughly outlined the Polovtsian steppes, marking them as dangerous lands. The border with Byzantium looked realistic but not overly detailed.

    Gradually, the map came to life. Forests were marked with green ink, rivers with blue lines. On the parchment, features began to emerge that could be valuable for both military strategy and land management. Alexander worked with intense focus, occasionally consulting the records the librarian had provided.

    When he finished, sunlight streaming through the window illuminated the parchment, highlighting the carefully drawn lines. Though the map was far from perfect, it was already a useful tool.

    The librarian approached, cautiously peering over Alexander''s shoulder. His eyes widened in astonishment.

    - This is incredible, Your Grace... - he murmured. - How were you able to depict our lands so accurately?

    Alexander calmly responded as he rolled up the map:

    - It''s simple, - he said with a slight smirk. - Those who possess knowledge also possess power. I just used my skills and the information from the books and scrolls you brought me. I also trust that everything happening here remains here, correct?

    The librarian immediately understood and bowed his head respectfully.

    - Of course, Your Grace. Everything I''ve seen will remain within these walls

    Alexander smiled faintly as he stood. Holding his map, he headed toward the exit, throwing a parting remark to the librarian:

    - Guard your knowledge and fulfill your duty. And this map - you never saw it

    The librarian bowed even lower. His respect and slight fear were evident.

    Alexander left the library with a determined stride. The wind lightly tugged at his cloak, and the map tucked under his arm felt like something more than just a depiction of land. It was a vital element for precise planning and a source of quick information.

    Upon reaching his chambers, he spread the map across a large table, smoothing its edges and securing them with weights. Sunlight streaming through the window illuminated the parchment''s surface, and Alexander began working again.

    The first thing he decided to mark was the defensive lines. From history, he knew that during these years, the main problem came from the Polovtsians and Pechenegs, while other neighbors were less inclined to wage war against a strong Kievan Rus''.

    His sharp gaze ran over the southern borders, where the main threat lurked - the nomads who raided Kyivan lands. They had killed his brothers and nearly killed him. He had to strengthen the borders to ensure such a tragedy would never happen again.

    Alexander bent over the map, carefully studying the southern edges of his domain. He knew that in the coming years, large hordes were unlikely to launch major attacks - history suggested that during this period, nomads limited themselves to smaller raids.

    - In any case, the borders must be fortified.

    - Here, near the Ros River, we''ll start, - Alexander marked a small spot on the map with a bold circle. - A fortress must be built here. It will become a key defense point at the steppe passage

    He looked at a point slightly above, where an ancient ford crossed the Dnipro.

    - And here, at the ford, we''ll build a second fortress. We''ll fortify the crossing and block the nomads'' path

    Alexander thoughtfully traced the Snake Walls with his quill.

    - These walls are a good defense, but they''re likely outdated. Then we''ll build new wooden towers and add palisades. They must be reinforced to once again become an impregnable barrier

    He drew lines along the roads connecting key cities with the fortresses.

    - These routes are too important to leave unattended. Hmm, here and here, - he marked two points along the roads, - we can build signal towers. If the enemy approaches, fire and smoke will quickly relay the news to the garrisonsStolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

    Then his gaze rested on the major cities: Kyiv, Chernihiv, and Pereiaslav.

    - In the cities, we''ll concentrate reserves. They must be ready to send reinforcements if the border is breached. We''ll station more spearmen in Chernihiv and archers in Pereiaslav. The Kyiv retinue will remain the last line of defense.

    He picked up another quill and marked points where to place supply depots.

    - Hmm, we''ll also need reserves for the garrisons, - he noted beside the new fortresses. - Grain, weapons, supplies. To defend for a long time, we need to prepare in advance

    Stopping his gaze on the southwestern lands, he marked several small settlements.

    - Hmm, here we''ll need to build new walls. They''ll serve as a second line of defense if something goes wrong on the first

    When the map was filled with markings, Alexander set down his quill and stood. He surveyed the map as if checking whether he had missed anything.

    - So, the defense plan seems ready. Now it just needs to be implemented. Next, we need to strengthen the economy and the army, and then we can think about taking good lands from our neighbors

    Alexander''s gaze rested on Poland. He remembered that the Cherven Towns could be taken from them, as these lands had fertile soils for growing grain and vast forests for woodworking.

    And Krakow, as an economic center with craftsmen and merchants, as well as access to the salt mines of Wieliczka.

    On their locations, he drew a sword as a symbol of future conquests. The rest of the lands weren''t as advantageous to capture as these. Then he looked further south toward Hungary.

    In their territories were the excellent lands of Transcarpathia and the Carpathians. He remembered that they had deposits of gold, silver, and salt, as well as good forests and pastures. He could also take Northern Hungary, which had fertile lands along the Tisza River, suitable for agriculture and livestock breeding.

    Marking the Hungarian lands, Alexander turned his attention to the territories of the Pechenegs. His plan was ruthless: to burn their lands to the ground, annihilating all who refused to submit.

    - We can involve Byzantium in this, too, - Alexander murmured as he looked at the map and marked how they could encircle the Pechenegs. He would press from the north while Byzantium attacked from the south.

    After their destruction, the northeastern territories (up to the Dnipro) would be annexed by Kievan Rus'', while the southwestern lands (up to the Danube) would be handed over to Byzantium.

    Alexander''s gaze shifted further, landing on the major threat: the Cumans.

    - Their steppes are vast; we won''t be able to exterminate them all, - Alexander frowned and decided to focus on seizing the steppes leading to Crimea and Crimea itself. This would grant him access to the Black Sea and the Sea of Azov, as well as control over trade routes to Byzantium and the East. That would suffice for the Cumans.

    The lands further to the north concerned him far less. His focus remained on those closer to Kyiv. He understood that to consolidate power, he first needed to eliminate immediate threats before turning to distant territories.

    - So, with the plan for future conquests complete, it''s time to mark the resources, - Alexander muttered, keeping his eyes on the map.

    The work on the strategic map completely absorbed him. He lost track of time, engrossed in calculations and notes. If not for Mstyslav''s suggestion to take a break for lunch, Alexander might not have realized that it was already well past midday and evening was approaching.

    Sitting at the table, he kept the map before him, making notes between bites of bread and sips of kvass. Suddenly, a knock broke the silence.

    - Your Grace, Commander Stanislav is here, - Mstyslav announced, peeking into the room through the slightly open door.

    - Let him in, - Alexander replied curtly, not lifting his gaze from the map. His hand, holding the quill, froze mid-word as if his thoughts were still unfolding on the parchment.

    The door opened, and Stanislav entered the chambers. His massive frame, accentuated by broad shoulders and a resolute gaze, filled the room with an atmosphere of strength and confidence. He gave a slight bow - respectful but without excessive ceremony.

    - How are you feeling, Your Grace? I heard you left the library rather quickly. Did something happen?

    - Everything''s fine; don''t worry. As for the library... I only needed the map. Once I had it, I returned immediately to outline our future plans, - Alexander replied, casting a glance of mild interest at Stanislav. He then picked up his map and unrolled it on the table, smoothing the edges.

    - Stanislav, take a look at this. What do you see?

    Stanislav stepped closer, then leaned over the table, carefully examining the map. Rivers, fortifications, trade routes, and resources were all meticulously marked on the parchment. His attention was particularly drawn to the thoughtful annotations.

    The map clearly highlighted key resources, fortifications, and targets for future conquests. Forests, rivers, borders, and even potential troop movement routes were carefully noted.

    - This is impressive, Your Grace, - Stanislav finally said, slowly lifting his gaze from the map.

    - I take it these markings are your work?

    - Correct. These are my plans for the future. The first thing we''ll do is strengthen our defenses against the Pechenegs and Cumans, - Alexander nodded, pointing to the fortifications on the map.

    - A wise move. After the attack on you and your brothers, all of Kievan Rus'' is concerned that our borders are vulnerable and open to invasion by the Pechenegs and Cumans, - Stanislav immediately agreed, as he had been thinking along the same lines, though not as thoroughly as Alexander.

    Alexander nodded silently, satisfied with Stanislav''s response. However, questions began to form in the seasoned warrior''s mind. Where had the young prince acquired such a detailed map? It clearly surpassed any map he had seen before. Stanislav had checked with the library and was told that no maps remained, as they had been taken by the princes long ago.

    Yet the map appeared in Alexander''s possession after his visit to the library. This meant that either the senior librarian had withheld information or had deliberately lied, claiming that no maps were left.

    Stanislav crossed his arms but refrained from voicing his suspicions. After all, the outcome was favorable. The map was now in the hands of a young prince who, judging by his actions, could use it far better than anyone else.

    - Sometimes deception can be for the greater good, - Stanislav thought, watching as Alexander once again immersed himself in his notes.

    - Tomorrow morning, assemble the council, - Alexander said firmly, looking at Stanislav. - We''ll discuss strengthening our defenses and other pressing matters. But don''t tell them I''m the one calling the meeting. Let it be a surprise.

    Stanislav paused for a moment, considering the prince''s words, then nodded.

    - Yes, my prince. By tomorrow morning, everyone will be gathered, - he replied, his expression focused once more. - Then I''ll take my leave. Good evening, Your Grace

    - And to you as well

    Stanislav bowed, then turned and left the chambers, leaving Alexander alone with his map.

    The young prince increasingly reminds me of his father, - Stanislav thought as he walked away. Even now, he could see the future Grand Prince, equal to Yaroslav the Wise. The hardest part, however, lay ahead - proving it in action, not just in theory.

    Alexander turned back to the map, running his fingers along the lines connecting cities and lands. He knew the struggles awaiting him, but they were battles he eagerly anticipated.

    The next morning, on the fourth day, Stanislav convened the Prince''s Council, excluding merchants and boyars who were not advisors or administrators. Many arrived confused and irritated. The timing of the council was inconvenient, as preparations for the ceremony were in full swing, and everyone was busy.

    Some assumed the meeting would address supply issues or security arrangements, while most believed it would focus on minor details that could have been resolved without a formal gathering. No one expected what was to come.

    When the doors to the council hall swung open, the scene before them was one they could never have predicted. Seated at the center table was Alexander - the young prince. His sudden appearance stunned everyone.

    The last they had heard, the prince was still recovering from his wounds. Few knew he could already walk, let alone that he had visited the library. But now, before them, stood not a weakened youth but a strong and composed man radiating an aura of authority.

    The councilors froze, exchanging glances. Silence hung in the air until Metropolitan Illarion dared to break it:

    - Your Grace... you... are you ready to take part in affairs?

    Alexander raised his gaze. His face showed no emotion, but his eyes held a cold determination. He paused, surveying those gathered:

    - That''s correct. Please, take your seats. We have much to discuss

    The councilors hesitantly approached the table and took their seats. Only now did they notice something lying under a heavy cloth in front of Alexander. The atmosphere grew tense. No one knew what to expect.

    Stanislav closed the doors behind them and remained standing behind Alexander, arms crossed over his chest. His silent presence added to the gravity of the moment.

    When everyone was seated, Alexander stood. His movements were fluid but carried a sense of power. He looked at each of the assembled councilors, then spoke firmly:

    - I did not summon you to discuss my ceremony. We have more pressing matters than speeches and rituals. Today, we speak of the future - mine and yours.

    These words made many tense. Some councilors exchanged glances, but none dared to interrupt the prince.

    - Many of you think I''m too young or too weak to rule like my elder brothers. But today, I will prove to you that I am no less worthy a son of my father

    He pulled the cloth away, revealing the map. Spanning the parchment was a detailed depiction of Kievan Rus'' and its surroundings. Forests, rivers, borders, trade routes, and fortifications were marked with striking precision. The councilors leaned in, some with curiosity, others with unease, and still others with suspicion.

    - What is this map? - Oleg, the head of administration, was the first to break the silence. - Your Grace, I didn''t know we possessed such maps

    Alexander smirked faintly, but his eyes held steel:

    - You''re right, Oleg. We didn''t have such a map. Now we do. I found it in my father''s library. As to how - irrelevant. I''ve enhanced it, and now it is not just a map of our lands. It is a strategic map

 Chapter 7. The Assembly

    Looking at the councilors, Alexander knew he needed to secure their support. The princely council consisted of the most influential and powerful figures in all of Kievan Rus''.

    If they recognized him, everything would proceed smoothly. However, he saw only half the council: Illarion, Ignat, Stanislav, Oleg, and Dobrynya. The head of diplomacy, Myroslav, and the head of intelligence were absent. Alexander decided he would later inquire about them with Stanislav.

    - Esteemed councilors, to begin with, I would like to hear your assessment of the current state of affairs in Kievan Rus''. What problems do you see at the moment? Don''t hold back. I want the truth, not flattering speeches

    The councilors exchanged glances. The tone of the young prince surprised many, especially Ignat and Oleg, who had expected timid and conventional statements. Their eyes lit up, and tension immediately filled the air. Seeing that no one was eager to speak first, Alexander decided to choose someone himself.

    - Metropolitan Illarion, let''s start with you. Please, speak

    Illarion folded his hands before him and sat up straight.

    - Your Grace, I will begin with a spiritual matter, and then I have a question about education and the protection of churches. This year, the Great Schism has divided the Christian Church. Byzantium is drifting away from Rome, and their conflict could affect us. Kievan Rus'' has always followed Constantinople, but perhaps the time has come to consider asserting our own independence in spiritual matters

    Ignat and Stanislav frowned at Illarion''s words, while Oleg and Dobrynya exchanged concerned glances.

    - Illarion, are you suggesting we sever ties with Byzantium? You see glory in independence, but I see rising taxes behind your lofty words. Commoners are already struggling to pay their tithe, and now you want to weaken trade? Who will pay for these grand ideas of yours? - Oleg snapped sharply.

    Illarion remained calm, but his voice was firm:

    - I know it''s a risk. But how long will we depend on the decisions of others? Byzantium is weakening, while Kievan Rus'' is growing stronger. The time has come for us to become the bastion of faith for all Slavs, rather than the shadow of Constantinople

    Alexander remembered from history that Illarion was the first Slavic metropolitan, appointed in defiance of the long-standing tradition of sending metropolitans from Constantinople. This was not just an act of self-governance but also a symbol of the struggle for Kievan Rus'' independence in spiritual and political matters.

    - That''s dangerous. As long as Constantinople stands, we need them. They could unleash the Cumans or Pechenegs on us to force us back under their control, - Ignat said grimly, shaking his head.

    - I''m not talking about a complete break, - Illarion replied after a pause. - I''m talking about Kievan Rus'' becoming a bastion of faith on its own, so we no longer depend on decisions made across the sea

    Stanislav, who had been silent until now, spoke quietly but confidently:

    - Any attempt at independence will be seen as a threat. They won''t tolerate it and will find ways to weaken us

    - Yes, and don''t forget about the common folk. They won''t even understand why we''re doing this. They don''t care who gives the blessing as long as they have food to eat, - Oleg added, glaring at Illarion.

    Illarion withstood their pressure, calmly responding:

    - The common folk will follow the prince if he shows them the way. Look at how Byzantium is losing control. It has weakened because of internal strife. We must show the Slavs there is another path - a path of unity under Kyiv, not under Constantinople

    - You speak of faith in oneself, Illarion, but we need more than words - we need protection! Cuman swords don''t pray; they kill and burn! How will your ideas save people in the steppes? - Ignat objected sharply, clenching his fist.

    - Faith is beautiful, Illarion. But how do you measure it? It won''t grow bread or protect trade routes. The common folk want peace, not grandiose words, - added Oleg, backing Ignat.

    The voices rose, and Alexander raised his hand. The councilors noticed the prince''s gesture and fell silent, their eyes fixed on him. This would be their first test - what did the prince himself think about this matter?

    Alexander understood that having their own bastion of faith was an excellent idea, but Kievan Rus'' was not yet strong enough, and Byzantium was still useful to him in his plans to destroy the Pechenegs. It was too early to strain relations with them.

    - Illarion, your idea is clear. Kievan Rus'' will one day become an independent bastion of faith. But now is not the time for a step that could weaken us in the face of enemies. Spiritual independence requires strength, and strength comes with patience. We will build it step by step

    - That''s wise, Your Grace. There''s no sense in making unnecessary enemies who might still be useful to us, - Ignat nodded in agreement.

    Illarion bowed, though his gaze remained resolute:

    - I understand your caution, Your Grace. But remember that every step toward independence is a step toward strengthening Kievan Rus''. I will pray that you choose this path when the time comes

    Alexander nodded and shifted the topic:

    - It will come, undoubtedly. Now, about the next question. You mentioned education. What do you propose?

    Illarion folded his hands, straightened, and began to speak calmly but with conviction:

    - Yes. I would like to establish schools in monasteries so that not only future priests but all those who serve you may gain knowledge. This would raise the level of education, bring people closer to the truth, and strengthen faith. But for this, we need your support, Your Grace, as well as resources- funds, people, and materials

    Oleg, the head of administration, frowned disapprovingly:

    - Your Grace, we can''t afford to squander money. The common folk are already at their limit, and now you want to burden them even more? Churches, monasteries, and now schools? Who will pay for these dreams of yours, Illarion?

