The tension on the training ground was almost palpable. All the warriors had long ceased their exercises, their attention fixed on the prince's duels with the senior warriors. Every strike, every movement was perceived as a lesson - a chance to glimpse something that only a few were privileged to learn.
Borislav stood motionless, like a figure carved from stone, but his spear swayed ever so slightly, ready to strike at any moment. Alexander took a deep breath, trying to calm the tension in his body. His gaze focused intently on his opponent.
- Let's begin, - Alexander said briefly, striving to keep his voice firm despite the growing tension.
Borislav's spear shot forward like a snake's strike. Alexander managed to step back, narrowly avoiding the blow, but was immediately forced to dodge another attack aimed at his legs. This wasn't just a fight - it was relentless pressure, an unending test of his reactions.
- You're quick, my prince, - Borislav remarked in a calm tone. His spear spun in his hands, reflecting the sunlight. - But speed is just the beginning. The ability to maintain rhythm is more important
Alexander lunged, hoping to close the distance, but Borislav's spear, as if alive, easily parried the strike. The next thrust almost grazed Alexander's shoulder. He stumbled slightly, losing his balance.
In that moment, the spear's tip darted forward, aiming straight for his chest. The prince rolled to the side, avoiding the strike, but felt the air shift as the blade passed a mere millimeter from his face.
- I'll admit, you're faster than I expected, - Borislav said, narrowing his eyes slightly. - But how long can you keep this up?
Alexander realized that his usual techniques were useless here. Borislav wasn't just a master - he was as unyielding as the earth itself. Every strike was precise, every step assured. But even masters had weaknesses.
Alexander slowed down, carefully observing his opponent's every move. His gaze locked onto Borislav's feet - each thrust made him slightly shift his right foot back to maintain balance. It was a subtle movement, but it gave Alexander hope.
- There it is, the weakness, - he thought.
He feinted, forcing Borislav to attack. The spear darted forward, but Alexander dodged, closing the distance. His sword struck the shaft of the spear forcefully, disrupting its trajectory. Seizing the moment, Alexander thrust forward. The blade barely grazed Borislav's armor, leaving a thin scratch, but it was enough.
Borislav froze, stepping back. His face remained calm, but his eyes showed respect. He pressed his hand to his side, touching the point of impact.
- You know how to wait, my prince, - he said, slowly lowering his spear. - That makes you dangerous. Even against a spear
The crowd of warriors fell silent for a moment, then a murmur of voices rose.
- He did it! - someone exclaimed. - Even against Borislav!
- Not just did it, - added another. - He learned how to wait, how to see more than others can
Alexander was breathing heavily, feeling the tension leave his body. Sweat ran down his face, but he forced himself to stand tall. He stepped forward, slightly bowing his head to Borislav.
- That was a good fight, - Alexander said, his voice firm but laced with gratitude. - You've taught me a lesson, and I'll remember it
Borislav nodded, his face as calm as ever.
- And you've taught me a lesson, my prince. I thought I knew everything about the spear, but you've shown me that even it isn't perfect
Borislav stepped back, and Alexander surveyed the gathered warriors. Their faces showed a mixture of respect and admiration. Even the Weapon Masters, who had been silently observing until now, nodded in approval.
After the fourth duel, Alexander took a deep breath. Sweat streamed down his temples, and his breathing came in ragged bursts, though he stubbornly concealed his exhaustion. His body ached: his shoulder, still recovering from a recent wound, throbbed, and his legs felt heavy, yet his gaze remained calm and resolute. This wasn't merely training; it was a challenge he couldn't afford to lose.
The air around the training ground was thick with tense silence, like the calm before a storm. The warriors standing in a semicircle exchanged glances, their faces a blend of admiration, surprise, and slight unease. Some saw superiority in the prince, while others recognized a challenge they would inevitably have to face.
- If the prince is like this now, - one of the senior warriors said quietly, crossing his arms, - what will he show on an actual battlefield?
His words, spoken almost in a whisper, seemed to break an invisible barrier. A young warrior standing nearby nervously gripped the hilt of his sword, his white-knuckled hands betraying his tension. He muttered under his breath, unable to take his eyes off Alexander:
- It's an honor… to serve a prince like that. Just watching him fight is inspiring
Standing next to him, a master of the longsword crossed his arms, surveying the silent warriors. His voice was low, but the restrained respect in his words was unmistakable:
- He's not only strong but wise. You've all heard of his new orders. - He paused, as if gauging how far the rumors had spread. - A son worthy of his father. Such a prince can lead
The warriors stood still for a moment, processing what they'd heard. Some nodded in agreement, others murmured words of approval. A murmur began to ripple through the ranks.
