Showing results by author "Oleg Sapphire Alexey Kovtunov" in All Categories

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

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

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

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

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

I was the most powerful healer in my world—the best, having devoted my entire life to mastering the art of healing. And yet, for whatever reason, my brother feared that I sought to claim his throne, and he marshaled his forces against me.

I could have been anything I wanted: a chef, a chauffeur, a pianist, an artist, an aristocrat...but where would the fun be in that? In my past life, I'd been one of the world's greatest demonologists, and horned lords and masters of the inferno had cringed and trembled with terror at my name.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Evidently, for whatever reason, there were still many who fail to comprehend who Mikhail Bulatov really is. These are the ones who see him as just a Healer. Their attempts to kill him in a duel, or to simply poison him only amuse him. But his first government contract to treat an aristocrat is encouraging. Mikhail enjoys working as a Healer—it is, after all, his calling. And how refreshing to use his Gift not to kill, but to heal, as well.

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

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

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

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

The army is no place for being idle. A bad soldier is one who can't get this into his head; one who'll do anything to get out of work, who's forever looking for a quiet corner where he can sit and do nothing. But Konstantin was not that soldier. Konstantin was always looking for ways to make himself useful. He even took on tasks that no one in their right mind would volunteer for. And because of that, he received a steady stream of awards from his commanders.

Sie waren nur eine Gruppe gewöhnlicher Dämonologen, die versuchten, einen gewöhnlichen Dämon zu beschwören…doch im Moment der Beschwörung ging etwas schief. Aber hey, ob Dämon oder Dämonologe, welchen Unterschied macht das schon? Mir war klar, dass ich so oder so meinen Spaß haben würde.