    - Education is not a luxury; it''s a necessity. If we don''t teach the people, Kievan Rus'' will weaken. An illiterate person is like a blind sword - weak against enemies and his own vices. Oleg, greed doesn''t make a nation strong; it makes it a slave, - Illarion kept his composure, but his voice grew firmer.

    Oleg flared up, ready to respond, but Alexander raised his hand, and his voice rang with authority:

    - Oleg, don''t forget that knowledge is a long-term investment. An educated people will be the backbone of the state. I will support the church in this endeavor, but under one condition. The schools will not just be places of prayer. They must teach people crafts, sciences, and the art of living

    - So be it, Your Grace. But I hope the spiritual foundation of education will remain paramount. Without faith, knowledge is dead, - Illarion bowed slightly, his gaze still focused.

    Stanislav, standing beside the prince, frowned as he looked at Illarion:

    - Forgive me, Your Grace, but do you really believe priests will teach anything other than psalms? They don''t know how to plow a field or forge a sword. If we entrust them with this task, they''ll only fill people''s heads with fears of God

    - Stanislav is right. Schools in monasteries are just another church under a different name. It''s better to invest that money in swords and spears. Knowledge is worthless if a person doesn''t live long enough to use it, - Ignat added, frowning even more.

    Oleg crossed his arms and smirked at Illarion:

    - Exactly. While enemies are at the gates, the people need bread, not books and scrolls

    Alexander was beginning to develop a headache from their arguments. It was difficult to make decisions quickly and easily. He looked at the disputants carefully, scanning them with his gaze, and spoke calmly:

    - Enough. Education is not a dream - it is a path to strength. If we teach the people not only to pray but to think, build, and fight, we will create a Kievan Rus'' that no one will dare to challenge. But I agree that schools under the church might not fulfill all their duties

    - Therefore, I will appoint my people to oversee the process of education, its curriculum, and its outcomes. The schools will be under the authority and supervision of the prince

    The councilors exchanged tense glances. Illarion squinted slightly but spoke in a conciliatory tone:

    - So be it, Your Grace. If this strengthens our land, I will accept your decision

    - Your Grace, it seems you''ve found a golden middle ground. If the schools truly prove useful, they could give us strong and educated people, - Stanislav, who had been frowning, nodded in agreement.

    Ignat merely shrugged silently, not entirely agreeing but acknowledging the end of the discussion. Oleg sighed, hoping the schools would pay off with skilled craftsmen and scholars.The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

    Alexander nodded and turned his gaze to the metropolitan:

    - Agreed. Now, to the next question. Illarion, you mentioned the protection of churches and faith. What did you mean?

    The metropolitan folded his hands before him, his voice calm but with a hint of urgency:

    - Your Grace, since your father''s death, the Cumans and Pechenegs have grown bolder. They''ve begun quick and small raids on our churches and villages. Each time they come, we lose not only property but also the faith of the people. Churches burn, priests die, books are lost. I propose fortifying the churches so they become bastions of both spiritual and physical defense

    Ignat squinted, his voice dripping with mockery:

    - Turn temples into fortresses? Is this a joke, Illarion? Temples aren''t walls, and walls won''t save us if the nomads break through our defenses

    - Temples should not only be places of prayer but also refuges. We''ll fortify them so they can protect people until reinforcements arrive. But for that, I need resources and time, - Illarion met the head military commander''s gaze firmly and replied with conviction.

    Oleg, crossing his arms, spoke in a measured tone, though his voice carried a hint of caution:

    - Illarion, the idea is clear, but let''s look at the root of the matter. Temples aren''t fortresses, and the villagers aren''t ready for defense. We''re not going to waste resources fortifying buildings that won''t withstand a serious attack

    - If we don''t strengthen the borders, your markets will be the first to burn, Oleg. Money turns to ash if there''s no one to defend it, - Ignat shot him a sharp glance.

    Oleg nodded but responded with measured calm:

    - Ignat, you''re right. But if we spend everything on defense as you suggest, we could deplete the treasury and leave people hungry. I don''t deny the need for protection, but the solution must be balanced

    - Forgive me, but aren''t we forgetting the spiritual side? The people must be strong in spirit; otherwise, no walls will save them. We need to invest some resources in temples and schools to strengthen faith and knowledge, - Illarion raised his hand, trying to stop the argument.

    Ignat sharply objected, striking the table with his fist:

    - Your temples won''t save people if the Cumans enter Kyiv! We need swords, not your prayers

    The voices grew louder as the councilors argued more heatedly. Alexander raised his hand, signaling for silence, but this time his gesture went unnoticed. Standing behind the prince, Stanislav frowned, his voice echoing across the chamber:

    - Quiet!

    The councilors immediately fell silent, their eyes turning toward Alexander, who remained calm as he rose from his seat.

    - Thank you, Stanislav, - he said, his voice steady but firm as he continued: - Now listen to me. We will build strong fortifications to cut off the nomads'' paths into our lands. This will protect the people, trade, and temples

    Alexander stood and pointed to two key points on the map.

    - Here, by the Ros River, we''ll build a fortress. It will serve as a stronghold to defend against steppe raids. And here, at the Dnipro crossing, another fortress. These two fortresses will block the main routes of the nomads and reinforce our borders

    - That''s more effective than turning temples into fortresses, - Stanislav nodded.

    Ignat studied the map closely, his eyes narrowing, but there was approval in his voice:

    - A smart move, Your Grace. These fortresses can be quickly supplied and defended. But two fortresses won''t be enough to stop the nomads entirely. Six or eight might do it

    - How many? Who''s going to pay for that? You? - Oleg shook his head, his voice laced with sarcasm.

    - Money is merely a tool, Oleg, not the goal. If we don''t build defenses, we''ll lose more than we could ever earn, - Ignat countered, his voice calm but resolute.

    - I can agree to two, but six... no, - Oleg remained firm.

    Dobrynya, who had been silent until now, spoke up:

    - Fortresses are good, but the Cumans and Pechenegs are too fast. By the time we gather our troops, they''ll have plundered the villages and vanished

    - True. That''s why we need to create mobile units - light cavalry trained in maneuvering and steppe tactics. They''ll patrol the borders and intercept enemies before they reach our lands, - Alexander replied calmly, already anticipating such challenges.

    Ignat squinted, his voice carrying a note of approval:

    - That''s a solid idea, Your Grace. Small companies could be useful. But what if the enemy breaks through the patrols? Scouts alone might not be enough

    - In addition to patrols, we''ll establish a network of scouts and signal towers. They''ll warn us of approaching enemies long before they strike. We''ll use local knowledge to monitor the steppe and block all possible routes, - Alexander confidently traced his finger along the map, marking key points.

    Illarion frowned, his voice tinged with concern:

    - Your Grace, even with scouts and towers, it''s impossible to stop everything. What will happen to the peasants if the enemy finds a gap? They''ll be defenseless

    - Then we''ll prepare them for self-defense. Every settlement must have militia, weapons, and watchtowers. If we can''t be everywhere at once, they must be ready to protect themselves until help arrives, - Alexander explained as he turned to the metropolitan.

    Hearing this, Ignat smirked:

    - Weapons for peasants? Bold decision, Your Grace. But what if they decide to turn their spears against us instead of the enemy?

    - If you believe that, Ignat, perhaps we should disarm the druzhina as well? Without the peasants, we''d have no food, no warriors, no Kievan Rus'' itself. Or do you propose leaving them defenseless and hoping for a miracle? - Alexander shot him a cold glance.

    Stanislav intervened, looking directly at Ignat:

    - The prince is right. If we want the people to survive, we must give them a chance. But training will take time. I suggest we start by arming and training the villages closest to the borders

    - We''ll give them not only weapons but also knowledge. I''ll teach them the tactics of a wagenburg - fortifications made from wagons and palisades. These simple but effective barriers will help delay the enemy. Every village can become a small fortress, - Alexander briefly explained the strategy to the councilors.

    This was the tactic of Jan ?i?ka, the legendary Czech general who, using ordinary peasants and their makeshift resources, managed to crush heavily armed knights without losing a single battle.

    Alexander remembered this tactic and was determined to apply it for the benefit of his people. He understood that knowledge of the future was his greatest weapon.

    Ignat looked at the map with interest as Alexander pointed to the border villages:

    - Wagenburg tactics? Interesting name. If it''s as effective as you say, it will strengthen our villages. Combined with patrols, scouts, and border fortifications, we could protect even the most remote lands

    - Exactly. Signal towers and scouts will complement this system. The nomads won''t be able to approach unnoticed, and if they launch a sudden attack, our people will be ready to meet them, - Stanislav nodded, studying the map.

    Alexander added confidently:

    - Exactly. We will create a chain of defense, starting with borders, mobile units, and towers, ending with fortified villages. Even if the nomads try to break through, they''ll face obstacles at every step

    Alexander understood that underestimating the nomads would be a grave mistake. But history had taught him that the Pechenegs had been defeated by his father, Yaroslav, and no longer posed a significant threat. At the same time, he knew that the Cumans would become serious adversaries in the future.

    According to historical records, the Cumans were currently preoccupied with internal clan conflicts and active expansion in the steppes. They were not yet a substantial threat to Kievan Rus''.

    - Very well, that concludes this matter, - Alexander nodded and looked at the councilors:

    - Oleg and Dobrynya, I ask you to organize the construction of fortresses, signal towers, and the fortification of border villages. Voivode Ignat, I ask you to organize garrisons for the new fortifications and personnel for the signal towers

    - Stanislav, take charge of forming mobile units and training scouts. Illarion, tell the people that we care for them and that all promises will be fulfilled, - Alexander''s voice carried a tone of iron-clad confidence.

    All nodded briefly, understanding their clear tasks. Oleg, as always, quickly calculated some expenses, produced his estimates, and laid them out for the assembly.

    The costs broke down as follows: two fortresses (one wooden, one stone) would cost 1,200 hryvnias; twenty signal towers would cost 250 hryvnias; fortifying 20 border villages would cost 900 hryvnias; forming three mobile junior druzhina units (300 men) would cost 1,500 hryvnias; initially hiring 20 scouts would cost 100 hryvnias. Garrisons of 70 men for the wooden fortress would require 350 hryvnias annually, and 150 men for the stone fortress would cost 750 hryvnias annually. This excluded annual maintenance costs for the fortresses and other expenses.

    Looking at the figures, Alexander couldn''t believe his eyes. Everything was so expensive. He remembered from history that the Kievan hryvnia was a silver ingot weighing about 200¨C210 grams of pure silver. In modern terms, one Kievan hryvnia would be worth $150¨C$300.

    Comparing the costs of fortifications, garrisons, and other expenditures, Alexander began to understand why Oleg constantly complained about who would pay for it all. Such expenses could seriously impact the treasury. However, they were justified, considering the long-term benefits.

    Alexander sighed, gazing at the numbers. All of this indeed came at a high price. A single hryvnia was a substantial sum. For one, you could buy several cows or a year''s supply of grain for a family.

    Stanislav, noticing the shadow of doubt crossing the prince''s face, stepped in to assist:

    - Your Grace, we can distribute the costs. Illarion, these fortifications will protect not only the people but also your churches, as you requested. The threat of nomadic raids is a shared problem. I believe 15% is a reasonable share

    Illarion narrowed his eyes, understanding the implication, but quickly regained his usual composure:

    - If this helps protect the people and our churches, the Church will contribute its share

    - The boyars should also contribute. Their lands are protected by the princely druzhina, and these fortifications will only increase their revenues, - Dobrynya quickly added, glancing at Ignat and Oleg, the two strongest leaders of the boyar factions.

    Ignat nodded, his expression firm:

    - No issue. The boyars will contribute 25%. That''s fair. But in return, the prince could reconsider the grain export taxes

    - Agreed, - Alexander could only nod in response. Oleg also consented and offered his assistance:

    - I''ll handle the merchants. They''ll pay 10%. I''ll tell them that the fortresses and fortifications will protect their markets, and the mobile units will safeguard their caravans and roads

    - Excellent. That leaves 50% for me to cover, - Alexander exhaled with relief. Although he didn''t know exactly how much money was in the princely treasury, cutting the costs in half was a significant accomplishment.

    Illarion raised his hand and spoke:

    - Your Grace, if I may... The Church would like to help not only with money but also with manpower. We have volunteers and parishioners ready to contribute their labor for the good of Kievan Rus''

    - Wonderful. That will ease the expenses. Help wherever you can. Dobrynya, discuss with Illarion which villages can be fortified with churches to make them part of the overall defense, - Alexander smiled, delegating the task to Dobrynya.

    Dobrynya pondered for a moment before nodding:

    - I''ll take it into account. Churches are not only spiritual centers but natural shelters. They''ll help if something goes wrong

    - Very well. You have two weeks to present construction plans, and after that, we''ll begin fortifying the borders and defenses against the nomads, - Alexander stood, surveying his councilors. His voice was firm, yet carried a tone of approval:

    - With that, we''ll conclude. Each of you has an important task, as do I. If any issues arise, I''m ready to address them

    Illarion nodded, folding his hands before him:

    - Your words inspire, Your Grace. I''m certain the people will see this not only as protection but as hope

    - Hope is good, but let it be accompanied by strong walls and sharp swords. We now have a plan, and we will execute it, - Ignat smirked slightly.

    Oleg, crossing his arms over his chest, remarked calmly:

    - The main thing is for everyone to do their part on time. There''s no room for delay in matters like these. Since your brothers'' deaths, Your Grace, the nomads have grown increasingly bold

    - Two weeks, - Stanislav added, surveying everyone intently. - It''s a short deadline, but realistic. We''ll show these nomads that Kievan Rus'' is not their playground, and they cannot come and go as they please

    Alexander nodded briefly and concluded:

    - Thank you all for your participation. Have a good day

    The councilors nodded briefly and dispersed to continue their work. For now, their main focus was preparing for the coronation, and after that, implementing the plan to strengthen the borders.

    Alexander remained in the chamber, bent over the map, making minor adjustments. In truth, he had intended to discuss far more issues, but Illarion''s three questions had stretched the meeting far beyond his expectations.

 Chapter 8. The Treasury

    The meeting stretched into the afternoon, but the councilors no longer seemed as irritated as they had at the start. Each left the hall with different thoughts, but they agreed on one thing: Alexander was not just a young prince.

    Behind his youth lay willpower, decisiveness, and a clear mind. As long as their paths aligned, each councilor was ready to follow him and see where this unexpectedly steadfast rule would lead.

    Illarion walked slowly down the corridor, his head slightly bowed. His face expressed a mix of satisfaction and contemplation.

    - The young prince has shown himself worthy, - he murmured. - Caution and prudence... He lacks passion, but perhaps that is for the better. Time will tell who among us is right

    He felt respect for Alexander but also understood that the Church''s influence could weaken if the prince began prioritizing his decisions over those of the clergy. Illarion was prepared for a delicate game to prevent this.

    Ignat walked confidently, restraining a faint smile.

    - That boy knows strategy, - he thought. - I didn''t expect this from him. He knows how to keep his composure. Well, let''s see how he handles himself in battle

    His hand habitually clenched into a fist. His thoughts returned to the upcoming task of organizing garrisons, patrols, and mobile units. He evaluated Alexander as a commander but not yet as a ruler.

    Oleg, the last to leave, looked grim.

    - Even more expenses... - he muttered, crossing his arms. - Fine, I need to submit the plan to the treasury and then continue preparations for the coronation

    His thoughts were already occupied with recalculating the budget. He knew the merchants would be unhappy about paying 10% of the plan''s cost, but they would agree if it secured their profits.

    Dobrynya paused at the exit of the hall and glanced back at Alexander. His eyes showed a mix of pride and confidence.

    He had served Iziaslav, the eldest son of Yaroslav the Wise, but he had departed this world quickly, as had the other princes. Dobrynya no longer knew what would happen to all of Kievan Rus'', but Alexander, the most reserved of Yaroslav''s sons, had survived and, as he saw, was wise and surprisingly confident.

    - Prince Alexander may prove to be a worthy son of his father, - he thought. - The resolve in his eyes commands respect

    Dobrynya saw in Alexander a ruler ready to take responsibility, which strengthened his loyalty.

    Stanislav, walking behind Dobrynya, looked focused. Alexander''s first council meeting had gone well, and there had been no major issues.

    - If the prince continues in this vein, he has every chance of becoming a great ruler, - he thought.

    Stanislav decided to wait for Alexander at the entrance to discuss the meeting and the young prince''s further plans, offering advice or tangible help if needed.

    Meanwhile, Alexander remained in the hall. He slowly surveyed the map, then began carefully adjusting the defense plan. Earlier, he had considered improving the Zmiiv defensive lines, but after hearing that nomads could easily bypass them, he came up with the idea of creating mobile units.

    Earlier that morning, he had thought the council would easily allow him to discuss and resolve many issues. However, reality had been entirely different. Three questions alone had sparked enough debate and drained him to the point where he couldn''t imagine addressing more.

    - Well, we''ve covered the defense plan. Now, it''s time to implement it. Next, I''ll focus on the economy and the army, but first, I need to know how much money I have at my disposal. That means visiting the treasury

    Alexander left the council hall, feeling slightly tired but determined to press on. At the door, he was met by Stanislav and a group of guards.