- You're losing to an injured prince, - said the master archer, frowning slightly. Yet there was no hint of mockery in his voice, only deep thought. - He's not even fully recovered and already shows such skill. I dread to imagine what he'll be capable of when he's at his peak
- That's if anyone lives to see it, - muttered one of the younger warriors with a smirk. But before his words fully left his lips, the silence was shattered by a sharp sound. One of the senior warriors, without hesitation, struck him hard on the back of the head, nearly knocking him over.
- Of course, we'll all live to see it, idiot, - the elder growled, fixing him with a stern glare. - Or have you already decided your fate on the battlefield?
The young warrior, rubbing the sore spot, quickly nodded, not daring to argue. The others shook their heads, suppressing chuckles. The brief episode diffused the tension momentarily, but the admiration hanging in the air only grew stronger.
Alexander lowered his sword, feeling his breath gradually return to normal. He looked again at those gathered around him. His breathing slowed, but a torrent of thoughts swirled in his mind.
- Fighting… it's truly captivating, - he muttered, almost to himself, though his words were clear in the silence. - Now I understand why the previous Alexander loved it more than intrigue and governance. It's different here
He looked at his weapon, feeling its weight in his hands, and took a deep breath.
- On the battlefield, you truly live. Every moment matters, every movement carries weight. Everything centers around you and your opponent. You feel the edge - between life and death. And it… it makes you feel alive, - he continued, his voice low, almost pensive, as though speaking not only to the warriors but to himself.
As soon as Alexander lowered his sword and left the training circle to rest before the next duels, the warriors immediately surrounded him. Their faces reflected a mix of surprise and admiration, and although some tried to hide it, their eyes betrayed their true emotions.
- My prince, how do you do it? - a warrior's voice, trembling with awe, broke the silence. His eyes shone as if he had witnessed something almost unreal. - Your movements… those strikes and defenses… I've never seen anything like it
- Yes, I noticed too, - another added, still catching his breath. His face was slick with sweat, but his gaze gleamed with genuine respect. - There's something of our Bogatyr School of the longsword in your techniques. But… that's not all. There's something different, entirely new in them
Alexander, leaning on his sword, shifted his gaze from one to the other. His breathing hadn't fully recovered, but he maintained his composure, masking his fatigue behind an impassive expression. Of course, he couldn't tell them that half of those techniques he had borrowed from a book he had read recently.
- It's the legacy of my teachers, - he said evenly, looking straight into the eyes of his interlocutor. - Masters of the sword who gave me everything they knew. They gave their lives to pass on this knowledge. Their skill lives on in me. That is enough
For a moment, Alexander's words hung in the air, leaving space for reflection. The warriors exchanged glances, and a new spark ignited in their eyes - a mix of respect and admiration.
- Masters of the sword… - whispered one of the younger warriors, as if tasting the words. - So they gave you everything they knew?
- Everything they could, - Alexander replied curtly, shifting his gaze to him. - But any knowledge is meaningless if it isn't honed. They gave me the foundation. The rest - my work, my mistakes, and my blood
The words hung in the air, and for a moment, the training ground fell silent. The warriors pondered what they had heard until one of the seniors stepped forward, breaking the quiet.
- You wield the sword masterfully, my prince, - he said, bowing his head in respect. His voice was restrained, but the challenge behind his words was evident. - I hope you'll continue to join us in training. Your presence inspires
Alexander shifted his gaze to the warrior, carefully studying his face. He sensed there was more behind those words - not just praise, but an invitation to become part of their world, to share their hardships, to embrace their traditions.
From the beginning, Alexander had decided he needed regular training. He understood that in this world, he had to be able to defend himself, and the sooner he regained the skills of the previous Alexander - and then surpassed them - the better. It wasn't a choice but a necessity.
- Of course, - he replied calmly. - But only if you accept me not as a prince, but as an equal. Here, during training, titles don't matter. Only skill and perseverance
These words caused a slight stir among the warriors. Some whispered to their neighbors, some barely smiled. Alexander's words sounded sincere, without arrogance, and they felt the spirit of a true warrior in them.
- It's an honor, my prince, - said the senior warrior, inclining his head slightly. - We'll accept you as one of us. But know this: here, you won't only teach but also learn. Each of us has our strengths, and even a prince can find something new for himself
Alexander smiled faintly, barely noticeably, but a light of interest flickered in his eyes.
- That's exactly why I'll come, - he said. - Every day is a chance to become better
The senior warrior nodded, clearly pleased with the response. Alexander felt their attitude toward him shift. Now they saw him not only as their prince but as a man ready to stand among them, to walk the same path.
