The confession of a dark magician

“I walked through the gusty wind and the bitter cold, and now I have climbed to the very top of your highest Dark Tower, so that…” A well-groomed handsome man in shining armor selflessly described his path, gesticulated, and sprayed saliva in all directions. He sometimes shook his head to remove his golden bangs from his eyes with an elegant wave. The youth squinted his huge blue eyes, pursed his swollen pink lips into a bow, and walked back and forth on the stone floor, describing all his exploits in his short life.

It was funny to look at the next knight. I already knew the whole scenario by heart: now, at the most dramatic moment, he would stop, pull out his sword from its sheath, and start waving it in front of my nose, shouting that he had come to kill me so that Absolute Good would reign throughout the world.

“God, why am I being punished for this, why?” I asked with a sigh, looking at the ceiling of my Dark Tower. The Prince of some Kingdom was still groveling before my throne, thinking that I was listening to him and trembling with fear. Ha! No way. The first ten or so of these noble youths could still impress with their stories and admirable appearance, but then there is all this tediousness with the sacred duty and the Father's instructions. Boring! And monotonous!

“And here I am! My sacred duty obliges me to kill you, spawn of Darkness!” the knight continued his monologue. The most offensive thing in this stupid performance was that I had nowhere to go except to abandon all my brilliant plans to take over the world, steal sheep from pastures, and fight the newly arrived hero. I was so sick of all this. Why does every good guy try to plunge his shiny blade into my heart?

I sat and looked at the stupid prince without any interest, my cheek resting on my hand. He continued his endless speech about good and evil, some prophecy of his great-grandmother, about the princess I supposedly hold captive, about the humiliated and insulted peasants from whom my black dragon stole all the sheep, about the enchanted younger brother whom I had cursed... I could continue this nonsense indefinitely.

Finally, the prince fell silent. I rose from the throne, threw off the black mantle that had become boring to me, and began to descend to the would-be hero with the words "How have you gotten on my nerves, guys! I've lived a thousand years, and characters like you have been coming to me. Firstly, my dear, I don’t have any evil scary black dragon; secondly, I couldn’t curse your brother, I’m not a witcher, I’m a dark hermit magician and that’s not what I specialize in; thirdly, I didn’t steal any princesses. What do I need them for? For me, wise with experience, innocent seventeen-year-old girls are only fit to be granddaughters. And I have neither the strength nor the time to babysit little children. The prince, like all his predecessors, was not surprised at all by the fact that he had traveled in vain and had attacked the wrong person but was shocked by the fact that I was a thousand years old. God, give all defenders of goodness and justice more brains! Well, can’t you figure out that if you came to a hermit magician, there’s nothing to be surprised about? And where is the basic awareness of the enemy, one wonders? You can't just go straight to the enemy when you have no idea what one can do.

"You drink the blood of babies so you don't age!" the knight shouted affirmatively and raised his sword.

"Ugh, how disgusting. This is so old-fashioned, even my great-great-grandfather didn't do it. Spells, magic, sorcery, potions? Have you heard of such things? Prince, maybe you'll turn around and leave now? Go back to your parents, tell them some tall tale, you're pretty good at that, and leave me alone!" I tried to send him home. I'd sent three knights away like that in the past, without any bloodshed, and everyone lived happily ever after.

However, this time I came across a particularly stubborn defender of good. He angrily frowned and pressed his lips together, his whole appearance saying "How dare you?!" I raised my eyes to the sky, trying not to laugh. It felt like all these heroes had been brainwashed at once, forcing legions to attack innocent hermit mages. Okay, almost innocent: I admit, last month's hurricane was my fault - I mixed the wrong potion with the wrong ingredient. But I didn't do it on purpose.

The youth rushed at me with a war cry, not waiting for me to concentrate on the fight. Impudent youth. They don't care who to fight, as long as they win and become famous. I've seen a lot and am already fed up with it all. I don't have any sinister plans, I don't want to rule your world, I don't want to take revenge on anyone, so why are you annoying knights pestering me? Where have I lived, where have I hidden, no, they still find me, they still demand something and even want to kill me. Maybe I've retired from business altogether, I want a family there, I'm also a human, albeit a magician. I have nothing better to do than to build cunning schemes and strategies to gather crowds of demons and other creatures to make the Great March on some kingdom. Are you kidding me? Oh, I'm tired!

And then the knights get gold, marry princesses, and feast heartily. And the people praise them, compose ballads, and write fairy tales. And everyone, without exception, wants to become like their heroic defenders. So they go thoughtlessly, talk nonsense about princesses, younger brothers, and noble goals, wield a sword, shine in armor, just to cause inconvenience to someone from the dark side.

I have no strength. I returned to my throne, and the knight came up to me and raised his sword over me, and I knew that he would not be able to kill me. He does not have the guts to kill anyone at all. He looked at me with malice, as if I did something that did not deserve forgiveness, and his hands shaking.

“What is your name?” the prince suddenly asks me.

“Why do you need it, boy? Didn't you say who you were going to fight?” I answered in surprise.

“Tell me!” he shouts.

With a sigh, I called out the first name that came to mind. The prince put his sword back in its sheath and, with the look of a winner, said "May your spirit never be here again, you filthy magician!"

"Why did you ask my name?" I muttered under my breath.

The prince left with a sense of fulfilled duty, and I had to pack my things again and look for a new refuge until such a noble knight would appear again.