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.
- 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