Their gazes burned with a new light that Alexander caught out of the corner of his eye. He took a deep breath, feeling the tension slowly fade.
- Time to try the next level, - Alexander muttered, catching his breath. He stretched his shoulder muscles slightly, feeling how his body, warmed up by the previous duels, craved more. His gaze fell on a small group of warriors standing near the warlord.
These warriors were different from the others. Their stance, their expressions, even the way they held their weapons - all of it spoke of exceptional mastery. They were weapon masters, the best of the best. Their names resonated throughout the prince's retinue, symbolizing invincibility.
Alexander glanced over each of them. The heavily armed axeman wielding a massive weapon that seemed capable of smashing even a stone wall. The lightning-fast swordsman, whose movements were so quick they were hard to follow.
The spearman with an iron grip, wielding his weapon with such precision that every step toward him became fatal. The two-handed swordsman - a giant whose blade seemed like a block of steel, controlled with incredible strength. The archer, who, despite his specialization, was prepared for close combat and handled a short sword as if it were an extension of his arm. And the cunning shield-bearer, whose defensive technique made him an impenetrable wall.
- These aren't just warriors, - Alexander thought, - they're men whose names inspire both fear and respect. Each of them is the embodiment of experience, strength, and perseverance
He understood that this was only a fraction of the elite. The prince's Senior Retinue trained in different places, and this was just a small part of it. But even this small group was awe-inspiring.
Elite troops, equal to the best formations of other nations of this time, stood before him, waiting for his next move.
Alexander tightened his grip on the sword hilt. Excitement surged again, but he forced himself to control it. He couldn't afford to hesitate. Taking another deep breath, he stepped forward and addressed them.
- Which of you six is ready to accept my challenge? - his voice was firm, but inside it was clear that this duel would test not only his skills but also his spirit.
The prince's words caused a slight murmur among the warriors. His boldness, mixed with confidence, made some admire him, while others gripped their weapon hilts tighter. Tension hung in the air, as if the very atmosphere had stilled in anticipation.
- Prince, after so many duels, are you not tired? - Voivode Yaromir stepped closer, his voice filled with concern masked by external severity. He knew how difficult fights with masters were, each of whom could outmatch any warrior in the retinue.
Alexander looked at him and shook his head lightly.
- Voivode, don't worry. I still have strength left, and I don't intend to leave until I've faced the best. - His voice was calm, but there was a challenge in it that no one could ignore.
He stepped closer to the six weapon masters standing ahead.
- Who will be the first to accept my challenge? - Alexander's voice was steady, but inside he felt the tension. - Each of them is a master of their craft. Even one mistake on my part could cost me victory
The masters exchanged glances. For a moment, there was a tense silence until one of them stepped forward, his name known to everyone on the training ground.
- That's Iron Breaker! - someone whispered among the young warriors as Ratibor stepped forward.
- When he enters a fight, even the earth trembles, - another replied quietly, looking with admiration at his two-handed sword, which he held as if it were a simple walking stick.
This man was a great weapon master. Tall, powerful, with a body seemingly forged from iron, he wasn't just a master of the two-handed sword - he was its embodiment. Even among masters, his name was spoken with awe. Ratibor was known not only for his incredible strength but also for his skill in combat, combining precision and flawless reaction. His sword, huge and formidable, seemed unwieldy in others' hands, but he handled it with ease, like an ordinary blade.
- That's him… - came a hushed whisper among the retinue.
- I'm afraid the prince will have a hard time… - someone muttered cautiously.
Ratibor slowly approached Alexander, his heavy steps resonating on the ground. He stopped, standing directly before the prince, and for a moment their gazes met. In Ratibor's eyes, there was strength, confidence, and the experience of a thousand battles.
- I am Ratibor, Prince, - he said in a voice that rumbled like thunder. - I'll show you what true strength means… and why sometimes it's better to prepare well before your next leap
His words weren't mocking but a stern lesson yet to be learned. They reflected not only the confidence of a master but also the wisdom of a man who had seen more battles than most had seen in their lifetimes. This moment made the warriors freeze - they knew that before them stood not just a fighter but a living legend.
With these words, Ratibor lowered his two-handed sword into the ground. The metal sank into the earth with a sound as if piercing stone. He looked at Alexander, then effortlessly lifted the weapon as if it were a light branch.
The crowd fell silent. This duel was not just a test of strength but a trial of the prince's spirit.
Alexander, seeing this living mountain before him, felt a lump in his throat. He swallowed hard and clenched his teeth, trying not to show even a hint of doubt. His gaze slid over Ratibor's massive figure - the legendary Kyiv sword master, whose name was known even beyond these lands.