    Mstislav and Mirnomir stood nearby, and upon noticing the prince, they bowed. Stanislav greeted him with a calm but attentive look.

    - So, how was your first council meeting, Prince? - Stanislav asked, crossing his arms.

    - Stubborn, like horses in the mud. Each one thinks their opinion is the most important. Things would be much simpler if they could just listen to each other, - Alexander shook his head, recalling the heated debates and skeptical glances.

    Stanislav smirked, reserved but warm:

    - Politics, Prince, has always been a game for the stubborn. But you handled it better than many expected. And now, what will you do? Go to the library or have lunch first?

    - No, - Alexander shook his head. - I want to go to the treasury. I need to know how much money we have, our income, expenses, and how much free capital I can use.

    Stanislav listened to Alexander and nodded approvingly:

    - Right, you still have much to learn. If you don''t mind, I''ll accompany you

    - Of course. Lead the way, - Alexander agreed gladly.

    Stanislav gestured for him to follow, and they, along with the guards, headed toward the treasury. As they walked, Alexander decided to ask a question that had been bothering him since the council meeting:

    - At the meeting, I didn''t see Myroslav or the head of intelligence. Why were they absent?

    Stanislav hesitated briefly before answering:

    - Myroslav, as you know, is the head of diplomacy. He''s currently returning from Constantinople. I believe he''ll arrive just in time for your coronation. As for the head of intelligence... his position is quite different. No one, except your father, knew much about him

    - No one? Not even you? - Alexander was surprised, realizing this was a person who had been his father''s shadow.

    - No one, Prince, - Stanislav confirmed. - The Grand Prince Yaroslav revealed neither his identity nor his capabilities to anyone, but I can say this for certain: with his help, the Grand Prince knew everything that happened around him and beyond. If he does exist, he will find you when he deems it necessary

    - He''ll find me? When he deems me worthy? Interesting... - Alexander mused but, smirking, added: - I''d like such a professional to serve me, but if he''s unattainable, it''s better to find a new one

    Stanislav smiled, shaking his head:

    - Such a person, Prince, is not just the head of intelligence. He is the best. If he does exist, he''s hard to replace. But I think you don''t need to look for him. Just do your work, and he''ll contact you if he decides it''s necessary

    Alexander frowned, pondering Stanislav''s words. - If he truly exists and is so incredible... his value is immense

    But even so, if he couldn''t get him under his command, what was the point of having the best in his field? If he didn''t appear within the next year, Alexander resolved to appoint a new head of intelligence.

    - We''ve arrived, - Stanislav said, interrupting Alexander''s thoughts.

    The treasury was located in the western part of the princely palace, in a fortified wooden building guarded at the entrance.

    - Greetings, Prince, Chief Stanislav, - the guards at the treasury''s entrance greeted them immediately.

    In front of them stood massive doors adorned with intricate carvings. Alexander could feel his thoughts about finances, expenses, and revenues beginning to coalesce into a plan.

    If he could get precise information, he could start reforms to strengthen Kievan Rus''. The question was how to use the available resources effectively.

    After greeting the guards, they entered the treasury.

    Inside, the air smelled of parchment, resin, and metal from freshly minted hryvnia ingots neatly stacked in the vault.

    At the center of the hall, under massive arches adorned with designs in Old Rus'' script, sat the chief treasurer. His gaze, sharp as the tip of a spear, flitted across scrolls. Around him, like guardians, sat scribes bent over their parchment. The hall was filled with the sounds of quills scratching, paper rustling, and the faint crackle of candles illuminating the carved beams.

    As soon as Alexander and Stanislav entered, all the scribes rose at once, and the chief treasurer was the first to stand, bowing low.

    - Prince, Advisor Stanislav, - he said reservedly but respectfully. - It is an honor to see you in the treasury. How may I serve you?

    Alexander nodded in greeting and immediately got to the point. His voice was confident:

    - Good afternoon. I would like to see an exact report on the state of the treasury. How much money do we have, what are our revenues and expenses, and how much net profit remains?The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

    - Of course, Prince. Please come to the table, - the chief treasurer gestured to a large oak table covered with scrolls and figures.

    Unrolling the largest scroll, he began his report, clearly and matter-of-factly, as if every word carried the weight of a silver hryvnia.

    - At present, the treasury holds 125,000 hryvnias. Of this, 120,000 is the legacy of your father, the Grand Prince Yaroslav, and an additional 5,000 has been received over the past two months in the form of taxes, duties, and tribute

    Alexander''s brow rose slightly, surprised at the significant funds left by his father. However, before he could say anything, Stanislav frowned and asked:

    - But not all of that is free to use, is it? What sums are already allocated?

    The treasurer nodded somberly and unrolled another scroll.

    - Yes, the advisor is correct. It is now mid-March, and the following allocations have already been made: For the druzhina: 2,291 hryvnias. For diplomacy (receptions, embassies, gifts): 625 hryvnias. For road and bridge maintenance: 1,042 hryvnias. For a reserve fund for unforeseen needs: 417 hryvnias. For the support of the clergy: 420 hryvnias. For the coronation: 1,000 hryvnias

    - The total comes to 5,795 hryvnias

    - So, the free funds amount to... - Alexander hesitated, but the treasurer immediately clarified:

    - 119,205 hryvnias, Prince. The remaining expenses will be allocated gradually throughout the year

    Alexander pondered. Despite the impressive figures, he understood that the treasury was not a sack of coins to be thoughtlessly emptied. He looked up at the treasurer:

    - And what is our annual income?

    Kaznachey looked through another scroll, marked with a red ribbon.

    - Last year, the annual income amounted to approximately 35 ¨C 40 thousand hryvnias. Now we are only at the beginning of the year, but according to Advisor Oleg''s calculations, revenues are expected to be around 30 ¨C 35 thousand hryvnias

    - Our main sources of income are taxes from peasants, totaling 15 ¨C 20 thousand hryvnias; trade duties, 10 ¨C 15 thousand; and tribute from other lands, 5 ¨C 7.5 thousand

    Alexander nodded, starting to grasp the scale of the economy. Now the most critical question remained:

    - Very well. And what about expenses?

    The Chief Treasurer sighed, understanding that this question interested the young prince most of all:

    - Annual expenses are quite high, Prince. Primarily, there''s the druzhina. The senior druzhina (elite, 1,000 warriors) costs 7,000 hryvnias; the junior druzhina (1,000 warriors) costs 4,000 hryvnias, totaling 11,000

    - Then, there are expenses for diplomacy (embassies, gifts, receptions) at 3,000 hryvnias; road and bridge maintenance at 5,000 hryvnias; a reserve for unforeseen needs (famine or raids) at 2,000 hryvnias; and support for churches and monasteries at 2,000 hryvnias, totaling 12,000

    - This year, your coronation has already cost 1,000 hryvnias, specifically: 500 hryvnias for celebratory feasts, 300 hryvnias for gifts to boyars and foreign envoys, and 200 hryvnias for religious ceremonies

    - That''s not all, Prince, - he added, setting aside one scroll and picking up another.

    - Advisor Oleg submitted your new plan for fortifications against the nomads and the organization of schools. Establishing five schools will cost approximately 200¨C325 hryvnias, with an annual maintenance of 80 hryvnias, and for this year, 60 hryvnias

    - Regarding your fortification plan, according to Advisor Oleg''s estimates, it breaks down as follows: forming three mobile units (300 warriors) will cost 1,500 hryvnias, with annual maintenance for the three totaling 600 hryvnias; building two fortresses (one wooden, one stone) will cost 1,200 hryvnias, with annual garrison maintenance for the wooden fortress (70 men) at 350 hryvnias and for the stone fortress (150 men) at 750 hryvnias. The salaries for 20 scouts will cost 100 hryvnias, building 20 signal towers will cost 250 hryvnias, and fortifying 20 frontier villages will cost 900 hryvnias

    - The total cost of your plan is 5,650 hryvnias. Since this is a shared problem, your portion amounts to 2,825 hryvnias. However, given that the plan will begin implementation in April, the required amount for this year is 2,120 hryvnias

    Alexander listened carefully, already feeling a bit weary. The sums were considerable, and the list of expenses was extensive. And this was only the beginning. How much more would he need to plan and execute? He rubbed his eyes and, with a forced smile, asked:

    - And what''s the bottom line?

    The Chief Treasurer was ready:

    - Annual expenses, including the coronation and new projects, will total 26,460 hryvnias. If our income this year is 30 ¨C 35 thousand, your net profit will be 3,540 ¨C 8,540 hryvnias

    Alexander pondered, staring at the scroll. It seemed like a lot, but it was still too little. If he wanted to boost the economy, there was far too much to implement. The Chief Treasurer, noticing the young prince''s contemplation, decided to add:

    - This amount is available for your new plans or savings. If you need to use more, you will have to coordinate with the council, as the princely reserve is of paramount importance

    Alexander nodded at the treasurer''s words. The primary purpose of his visit was accomplished, but the next task loomed ahead: improving the treasury system. During his time here, he had noticed numerous problems and shortcomings that required immediate attention.

    Alexander didn''t plan to replace the Chief Treasurer. If he had served under his father, Yaroslav the Wise, for over twenty years, he was likely competent, reliable, and honest. Alexander needed only to win his trust and loyalty, while everything else could be reformed.

    - Hmm, I understand. Chief Treasurer, what is your name? - Alexander clasped his hands behind his back, surveying the spacious hall.

    - I am Radomir, Prince, - the Chief Treasurer bowed slightly, not hiding a hint of surprise.

    - You served under my father, correct? - Alexander looked at him with interest and then at Stanislav, who nodded.

    Radomir bowed slightly, pride evident in his voice:

    - Yes, Prince. I served the Grand Prince Yaroslav for more than twenty years

    - Excellent, Radomir. I want you to provide me with clear monthly reports on income and expenses, not just an annual summary. It will make it easier to monitor finances and notice any discrepancies

    - As you command, Prince, - Radomir replied with a brief nod, though it was clear he was surprised by the young prince''s request.

    Alexander approached a large table cluttered with scrolls. He picked up a couple, unfolded them carelessly, and began quickly scanning the lines. Numbers, dates, and names blurred into a chaotic stream. It seemed the reports were designed not for clarity but to be indecipherable without experience and time.

    - Radomir, - Alexander raised his gaze, his voice calm but firm, - do we have a unified registry of taxes and duties? One that records everything: where the money comes from, who collects it, and what sums the merchants pay?

    Radomir froze. Seeing how deftly the prince leafed through the scrolls, he realized Alexander wasn''t asking out of curiosity but testing him. After a brief pause, he spoke:

    - Prince, reports are kept... but separately. Each volost, each land sends its records. We compile everything here in the treasury, but a unified ledger, as you mentioned, does not exist. Each collector is entrusted with their own, and the reports are checked as they arrive

    Alexander shook his head; such a system was unacceptable. He turned to the treasurer, his words sounding like a command:

    - Radomir, - Alexander''s voice grew firmer, - I want all taxes and duties in one place. Who collects them, from which lands, when, and how much. There should be no gaps

    - Create a unified registry. I want you to form a separate group of scribes to begin maintaining a unified ledger of taxes and duties across all lands. Start with trade duties, then land taxes, and finally separate reports by cities

    - Stanislav, also assign a couple of guards to protect the scribes and archives so no one can tamper with their work or destroy old records. Everything will be under the prince''s control

    - It will be done, - Stanislav nodded briefly but had already decided to embed trusted scribes into the process to monitor it internally. While he trusted Radomir, he preferred to be prepared for any eventuality.

    Radomir barely hid his surprise. The young prince seemed intent on completely overhauling the treasury''s operations. He frowned momentarily, assessing the upcoming work, but then straightened and nodded. The treasurer spoke cautiously, his voice carefully measured:

    - Prince, this will take time, - he said. - We''ll need to gather old records and request new data from the volosts...

    Alexander didn''t let him finish.

    - Radomir, - Alexander''s voice was firm, his gaze cold and piercing. - I''m not asking; I''m commanding. Order in the treasury is the foundation of the entire state. If your records are chaotic, then money is slipping through our fingers

    Radomir nodded silently, realizing the young prince was right. These directives weren''t just ideas - they were improvements.

    Alexander, seeing Radomir''s acknowledgment, paused and then continued in a calm tone:

    - Additionally, Radomir, prepare a complete list of tax collectors and treasurers responsible for our lands. I want to see them here for a personal audience. Each of them will explain their work and confirm their loyalty to the prince

    Radomir nodded, barely hiding a sense of relief - the young prince wasn''t rushing to impose purges or cut off heads.

    - That''s reasonable, Prince. These individuals served your father and are, for the most part, trustworthy

    - Even so, - Alexander understood this, - trust must be strengthened. I won''t replace those who serve honestly, but everyone must understand that negligence and greed will have no place under my rule

    Stanislav, standing nearby, smirked and nodded approvingly. He liked how Alexander respected the elders while ensuring personal control over everything.

    Alexander nodded and added:

    - Let them come with reports and be prepared to answer my questions. Those who prove their competence and loyalty will remain in their positions

    Radomir bowed deeply:

    - I will arrange everything, Prince. I will begin sending messengers tomorrow

    Alexander stood, his gaze still fixed on the tax scrolls. His voice was firm but composed:

    - Good. Begin today. Assign your best scribes to this work. And when the register is complete, deliver it to me personally

    Radomir bowed low. His eyes showed a mix of respect and caution. He had thought the young prince would limit himself to superficial inquiries, but Alexander was different. He didn''t just look at the numbers; he wanted to improve the system. Radomir immediately saw the advantages of these reforms and was far from opposed to them.

    Alexander fell silent for a moment, continuing to study the records. The only sound in the room was the rustling of scrolls. Radomir stood waiting, realizing the prince hadn''t finished speaking yet.

    Alexander browsed various scrolls, unwilling to spend time cross-checking all the reports himself. From history, he knew his father, Yaroslav the Wise, was renowned as a strong and wise ruler who maintained strict order.

    Under his rule, treasury and tax controls were at their peak, and any serious leakage or theft would have been immediately identified and stopped. Radomir, as a member of Yaroslav''s team, was undoubtedly a proven and reliable treasurer.

    After a while, Alexander raised his head and spoke again, his voice now even more assured:

    - Furthermore, we need to organize the trade duties. Radomir, prepare a full list of all merchants and trade caravans who recently paid duties: where, when, and how much. I want to see who conducts honest trade and who engages in schemes

    Radomir nodded, quickly jotting down notes. Alexander turned to Stanislav, standing nearby, and continued:

    - Stanislav, send your trusted men from the druzhina to inspect the security of the trade routes. Let your people find out if local collectors or guards are extorting illegal fees from merchants. If they are, the culprits will be punished to the fullest extent

    Stanislav smirked, his eyes glinting with approval:

    - Consider it done, Prince. A few exemplary punishments will quickly restore order on the roads and make bribery a thing of the past

    - Order must prevail not only in the treasury but also on the trade routes, - Alexander added, then looked at Radomir:

    - Get to work, Radomir. I know you served my father faithfully, and I trust you will handle these tasks as loyally for me. I never abandon my people

    Radomir bowed his head, feeling how the prince''s words not only reinforced his confidence but also placed even greater responsibility on him.

    He had always considered Yaroslav''s sons, especially Vsevolod and Iziaslav, the most educated and administratively skilled. However, now, seeing Alexander''s determination and intellect, Radomir began to wonder: could Prince Alexander turn out to be even better? Time would tell.

    Stanislav smirked, watching as Alexander confidently took the reins of governance into his hands.

    - Well then, our business here is done. Radomir, you know your tasks, so I''ll expect results. If you have any questions about organization, I''m always available, - he concluded calmly.

    Alexander patted Radomir on the shoulder and headed for the exit. Radomir nodded silently, but within him, a growing respect for the young prince took root. This firmness and commitment to great change convinced Radomir to make a mental vow: he would not fail.

 Chapter 9. Exploring the Archives

    After finishing his business at the treasury, Alexander decided to rest and have lunch. Meanwhile, Stanislav went to carry out the prince''s orders: organizing the protection of the scribes, securing the archives, and forming a squad to inspect the trade posts.

    During lunch, Alexander immersed himself in reading his modern book - How to Survive and Change the Medieval World

    Thanks to its advice, he had managed to identify weaknesses in the treasury''s management and propose steps to address them. However, the more he read, the more he realized that the work was only beginning.

    Reaching the chapter on economics, Alexander pondered. Where in the lands of Kievan Rus'' were deposits of iron, salt, and silver being processed? Which lands were best suited for crops, and which for pastures?

    The book he was reading provided many useful recommendations and descriptions, but it couldn''t answer all the questions related to the current state of the lands. Alexander understood that it would be impossible to personally inspect everything in just a few days.

    He urgently needed detailed information to determine where to begin developing the economy and which areas required immediate attention. This would allow him to prioritize and act efficiently without wasting time.

    The first place he thought to find such information was the library at St. Sophia''s Cathedral, which he had already visited. If the necessary records weren''t there, the senior librarian could advise him on where else to search or who to approach for further information.

