Ten night dukes had a bad temper and obeyed their superior unclean, and that one obeyed Parky and, accordingly, Kors. Mador and the rest of his comrades were famous for their ferocity and bestial incontinence, even among their no less aggressive fellow tribesmen. They always found the slightest reason for a fight, and if they didn’t find it, they fought for no reason, since they were arrogant and angry. Kors interrupted these endless skirmishes, and unclean dukes often had the pleasure of feeling the taste of blood on their teeth after his iron bar. But in general Kors was pleased with them, since, despite their minor flaws, they were strong and fearless warriors and proved themselves to be excellent in battles; and in Ore town they carried out executions with particular pleasure, torturing peaceful citizens who did not fulfill the new law. Therefore, Kors indifferently watched as they mocked his slave: how Adrian writhed on the ground, how he tried to shrink and crawl away from the tormentors. Kors didn’t interfere with these entertainments, and one evening just like that, as a reward, he even gave them unfortunate Adrian for a couple of hours, thus encouraging the dukes for faithful service.

Adrian was broken: he shuddered cautiously at any person or unclean, covered his tattooed face with his palms, lowering his head low. Kors saw that Adrian could not bear humiliation with dignity, he was ashamed of himself – he was pathetic. But, however, the coward never asked for mercy and did not beg for leniency, thus at least a little deserving the favor of his master.

It was morning, and the unclean ones were packing their camp, preparing to set out on the road.

“Fix your skirt, bitch,” one of the warriors threw in a laugh, passing by Kors’ cart and Adrian strapped to it. The latter, shrinking, tried to pull the short hem of his shirt over his bleeding knees. Nik, who had just left the tent, yawned and, looking skeptically at what was happening, said:

“Dress him, Vitor, eh?”

“No. Dignity returns with clothing and hair,” Kors replied.

He looked at his Nik. Although it was still morning and Nik had just got ready (and even seemed to have done it diligently), he still looked messy: somehow untidy and sloppy. It seemed to Kors that this stupid, bad nature of his son was manifested in everything: even in appearance, no matter how Kors tried to ennoble him. Kors himself, who looked perfect during the campaign, didn’t understand how Nik manages to do this. And it annoyed him.

Adrian, realizing that they were talking about him, immediately knelt in front of the sirs, his head lowered and huddled into a ball.

“Adrian, tell me something nasty!” Asked Kors. “Tell me, I order you! Insult your master; I swear I won’t do anything to you, I just want to see how brave you are, you coward, a-ha-ha. Pathetic little coward, huh? Can you insult me? Are you afraid? I wait!”

“Damn you,” Adrian said through clenched teeth.

And Kors laughed contentedly:

“Good! I wanted to tell you to shave your head bald, but now I won’t. May your noble father see you in all your glory.”

“Do you think Adri is Leonardo’s son?” Nik asked.

“Am I mistaken?”

“And if you are mistaken?”

Kors turned pale:

“Who is his father?!”

Nik shook his head.

“I can only lead to a thought, I can’t say that, forgive me.”

“Heck! Then he is completely useless!”

“Besides Leonardo, there are other noble blacks…”

“And how can I find his father?”

Nik smiled.

“Just as you always do it – watch through his life.”

“His childhood. Yes!” Agreed Kors, but nevertheless he was greatly annoyed that his assumptions and the hopes and plans for revenge connected with it turned out to be incorrect and empty.