He understood that before him was not just a strong opponent. This was another level, unattainable, like a high mountain whose peak could only be reached after many years of relentless training. Alexander already knew that this duel would likely be his last for today.
- Let's begin, - Alexander said firmly, taking a fighting stance. His fingers gripped the sword hilt tighter, as if it were the only thread connecting him to his resolve. His voice sounded confident, but in his mind, a thought raged - If I lose, let it at least be with honor. If I hold out - let the retinue see that I never give up
- Very well, - Ratibor replied shortly. The master's eyes gleamed with steely coldness, as if foreshadowing the storm about to break upon the prince.
Ratibor struck first. His massive, fearsome two-handed sword sliced through the air with a whistle. Alexander managed to dodge, but the gust of wind from the blade scorched his skin, and the strike that shattered the ground raised a cloud of dust.
Seizing the moment, Alexander rushed forward, his sword aimed at the opponent's side. But Ratibor, demonstrating incredible reflexes, deflected the blow with his blade, as if he had a third eye seeing the prince's every move. The force of the deflection threw Alexander back.
- Fast, Prince, but not fast enough, - Ratibor boomed, immediately launching into another offensive.
He stepped forward with astonishing speed for his massive frame. Alexander barely raised his sword to meet the next strike, but the collision of their blades made his arms tremble with tension. Each of Ratibor's strikes was a deadly dance of strength and skill. Alexander, despite his excellent techniques, realized that against such a master, every one of his movements seemed slow.
Then Ratibor changed tactics. Instead of attacking with his sword again, he lunged forward and struck Alexander in the chest with his shoulder. It was unexpected and powerful. The prince was thrown back, his breath knocked out, and his feet slid treacherously on the ground. Before he could recover, Ratibor raised his foot and delivered a crushing kick to his side. Pain shot through Alexander's body, but he didn't allow himself to fall, rolling and raising his sword once more.
- It's not over yet! - he exclaimed, his voice firm despite the pain.
Alexander surged forward, thrusting and slashing, trying to breach the master's defenses. His blade danced around, attacking from the left, then the right. He used all his speed, every technique he knew. One strike almost landed when Ratibor hesitated for a moment, but the master intercepted it at the last second, deflecting the prince's blade.
- Good, - Ratibor muttered, his voice now tinged with respect. - But it's not enough
With these words, he delivered a powerful overhead strike. Alexander blocked it with both hands, but the force of the collision made his feet skid across the packed ground, leaving furrows behind.
His muscles burned, his arms trembled with strain, but he didn't retreat. He took a step forward, trying to regain the initiative, but Ratibor, as if anticipating this, abruptly swung his sword aside, caught the prince's blade, and struck his hand forcefully. Alexander's sword flew out of his grasp, embedding itself in the ground.
Alexander stood unarmed. His chest heaved with heavy breaths, but his gaze remained steadfast. Determination blazed in his eyes despite the pain coursing through his body.
Ratibor looked at him, assessing the young prince's resilience. Respect flickered in his eyes. Slowly, he sheathed his sword behind his back and gave a slight bow.
- That's enough, - he said, his voice calm but firm. - You're tenacious, Prince. But tenacity alone isn't enough. Continue your journey, and one day we'll fight as equals. I believe you'll reach that level
Alexander struggled to catch his breath. Pain echoed through every cell of his body, his hands shook from exhaustion, but he stood tall as if it were the only thing that mattered. He understood that Ratibor hadn't fought at full strength, knowing he was far stronger than even the previous Alexander.
His gaze moved over the faces of the warriors. They were silent, but their eyes spoke volumes. In those eyes, there was everything: respect, admiration, doubt, and, most importantly, expectation.
He felt the silence - it was deafening, as if the entire world was waiting for his next move. Alexander clenched his hands, pushing past the pain, and took a deep breath.
He understood that what mattered now was not only the outcome of the duel but also how he would handle his defeat. He realized he was not a hero, not a great warrior from the tales, but just an ordinary man. And that was precisely what made him closer to those who looked at him with hope.
- Today, I lost, - Alexander said loudly, his voice cutting through the silence like the toll of a bell. He stood straight, his eyes burning with determination. - But this defeat is not a fall. It's a lesson
His words echoed off the walls of the training ground. The warriors froze, their eyes fixed on the prince.
- Each of us can become stronger, - Alexander continued, his voice growing firmer. - We train not to avoid defeats but to win with honor. And I swear that I will prove to you I am worthy to lead you into battle
For a moment, silence hung over the training ground. Then the first strike of a shield broke it, followed by a second, then a third. One by one, the warriors began to beat their shields, their voices merging into a powerful roar of approval.
