Александр Логвинов – Academy of Lies. Episode 1: Welcome to the Academy of Lies (страница 2)

Time passed, empires fell, and yet the creed of the Academy endured: Lies are its religion. Weakness, its mortal sin.

Thus began the first lesson at the Academy of Lies – a place where virtue was vice, and vice, the highest art.

Chapter 1. Welcome to Nothingness

Alexander stepped inside, feeling his heartbeat quicken despite himself.Above the Academy’s entrance gates gleamed an ancient Latin inscription: Veritas in Nihilo. Alexander Leontiev translated it silently to himself – “Truth in Nothing.” A motto, or perhaps a warning. The massive wrought-iron gates slowly parted, allowing a black service car to roll onto the campus grounds. Through the tinted glass, Alexander watched the city lights fade behind him, swallowed by the shadows of century-old oaks lining the driveway. The car followed a gravel path lit by sparse lamps and came to a halt before the Academy’s main building. In the headlights emerged a Gothic façade: sharp turrets with twisted spires, narrow lancet windows, grim gargoyles crouching on the cornices. It seemed as though the building itself regarded the newcomer with reproach through the hollow sockets of its windows. Leontiev felt a chill creep down his back – whether from the biting October wind or from a vague premonition, he could not tell. He stepped out of the car, pulling up the collar of his coat. The air smelled of damp leaves and wet stone. The car door shut with a dull thud, and the driver’s footsteps faded around the corner. On the portico, between two columns, stood a man in a uniform that looked part official, part businesslike. Raising a lantern, the greeter stepped forward. “Professor Leontiev? Welcome to the Academy,” he said politely, though without much warmth. Alexander nodded, squinting against the glare. The man looked about forty – short hair, sharp features. On his lapel gleamed a badge with the Academy’s golden emblem. “Likewise,” Leontiev replied, glancing briefly at the emblem – a shield entwined by two serpents around a book. An ancient symbol of wisdom… or deceit. “My name is Dmitry Sokolov. I’m the curator of the new staff adaptation program,” the man introduced himself, gesturing for the guest to follow. “The rector asked me to meet you and escort you to his office. He’s expecting you.” Leontiev noticed the lantern’s shadows flickering along the walls, as if someone unseen had just slipped past. A trick of light, perhaps, yet the unease deepened. He wasn’t a fearful man, but from the very first moments here, he sensed the weight of something watching him – like the Academy itself was alive and observant. “Thank you, Dmitry,” he said evenly. “Pleased to meet you.” As they climbed the broad stone steps, Alexander ran his hand along the railing, cold and smooth from decades of use. Behind them, the gates closed with a drawn-out groan – as if cutting off the way back. The vestibule met them with half-light and silence. The high ceiling dissolved into darkness where faint golden Latin letters shimmered in a ring. The décor was austere: a massive chandelier with unlit lamps and rows of marble busts along the walls. Their footsteps echoed under the arches like in a crypt. Leontiev brushed his finger over the nearest bust, discreetly wiping off the dust. The face on the pedestal was barely discernible but seemed oddly familiar – perhaps a former graduate, now a prominent figure. The inscription beneath read: Non omnis moriar. “I shall not wholly die,” Alexander recalled and gave a crooked smile. For a secret forge of the elite, that motto sounded rather ominous. “Straight ahead and to the left,” Sokolov’s voice broke the silence. “The rector is waiting in his office.” “At such a late hour?” Alexander asked quietly as they walked. “Rector Arkady Viktorovich often works late,” Sokolov replied evasively. “Your arrival is… a special case.” A special case. There was a faint trace of irony – or amusement – in his tone. Leontiev couldn’t tell which. He was good at catching subtleties – a habit of his profession – yet the shifting shadows distracted him. For an instant, he thought he saw a door at the far end of the hall open slightly, a flicker of candlelight revealing a face watching them. He blinked – the door was shut again, only the dim glimmer remained. A turn to the left brought them to a pair of oak double doors. Sokolov knocked lightly and, without waiting for an answer, opened one side, stepping aside to let the guest pass. “Professor Leontiev has arrived,” he announced into the half-darkness of the room.