    After lunch, Alexander decided not to waste time and headed to the library of St. Sophia''s Cathedral. He was accompanied by Mstislav and Mirnomir. Upon entering, the prince recognized the familiar scent of old scrolls, resin, and candle wax. The high hall, illuminated by soft light, was silent, disturbed only by the rustle of parchment and quiet voices.

    One of the monks, noticing the prince, quickly bowed in greeting:

    - Prince, welcome. Shall I show you to the senior librarian?

    - Yes, lead the way, - Alexander answered briefly.

    The senior librarian, seated at a massive wooden table, was engrossed in studying time-worn scrolls neatly arranged in piles. Hearing footsteps, he raised his head, and upon seeing the prince, quickly rose and bowed respectfully.

    - Welcome, Prince. How may I be of service? - His voice was steady, with a note of reverent concern.

    - I need information about our lands, - Alexander immediately got to the point, his voice firm and gaze demanding. - Salt deposits, iron, silver, mines. Which lands are fertile, and which are suitable for pastures? I need books or scrolls with such information

    The senior librarian stepped away from the table, gesturing for the prince to take his seat. He paused for a moment, mentally reviewing possible sources:

    - In our library, Prince, we primarily hold books on theology, law, medicine, and history. We have few detailed maps or geographical surveys, but chronicles might mention ownership or mines

    - So, there''s no comprehensive record here? - Alexander frowned, realizing that such records were rare in this era.

    - There isn''t, Prince, - the librarian said with a hint of regret, shaking his head. - For such information, people usually turn to princely chronicles and reports. Those are typically stored in your archives

    Alexander nodded slightly, processing this information. However, the archives likely held outdated records that could prove less useful. What he needed was current data. He decided to clarify further:

    - Who might provide me with accurate information? - Alexander asked, comparing his thoughts with the librarian''s knowledge.

    - The elders and volost officials know their lands best, - the librarian began, noticing the prince''s evaluative gaze. - Miners and craftsmen could tell you about the mines. The treasury keeps records of income from mines, fields, and pastures. And, I believe, the monks know much as well, - he added with a slight smile.

    Alexander nodded - it aligned with what he had suspected. However, he hadn''t considered the monks. Elders, volost officials, and miners could provide information, but it would take too long for them to reach him, and he needed answers now.

    Returning to the treasury? No, he''d already burdened them enough. That left the monks, whom he had assumed dealt only with religious matters. With a mix of interest and doubt, Alexander decided to clarify:

    - Monks? Why them?

    - Prince, monks are educated people. They often write chronicles and collect information about the lands. They record histories, gather knowledge, and know many secrets of the territories. Especially those who live in monasteries near local volosts, - the librarian explained.

    - Fine. Which monk would you recommend? Someone trustworthy, - Alexander asked, looking at the librarian seriously.

    The librarian paused for a moment before confidently replying:

    - Elder Monk Boris from the St. Irene Monastery. A wise and honest man, also deserving of trust. Your father personally appointed him as the monastery''s abbot, which speaks volumes. He has long been engaged in chronicling and is familiar with the prince''s domains. The monastery is nearby, too

    Alexander pondered. If his father, Yaroslav the Wise, had personally appointed Boris as abbot, it meant he was one of his trusted people - useful and genuinely wise. Satisfied with this reasoning, Alexander nodded and addressed the librarian:

    - Can you summon him?

    - Of course, Prince, - the librarian replied cheerfully. - While I send for him, we can look through the archives. There are chronicles and records there that may prove helpful

    Alexander nodded:

    - Very well. Lead the way

    After sending a junior monk to summon Boris, the librarian invited Alexander to follow him into the archive room. Inside, among tall wooden shelves filled with scrolls and manuscripts, dim light from candles softened the shadows. The air was thick with the scent of wax, old paper, and resin, and each step echoed faintly on the floor.

    Alexander''s gaze swept across the dusty scrolls, many of which were several centuries old. This treasure trove of knowledge seemed to hold answers that could shape the future of the principality.

    Meanwhile, Senior Monk Boris was seated at his desk in the St. Irene Monastery, engrossed in reviewing reports. In a neighboring room, three dozen children, given refuge within the monastery''s walls, quietly recited texts under the supervision of a junior monk. It was the largest number of orphans the monastery had ever housed.

    Typically, monasteries could only shelter up to a dozen children, but Boris, himself once an orphan, could not remain indifferent to the plight of those abandoned to fate. He raised them with both love and strict discipline, giving them what he himself had been denied as a child.

    The monastery, granted to him by Yaroslav the Wise, was not only a place of worship but also a tool for realizing his dream: to ensure that every orphan in Kievan Rus'' could have a chance at a decent life.

    However, his devotion to this mission had become a heavy burden for the monastery. The funds left by Yaroslav were dwindling, and no significant new donations were forthcoming.

    His thoughts were interrupted by Epitrope Monk Simeon, who entered the cell with a troubled expression.

    - Senior Monk Boris, we are running out of funds. We can no longer take in new orphans, - Simeon said gravely, his voice heavy like the tolling of a bell.

    Boris lifted his gaze from the scroll, his face calm but his eyes stern.

    - Why? - he asked firmly.

    - We''ve exceeded the number of children covered by donations. Even current expenses are barely being met. If nothing changes, our supplies will last only a year, - Simeon continued, lowering his eyes.

    Boris frowned and turned to the window. Thoughts of the children they would no longer be able to save burned in his soul. Appealing to the boyars was out of the question. He knew that if they learned of his connections to the late prince, it could lead to dangerous suspicions. Maintaining his anonymity was vital.

    After the death of Grand Prince Yaroslav, Boris had lost much of his power and influence. His past as head of intelligence and a secret advisor remained hidden, but he understood that using the authority and resources he once wielded to solve his current problems could attract unwanted attention.Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

    Many boyars, suspicious and ambitious, might begin questioning why a mere senior monk was so adept at solving complex problems and seemingly conjuring money out of thin air. If they suspected Boris of ties to shadowy operations or connections with the late prince, it could spell disaster not only for him but for all the orphans he now protected.

    - Use my savings, - he said decisively. - As long as I can help even one child, I will.

    - Your savings won''t last long, Senior Monk. In two or three years, we''ll be in debt. We need more serious sources of income, - Simeon replied, shaking his head.

    Boris frowned as he bent over a scroll containing new information. It described how the Polovtsians and Pechenegs had resumed joint movements. But he had no time to worry about them; his thoughts were consumed by more immediate concerns.

    He bowed his head in prayer, his fingers touching the cross on his chest as his lips whispered:

    - Lord, what are we to do?

    His prayer and thoughts were interrupted by hurried footsteps. Junior Monk Ssava burst into the cell, breathless from running.

    - Senior Monk Boris, Prince Alexander is summoning you to the library of St. Sophia, - he said, struggling to catch his breath.

    Boris turned sharply, his face lighting up and his eyes glimmering with hope. He saw an opportunity.

    - What does he want? - he asked, keeping his composure.

    - The senior librarian said the prince is looking for information about the principality''s resources: mines, fertile lands, and pastures, - Ssava reported.

    Boris pondered for a moment before turning to Simeon.

    - Bring the scrolls containing that information

    Simeon hesitated, his face reflecting surprise and concern:

    - But those are secrets entrusted to us by Grand Prince Yaroslav...

    - I know, - Boris interrupted, - but if he is the son of the Grand Prince, he is worthy of knowing these secrets. We will let him read them, but we will not hand them over. This is our chance to save the children

    Simeon hesitated for a moment longer but then nodded and hurried to the monastery''s archives. These scrolls, containing detailed records of Kievan Rus'' lands and wealth, had always been kept in strict confidence to prevent them from falling into the hands of unscrupulous boyars. Boris knew he was taking a risk, but he felt he had no other choice.

    While Simeon searched for the scrolls, Ssava quietly added:

    - They say Prince Alexander is wise and just, despite his youth. He respects and listens to people, regardless of their status

    Boris cast a stern glance at him but then nodded:

    - Perhaps. But I need to see it for myself

    Minutes later, Simeon returned, holding aged scrolls yellowed with time. Boris took them, carefully checked each seal, and placed them in a leather satchel.

    - Thank you, Simeon, - he said. - You''ve done well

    Donning a simple monk''s robe and slinging the satchel over his shoulder, Boris headed for the exit. His steps were steady and confident, but inside he felt tense. Ssava followed closely, ready to assist.

    They quickly made their way to the library of St. Sophia. Boris knew this meeting would be a turning point. The future of his monastery and the lives of the orphans he had vowed to protect hung in the balance.

    Meanwhile, as Boris and Ssava traveled to the library, Alexander and the senior librarian continued examining chronicles and scrolls. The librarian tirelessly brought new documents, observing as the young prince grew more resolute with each discovery.

    As Alexander had anticipated, the three-field system had begun spreading in some volosts but had not yet been widely adopted. Most lands were still cultivated using the two-field system. At the same time, monasteries were experimenting with composting, adding ash and plant residues to fertilizers.

    Peasant tools remained primitive: wooden plows with iron tips were ubiquitous, while fully iron plows or harrows were found only in wealthy communities. Seasonal livestock migration was also practiced to preserve lands for planting.

    All of this aligned with his expectations for the period. Agricultural practices were relatively clear, but the situation with resources like salt, iron, silver, and others was far more complex. Most of these resources were controlled by boyars, and Alexander realized that to use them effectively, they needed to be centralized.

    He contemplated monopolizing the extraction and processing of resources, imagining a decree announcing that salt, iron, silver, and gold would henceforth become exclusive to the prince''s domain. Banning the interference of boyars and merchants in these industries would grant him complete control, bolstering both the economy and his power.

    However, he also realized that such a step would provoke fierce resistance. It was a risky path, and for now, it was too early to act in that direction. Yet, Alexander was already strategizing and looking for the right moment to begin.

    Another critical task after his coronation, he believed, was centralizing the tax collection system. During his time in the treasury, he had seen its inefficiency firsthand. Tribute collection relied on local boyars, who kept a significant portion of the revenue for themselves, undermining the state''s financial stability.

    - So much to do... - Alexander sighed tiredly. Thoughts of problems and potential solutions had already begun to exhaust him. He understood that if he sat idly by, his reign might end sooner than it began. But despite the difficulties, he enjoyed what he was doing. Even though it was hard, he knew he was improving not only his own life but also the lives of others.

    At the moment, his primary goal was to learn from Boris the actual situation in his lands. Flipping through his modern book, Alexander cross-referenced its advice with the current circumstances and began drafting a plan for developing agriculture on his princely fields.

    His musings were interrupted by a sudden question from the senior librarian, who was eyeing the unusual book in the prince''s hands with genuine curiosity. In all his years as a librarian, he had never seen anything like it:

    - My prince, what kind of book is that in your hands? The binding, the script... I have never seen anything like it

    - It''s a foreign book brought by a merchant, - Alexander replied calmly, trying not to reveal any nervousness. - It contains valuable knowledge about agriculture and governance from a more advanced empire

    The librarian nodded, continuing to examine it from a distance:

    - It looks quite intriguing...

    Realizing that the librarian''s interest could lead to further questions, Alexander decided to steer the conversation in another direction:

    - Valuable knowledge is always worth its price. If it can improve our lives, why not use the experience of other lands? For instance, - he opened one of the pages, - this describes the three-field system. Instead of leaving half the land fallow, it''s divided into three parts. This increases yields

    - Hmm, my prince, I know of the three-field system. In our principality, it''s already being introduced in some regions, but boyars and peasants are not always willing to adopt such changes

    - Precisely, - Alexander agreed, pointing to a page. - Here it explains that the three-field system not only increases yields but also preserves soil fertility. And if we add another field for fodder crops, it could improve livestock feeding and restore the land even faster

    The librarian raised an eyebrow in surprise:

    - A four-field system? That sounds unusual, but if such systems are used in the country where books like yours are made, I dare say they''ve advanced far beyond us, - said the senior librarian, his gaze still fixed on the book.

    As someone accustomed to holding various manuscripts in his hands, the librarian found himself mesmerized by Alexander''s book. The prince nodded, attempting to deflect attention from the book:

    - Yes, with the four-field system, we could outpace our neighbors. Now it''s just a matter of convincing the peasants

    - Well, my prince, peasants are used to their old ways. Convincing them will be difficult, especially in places where even the three-field system is not yet common, - the senior librarian remarked, understanding the challenge of introducing innovations to a population steeped in tradition.

    Alexander fell silent, but his plan was already forming clearly:

    - I''ll start with my princely lands. After all, they belong to me, not the boyars. I''ll also need educated monks and scribes. I''ll teach them the basics, and they, in turn, will teach the peasants

    - Wouldn''t it be easier to just let them read your book? - The senior librarian seemed puzzled, thinking Alexander might be unwilling to share such vital information.

    Alexander smirked and, without a word, handed him the book:

    - Go ahead, try to read it. I''m sure you know enough languages to understand

    The senior librarian bowed and carefully took the peculiar tome. It was a book entirely unlike the manuscripts he was used to. Its unusual paper, sturdy binding, and clearly printed letters stood out.

    But what struck him the most was the language it was written in. He began leafing through the pages but quickly realized he couldn''t understand a single word. It wasn''t Latin, Greek, Arabic, or even one of the rare dialects he had encountered before.

    - My prince, I don''t understand. What language is this? And how do you know it? - the librarian asked, looking at Alexander in amazement.

    Alexander looked at him with a slight smile, but his eyes held a glimmer of seriousness:

    - It''s the language of a very advanced country on the other side of the world. And as for how I know it... trust me, it''s better if you don''t

    The librarian, sensing that the conversation had reached a delicate point, bowed and returned the book. He understood that the prince had his secrets, and it was best not to interfere. To smooth over the awkwardness, he decided to share some useful information:

    - My prince, you mentioned needing educated monks and scribes. I know a few trustworthy individuals who could be entrusted with this knowledge. They''ve dedicated their lives to serving the people and would surely help you in your endeavor to improve the fields and feed the populace

    - Good, send them to me. I''ll find a use for them, - Alexander nodded curtly, already deciding that he would test them and, if possible, bring them under his influence.

    - I should also mention that Senior Monk Boris is already conducting experiments with composting and improving the land. Perhaps he should be included in your plans

    - Boris, - Alexander repeated thoughtfully. - It seems he''s quite talented if he knows so much about the princely lands and engages in such work

    Alexander was intrigued. His father, Yaroslav the Wise, had clearly been skilled at surrounding himself with exceptional people. Recruiting Boris to his side would be a strategically sound move.

    - Yes, Senior Monk Boris is not only talented but also a man of great character. As the abbot of his monastery, he cares for orphans more than anyone else. His monastery has taken in more than twenty children, and for three years, he has provided them with everything they need and taught them many skills, - the librarian continued to praise Senior Monk Boris, ensuring the prince formed a positive impression before their meeting.

    - What''s so special about that? He''s a good and righteous man. I think anyone in his place would do the same, - Alexander remarked, genuinely not understanding the significance of the deed.

    The senior librarian looked at the prince intently, realizing that Alexander might not yet fully grasp the realities of life in the principality. He decided to explain:

    - My prince, most monasteries take in no more than ten orphans, and sometimes none at all. They claim that children interfere with their worship and distract monks from their duties. Many only take in orphans for appearances, to seem compassionate and receive more donations. But Senior Monk Boris... he has taken in more than twenty orphans and has cared for them for over three years. He does it not for profit. You''ll understand if you visit his monastery

    Hearing this explanation, Alexander fell into thought. He realized his mistake. In his time, caring for orphans was seen as a norm, but here in Kievan Rus'', such actions were rare exceptions. The concept of orphanages as understood in modern times did not exist, and aid to orphans was often a matter of personal initiative or rare acts of Christian charity.

    Now he understood just how extraordinary Boris''s actions were. Alexander nodded respectfully, feeling a growing desire to learn more about this man and his work.

 Chapter 10. Senior Monk Boris

    The senior librarian was about to continue his conversation with Alexander when their discussion was interrupted by quick, confident footsteps echoing through the library''s quiet halls. Alexander and the librarian exchanged glances, immediately realizing that the person they had been waiting for had arrived. Within a minute, their assumption was confirmed: standing before them was Senior Monk Boris, followed closely by Junior Monk Savva.

    Senior Monk Boris commanded respect with his austere appearance. His tall frame and sharp facial features bore the marks of a life full of hardship. His dark eyes, framed by a network of wrinkles, radiated determination and hidden fatigue, while his graying hair, tied in a knot, underscored his years of wisdom. A simple yet neat robe, complemented by a leather satchel at his side, completed the image of a man who had endured countless trials yet retained a clear mind.

    He halted and bowed his head in a respectful gesture. His gaze remained calm but firm.

    - Greetings, Prince. I hear you wished to see me? - Boris said in a deep, confident voice.

    Junior Monk Savva bowed reverently and silently departed, as did the senior librarian, leaving them alone. Alexander looked at Boris intently, immediately sensing not only wisdom but also a certain inner strength within him.

    - Yes, - Alexander replied, studying Boris closely. - I''ve heard that you''re one of the few monks who keeps detailed records of our lands. You might know the exact locations of fertile lands, pastures, salt mines, iron deposits, and much more. Is that correct?

    Boris bowed again, withdrawing a scroll from the folds of his robe and offering it to the prince with respect.