The sound began as a low rumble, like distant thunder, but grew with each passing second, turning into waves of deafening noise. It was the sound of faith. Alexander looked at them, feeling the pain in his body recede, replaced by a strange but pleasant sensation.
- I'm not perfect, - he thought. - But that doesn't matter. They believe in me, and I won't let them down
He once again looked over the gathered warriors, raised his head, and stepped forward, closer to his people. In that moment, he felt that he had become not just their prince but a part of something greater - their hopes, their future.
A part of Kyivan Rus.
This day was not just a training session for Alexander; it was an important lesson. He realized that leadership wasn't always about victory. It was about the ability to rise after a fall, to inspire people with perseverance and the pursuit of something greater. Today, he took his first step not only toward becoming a prince but toward one day becoming a legend.
As he left the training ground, Alexander felt bitterness. The pain in his muscles was intense, but even more so was the sting of realizing he had overestimated his abilities. For a fleeting moment, he had allowed himself to feel like a hero from the stories, ready to fight dozens alone, but Ratibor brought him back to reality.
This duel reminded him that great warriors are not born but made. Years of hard work, failures, discipline, and lessons learned from defeats forge them.
He was only 20 years old, and he had plenty of time ahead to reach and surpass not only Ratibor but perhaps even those stronger than him. Although there were few like Ratibor. He was one of the strongest masters in the entire Prince's Retinue, the embodiment of skill and strength about which legends were told.
- Facing someone like that on the battlefield, - Alexander thought, wiping sweat from his brow, - could be the last moment. But if I want to lead them, I must be prepared for even that
These thoughts burned within him, but they carried no fear - only a challenge. He understood that men like Ratibor were rare. But if fate were to pit him against an equal master, he had to be ready.
Alexander stopped by a wooden post on the training ground. Clenching his hands tightly, he felt the pain fade, replaced by resolve.
- I will become stronger than ever before, - he whispered to himself like a vow.
After training, Alexander went to eat. The hot food helped restore his strength, but the meal brought no usual pleasure. He stared absently at a piece of bread, lost in his thoughts.
His gaze drifted over the simple table, which nevertheless held meat, a piece of fresh cheese, and a jug of diluted wine. This was a typical meal for a prince, but he knew that for most people, even such a lunch was an unattainable luxury.
- I eat well, but what about them? - Alexander thought. - Peasants and craftsmen barely make ends meet. Their tables rarely see meat, and water often remains their only drink, and even then, it's not always clean. They live… no, they survive
- Why should I care about them? Perhaps it's better to leave these concerns to my advisors and simply enjoy life? - For a moment, his thoughts turned to doubt.
And this fleeting thought brought a wry smile to his face.
- No… that's not who I am, - he said quietly, leaning back in his chair. His voice was calm, but determination rang within it. - Deep down, I'm still that young, perhaps slightly naïve boy who wants to be something greater. Not just a hero from stories, but a truly worthy ruler
He tore his gaze away from the bread and turned his eyes toward the light streaming through the narrow window. Sunbeams sliced through the shadows in the room, as if reminding him that even in darkness, there is always room for light.
- Kyivan Rus must rise, - he said firmly, taking a deeper breath. His thoughts grew clearer, like a storm retreating to the horizon.
- It's not just for the people. It's also for my own sense of being - to be not just a prince, but a man who changes the world around him, - he said softly but resolutely, looking at the light streaming through the window.
Alexander looked at the table - remnants of food, documents, an inkwell. Simple things, but they reflected his current path: modest, yet full of determination.
From an ordinary man of the future, working in the field of management, he had become the Grand Prince of Kyiv. An interesting fate. Or perhaps this is all just one long dream? If so, he wouldn't want to wake up.
A faint smile touched his lips.
Returning to his quarters, Alexander once again leaned over the parchments spread on the table. His gaze ran over records about agriculture, pastures, and possibilities for trade expansion. All of this was important, but for now, it remained secondary to him.
He felt that the coronation would be his first step. After it, new opportunities would open, and he would be ready to seize them.
Alexander raised his eyes from the records and looked out the window, where the last rays of sunlight for the day were fading.
- Kyivan Rus will be strong. Let it become a land to be admired, - he said softly but firmly. These words felt like a vow, and in their sound, he sensed his own resolve.
- Tomorrow, I need to visit the Merchants' Guild, - he said, considering his upcoming actions. - To see what's happening in the city. To learn about the problems not from reports, but firsthand
Alexander understood that he couldn't rely solely on papers and reports. People trust those who see, hear, and understand them. He wanted to be that kind of leader. A leader they would follow not out of fear, but out of faith.
***
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