Year 1054. The Grand Prince is dead. Rus' is left without will - without the hand that held the sword. Torn between boyars, ambition, and foreign hands, the land craves power. But it receives no hero, no warlord - only a stranger in a prince’s skin. Alexander remembers a world that never existed here. He has seen empires fall. And he swore - not to repeat their mistakes. He has no army. No allegiance. Only knowledge. And will. Every boyar is a wolf. Every word - a blade. Every choice - a duel on the edge. He did not come to conquer. He came to hold. And to build not the Rus’ of the past, but a realm worthy of being the future. This is not a story of war. This is a story of power. And the price paid by the one who dares to take it.
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