    - Yes, Prince. Here is one of my scrolls. See if it contains the information you need

    Alexander took the scroll and unrolled it. His eyes quickly scanned the lines, which detailed the richest salt deposits in the Galician lands (Solotvyno, Drohobych) and the southern regions, where salt was extracted from salt lakes and marshes. The scroll included information on the ownership of these lands, the number of workers involved, the locations of the mines, and the annual income.

    Alexander finished reading and nodded. With this, he could begin planning how to utilize the salt resources strategically, but first, he needed to address the fields and pastures. His eyes moved from Boris to the monk''s satchel, which, as he already suspected, contained even more valuable information.

    - Yes, this is exactly what I need, - Alexander said succinctly, returning the scroll confidently, though his voice carried a barely noticeable note of impatience.

    Boris, sensing the prince''s interest, nodded slightly but added a mild warning in his tone:

    - Prince, this information is kept in the strictest confidence. By order of Metropolitan Hilarion, I ask that all scrolls be returned after you have reviewed them.

    - Metropolitan Hilarion, you say? - Alexander raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. - Could it be that my support for his plan to establish schools at the council impressed him so much that he decided to assist me with this information?

    Alexander understood that a simple senior monk like Boris couldn''t possess such precise and extensive information on his own. He pondered for a moment before deciding to clarify:

    - And why would the Metropolitan decide to share such knowledge?

    Boris paused for a long moment before replying. His gaze was steady, and his voice remained calm and assured. He carefully chose his words to sound convincing without revealing too much.

    - The Metropolitan understands, Prince, that strengthening your rule also strengthens the Church. However, his generosity is never without a purpose

    - I see, - Alexander nodded, immediately realizing that Hilarion intended to buy his favor with information. - I suppose Hilarion expects something in return?

    - Yes, Prince. Metropolitan Hilarion hopes for your greater support. He wishes to show the people that the Church cares for them while you care for the principality, - Boris spoke calmly and confidently.

    - Very well, - Alexander nodded. - And what exactly does he want? Another cathedral? More monasteries?

    Boris shook his head and explained:

    - Prince, to make your support appear less abrupt, the Metropolitan suggests encouraging Christian principles of charity. By donating to monasteries and churches that care for orphans, you will not only strengthen the people''s faith but also create a positive image of a ruler

    Alexander fixed his gaze on Boris and thought: - How many times have I seen noble intentions turn into means for personal enrichment for those hiding behind the guise of charity?

    However, the man standing before him seemed entirely different. Earlier, the senior librarian had told Alexander about Boris''s care for orphans and his upright character. Perhaps he could trust this man.

    Alexander looked at Boris, his voice growing firmer and his eyes igniting with confidence:

    - Why give money to monasteries where children are a secondary concern? Wouldn''t it be better to build shelters - places where children can not only survive but also receive an education to eventually become valuable members of society? After all, the Lord teaches us: ''Let the children come to Me.''

    - Additionally, I will organize the construction of separate wings for orphans at existing monasteries so that they supposedly do not interfere with spiritual practices. This way, the Church will receive its support, and the orphans will have a future

    Alexander spoke with conviction, his gaze unwavering as it met Boris''s. He sensed that Boris had yet to reveal his full intentions. Boris, on the other hand, remained composed, though there was a tension in the air.

    When Alexander shared his idea, Boris paused, taking a moment to comprehend the proposal.

    Boris had anticipated a standard response - that the prince would allocate a small portion of funds to support monasteries caring for orphans. Instead, Alexander''s proposal was far more ambitious.

    His suggestion seemed too good to be true. - He''s so young, but he already speaks like an experienced ruler, - thought Boris. - Could there be something else hidden behind this confidence? Or is it a genuine desire to help?

    - Prince, does the information in the scrolls truly warrant such efforts? - Boris asked cautiously.

    Alexander could have simply allocated part of the treasury to monasteries without bothering with complex solutions. But he chose a different path. A faint smile appeared on his face, and his voice resonated with conviction:

    - Children must not suffer, - Alexander declared with unwavering determination. - If I can save even one life, I will. Is that not the essence of our faith, Boris? The Lord teaches us not through words but actions. To turn away, knowing of their suffering, is to betray not only the people but also God

    Alexander was not a fanatically religious man. He simply adhered to his principles of honesty, righteousness, and fairness. These qualities made his words so convincing, so deeply affecting. His gaze swept over Boris''s face, searching for any subtle changes.

    Boris was a man who cared for orphans - Alexander had been told this by the senior librarian. This seemingly minor detail turned out to be the key to understanding Boris and, potentially, earning his trust.

    Alexander knew that helping children was the right thing to do, a matter of humanity. But he also understood that this could be the key to winning Boris over, securing his allegiance. It was a rare moment when good intentions aligned with political advantage.

    Alexander inwardly smiled. Three birds with one stone - helping orphans, winning Boris''s favor, and gaining access to critical information.This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    Boris slowly clenched his fists, striving to contain his emotions. He saw something in this young prince, something greater than a mere youthful ruler. Perhaps it was a reflection of the great Yaroslav, Alexander''s father.

    - I see, Prince, - Boris finally replied, carefully selecting his words. - Your intentions are genuine. I believe Metropolitan Hilarion will accept your idea. After all, his request was not for money''s sake but for the orphans and the people''s faith in both the Church and you

    - Of course, he will, - Alexander nodded briefly, as if confirming to himself that he had made the right choice.

    - But what you propose is significant, Prince. What guarantees can you offer that these shelters will function as you describe? Who will ensure order is maintained? - Boris agreed with the idea of building shelters but now questioned their fair management.

    Alexander had anticipated this question. Smiling, he confidently replied:

    - Boris, I see you are not only wise but also compassionate. I''ve heard that you care for children yourself, so why not become the overseer of these shelters? I will see to your appointment. You will be responsible for all the children, their upbringing, and their welfare within the monasteries and shelters

    This time, Boris hesitated before responding. His gaze grew distant, as if lost in memories. After a moment, he raised his eyes and spoke:

    - This is a great responsibility, Prince. I cannot promise an easy path. But if you trust me, I will do everything to justify your faith. These children deserve a chance at a better future. I will do all in my power not to let you down

    - Excellent, - Alexander nodded, his smile fading into a serious expression. - I also want to see reports: every coin collected, every grain of food - everything must be accounted for. How many children there are, how they live, what they are taught. I will send my men to inspect regularly. And remember, Boris, if the children are mistreated, you will face my wrath. And not just you but also Hilarion

    Alexander''s last words struck like a hammer on an anvil. Boris, no stranger to firmness, still felt the weight of this warning. Bowing his head in respect, he responded firmly:

    - I, Senior Monk Boris, will carry out your command, Prince. Everything will be under reliable supervision. If any problems arise, I will resolve them before you even hear of them, Prince. I promise you this

    His words carried the weight of a vow. Alexander nodded, satisfied that he had found a reliable man ready to take on the challenge of safeguarding good in a harsh world.

    Confident they had reached an agreement, Alexander decided to act immediately. He unrolled a blank scroll and began drafting a new plan for creating orphan shelters and constructing additional wings at monasteries. Boris silently watched as Alexander methodically and decisively articulated his ideas. Each stroke of his quill was deliberate, each word carefully chosen.

    Alexander used his memories of the real-life Prince Olexander to quickly and skillfully outline a detailed document. The plan covered key aspects: objectives, specific steps, budget, responsible individuals, timelines, and reporting.

    Objective: Support for the clergy. In accordance with "Let the children come to me" (Mark 10:14) and Jesus''s teachings on helping the needy (Matthew 25:35¨C40), the creation of shelters for orphans and wings at monasteries.

    Specific steps: Construction of wings at monasteries, establishment of the Mark and Matthew shelters, appointment of responsible individuals, allocation of funds.

    Budget: Funding sources: a portion from the treasury, voluntary donations from the boyars, and Church funds.

    Construction of 10 wings at key monasteries across Kyivan Rus (250 grivnas). Two standalone shelters in Kyiv (160 grivnas for the initial two, 240 grivnas for three more later). Annual maintenance for 500 children in shelters and monasteries (500 ¨C 700 grivnas, partially covered by monasteries). Salaries for teachers and caregivers: 20 grivnas per year (free in monasteries). Administrative expenses: 20 grivnas.

    Responsible individuals: Metropolitan Hilarion: Overall supervisor of the project and its spiritual aspects. Senior Monk Boris: Head of shelters, directly responsible for the care of children and management of the entire aid process. Advisor Stanislav: Inspector ensuring adherence to the prince''s orders and accountability.

    Timelines and reports: The treasury must provide regular updates on expenditures and progress.

    Once the scroll was complete, Alexander affixed his princely seal, provided to him by Stanislav.

    - It''s done, - he said, nodding and handing the document to Boris. - Here is my sincerity and faith. Review it, Senior Monk

    Boris accepted the scroll, feeling a faint tremor in his hands. He slowly read through it, carefully examining each detail. A flicker of approval passed through his eyes, though his expression remained calm. He had not expected Alexander to possess such deep knowledge of sacred texts.

    Boris scanned the document several times, weighing each word. When he reached the mention of the Mark and Matthew shelters, his fingers tightened slightly. He averted his gaze from the scroll, closing his eyes momentarily as if gathering his thoughts.

    - Prince, this is a good and ambitious plan. More importantly, it is righteous and aligned with our teachings. I believe it will be accepted by all involved parties. Here are the scrolls as agreed, - Boris carefully set aside the prince''s scroll and began laying out his own before Alexander.

    - Good, - Alexander nodded, studying the stack of scrolls Boris had placed before him. - But first, this scroll needs to be sent to the treasury to begin preparations

    He paused, considering whom to entrust with such an important document. Boris, noticing his hesitation, offered assistance:

    - Prince, my trusted subordinate can deliver the decree accompanied by one of your guardsmen. Meanwhile, we can begin reviewing the scrolls and surveying your lands, allowing you to stay focused

    Alexander thought for a moment and nodded. After all, this document was crucial for both Boris and Metropolitan Hilarion, while the scrolls laid out before him contained the vital information he sought.

    - Fine. I don''t want to be running back and forth, but I also can''t send just anyone with such an important decree

    - Wise decision, Prince. Varlaam, come here, - Boris called out, and within moments, a monk of medium height with a focused expression appeared.

    - Greetings, Prince, Senior Monk. How may I assist you? - Varlaam bowed respectfully.

    - Here is the decree bearing the prince''s seal. Take it to the treasury accompanied by one of the prince''s guardsmen stationed at the entrance. This scroll concerns the lives of many children; do not lose it, - Boris instructed, his tone commanding and his gaze stern.

    Something flickered in Varlaam''s eyes as he bowed, accepted the scroll, bowed again, and departed. Alexander watched Boris with interest, noting how much significance he attached to the decree. The prince smiled, wondering where to begin.

    - Hmm, where should we start?

    - Prince, I believe you would first want to learn about the silver and iron mines, - Boris suggested, pulling a scroll from the stack and handing it to Alexander. - Iron ore is extracted in the river basins of the Dnipro, Pripyat, and Desna. Polissya and Volhynia also have deposits. Small silver and lead reserves are located in the Carpathians and western regions

    Alexander studied the scroll carefully, noting key locations. He observed Boris watching him closely but not yet fully committing his loyalty. It seemed the monk needed more time before he could be fully won over.

    Boris had no intention of offering full support to the prince just yet. Acting too hastily could be reckless. - I cannot trust him fully yet. Too many seek my head for the knowledge I possess. And what if the prince decides to betray me for the loyalty of greedy boyars? I must tread carefully. Only time will reveal whether he is truly worthy of my allegiance

    Meanwhile, in the treasury, the atmosphere was tense and bustling with activity. Scribes bent over their scrolls, and treasurers debated current tasks. Suddenly, Monk Varlaam and Guardsman Myrnomyr entered, carrying the decree.

    Chief Treasurer Radomyr, engrossed in carrying out the prince''s previous orders, did not wish to be disturbed. But as soon as he heard they had brought a new decree from Alexander, he rose quickly and approached them.

    Varlaam bowed and handed over the scroll bearing the prince''s seal. Taking the scroll, Radomyr expected it to address matters like taxes, military financing, or trade posts. But as he read, he froze.

    The plan outlined in the scroll concerned supporting the clergy and creating shelters for orphans. The young prince had chosen to allocate significant funds not to bolster his position but to care for the most vulnerable. It was an action Radomyr had not anticipated from such a youthful ruler.

    His eyes instinctively met Varlaam''s. Those eyes radiated unwavering faith and determination, laced with a subtle undertone of threat. Radomyr instantly understood that challenging the decree would not only be dangerous but foolish.

    - We will begin immediately. Funds will be allocated, and a construction plan will be drafted as soon as possible, - he said curtly, feeling the weight of the responsibility.

    - Senior Monk Boris will discuss the details with you after his meeting with the prince, - Varlaam replied briefly, bowed, and departed with Myrnomyr.

    Left alone with the document, Radomyr felt his fingers tighten around the edges of the scroll. Varlaam was not merely a messenger monk. Radomyr recalled him from the time of Yaroslav the Wise when Varlaam worked with subordinates of the legendary hidden advisor and head of intelligence.

    If this man now acted on behalf of Alexander, it meant the hidden advisor had allied with the young prince. To oppose him would be suicidal, especially now that he wielded the prince''s authority and influence once again.

    Radomyr, an experienced treasurer accustomed to seeking personal gain in every decision, found his gaze repeatedly returning to the lines about aiding orphans. For the first time in years, he felt something warm and long forgotten stir within him.

    It seemed as though the words between the lines carried a voice from the past, reminding him of times when honor and justice mattered more than wealth. Sometimes, one must simply act as a human being - not seek profit, not think of gain, but do what is right.

    He took a deep breath, calmly folded the scroll, and returned to work. Alexander had once again proven not only his strategic acumen but also his rare quality - humanity.

    Radomyr resolved to redouble his efforts to ensure the reforms of the treasury, initiated by the prince''s decree, were implemented as swiftly as possible. Now, he wasn''t just following orders; he worked with faith that he served a truly worthy ruler who would one day become a great prince of Kyiv.

    Meanwhile, Advisor Oleg was informed that the young Prince Alexander had visited the treasury and caused quite a stir. This news left him slightly puzzled:

    - What has the young prince come up with this time? - he wondered, setting off immediately for the treasury.

 Chapter 11. On the Hook

    Advisor Oleg walked into the Treasury at a leisurely pace. Inside, an unusual commotion filled the air. Scribes argued over tables of figures, clerks hurriedly sorted documents, and Chief Treasurer Radomir stood at a large table buried in scrolls, issuing orders.

    Oleg scanned the room carefully, noting every detail. The bustling activity was clearly not random - there was a palpable tension in the air. His arrival brought an almost immediate hush. Scribes lowered their heads, clerks held their breath, and Radomir, noticing him, carefully set down his papers and stepped forward.

    - Advisor Oleg, welcome, - he said evenly but respectfully, bowing slightly.

    Radomir had long anticipated Oleg''s visit. Such changes in the Treasury could not have escaped the notice of the Head of Administration.

    Oleg approached, his footsteps heavy, as if pressing down on the silence. When he stopped, all eyes instinctively dropped to the floor. His voice was low but carried a frosty severity that sent a shiver down everyone''s spine:

    - Radomir, what is this chaos? - Oleg''s cold voice cut through the noise like a knife. - The Treasury has always been a place of order. How do you explain this disorder in a place where there should be none?

    Radomir wiped his brow, concealing his fatigue, and spoke in an even tone, striving to remain composed:

    - We are carrying out Prince Alexander''s directive, Advisor. His Majesty ordered us to begin work on organizing the finances

    - Organizing? - Oleg raised an eyebrow, his gaze lingering for a moment on the scrolls that Radomir had hastily set aside. - And how exactly are you doing that? I see your order here is not as impeccable as it ought to be

    - His Majesty instructed us to create a unified register of taxes and duties, ¨C Radomir replied, meeting Oleg''s gaze directly. - We are gathering data from all the lands to eliminate financial leaks and gain a clear understanding of the state of the treasury. This will strengthen control over the finances

    Oleg nodded slightly, processing what he''d heard. His expression remained impassive, but his eyes lingered on the scrolls as if searching for hidden answers. Meanwhile, his thoughts raced like a river before a waterfall.

    - Is that all? - he asked, his voice softening slightly, though a trace of irony lingered in his words. Expecting such a question, Radomir continued:

    - Additionally, the prince ordered the compilation of lists of tax collectors and treasurers. He intends to meet with them personally. We are also gathering information on merchants and trade caravans to identify those engaging in fraud

    Oleg slowly inclined his head, as if in agreement, but a faint, nearly imperceptible smirk flickered on his lips.

    - It is unbelievable that such a young ruler shows this kind of resolve

    Radomir caught Oleg''s smirk and allowed himself a faint, almost amicable smile:

    - His Majesty displays rare decisiveness for his age, Advisor. I would say he listens to advice but makes decisions himself. That is his strength

    Oleg scrutinized Radomir more closely, as if testing his sincerity. After a brief pause, he said:

    - Hm... How unexpected. And what else has our young prince decided?

