One against the whole world… Well, at least against its most harmful part. All right, not quite one—there’s help, though it doesn’t seem to bring much benefit. But when the authorities need a decent alchemist, a tolerable necromancer, or a black mage with imagination, they somehow remember me. As if I were the only one in three persons! And when it comes time for the most secret secrets, you can rely only on Shorokh—the cursed undead.
And how are we still alive, somehow? A world created by those who didn’t understand anything in it, for a purpose that nobody remembers anymore, with means that are worse than using a brick on someone’s face… And don’t dare call me a bore! You can’t do that with black mages.