Chapter 2. The Rector Who Sees Through Everything

Seated behind a wide, carved desk was the rector of the Academy, Arkady Viktorovich Orlov. Lifting his head from a stack of papers, he gave Leontiev a piercing glance from his pale gray eyes. His age was hard to guess—his sharp, stone-cut features, neatly trimmed graying hair, and thin lips curved in a polite smile that showed no teeth.

“Good evening, Alexander Sergeevich,” Orlov said quietly, yet his voice filled the room with effortless authority. “I’m glad to finally welcome you to our Academy.”

“Good evening, Arkady Viktorovich.” Leontiev stepped closer and shook the rector’s outstretched hand. It was unexpectedly cold. “Thank you for the invitation.”

“Please, have a seat.”

Alexander sank into a leather armchair opposite the desk. The office felt like a strange fusion of museum and command post: tall bookshelves reached the ceiling, packed with ancient tomes on history, politics, and psychology, interrupted here and there by sleek modern screens displaying glowing diagrams and scrolling data. Behind the rector hung a massive portrait—likely one of the Academy’s founders, a stern general in an old military uniform adorned with medals. His rigid gaze seemed aimed directly at Leontiev.

Sokolov quietly closed the door behind them, leaving the guest alone with the rector and the dim light of a green-shaded lamp.

For a while, Orlov studied him, fingertips pressed together in a contemplative triangle. Leontiev endured the silence, feeling like a student before a very exacting examiner.

“Your trip was uneventful, I hope?” the rector finally asked, as if making small talk.

“Quite all right,” Leontiev nodded. “Mr. Sokolov was very kind to meet me.”

“Excellent. I hope the Academy leaves a favorable impression,” said Orlov with a soft smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “We’ve been following your work for quite some time, Alexander Sergeevich.”

“My work? I’m afraid my reputation has been… ambiguous of late.”Leontiev tilted his head slightly.

“You mean the incident at your university? Believe me, we see it differently here. In fact, that episode is precisely what brought you to our attention.”Orlov gave a low chuckle.

Alexander’s fingers tightened on the armrest. So they knew. The faint sting of anxiety rose in him. That scandalous investigation—the one that had cost him his position. They’d cast him out so quickly, once he touched the wrong names… He pushed the thought aside, forcing himself to stay focused.

“I’m glad to hear I’m not considered a liability,” he said carefully.

“On the contrary—we see great potential in you,” Orlov assured him. “Few possess such a fine understanding of the human psyche—and the courage to call things by their true names. Our Academy trains the elite, and psychological insight is vital to that process. Your expertise will be most useful.”

Leontiev accepted the compliment with a polite nod, though unease lingered. The rector’s offer remained vague. Officially, he had been invited to teach or consult—but there were no details. Why would an elite institution bring in a disgraced professor? Unless… they valued precisely his defiance, his refusal to look away from truth. But why?

“Of course, I’ll be glad to share my knowledge and assist the students,” Alexander said. “Though I’m still not entirely clear on my role.”

“For now, that role is observer,” replied Orlov, leaning back in his chair. “Take some time to look around, acquaint yourself with our methods. You may find them unconventional, yet quite effective. Later, we’ll discuss how your talent can serve us best.”

The words were smooth, but Leontiev caught the subtext: he hadn’t been offered a real post. He would observe—or, more likely, be observed. A test subject in a psychological experiment, perhaps. He kept his expression neutral.

“Tomorrow morning we’ll have a rather interesting session. A kind of demonstration—part of a special course. I believe you’ll find it fascinating as a psychologist. Mr. Sokolov will escort you.”Meanwhile, Orlov continued,

“Thank you. Is it something like an open lecture?”

“In a sense. An exercise in uncovering secrets. Our top students are trained to see through people. A useful skill—for a diplomat, a spy, a politician… anyone, really.”The rector smiled faintly.

As he spoke, Orlov raised an eyebrow, giving Leontiev a knowing look. The implication was clear: here, even you, Professor, are transparent.

“Sounds intriguing,” Alexander replied evenly.

“Splendid.” Orlov shut the folder with a decisive thud, signaling that the meeting was over. “I won’t keep you any longer. You must be tired from your journey. Dmitry will show you to your quarters. Spartan, but serviceable.”