    Radomir frowned slightly as he carefully handed over a scroll bearing Alexander''s seal:

    - Here, Advisor, a new decree arrived earlier

    - A new decree? Treasury reform and another order on the same day? Interesting... - Oleg was clearly intrigued now. He carefully unrolled the scroll, his eyes beginning to skim the lines.

    With each word he read, his expression grew darker. When he finished, he folded the scroll and gripped it a bit tighter than necessary.

    - Support for the clergy. Orphan shelters, - he said slowly, as if testing the words on his tongue. - Hilarion... As if his schools approved at the council weren''t enough, now he''s convinced the prince to support this as well

    - Advisor Oleg, this is His Majesty''s decree, - Radomir said calmly, his head slightly inclined. His voice remained steady, though a subtle hint of wariness flickered in his eyes. - The Metropolitan may have influenced him, but ultimately, the decision rests solely with the prince. He is the one initiating these changes

    - His Majesty wishes to establish wings for orphans in monasteries and to build the Mark and Matthew orphanages. This is not merely an act of charity, Advisor, but a step to strengthen power and earn the trust of the people, - Radomir added with deliberate confidence.

    He paused, as if gauging Oleg''s reaction to his words, then allowed himself a faint, almost friendly smile:

    - I''m sure you have your own opinion on the matter

    Oleg closed his eyes briefly, suppressing his irritation. When he opened them again to meet Radomir''s gaze, his voice carried a chill, and his stare cut like a sharp blade:

    - Care for the people, you say? - he said slowly, running his fingers along the edge of the scroll as if contemplating every line. - This is too ambitious to be a mere gesture of goodwill. Hilarion... What could he have offered to so suddenly captivate the young prince? - Oleg fell silent, lost in his thoughts.

    Noticing the pause, Radomir deemed it necessary to offer an explanation:

    - The prince is young, but his decisions are entirely his own

    Radomir''s words began to blur into background noise. Oleg was no longer listening. His thoughts began to form a cohesive pattern. - Hilarion... Everything points to him. Is this his way of declaring the prince to be on his side?This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

    He focused, building a chain of conclusions in his mind. - Hilarion... These shelters are only the beginning. I need to understand his plan and curtail his influence

    Oleg broke the silence with a brief but firm order:

    - Radomir, delay the implementation of the decree. I will speak with the prince personally

    - Of course, Advisor, - Radomir replied courteously, handing over the scroll. His face remained impassive, but his gaze lingered on Oleg with a faint shadow of confidence. Radomir knew full well that Oleg would return empty-handed.

    Oleg took the decree, turned, and left. His footsteps were heavy and deliberate, the sound echoing his barely restrained anger. In the hall, silence returned, but this time it was thick with tension, as if everyone feared the air would grow even heavier with the Advisor''s departure.

    At the doorway, Oleg paused and glanced back at Radomir. He held his gaze as if wanting to say something but left without a word, closing the door behind him and sealing away part of his doubts.

    One thought occupied his mind: - If Prince Alexander truly initiated these reforms himself, I need to understand how far he''s willing to go. Perhaps his ambitions will open new opportunities for me. But for now, it''s best to slow the implementation of this decree and his reforms

    Leaving the Treasury, Oleg headed toward the library at St. Sophia''s Cathedral. He knew Alexander was there, engrossed in his books. Perhaps it was there he discussed his new plans with Hilarion or his associates. If luck was on his side, he might catch them mid-conversation and intervene.

    Walking through the courtyard of Detinets, Oleg continued his musings. - How does the young prince intend to justify such significant additional expenditures on the clergy? We already allocate 2,000 grivnas, and now another 1,000? - he thought, clenching his teeth. - The treasury is barely holding together, and he throws money around like that. He still has much to learn if he wants to keep this throne

    His thoughts were interrupted by an unexpected voice. A princely guardsman appeared before him as if out of thin air. His face was obscured under the shadow of his helmet, and his demeanor was calm, almost indifferent. In his hands, he held a small bundle.

    - Advisor Oleg, a letter for you, - the guardsman said evenly, extending the bundle.

    Oleg frowned, slowly taking the package and studying the guardsman closely. At first glance, nothing seemed suspicious, but there was something unsettling in his manner - this restrained demeanor, this strange silence.

    - Who sent this? - he asked sharply.

    The guardsman did not answer. He simply bowed, turned around, and disappeared around the nearest corner as if he had never been there. Oleg''s frown deepened. The courtyard was usually bustling: servants, guards, people rushing about their business. But now, it seemed eerily deserted.

    Oleg''s gaze fell on the package. The seal was plain, devoid of any insignia, ominous in its anonymity. The silence around him felt oppressive, and Oleg suddenly felt as though unseen eyes were watching his every move. Even his trusted guards were nowhere to be seen, as if they had vanished into thin air.

    - What kind of trickery is this? Where has everyone gone? - Oleg muttered, his eyes scanning the courtyard. The silence was deafening, suffocatingly thick. He felt a sense of foreboding, an unshakable sense that he was being watched.

    Slowly lowering his gaze to the package, he paused for a moment. Whoever the sender was, they clearly intended for him to read it. Carefully, he broke the seal. His fingers trembled slightly, but his face remained composed, like a statue carved from stone.

    As his eyes scanned the first lines, Oleg felt his blood run cold. His hands shook, gripping the parchment that crackled ominously under the pressure. The letter revealed details of tax manipulations, forged accounts, secret deals with merchants - all parts of his intricate web, carefully hidden from prying eyes. Yet, the sender clearly knew too much.

    At the bottom of the letter was a demand: support Alexander''s decree to establish orphan shelters. If he disobeyed, all these secrets would be revealed to the prince, the boyars, and the public.

    Oleg froze, feeling a cold sweat trickle down his spine. His hands clenched the letter, the parchment crinkling under the tension in his fingers. The silence, like a dense fog, wrapped around him, constricting his chest and making every breath a struggle.

    - It''s him... the Hidden Advisor, - the thought struck him like a bolt of lightning. Oleg gritted his teeth, suppressing a sudden surge of anger. - Still as audacious as ever. He thinks he can hold us on his leash... how deluded he is

    Oleg stood motionless, slowly processing the unfolding events. This matter was no longer just about Hilarion''s influence. It was now clear that the Hidden Advisor was also acting in the young prince''s interest. The entire situation had taken a new, extremely dangerous turn. Oleg knew - sooner or later, he would have to choose a side, or someone else would take his place on the council.

    - The young prince is already gathering allies? - he muttered, smirking. - Ambitious, but I didn''t get this position by chance. He won''t replace me so easily

    Oleg was a key representative of one of the boyar factions. His presence on the council ensured the backing of this group, maintaining a balance of power within the state.

    He also understood the importance of supporting the prince, but each of Alexander''s new reforms chipped away at the privileges of the boyars. These men trusted him, and their influence kept him on the council. If he yielded, they would lose faith in him, and with it, he would lose his power.

    His fingers tightened around the letter once more, this time with greater force, suppressing any residual tremor. The oppressive silence no longer bothered him - its place was taken by a cold resolve. Oleg was acutely aware that the prince now had the army, the clergy, and intelligence on his side. The balance of power had clearly shifted, no longer in his favor.

    Svyatoslav, Hilarion, the Hidden Advisor... They all supported the prince, each for their own reasons. But what unsettled Oleg most was the unpredictability of the Hidden Advisor. Even so, he felt no fear - his influence and experience were still considerable.

    - Hidden Advisor, how I despise you. Ten years, - he whispered. - Ten years I''ve been hunting you. The Great Prince Yaroslav protected you back then, but the young prince likely won''t. This time, I''ll step back, but next time... I won''t

    He suppressed a flash of rage, his teeth clenching tightly enough to ache. His mind, accustomed to cold analysis and strategy, was already formulating his next moves.

    Spinning on his heel, Oleg briskly walked back to the Treasury. Entering the hall, he confidently approached Radomir''s desk. This time, the Chief Treasurer didn''t rush to greet him, merely standing calmly to meet him.

    - Radomir, - Oleg''s voice was cold and detached, like an icy gust of wind. - The prince''s decree. Implement it immediately

    He placed the scroll on the desk, leaving no room for discussion. Without another word, he turned and left the hall. His footsteps echoed dully, heavy with barely restrained fury.

    - Of course, Advisor, - Radomir replied with a slight smile, taking the decree.

    He immediately understood that Oleg had likely not even reached the prince - his return had been far too quick. As Radomir had suspected, the young prince had already secured the support of the Hidden Advisor, the same man who had once helped Yaroslav the Wise maintain an iron grip on both the clergy and the boyars.

    When Oleg exited the Treasury, the Detinets greeted him with its usual bustle. Guards at the main gate inspected arriving merchants, servants hurried with firewood for the prince''s chambers, and the clang of a blacksmith''s cart echoed in the main square.

    But to Oleg, all this was merely background noise - a stage where every shadow could conceal a threat. The princely Detinets had once again become a place of dangerous intrigue, where every step could be one''s last.

    For a moment, Oleg stopped, gazing at the silhouette of St. Sophia''s Cathedral. The golden sunset bathed its walls, accentuating the grandeur to which the prince aspired.

    - Prince... You''ve won this time, but your reign is just beginning

 Chapter 12. Tukal Bey

    The sun was slowly setting beyond the horizon, painting the library walls with a soft golden glow. Alexander and Boris, surrounded by a heap of scrolls, were bent over the table. The light of the candles fought against the encroaching darkness, casting dancing shadows across the parchment.

    The sounds of quills gliding over paper and the faint crackle of wax were the only noises in the room steeped in contemplative silence. Alexander studied the data provided by Boris: deposits of iron, stone, and salt, fertile lands, pastures, and much more.

    From the scrolls, Alexander discerned that no gold or silver mining was conducted within the territory of Kievan Rus. They simply lacked native ore sources for these precious metals. Alexander immediately marked the Carpathians in his notes. From history and his book, he knew these mountains were rich in resources.

    There lay deposits of gold and silver (in the Transcarpathian region, near modern Mukachevo and the Berehove mining field). If he could find them - and he was determined to do so - it would enable the establishment of mints, improve trade relations with neighboring states, and strengthen the principality''s economy.

    The scrolls made it clear that the economy of Kievan Rus was agrarian, focusing on agriculture, trade, and crafts. Industrial extraction of minerals and metals was not among their priorities. The primary focus was on trade routes (e.g., "from the Varangians to the Greeks") and consolidating territorial control.

    As he thought, the first step was to focus on the development of agriculture, trade, and pastures. To attract merchants, he needed to create a couple of unique products that could become symbols of Kyiv and spark interest in markets. It was also important to establish clear trade organization in Kyiv to make the city a convenient and attractive center for merchants from around the world.

    Reflecting on all this, Alexander rubbed his temples lightly and took a deep breath.

    - Ah, so much needs to be done... Alright, we''re done for now. I''ve learned everything I needed. Thank you, Boris. With your help, I finally see the full picture, - Alexander said with a smile, handing the scrolls back to Boris.

    They hadn''t managed to review everything, but Alexander already knew exactly what he needed at this stage.

    Boris carefully folded the scrolls, his movements swift and confident, like someone accustomed to working with documents. Bowing, he said:

    - I''m glad to be of help, Your Highness. Let me know if you need anything else - I''m ready to assist

    - Good. You may go. Goodnight

    - And a peaceful evening to you as well, Your Highness, - Boris replied, bowing and quietly departing.

    Boris soon left the library, leaving the young prince alone. Alexander carefully stacked the parchment, set aside the quill, and ran a hand over his weary face. His fingers still felt the chill of the inkwell as he stood and looked at the candle. The flame was slowly waning, like the time he could afford to rest. With these thoughts, he decided to head to his chambers.

    Reaching his quarters, Alexander carefully placed the scrolls on the table. With a heavy sigh, he sank onto the hard bed, staring wearily at the ceiling, as if trying to discern answers to his endless questions.

    - Yes, ruling and developing a state is no easy task, - he muttered with a faint smile. - Life here demands effort in everything. Even simple records turn into a test of patience and precision. But it''s exhilarating... when you realize you can change everything. Make everything better

    His gaze turned thoughtful but carried a hint of satisfaction.

    - There''s neither light nor the familiar connection to the world here, but every little thing, every decision makes the blood boil. Everything depends only on me. This world is like an unfinished book where I can write my own legend

    - But will I manage? Sometimes it feels like the weight of this time is too much for me. But can I retreat? No, I''ll keep moving forward

    Alexander smiled to himself, quickly stood up, and sat back at the table. Picking up his quill, he began writing down his plans for developing fields and pastures. Thoughts flowed easily, and ideas emerged one after another. He simultaneously recalled everything he knew about how to produce from the available resources.

    The next morning started late. Alexander, who had fallen asleep late at night, had been completely engrossed in his notes and plans. His loyal guards, Mirnomir and Mstislav, stood by the doors to his quarters, guarding the prince''s rest. Vladimir, who had been on duty during the night, warned them before leaving:

    - The prince worked late into the night. Don''t wake him. Let him rest

    Inside the quarters, silence reigned. On the table lay scattered notes, the ink had dried, and several candles had burned down, leaving a thin layer of wax. Alexander was still asleep. His face, weary but focused, seemed to say that this was only the beginning.

    Meanwhile, in one of the largest Polovtsian hordes, the selection of a new khan was taking place. Khan Kara-Buran, once the terror of the steppes, had grown old and weak. The elders and the khan himself decided it was time to choose a successor.

    But the horde was divided in their opinions - no one could decide on a worthy candidate. In the end, the decision was made according to an ancient tradition: the winner of the duel would become the new khan.

    Kara-Buran had six sons: Tukal-Bey and Kara-Tash, the eldest and primary contenders for the throne; Sary-Batyr, the third son, renowned for his military prowess; Altyn-Aidar, a diplomat and politician who preferred intrigue to direct strength; Kulan-Burya, the fiery and impulsive fifth son; and Tuman-Taichi, the youngest, known as a skilled archer.

    That day, everything was to be decided in a duel where the stakes were not just life but the right to rule as khan.

    Before each of them stood a choice: fight to their last breath, proving their strength and fearlessness, or bow their heads and accept the authority of the victor.

    The strongest, the one who could prove their superiority not only in battle but also in spirit, would gain the right to rule. There was no place for weakness or mercy here - only iron will and the fangs of fate, ready to tear apart anyone who failed the trial.

    Tukal-Bey sat in his yurt, bent over a blade he was slowly sharpening. The metal reflected his face, but it was not the face he remembered. A week ago, he had woken up in this body under strange circumstances.

    Memories of the modern world mixed with the memories of this body. He, a man from the future, had been transported to the past to become the son of one of the most powerful Polovtsian khans. This body had been doomed to die, poisoned by venom, but instead of death, it had gained a new owner.

    - How thrilling this all is - he muttered, running a finger along the blade''s edge with a faint smile.

    The initial shock he had felt gave way to euphoria. Here, he was free. No one could impose their rules on him anymore or forbid him from being himself. He could finally do all the things he had dreamed of in his previous life but hadn''t dared to attempt. This freedom was intoxicating.

    - With this strength and power, I can finally become who I''ve always wanted to be. No one will dare to humiliate me again - his eyes gleamed with a mad light.

    He lifted his head and stared at the yurt''s ceiling, leaning back, and then quietly laughed - a low, piercing sound that seemed to come from deep within his soul.

    Behind him, among the rugs, lay bodies. Men and women. Their frozen faces were twisted in horror, the last remnants of life etched into their expressions. A man with a slit throat, a woman with a bloodied face and lifeless eyes. Their blood formed dark stains, soaking into the fabric of the rugs and the ground, filling the air with the scent of death.

    The stench of blood was everywhere. It struck the nose like venom, penetrating the lungs and instilling fear in the weak, forcing them to avoid this part of the camp. But not Tukal. To him, this wasn''t just a scene of carnage - it was triumph. The scent of blood was like the steppe wind, intoxicating and liberating. He breathed it in with pleasure, as though only now truly feeling alive.

    His calmness was unsettling. In this silent chaos of the dead and the blood, he looked like a ruler, as if this chaos belonged to him, was his creation. And in this creation, he found his place - wild, untamed, and, as he believed, true.

    Soon, a man entered the yurt. It was Targul-Arystan, his closest friend. Targul froze for a moment, taking in the scene. Tukal sat among the dead like a king on his bloody throne.

    - Oh, Targul, there was a little incident here, but don''t worry, I took care of it - Tukal said calmly, as though discussing a mundane hunting accident. - These must have been Altyn''s men. I suppose he realized the poison didn''t work and decided to try another method. But, as you can see, he underestimated me again.

    Targul struggled to tear his eyes away from the bodies and looked at his friend. Tukal seemed frighteningly cold-blooded. His smile, calm and slightly curved, was more terrifying than any threat.

    - The duel will start soon. Are you ready? - Targul asked, trying to hide his unease.The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    - Ready? - Tukal laughed, his laugh almost joyous. - I''m better than ever! Today I''ll show them who the real khan is.

    - Are you sure? Are you still human, Tukal? Or have you already become a beast that has lost its soul? - Targul''s voice was quiet, but tension seeped through it. He watched his comrade, increasingly noticing the changes that had become part of Tukal.

