Science-fiction writers love portraying magical societies as backward medieval kingdoms. Mages sit in towers, hoarding knowledge while carefully steering technological development down some predetermined path. Feudal lords lounge around doing absolutely nothing. Artisans spend their days producing goods by hand. And peasants suffer miserably while keeping the entire dysfunctional system running.I’d never understood that logic. I mean, you have magic. Real magic. The kind capable of producing actual miracles. The kind with seemingly limitless possibilities for development.So why the hell are you still living in a piss-stained medieval era? But here, in this world, I finally found the answer to my question.I had no idea what kind of culture those bloodsuckers had, but one thing was undeniable: their entire civilization had been built on advanced magical technology.Their plumbing system had survived centuries of neglect without completely giving up. Their furniture—probably treated w

People who have never studied medicine tend to underestimate how dangerous rapid blood loss can be.Even relatively small amounts can become lethal if they're extracted quickly enough.Lose around 150–200 milliliters of blood per minute, as can happen with severe trauma, and you could be dead within ten to fifteen minutes.Then there’s traumatic shock.Some enthusiastic amateurs who suddenly decide they're medical experts like to throw around the term “pain shock.” The problem is that pain shock isn't actually a medical diagnosis. I’ve never been entirely sure what they're even trying to describe with it.Traumatic shock, on the other hand, is very real.It’s a syndrome caused by a critical reduction in tissue perfusion—in other words, the tissues aren't getting enough blood.The International Classification of Diseases, Tenth Revision—ICD-10—doesn't list “pain shock” as a diagnosis. It does, however, recognize traumatic shock under code T79.4.Ordinary people still use “pain shock,”

The main compartment held roughly sixty liters, give or take a finger's width. There were also several smaller pockets, weapon mounts, and even a built-in five-liter canteen.I had no idea what the backpack had originally cost, but it was certainly better than carrying everything in my arms.Next, I took two dushnilium axes.Steel axes were still out of stock, just like last time.I also grabbed a steel pathologist's kit and a pile of other essentials. Mostly bandages, various medicines whose purposes I couldn't identify, a couple of additional tool kits, and suturing supplies.Basically, everything Doctor Ayubit might need.“Maybe I should start calling myself Ayubit,” I muttered.I considered it for a second.“Nah. Sounds kind of lame.”Besides, it was too early for that. I hadn't raised a single corpse yet. The test rat didn't count.Once I'd stuffed everything into the backpack's various compartments, I slung it over my shoulder and fastened the buckles. To my surprise, it was act

Magic had halted the aging process.And with the restoration of youth came an unexpected price. The body remained young. So did the mind.A person could continue learning. They could acquire knowledge, develop skills, and accumulate experience. But something fundamental had changed. They could no longer truly transform.While millions of ordinary people were born, lived, and died around them, the eternal emperor, the eternal governors, and the eternal generals remained. Like marble statues. Living monuments to eras that had vanished centuries ago.A vast crowd had gathered in the Forum. Yet, contrary to what Belisarius had expected, no one spoke. The silence was almost oppressive. Even the gulls circling above the harbor seemed to have gone quiet.The Basileus sat upon his portable throne, his cold, piercing gaze fixed on Belisarius as though he intended to burn straight through him.Belisarius barely reacted. He had grown accustomed to that look. Nearly a thousand years of service to

Vopros was already there, calmly eating fish with the serene indifference of someone who had absolutely no reason to care about my suffering.He glanced at me.“Oh. So you didn't croak.”I didn't bother answering.I shuffled toward the serving hatch. On my second attempt, I managed to get upright. I grabbed the tray and, using every ounce of strength I had left, dragged it over to the nearest table.This time, the meat had at least been thoughtfully cut into bite-sized pieces. There was barely any wine, but I got two full glasses of water.“The water contains a solution of easily absorbed iron,” the mouth that had appeared on the tabletop announced. “And… thank you, Anatoly. You saved me.”“Yeah.” I nodded.I wasn’t particularly hungry, but in a situation like this, what I wanted and what I needed were two completely different things.Give me the meat. Give me the damn meat.I ate and drank until I couldn’t manage another bite. Unfortunately, I didn’t experience the miraculous surge