The local schools of necromancy knew this perfectly well. The problem was that such a setup was ridiculously expensive, so they couldn't exactly use it as their standard operating procedure.Instead, they'd developed cheaper alternatives. Less effective, perhaps. But much more affordable.My situation was different. My life literally depended on this corpse. I wasn't going to cut corners.Once the graphite rods were installed—with several expressive but very quiet curses along the way—I mounted the accumulator, connected everything, and began the reverse assembly.The sawed-open sternum was a different problem. I had to think about that one. Eventually, I came up with a system that allowed relatively quick access using bronze bolts and plates.If I ever needed to reach the accumulator or the dead heart, I could simply undo the bolts and open the chest again. Sewing human flesh wasn't the same as sewing cloth. You actually needed to know what you were doing.When everything was finally

CHAPTER 63He did have a tendency to make sweeping decisions without much fuss, but honestly, I thought simplifying the calendar had done everyone a favor. It wasn't particularly scientific, either.Even in his time, plenty of scholars understood that the world couldn't possibly have been created seven thousand years ago. And the whole idea was based on a rather questionable bit of reasoning.Somewhere in the Bible, someone had written that one day for God was like a thousand years. God created the world in six days because, obviously, Sunday was reserved for lying on a beach chair with a beer.Therefore, theologians concluded, the world had been created six thousand years ago.Makes perfect sense!The dating of Christ's birth was questionable too, if we're being honest. According to modern estimates, he might have been born around 4 BC.Or even 12 BC.A paradox, right?Apparently that's just how people counted dates back then. But whatever. All those people who suddenly decided to do

The Gray Lands, in the Sands, June 12, 2021 “Volobuyev, kill her,” I ordered.The corpse raised its sword and took a step forward.“Vänta! Låt oss komma överens!” cried Astrid Olofsdottir as she emerged from the town hall.“I don't negotiate with kidnappers,” I told her.The necromancer immediately dropped to her knees, took off her necklace, and raised her hands.“Gena, hold!” I stopped my loyal protégé. “Let's hear what she has to say. Hey, you! Do you speak Human?”Vopros had warned me that I needed to learn languages. The cat had an advanced language converter. I had fuck-all.Well, so did Astrid, apparently.What the hell was I supposed to do now? My Swedish was nonexistent.“Jag kan vara behjälplig,” the necromancer informed me.Necromanceress? Necromantess

I was going to have to kill her eventually. She was far too dangerous.Too much shit had happened between us for me to believe she wouldn't eventually try to get revenge.“Now this...” I pulled a fine-cut file from the tool roll. “I can already see what I could do with your teeth.”I pressed the file against the back of the corridor bench and ran it across the wood a couple of times. The rasping sound was unmistakable. Wood gave way beneath the file, and a small pile of shavings scattered across the seat.“You know, back in my old world, I used to read a certain book in my spare time...” I stepped closer to the necromancer.Astrid instinctively recoiled.“The author was Joe Abercrombie, and the title was The Flesh and the Steel,” I continued. “There was a character in it, practically one of the main characters. He was captured by some eastern empire. You can think of the Sasanian Empire if you've heard of it.”“They tortured him for about two years. Not because they needed anything fro

CHAPTER 69 (18)For some reason, an ancient joke from the days of the festivals suddenly popped into my head.“Astrid, listen. I’ll tell you a joke,” I said.“What is a joke?” she asked.“Well, it’s a funny story that…” I started.Then I stopped.“Ah, forget it. You wouldn’t understand anyway.”She wouldn’t. But you will.Anyway…There’s a maternity ward. A woman gives birth while her husband waits outside in the waiting room. Eventually, the baby is born. Except there’s a problem.The baby is Black.You can imagine the situation.The husband is a huge, intimidating bastard of a man, the kind who looks like he could tear someone in half with his bare hands. The medical staff have absolutely no idea how to break the news to him.Eventually, a nurse calls over the janitor, Ivanych. She pours him a glass of vodka and says:“Go tell that man, Sidorov, that his baby was born Black. But explain it carefully. Tell him it was a mutation. Genetics.”The janitor downs the vodka, clears his thro