    Tukal slowly raised his gaze to Targul. There was no anger or irritation in his eyes, only a chilling calm that made one uneasy. It seemed as though he had calculated everything around him, every word, every step.

    - Yes, I may have gotten carried away - he said with icy calmness, as if everything happening was just a game.

    Targul felt a chill run down his spine. It seemed the chaos surrounding Tukal was under his complete control. An unnatural calmness, bordering on indifference, revealed a man who had crossed a line, beyond which his former self began to dissolve.

    - Alright, I understand - Targul knew that Tukal had changed. But despite his fear, he remained by his side. Who else could prevent Tukal from becoming a monster if not him?

    Tukal''s thoughts slipped beyond the yurt and the upcoming battle. Not just power. Not just strength. This world was clay that he could shape with his own hands. It was his time, his laws, his rules.

    - Let''s go

    He stood up, grabbed his blade, and headed toward the exit. Outside the yurt, his loyal warriors were already waiting, ready to follow him into any fight.

    From the very beginning, he had been stunned to find himself in this world. But soon, this place began to feel like paradise. Here, there were no constraints of a society that judged his desires and ambitions.

    Here, he could be himself. If he desired a woman, he took her. If he wanted to kill, he killed. His desires became the law. But his cold-blooded nature, bordering on madness, made him unpredictable. In one moment, he could be calculating, like a master tactician, and in the next, a savage beast, destroying everything in his path.

    Today, he was to undergo the final trial - to become the khan. And he knew that none of his brothers could stop him.

    Tukal stepped out of the yurt into a camp bathed in morning sunlight. The steppe wind carried the noise of voices, the clanking of weapons, and the pounding of hooves. Warriors, servants, and shamans had all gathered around the arena, built on a raised platform, to witness the duel. This was the day that would decide the fate of their great horde.

    Seeing Tukal, his warriors raised their heads. Each of them knew that behind the Tegin (heir) stood more than just strength. They saw in his eyes a fire that didn''t waver, even in the face of the strongest winds.

    - Today, I will show you who deserves to rule - he said without turning around. His voice was quiet, but every one of his men heard it as though he were speaking directly to them.

    He stepped forward, and the crowd parted before him, like the steppe before a storm.

    On the arena, surrounded by thousands of watchful eyes, stood his brothers. Kara-Tash, as always, unmoving like a rock. His massive frame and stern gaze inspired fear even among the warriors of the horde. Sary-Batyr, calm but determined, already stood ready, gripping his sword.

    Altyn-Aidar casually surveyed the arena, appearing more of a strategist than a warrior. Kulan-Burya couldn''t stand still, nervously tapping his foot against the ground, while Tuman-Taichi, though the youngest, was focused, holding a bow at the ready. All of them awaited their eldest brother, the one whom half of them feared to their core.

    He was a true primordial beast - inhuman strength, an iron grip, and eyes as sharp as a hawk''s. His reactions were so lightning-fast they seemed almost supernatural. Yet even the mightiest beast can fall to poison. But somehow, Tukal had survived. They had gone to unimaginable lengths to poison him, but he still lived.

    They knew they stood no chance against him one-on-one. So they had convinced the elders to organize a mass duel, hoping this time they could finally destroy him.

    Tukal stopped at the edge of the arena, and his brothers turned to face him.

    - You''re late, Tukal - Kara-Tash sneered. - Saying your goodbyes before coming?

    Tukal smiled, but there wasn''t a hint of humor in his eyes.

    - Are you sure you''ll survive this day, brother? - he said coldly, taking a step forward. - Today, fate will decide who''s worthy. And that will be me

    Tukal felt no fear of them. He knew he surpassed them not only in strength but also in intellect. He fully understood that he would likely have to fight alone against all of them, for he was the strongest among them. Yet his brothers weren''t about to give up without a fight.

    This was a mass duel, where all participants entered the arena at once and fought until only one remained standing. The winner would be crowned as the new khan.

    The shaman stepped onto the raised platform. His voice carried across the arena, as if the wind itself had decided to speak:

    - Sons of Kara-Buran, today you will decide who will become the next khan. On this day, blood will be shed for strength, spirit, and the future of our horde. Death here is not defeat. Death here is a path to greatness

    The shaman raised his hand, and a battle horn signaled the beginning. The crowd roared, but on the arena, a tense silence fell. The brothers slowly began to surround Tukal, their gazes full of determination. Each of them knew: today, only one of them would leave the arena alive.

    - Tukal, your time has come - Altyn-Aidar called out loudly, not taking his eyes off his brother. - Together, we''ll finish you. Only then will we prove our strength

    - Come at me, little ones - Tukal sneered, beckoning them with his hand. His voice was cold, as if the verdict had already been passed in his words.

    - Enough talk!

    Kara-Tash was the first to charge forward, his massive axe slicing through the air with a whistle. But Tukal dodged like the wind of the steppe, and the strike hit the ground, sending up a cloud of dust. Sary-Batyr immediately seized the opportunity and attacked from the other side. His sword gleamed in the sunlight, but Tukal parried the blow, making the crowd gasp.

    Kulan-Burya darted in from behind, like a predator, his daggers flashing as they traced swift arcs. One of them cut across Tukal''s side, leaving a deep wound.

    - Well done, Kulan - Tukal said, retreating, but his smirk was icy. - But you''re too predictable

    He spun around and struck his brother with his elbow, smashing into his face. Kulan staggered, blood dripping from his split lip.

    Tuman-Taichi, seizing the chaos, loosed an arrow aimed at Tukal''s knee. The arrow grazed the skin, leaving a long cut. Tukal gritted his teeth and quickly turned to face his youngest brother.

    - You''re shooting too close to us! - Sary-Batyr shouted, glancing at Tuman.

    - If you won''t kill him, I will! - Tuman shouted back, releasing another arrow.

    Now the arrows flew one after another, forcing Tukal to focus entirely on dodging. His movements were lightning-fast, but he knew this couldn''t go on for long. One arrow grazed his shoulder, and another buried itself in the ground mere inches from his foot.

    The wound on his shoulder burned, blood dripping down his armor. Yet Tukal did not stop. The pain was merely a reminder of the price he was willing to pay for the throne.

    He suddenly lunged toward Sary-Batyr, who was the closest. Their swords clashed once more, sparks lighting up the arena. Sary-Batyr was an experienced warrior, but Tukal was merciless. With a swift movement, he disarmed his brother and thrust his blade into his chest. The crowd gasped as blood splattered across the dusty ground.

    - You were a worthy warrior, brother - Tukal said coldly, watching the light fade from Sary''s eyes.

    - You will never be a great khan, Tukal!

    Kara-Tash roared and charged again. His enormous axe cut wide arcs through the air, but his swings were too slow. Tukal dodged and ducked under a strike, grabbing the axe by the shaft. Twisting it free from Kara-Tash''s grip, he swung it back and delivered a decisive blow with his sword. Kara-Tash''s head fell to the ground in an instant.

    - You don''t get to decide - Tukal said coldly, his gaze unwavering.

    As Kara-Tash fell, the crowd held its breath. Even the bravest warriors would have hesitated against such a foe. But Tukal simply raised his blood-soaked blade, his gaze locking onto his remaining brothers.

    Altyn-Aidar had stayed back, watching the chaos. When Kara-Tash fell, he knew he couldn''t wait any longer. Moving closer, he hurled a dagger that struck Tukal''s side. But instead of following up and finishing his wounded brother, Altyn retreated.

    - You''ve always been too clever to fight fair, - Tukal said, pulling the dagger out.

    Blood poured from his side, every movement stinging with pain. But Tukal knew that showing weakness meant defeat. His body burned, but his mind remained icy, like the freezing winds of the steppe.

    Kulan-Burya growled like a wild beast, his eyes darting between Tukal and their fallen brothers. He knew he would lose, but he couldn''t stop himself.

    - Better to die in battle than bow before you! - he roared.

    Kulan-Burya charged at Tukal. His dagger slashed through the air, but Tukal sidestepped and grabbed his brother''s arm. A brutal kick to the chest sent Kulan sprawling onto the ground.

    - You were never worthy of the throne, brother - Tukal said before plunging his sword into Kulan''s heart.

    Tuman-Taichi, with an almost empty quiver, kept shooting, but his hands trembled. He understood that death was inevitable. His arrows grew less accurate, and Tukal closed the distance with each miss. In moments, he was face to face with his youngest brother. Grabbing Tuman by the throat, Tukal snatched the bow from him and snapped it over his knee.

    - You''re too young to be my enemy - he said, his voice cold, before delivering the final blow.

    Some women closed their eyes, whispering prayers, while others screamed and raised their hands. The warriors looked at Tukal with a mix of awe and fear - he was no longer just the strongest; he was becoming a legend.

    Altyn-Aidar was the last one standing, his expression full of despair and acceptance of the inevitable. He knew that even wounded, Tukal was an unstoppable force. Every muscle in his body, every movement, spoke of unwavering determination. As Tukal approached with steady steps, Altyn made a desperate attempt to save his life:

    - You are strong, Tukal, but the horde is not just strength. Without wisdom to hold the throne, you will fall - he said, his voice tinged with desperation, trying to reach Tukal''s reason.

    Tukal merely smiled, shaking his head slowly, almost mockingly:

    - You''re wrong

    His voice was as firm as molten iron. He knew leaving Altyn alive would be like nursing a viper at his chest.

    Realizing his words had no effect, Altyn-Aidar pulled out another dagger and threw it. The blade sliced through the air but missed, narrowly avoiding Tukal. It was his last act of defiance. Accepting his fate, Altyn sank to his knees, his gaze filled with bitterness and resignation.

    - You''ve won, Tukal, but killing me will turn the spirits against you. Let me live, and I will prove that I can be of use. Even the strongest khan needs counsel - Altyn whispered, a faint hope flickering in his voice.

    Tukal''s eyes remained cold, like steel. His reply was short and unforgiving:

    - Blood is the price of strength

    And before Altyn could utter another word, Tukal struck the final blow, ending the bloody duel. He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them again. His gaze moved over the bodies of his fallen brothers. Even with the memories of the real Tukal, he felt nothing for them - they were brothers by blood, but not by spirit.

    He knew from the real Tukal''s experience that the steppe did not forgive weakness. There was only one rule - the throne demanded blood. And Tukal was prepared to pay that price, again and again, if necessary.

    The throne of kings was always paved with bones. Standing above them, Tukal realized he was merely the latest to walk this path of thorns.

    He raised his blood-soaked blade, proclaiming his victory. The shaman slowly raised his hands to the sky, announcing the outcome:

    - The sons of Kara-Buran have given their lives for the horde! But the spirits have chosen the strongest. Bow before Tukal, the new khan of the great horde!

    At first, the crowd was silent. Then, the warriors began to beat their swords against their shields, acknowledging his strength. Men shouted Tukal''s name, and women threw scarves onto the arena, symbolizing their acceptance. Someone in the crowd murmured:

    - Such a khan hasn''t been seen since the times of the ancestors

    Others remained silent, stunned by his ruthlessness. The aksakals (elders) exchanged glances. One of them stepped forward toward Tukal.

    - Today, you have proven yourself worthy, - he said. - You are not only the strongest but willing to sacrifice for the horde. May your rule be as firm as your blade

    Tukal raised his head. A victorious smile spread across his lips, but his eyes remained as cold as the steel of his sword. They reflected his resolve and fearlessness, and behind them lay an insatiable thirst for blood, burning as hot as the midday sun.

    - This world will be mine

 Chapter 13. Christian Virtue

    While the city outside its walls was submerged in pre-dawn silence, Metropolitan Illarion sat at his massive oak desk. Before him lay the prince''s decree. The soft glow of candles framed the parchment, highlighting the precise lines of its script. Illarion read slowly, but his gaze froze midway through the text. His slender fingers paused for a moment, as though sensing the weight of what was written.

    The Metropolitan''s brow barely twitched, yet his face remained as inscrutable as ever. Illarion was a master of concealing his thoughts, even when the world seemed to plunge into chaos, challenging his convictions.

    The document was composed with striking precision. Clear objectives, a well-thought-out budget, the assignment of responsible figures - everything pointed to an extraordinary understanding of governance.

    Illarion couldn''t help but feel a touch of respect. Even seasoned rulers rarely displayed such insight. Yet admiration couldn''t overshadow the fundamental question that perplexed him.

    - Why? - Illarion whispered softly, staring into the text.

    The decree seemed both a blessing and a test, strengthening the prince''s position while raising more questions than answers. Illarion couldn''t recall discussing such initiatives with Alexander. Moreover, even the faintest hint of this matter had been absent from their recent conversations.

    - There are no coincidences, - Illarion murmured, tracing the edges of the parchment with his finger.

    His thoughts returned to the morning meeting, where he had caught a shadow of wariness in Oleg''s eyes. It was faint, barely noticeable, but to Illarion, it shone brightly enough to discern. The new decree had clearly upset the delicate balance.

    - Oleg believes this is my doing, - he muttered, leaning back in his chair. - But I had no hand in this. Then who...

    He leaned over the document again, his gaze lingering on the list of those tasked with implementing the decree. His name was listed first, which was only natural; as the head of the Church, he was to oversee and guide all matters related to faith. Next came Stanislav''s name, a loyal advisor to the prince tasked with monitoring the process. But the third name gave Illarion pause.

    - Boris? - he whispered, frowning slightly.

    Senior Monk Boris, known for his care for orphans and dedication to acts of mercy, was a figure widely respected. Yet to Illarion, his involvement in such a large and sudden project seemed unexpected.

    Boris had never sought grand endeavors, preferring quiet, modest work. This decree clearly aligned with his beliefs, but why had the prince chosen him? Could it be that Boris had aligned himself with the prince?

    Illarion pondered deeply. If Boris was indeed instrumental in creating the decree and had aligned himself with the young prince, it changed everything. Perhaps Boris was far more perceptive than he appeared. Illarion ran his fingers along the parchment''s edge.

    - Perhaps the prince seeks to win Boris over

    Not for his loyalty as an Senior Monk, but for the influence he carries through his righteousness. Boris does not seek power, but his sincerity and care for the weak make him a symbol that people would readily follow. If Alexander aims to strengthen his position through the Church, this is not merely an act of charity - it''s a very strategic play.

    Illarion frowned, his gaze darkening.

    - The young prince is far more dangerous than he seems. Beneath his virtuous speech lies a mind capable of nullifying all prior calculations. If he can so deftly manipulate even sacred intentions, what else might he do to consolidate his power?

    He carefully folded the document, placed it in a leather folder, and rose. The candlelight played softly on his face, casting stern lines.

    - Faith must be strong. If the prince moves quickly, the Church must keep pace, - he stated firmly, his voice almost a prayer. - I need to meet with Boris and learn the truth. Truth is never simple. Time will tell who outmaneuvers whom

    Senior Monk Boris, upon receiving the message, did not delay in his response. He had anticipated that sooner or later the Metropolitan would summon him and was prepared for the conversation. His steps echoed evenly and calmly, but behind this composure lay a tension - Boris understood this meeting would not be simple.

    Boris entered the Metropolitan''s chambers quietly, like a shadow, but every part of him - from the slow bow to the folds of his robe - exuded profound humility. He disliked luxury, but it was his modesty that often drew attention.

    His figure, clothed in the simple garb of a monk, radiated serene dignity. Boris was respected for his righteousness, his care for orphans, and his deep knowledge of Scripture. However, Illarion, with his sharp eye and experience, knew that even the purest piety could conceal a deeper essence.

    - Boris, I''m glad to see you. Please, take a seat, - Illarion said, gesturing to the chair across from him. His voice was soft, but his eyes betrayed the habitual wariness.

    - Thank you, Your Eminence, - Boris replied, taking the seat. His voice was calm, but Illarion caught a faint trace of tension.

    Illarion glanced around the room, ensuring they were alone. The candlelight played across the massive desk, casting shadows on the walls. Folding his fingers together, the Metropolitan leaned forward, his expression inscrutable.

    - Are you aware, Boris, of the new decree from the prince? - Illarion began, his gaze fixed on the monk as if studying an adversary.

    - Yes, I am, - Boris nodded, maintaining his composure.

    - Care for orphans, support for monasteries... It sounds wonderful, but don''t you think it''s a bit too timely? Alexander has yet to be crowned, yet he''s already playing the role of a great ruler. Why now, do you think? - Illarion''s gaze didn''t waver, probing Boris''s thoughts.

    Boris tilted his head slightly, contemplating before responding:

    - Perhaps the prince wishes to show that his reign will begin with mercy. It strengthens his authority and benefits those who need it most, - his voice was steady, with no hint of hesitation.

    - Mercy... - Illarion nodded thoughtfully, though a spark of interest flickered in his eyes. - I''ve also heard that he summoned you to the library yesterday. Is that true?

    - Yes, the young prince wished to inquire about my records. You know, Your Eminence, I keep chronicles of our lands, - Boris replied calmly, deliberately avoiding mention of the detailed scrolls.

    - I see, - Illarion said, scrutinizing the monk''s face. - But how is it that immediately after your meeting, the prince decided to issue a decree about caring for orphans? Doesn''t that strike you as... peculiar?

