The barracks were overcrowded.

Our bunks, for some bloody reason, had already been handed over to other cadets who'd just arrived on rotation. At the same time, the previous shift hadn't fully vacated, since many were still involved in cleaning up after the battle.

Bao had been right: the females had reacted rather violently to all that noise, the flashes and the rain of debris, and were causing all sorts of chaos. Most available cadets were tied up with calming the bugs, and only a handful of newcomers were sent out to collect scraps.

A couple of them had already been caught up in a serious talk with the Order's officers, as they'd tried to pocket a few curiosities from the field.

One of those officers was now stationed in the barracks, which meant Bao, who was still keeping hold of the thinhorn's vines, very nearly shared their fate. There was no storage space for the vines, since they weren't officially logged, so he'd brought the coils back with him, only to run into an authoritarian third-period.

I had to call Johansson, who wasn't the least bit surprised to find me mixed up in this mess. I explained to him that the vines worked quite well as qi detectors, and he ordered the third-year to back off.

It didn't exactly win us any affection. And with there being too few places to sleep, Bao and I were dumped on the floor of the common room, while Denis, simply for keeping his mouth shut, ended up on the sofa.

In the morning, the same third-stage was handing out assignments for scrap collection and tried to split us up. That was when I openly snapped at her, saying that yesterday we'd been given this task by people far more important than her, and I could call them if needed.

She grumbled but gave in, clearly remembering Johansson's call from the night before. Still, she firmly marked out our work zone and forbade us from cherry-picking.

We headed out into the field. The defensive barrier above the former meat-processing plant had already been taken down. The shuttles that had maintained it were gone too, but the airspace was still crammed with traffic. Jetboards and much larger flying craft I'd never seen before zipped back and forth.

They didn't let me earn any extra points. The moment we reached the marker on the map, something resembling a hoverbike dropped down beside us.

At the controls was Lina, clad in her black-and-white armour.

"Hop on," she said, nodding to the free spot at the back. "Master wants to see you."

"Nice machine," I said, climbing onto the rear seat.

"And fast as lightning!" Lina added.

"Then why's everyone flying on boards?"

"Boards leave your hands free, so you can use techniques. A bike ties you down. Hold on tight."

She tilted the thing almost vertical, and I grabbed her waist to keep from falling off. My arms truly were bound for the entire ride. With the Monkey, I certainly wouldn't have fallen to my death, but I still had no desire to tumble out.

Lina set the bike down on the roof of a solitary tower, from which there was a stunning view of the central complex, the fields, and the ruins of the meat-processing plant.

The height was a little different, but I recognised the school's silhouette straight away. These were Novak's apartments.

It was my first time descending to them rather than climbing up.

Just beneath the roof were several platforms for stripping off gear, where our armour was dismantled and stowed. Lina went with me down to Novak's door but went no further, though she did instruct me to keep my mouth shut.

"You'll be meeting a demon, so don't spout anything unnecessary."

"A demon? Here? Why not in some prison cellar?"

Lina shrugged.

"We play nice for now."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I asked.

"Later! Go on, don't keep them waiting!"

I had no idea what to expect from this meeting, so I prepared as best I could, activating the Thousand Sparks of Awareness.

As always, the entrance greeted me with its aromas: honey and citrus, charred wood and caramel.

Novak sat in his armchair with a glass of bourbon, and in 'my' chair to his right was a very young thinhorn, dressed in a standard hospital jumpsuit. He looked even younger than the body we'd found out in the field. Hard to judge his height since he was seated, but his horns were slender, as were the delicate fingers wrapped around a bourbon glass.

"And here's our hero!" he greeted me in a slightly slurred voice, his eyes gleaming drunkenly before he raised his glass in salute. Ice clinked against the sides.

I glanced at this abomination, then at Novak. Vaсlav was drinking his bourbon without ice.

"Sit," the Great One told me, pointing to the chair on his left — Kate's usual place.

On the low table before it already stood a tall cup with a lid. Clearly Novak wanted me sharp, while the demon was meant to be drunk. The black bottle with gold embossing on the table gave that away. The bourbon was obviously not for me, but could I drink Pure Thoughts while running the Thousand Sparks? Wouldn't my processor fry from such an overload?

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As for the effect of alcohol on the demon's near-child body, Novak clearly wasn't worried in the slightest.

Lina had told me not to babble, and my techniques were definitely not something the demon needed to hear about. But he'd already seen my beetles, so he knew I could accelerate and split streams of consciousness. Besides, he was in a strange state. If his spirit was ancient and tempered, his body was clearly giving way under the influence of alcohol. Perhaps he wouldn't even grasp my question.

"Am I allowed this?" I asked, lifting the lid from the cup. "I've already accelerated," I added to Novak.

"You're lucky with him!" said the demon. "Initiative in underlings is a rare treasure. Though, I suppose his age and your stage both play a large role. Managing a pack of brats with barely fifty years between you is utterly impossible."

"And yet, you still managed it," Novak remarked calmly, raising his glass in salute. "Drink your tea, Jake."

"Oh, please!" the demon waved him off. "If it weren't for their blunders, you'd still be chasing your own tail. If it weren't for that stupid bitch Vhexrith! If she hadn't botched the formations!"

He clenched his glass so tightly that his slender fingers turned white at the tips, blood rushing into the nail beds. His eyes grew utterly deranged, brimming with naked hatred, and all of it directed straight at me…

Vex, the one who botched the formations…

Most likely the figure responsible for erasing and transferring demonic consciousness. That would explain his reaction to me.

Although I'd had a hand in plenty myself.

I took a sip, never breaking eye contact.

