“Do you keep ill people here? Are they contagious?”

“No, no,” the doctor was frightened, “I dare to assure you of absolute safety.”

And at that moment from the half-open room came the prolonged and agonizing groan of a creature suffering unbearably from pain, and Kors changed in his face, ceasing to smirk smugly. The doctor rushed to the door, hastily closing it.

“What the hell is going on there?!”

“Nothing. Treatment. This is a hospital, sir Kors.”

“Is that Kamiel Varakh?”

No, no…”

“I want to see him!” And Kors, without waiting for permission, pushed the door open with his foot, entering a small room. There was a bed on which the man was lying, but it was immediately clear that this really was not Kamiel Varakh, because this man’s hair was red, bright, it was scattered on the pillow, casting blood red in the sun. There were also bloody spots on the white sheet that covered his body. Kors, clearly not expecting to see something like this, froze in some confusion.

“Sir Kamiel Varakh is in another room, I will take you to him,” the doctor said hastily, trying to go around Kors and enter. Kors interfered with him, blocking the doorway.

“Have mercy,” the red one whispered weakly with his lips. “Kill, I beg you…”

And the doctor, finally jumping into the room, stood between him and Kors, blocking the patient from his gaze.

“What an abomination,” Kors said barely.

“This is not what you thought… I just care… Sir Zagpeace Gesaria asked me to take care of his… mmm… ward, he got a little weak on the long journey…” Doctor Cassiel babbled.

“Ward?” Kors asked skeptically. “You mean this captive red? Call a spade a spade, doctor, I don’t like it when people start playing with me in conversation.”

“Y-yes…”

“I see, Peace is having fun.”

Kors turned his gaze to the metal table where the surgical instruments lay: scalpel, clamps. Everything was dirty and splattered with blood.

“And what organs have you already cut out of this unfortunate man?” Kors asked.

Doctor Cassiel stood before him with a pale face and was silent.

Kors chuckled.

“Don’t be so scared, it doesn’t bother me at all. I brought my… hmm… ward, and you will now take care of him. And Zagpeace’s ward will wait!”

And to the doctor’s relief, Kors turned and went out.

“Yes, yes, please come to my office,” Cassiel said somewhat belatedly and indistinctly.

Kors and Nik followed the doctor up to the second floor and entered his office.

Kors nodded to the chair.

“Nik, sit down.”

And he immediately sat down in the place indicated to him, clutching the belt on his waist with his fingers so as not to make involuntary movements.

“Your ward looks good,” said the doctor. He had already come to his senses a little after an unpleasant incident and looked at Nik, and he dropped his eyes and froze.

“I need medications for hepatitis, something else that restores, useful for an exhausted body,” said Kors in the peremptory tone of a man who understands everything and knows perfectly well what he needs. He slowly walked through Cassiel’s office, scrutinizingly examining the cabinets and shelves on which the medicines were placed.

“Of course, of course,” the doctor answered very quickly and obsequiously, “you are right, sir Kors. Unfortunately, because of the mixing of the blood of different races, half-bloods have many defects that require constant correction. I will find the best restorative medicines for you.”

Kors froze, but quickly collected his thoughts. If Cassiel allows himself such statements, then he doesn’t know that Nik is the son of Kors, and Zagpeace is still keeping that secret.