    Boris lowered his gaze for a moment, as though recalling something, then looked back at the Metropolitan.

    - Besides the chronicles, the prince asked about my work and the orphans. His questions were precise, even... sharp, as if he was seeking something more than my words. I told him that over twenty orphans live in my monastery and that donations barely suffice. The prince listened intently, but I sensed he was contemplating more than just the children. I didn''t pry further or ask questions

    Illarion frowned, his sharp eyes studying Boris intently. - Too sincere, too straightforward, - he thought. Boris''s words contained no hint of deceit, but it was precisely this sincerity that unnerved him.

    The story sounded plausible, but it fit too perfectly into the larger picture. Though Illarion didn''t know the prince well, from the recent council he saw Alexander as a cautious individual inclined toward analysis, not impulsive acts.

    Was this truly an act of charity, or was the young prince pursuing something greater? Or had Boris influenced the prince, promising his loyalty in exchange for the decree? Everything felt strange.

    - And he so easily agreed to help the monasteries? - the Metropolitan''s voice was calm, but there was a barely perceptible edge. Illarion leaned forward slightly, his eyes scrutinizing Boris''s face. - Decisions of this magnitude are rarely made without thorough consideration and discussion. But after just one meeting, such a significant step. Why, do you think?

    - I was surprised by his resolve as well, Your Eminence, - Boris admitted sincerely, his reaction genuine. - I even asked him, "Why? Are my chronicles truly worth such efforts?" And he replied...

    Boris paused, as if to emphasize the prince''s words.

    - "Children must not suffer. If I can save even one life, I will do it. Is this not the essence of our faith? The Lord teaches us not with words but deeds. To stand by, knowing of suffering, is to betray not only people but God"

    Illarion listened in silence. His fingers tensed slightly, and his eyes studied Boris carefully. He saw that the monk spoke truthfully and without guile.

    - The young prince follows the path of the Lord, - Boris continued, his voice calm and assured.

    - He speaks and acts like a man of genuine faith. But even I... was surprised by his determination. He quoted the Gospel of Mark: "Whoever receives one of these little children in My name receives Me." These words left no room for questions. But, Your Eminence, can a man truly be so flawless? - Boris paused momentarily, as if expecting a response.

    The Metropolitan leaned back slightly, his face thoughtful.

    - Boris, your faith in the prince is impressive, - he said slowly. - But you know as well as I do how our world works. Every action by the prince will be scrutinized not only as spiritual but also as political. Do you think he is prepared to face envy and dissent?

    - When he wrote this decree, he thought only of the children. He does not concern himself with envy or dissent. He simply does what he believes is right, Your Eminence, - Boris replied confidently. - He understands that good deeds always provoke resistance. But the prince knows: truth always meets opposition, and he is ready to move forward, no matter the cost

    Illarion nodded, his expression softening, though a shadow of doubt remained in his eyes.

    - Perhaps the Lord truly guides him. But remember, Boris, even David needed wise counselors. We must remain close to guide the prince if needed. Thank you for coming

    Boris rose and bowed his head slightly.

    - Thank you, Your Eminence. May the Lord strengthen us all, - he said, bowing and exiting.

    When Boris left the room, Illarion remained alone. His gaze rose to the icon of the Virgin Mary, but instead of solace, he felt a strange weight.

    - Lord, if he is truly Your chosen one, - he whispered, - give me a sign. But if all this is merely a trial for us, grant me the strength to uncover the truth before it descends upon Kievan RusUnauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.

    His thoughts were tangled, like a knot he could not untie. Ilarion ran his hand across the table, as if trying to find support in this fragile world. Everything seemed too perfect - like part of a meticulously planned game.

    But what''s done is done. The prince had made his move, and now Ilarion could only observe where this step would lead.

    - Ohh

    Ilarion slowly rose and approached the window. Beyond the cell, the first rays of dawn illuminated the awakening city. His thoughts were focused:

    - The prince has taken a step toward supporting the church, and now it must respond so as not to appear passive. We shall support him, and then see what happens

    Ilarion turned to his assistant, who stood in the doorway, waiting for instructions.

    - Let the priests announce schools and shelters, - said Ilarion calmly but firmly. - Let the services begin with these words, so that the people may see that the prince cares for the orphaned and destitute, for those most in need of God''s care

    - Only the priests? - the assistant''s voice sounded uncertain as he looked at the metropolitan. - Or... should we involve the heralds? The people must hear it twice to believe it

    Ilarion paused briefly, clasping his hands behind his back. His gaze shifted to the icon of Christ, shimmering in the candlelight. He lingered as if seeking confirmation for his thoughts in the image, then responded with firm conviction:

    - Let the heralds proclaim the boundaries and fortifications. The people must see the prince not only as a merciful ruler but also as a protector. The boyars will not miss a chance to question his resolve. Let them know that his care encompasses both souls and the walls behind which these souls will be safe

    The assistant bowed and hurried to carry out the orders. Ilarion was left alone. His gaze was fixed into the void, but his thoughts darted like the flames of candles.

    - These orders are noble and righteous. But how will the boyars perceive them? Will the prince''s mercy become a reason to doubt his power?

    He knelt before the icon, clasping his hands in prayer.

    - Lord, if Alexander is your chosen one, grant him the strength to become a light for the people, - whispered Ilarion, bowing before the icon. - Let his mercy protect, not weaken Kievan Rus. And if this is a trial, grant me the wisdom not to be blinded to its true purpose

    With the first rays of sunlight, bells began to ring over Kyiv, their melodious chimes spreading through the city, awakening its residents and filling the streets with the sounds of footsteps. Worshippers were gathering in the churches - peasants, craftsmen, merchants, and nobility.

    The Cathedral of Saint Sophia was particularly crowded. People came not only to pray but also because rumors of the prince''s decrees had already spread throughout the city, adding a note of anticipation to the usual day.

    Inside the cathedral, the crowd buzzed like an agitated sea. Women whispered among themselves, men discussed recent events, and children clung to their mothers, trying to understand what was happening.

    When the priest ascended the pulpit, the murmurs ceased, and a tense silence settled over the cathedral. All eyes turned to him, and the air was heavy with expectation, like a taut string ready to snap.

    - Brothers and sisters! - his deep and solemn voice echoed under the cathedral''s arches like thunder. - Today, I shall proclaim the will of our prince Alexander, granted to us by the grace of the Lord

    The crowd froze. Even the children pressed closer to their mothers, curbing their usual restless nature. The priest unfurled the scroll, and each word he spoke seemed to come not just from the parchment but from his very heart.

    - "From this day forward, I decree that schools be established at monasteries and churches, so that the children of our land may learn literacy and the holy word. Let every child, whether from a poor or wealthy family, find a place where their mind and soul may be illuminated by God''s light"

    A murmur rippled through the crowd, like the rustling of autumn leaves. People exchanged glances; some whispered, while others stood pensively, trying to comprehend what they had heard.

    - Literacy? For all children? - a young woman whispered, clutching her son more tightly. - Can this be true?

    - The prince is like a father to us... - muttered an old man, shaking his head. - Like something out of a tale. But how much will all this cost?

    A sigh of relief swept through the crowd, mingling with quiet prayers from the women and grumbling from the men. Tears glistened in one woman''s eyes, and she quickly wiped them away with her kerchief, hoping no one would notice.

    - "I also decree the creation of shelters for orphans, so that none of the destitute shall remain without a roof, food, and care. Let everyone find refuge within the church walls"

    At these words, the cathedral erupted into a true hubbub. Some knelt in prayer, while others whispered excitedly. A young girl in a green dress squeezed her mother''s hand and whispered:

    - See, he cares about us

    An elderly man with a stern gaze nodded quietly:

    - That''s what a true prince does

    The priest raised his hand, calling for silence. His voice grew louder and more impassioned:

    - Our prince, like Christ, has said: "Let the children come to Me!" These are not just words. The prince is already taking the first steps to transform our Kievan land for the better. Pray for our prince, that the Lord may grant him strength and wisdom!

    - God bless him! - someone shouted from the crowd, and others echoed the cry. The priest''s voice reverberated under the high arches like the tolling of a great bell, stirring not just faith but hope within the people.

    The crowd seemed to breathe as one. Some knelt, echoing the words of the prayer. The men straightened their backs as if realizing they must defend the land the prince spoke of. Women held their children closer, feeling that they, too, were part of a great future.

    Meanwhile, at the bustling marketplace, where life was in full swing, heralds climbed onto platforms. Their loud voices cut through the noise of traders and chatter. The air was filled with the scents of fresh bread, smoke from braziers, and winter chill. Some paused by fabric stalls, others argued at the butcher''s, but as soon as the first herald began to speak, everything around fell still.

    - Hear the will of Prince Alexander! - the herald''s booming voice rang out like a bronze bell.

    The butcher froze with his knife raised, the bread seller hesitated with a sliced loaf, and an old woman with a basket of apples lowered her goods with a sigh. Even the children chasing a dog fell quiet, straining to listen.

    - Our prince decrees the fortification of borders to protect Kievan land from the Polovtsian threat! - the herald proclaimed, his words sharp as hammer blows. - Schools for children, shelters for orphans - this is his word!

    The crowd buzzed like a disturbed hive. Voices mingled - approval, doubt, and even protest.

    - Now that''s something! Fortifying the borders is exactly what''s needed, - declared a blacksmith loudly, raising a calloused hand. - The Polovtsy are like wolves, always lurking for trouble. They''ve killed our princes before

    - But where will the bread come from? - a peasant countered quietly but firmly. - What good are borders and fortifications if people have nothing to eat? We need to survive, not build schools and shelters

    - Schools are necessary for children to defend the land not just with swords but with minds! - retorted a woman in a headscarf.

    - Shoes are more important than books! - an old man snapped, thumping his staff. - And walls are more important than schools

    - Fortifying the borders means protecting the children! - a young craftsman interjected, gesturing passionately.

    - Protection, you say? - a cold voice cut through the noise, belonging to an old man with a military bearing. His tone silenced the crowd. - Yes, walls are good. But without soldiers to defend them, walls are useless. Who will stand guard? You, craftsman?

    - Maybe not me, - the young man lifted his chin. - But my son, if educated, can offer more to the prince than a sword!

    - And who will pay for all this? - a merchant challenged, folding his arms. - Taxes will be raised again, I suppose? We, the traders, will bear the burden, won''t we?

    - The prince is building with his own funds, - the woman in the headscarf retorted sharply, turning to the merchant. - And as for taxes, it''ll be easier if children learn and the borders are made strong. Isn''t that right?

    - So be it, - the blacksmith finally declared, as if summing up. - Just don''t forget the walls while building schools. The Polovtsy - that''s the real threat, not literacy

    The herald raised his hand, calling for attention once more. His voice cut through the clamor of the crowd:

    - People of Kievan Rus! - the herald''s voice soared above the marketplace, casting shadows over the faces of those who stood frozen. - Our Prince Alexander thinks of you, of your children, and of your protection! He does not divide you into rich and poor; his will is for every one of you! Schools, shelters, strong walls - all of this is for the peace and strength of our land! This is the beginning of a new era! An era of united faith, reliable defense, and the light of knowledge!

    - Long live the prince! - someone shouted, and the crowd echoed the cry in a rising chorus.

    - Together, we will make our land stronger! - the herald concluded, spreading his arms as if embracing all of Kyiv.

    The crowd buzzed even louder than before; discussions flared up anew. Approval mixed with skepticism. Someone shouted, "Long live the prince!" while others muttered, "Another tax hike is coming."

    The hum of debates and hopes rose into the sky, but one name resounded above all else: Prince Alexander. It swept over the crowd like a bell of hope, rekindling faith in the changes that were just beginning.

    Meanwhile, on the edge of the square, slightly away from the crowd, two boyars stood in richly adorned caftans. One of them, a stout man with a ruddy face, nervously adjusted the silver-embellished belt around his waist. The other, tall and gaunt, kept his hands clasped behind his back, his cold gaze scanning the crowd like a wolf sizing up its prey.

    The crowd roared like a disturbed hive. Emotions swirled around the herald - some shouted jubilant "Long live the prince!", while others whispered in doubt. Nearby, a young man in a worn caftan called out:

    - How can we help? Or is all this just for the rich?

    The ruddy boyar flinched at the voice. His fingers nervously fidgeted with the edge of an embroidered handkerchief.

    - Well, what do you say, Stepan? - he rumbled, wiping his face. - Schools, shelters... It sounds nice, but who''s going to pay for it? Us, of course. Not the peasants

    His voice trembled with irritation and hidden unease. The gaunt boyar slowly turned toward him, then resumed surveying the crowd with a lingering gaze. His lips curled into a faint, cold smile.

    - Let the people rejoice. Let them rejoice, - he drawled, as if issuing a challenge. - Today, they shout "Long live the prince!", and tomorrow they''ll grumble. It always happens this way. One promises, others pay

    The ruddy boyar frowned, glancing at the herald standing confidently above the crowd. The young man''s shout seemed to echo in his mind. The man grimaced as if hearing an unpleasant sound.

    - All for the people, they say. But what has this people seen? The treasury isn''t bottomless. They''ll drain it, and then who will patch the holes? Us? Or will they raise taxes on the peasants again? - His voice rang with indignation.

    The gaunt boyar leaned forward slightly, his sharp, cold gaze flashing like a blade.

    - Do you think he''s doing this for the people? - he whispered, his voice dripping with venom. - No, brother. This is a game. Pretty words for them, but a dagger behind his back - for us. Schools, shelters... Do you think he''ll stop there? Tomorrow, he''ll demand land, soldiers, money. And who, if not us, will pay for it?

    The ruddy boyar shifted uncomfortably, as if he felt a blow to his own purse. He retorted hesitantly:

    - The people love him. Maybe he truly wants change? What if this time it''s different?

    The gaunt boyar turned sharply, his eyes glinting with steel.

    - Love him? They love him today; tomorrow, they''ll curse him. They believe in fairy tales, but there are no fairy tales. And us? We''ll be the scapegoats. Do you think he''ll stop at the children? Or do you hope he won''t reach our estates?

    The ruddy boyar sighed heavily, his fingers still fiddling with the handkerchief. Doubt flickered in his eyes, but then he frowned.

    - Maybe we should visit the metropolitan? - he suggested in a low voice. - Find out what he thinks. I don''t like any of this

    The gaunt boyar smirked, his lips barely twitching. The herald on the square, seemingly oblivious to the tension among the boyars, continued proclaiming the prince''s will, and the crowd responded with a roar of enthusiasm.

    - Do you think the metropolitan is uninvolved? - the gaunt boyar hissed, as if afraid of being overheard. - If the prince is playing, the metropolitan is his first pawn. But it''s worth a visit. Find out what they''re planning... and how we should act before they corner us

    At the same time, Ilarion sat in his cell, listening to the sounds drifting in from outside. The city buzzed like a disturbed hive. News of the prince''s decrees had spread through the streets, into homes, shops, and people''s hearts. He had been told that the churches were full, the squares lively. Some doubted, but most were struck by what they had heard.

    The metropolitan''s cell felt dark and cramped, as if it had shrunk under the weight of his thoughts. The dim candlelight highlighted the cracks on the walls, casting uncertain shadows on the icons. Ilarion leaned toward the icon of Christ, watching the candle flame dance on the Savior''s face. His thoughts wandered between pride for the young prince and his own exhaustion.

    - Perhaps Alexander truly is a sign from above, - he whispered, leaning back against the rigid chair. His voice carried not only hope but also a shadow of doubt, inevitable for someone who had seen too much.

    His hand reached for a goblet of water, but a sudden coughing fit bent him over. A sharp pain pierced his chest, stealing his breath, and weakness wrapped around him like a heavy shroud. He clutched the edge of the table, trying to steady himself. When the coughing subsided, Ilarion glanced at his hand and saw crimson droplets of blood staining his fingers, a living reminder of the approaching end.

    His heart clenched, but not out of fear. Ilarion had long since accepted the inevitability of death. Yet the thought that he might not fulfill his purpose gnawed at him more fiercely than any pain. His body, like an old cathedral, was crumbling, but his spirit remained steadfast.

    Ilarion raised his eyes to the icon, his voice trembling yet filled with resolve:

    - Lord, if Alexander is your chosen one, grant him the strength to be a light in this dark time, - the metropolitan whispered, his voice fading into the crackle of the candles. - Let his mercy protect Kievan Rus, not weaken it. Grant me the wisdom to see the truth before it destroys us...

    His prayer trailed off. Shaking but determined, Ilarion slowly rose. His legs trembled treacherously, but his gaze remained clear. He knew his time was drawing to a close, but as long as his hands could hold a pen and make the sign of the cross, he would not abandon his mission. Kievan Rus and its young prince still needed him.

    He surveyed his cell, where the faint flame of candles flickered, and whispered as if bidding farewell:

    - May the light of my prayer remain with him, even if I am gone

    Outside, distant voices from the city reached him - the hum of a populace stirred to life. The news of the prince''s orders had infiltrated every corner of the city, breathing hope into its people. Ilarion closed his eyes, realizing that this hope was now his only legacy.

    ***

    I would appreciate your feedback. This way I can see that I am doing everything right.