The demon came back to himself, his face stretching once more into a smile.

"One blunder from an incompetent underling — that's all it takes to ruin four hundred years of work, a brilliant plan, and one's ascension," he slurred, then drained his glass before ostentatiously rattling the ice.

"No," Novak said. "One glass has already gone to your head. Another would be too much."

"That's perfect! You can get me drunk and wring all my secrets out of me!"

Novak looked at the demon and reinforced his gaze with aura.

I felt icy shivers crawl down my spine, while the drunken demon jerked as if he'd just died, almost scattering ice from his glass. Yet he didn't let go of it, clutching it to his chest as though it were his own child.

"Bloody hell!" His eyes widened, his breathing quickened. "It was a joke, mate. Just a joke!"

Novak took the tiniest sip from his glass, never breaking eye contact.

"I've been quite the gracious host so far, even invited Jake for you."

Me? What for?

Novak went on.

"You know I have a way of retaining information. You've seen Vrhakzun, and we still have time."

I had no idea what he'd seen, but the emotions were plain enough on the thinhorn's face. He swallowed nervously and tried to justify himself.

"You stuffed me into this vile hybrid yourself. It has an extraordinarily low tolerance for alcohol. Forgive me, I cannot control it by sheer will alone. I need a stronger body."

"This isn't some clothing shop."

"You grow this filth by the thousands!" the demon pointed at himself. "And I'd like something tailored a little closer to the original. With stronger horns and working equipment."

"You're talking to the wrong man," Novak shook his head. "I've fulfilled my part of the bargain."

The demon looked at him, then at me, then back at him again, sighed, set his glass on the table and stretched out his hand. Novak placed a tablet into it.

For the next few minutes the demon drew intently with his fingers, zooming the image in and out. Once he'd finished, he went over the sketch once more, nodded, and handed it back to Novak.

Novak glanced over it lazily and nodded.

"Thank you," he said.

"Why that? Why not the ship's coordinates?" the demon asked.

I thought the ship had been destroyed. Was there another one?

Of course there was, they couldn't all have come on the same vessel. But these two were speaking about one specific ship. I dared suppose the one that had been blown up wasn't the main one. And it hadn't carried demon bodies.

"Less chance of you trying to trick me. The ship is everything to you. Its loss means the loss of hope."

The demon snorted but didn't argue.

"I've badly underestimated you," he said.

"May I ask another question?" Novak asked.

The demon considered for a moment, then reached for his glass with its half-melted ice and shook it so the cubes clinked.

"May I have another?"

Novak poured him a full one. The demon immediately took a huge gulp, as if afraid the drink would be taken away.

"Huuh!" He winced, his face flushed, tears sprang from his eyes, yet a smile played across his lips.

Catching his breath, and reassured that the glass wouldn't be removed, he waved his hand.

"I don't understand drugs. Your colleagues in other academies don't dabble in such things. Why is that?"

"Oh!" the thinhorn relaxed and leaned back in his chair. "They dabble, just not in drugs. It's not about the drugs, it's about greed and patience. I," the demon laid a hand on his chest, "must confess, I'm a greedy bastard through and through!

"For four hundred years I've watched you humans squander your resources. You have a splendid planet here, enough to sustain at least several Soul Formations, and you…" he flicked his hand dismissively.

Soul Formations, that was a stage? Definitely higher than the Fifth.

"We clearly don't have enough resources for that," Novak remarked.

"You've plenty of resources," the demon countered. "You've too many people. Birth rates too high, death rates too low, no natural selection, and as a result, a swarm of cultivator larvae wasting qi for nothing."

"And how does that connect to drug trafficking?" Novak asked.

"Drug trafficking is profitable, and addiction is a marvellous tool. You see, I could have made my substances completely harmless, but that would've cut my profits at least fourfold and scared off both customers and partners."

"A pure product would frighten people more than a narcotic?" I asked, not following his logic even with my mind running at full acceleration.

"Humans fear what they don't understand!" the demon declared. "My partners on Earth know they're laundering drug money; my customers here know they're risking their health when they buy my goods. If there were no risk, people would start asking why I was selling underground at all."

"Then why did you sell underground?"

"To avoid all those licences and competitors. You lot are obsessed with intellectual property. Step to the left or the right goes straight to court. It's easier to build a criminal empire than deal with all that.

"Besides, I still needed to keep a low profile."

"I still don't understand. What was your actual goal?" Novak shook his head.

"Profit!" the demon shrugged. "The same thing my kin will come here for in forty years."

"They'll come to plunder," Novak reminded him.

The demon spread his hands, as if to ask what the difference was.

"They'll come for resources. My job is to point them to where the resources are richest, where the juiciest morsels lie. For that I'm owed a share of the spoils.

"That kind of fortune is usually enough to reach Golden Core." A look of disgust crossed his face.

That I knew. Golden Core — the fourth stage.

"Bloody Golden Core!"

He had almost emptied his second glass now and was growing more aggressive.

"Five hundred years of hell, and all I get is a Golden Core! Even you lot can manage to reach that in forty years!"

"For four centuries I've had plenty of time to think it over. And I've decided I'm worth more! I've decided that by the time I have to leave this miserable place, my ring will be filled with everything I need to break through to Nascent Soul." He switched his glass to his left hand and stared at the back of his right. No ring there, of course. "Crystals, breakthrough materials…"

"Let me get this straight," I said. "Drug trafficking wasn't some elaborate scheme to influence humanity, you were just making a pile of cash to splurge on cultivation?"

The demon shrugged.

"Yes."

I thought I'd landed in a xianxia tale, turns out it's Breaking Bad.

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