Does Great Power Lead to Great Responsibility? (Overlord OC AU Translation)

RiP · Jun 24, 2021

Link to the original story one and two

Does Great Power Lead to Great Responsibility?

Beginning

23:12

"Now it's the last hour." The man in the discreet but elaborately embroidered robe looked sadly at the wrist.

The softly glowing square dial was ruthlessly counting down the last minutes and seconds. It will be interesting to see what happens in the end.

With a stingy move of his hand, he invoked the holographic menu, checking the settings. Timers, priorities, and coordinates of the points from which shots and screenshots would be taken. Progress bars of scripts, timing charts, routes of groups of NPCs.

"With all the trouble I went through, it must have been a fairy tale. But where's the happiness, huh?"

The man stomped his foot annoyingly.

The view from the palace balcony on which he stood was breathtaking. The balcony itself, more like an open terrace, overlooked the town square. The city, carefully designed and then painstakingly traced, diverged from it in concentric circles, pierced by streets straight as an arrow. The two- and three-story houses, each with an original architecture, nevertheless maintained the same general style. Walls made of the finest bricks, perfectly right angles, narrow stained-glass windows, and tall, pointed tiled roofs with turrets. In the courtyards were manicured front gardens with lush flowers.

The quarters, at first glance built in a variety of ways, beckoned the eye with a strange harmony, and then they stuck to themselves with their subtle thoughtfulness. Markets, small temples, inns, parks, statues, baths, aqueducts, fountains, stairs, and mosaic sidewalks. The city seemed as real as it was fabulous.

Though, of course, it was all nothing. There was nothing under the textures. The administration of Yggdrasil allowed the project to go ahead, with the condition that they pay for a separate cluster for it. But they charged so much for the renderings that the project was almost abandoned. Then, grudgingly, Talik - the initiator of the idea - decided on half-measures. Externally, everything was just as he wanted. But there was no underside to these decorations. The "floor" defense scheme also required resources and not insignificant ones...

Now, however, the focus of the man on the balcony was not the city itself, but the traffic on its streets. Countless NPCs were busily and coherently decorating the city with garlands and setting up fireworks boxes.

23:39

The streets were lined with rows of gleaming armor and weapons of combat NPCs, who froze and waited for commands. The 'civilian' NPCs were in separate groups.

The man on the balcony glanced at his watch, checking the estimated time and charts from the interface. He had been planning this event for the past two weeks, and he wanted it to work perfectly. Even if no one else sees it with their own eyes. A pity, of course...

Talik invited former members to honor the guild on its last day. He called, wrote, and persuaded, but no one ever showed up. Makes sense, in general. Only four of the original cast played in Yggdrasil at the time. Two were already in another guild, a friendly guild, but a different one. And Katsuba... It was unlikely that he would have been able to enter Yggdrasil from the ICU. Even if he really wanted to.

Well, at least the recordings will remain.

Talik leaned against the railing of the balcony.

23:40

The thin sound of a silver horn sounded over the city, quickly picked up by dozens of others. Seconds later, it was an entire symphony.

The harmonic ranks of steel-clad NPCs, hoisting their flags above their heads, began to march. Legions of various guild NPCs began to march through the wide streets. The perfect formation, perfect turns of tens and hundreds of units. Everything is on time, everything is right on schedule. Happy 'civilians' sprinkle confetti, throw flowers and release pigeons to greet the troops.

Talik smiled sadly. Perhaps planning this parade was more interesting than watching it. Then he set himself a truly ambitious task. Each NPC participating in the parade had his own route and travel schedule. No NPC had to be at the same point in time and in the same place as another. At the same time, the parade had to be spectacular.

It was a real epic, and Talik even considered giving it up, but for some reason decided to finish the job. And here is the result - the military parade and festive demonstrations are very difficult to distinguish from the real ones. Maybe it was too flawless, but that's not a flaw.

Nevertheless, his soul was gnawed with yearning. He had devoted almost eight years to Yggdrasil. He met a lot of interesting people, took part in amazing, and sometimes unique, adventures. Countless battles, discoveries, marathon farming in the company of similarly passionate enthusiasts. Storming enemy guilds and defending allied ones. Auction ventures - lucrative and ruinous.

In almost all of his friends the fire of this hobby subsided. Many have gone to the real world or other projects more advanced than Yggdrasil. Talik, let's be honest, tried to play other VRMMO games himself, but it just wasn't the same. There was no soul in those games. There was a great balance calculation, there was lore put together by professional writers, there was even 18+ content in premium access. There was everything that Yggdrasil didn't have. But there was no soul. There were no mysteries and fatal accidents, no such powerful drama, no opportunity to create and execute an idea that would turn everything upside down.

It was the ability to implement crazy ideas that were the root of Talik's interest. For example, his tactics of territorial defense or extraction of consumables.

Most farmers tried to grind high-level resources, and it made sense. Stellar metals, monsters skins, alchemical reagents of divine origin - all of these cost a lot of money and were mined with great difficulty.

Talik occupied a different niche. He farmed mid- and low-level resources, cleaning out instances and locations that were significantly behind him in level. It was considered an extremely thankless task because when the level gap was too big, the drop was unrealistically low. When you come at level 100 to take out a level 30-50 instance, more often than not you leave with annoyance instead of loot. And this is where Talik found a weak spot in the game logic. He started using NPCs units as a strike force. Of course, a squad of 20-30 NPCs level 40 is not comparable to the striking power of the level 100 player. However, the 'top' will waste mana, health, and expensive consumables, while the NPCs squad is sufficiently supported by weak spells. As a result, the instance, cleaned out by a "top" in 15 minutes, a squad of NPCs cleaned out in half an hour. Where a "top" left without anything, the NPCs squad took out mountains of cheap loot, disassembled it into universal crystalline units. Which, though inexpensive in their own way, are needed in infinite quantities.

Same story with low-level randomly generated quests and events. And, of course, power leveling.

The tactic of using a crowd of low-level NPCs under high-level buffs has shown itself perfectly even in PvP. Of course, weak NPCs wouldn't withstand even one hit from a "top" warrior or mage, but they would take the hit, forcing the enemy to lose time and mana. To maneuver, the enemy would actually have to cut through a weak but constantly replenished formation, wasting time and energy. The NPCs themselves, though weak but heavily buffed, did a bit of damage. Even with a 3% chance of a spell interrupting, fifty NPC-shooters were driving mages and healers to hysteria.

In the PvP league, this tactic was not allowed, because it was not fair. And inefficient, in addition, one way or another, main DDs were required. The Talik class was not designed to deal heavy damage, and auxiliary DDs above level 50 could not be used in the arena, only summoned ones. And there were class requirements for summoning high-level creatures, which, again, Talik didn't qualify for.

In the streets, flash boxes began to fire in chains, launching colorful fireworks into the sky. The scattered, playful flames instantly turned the sky into a field of riotous, colorful flashes. For a brief moment, the enchanting pattern formed pictures of the most memorable events in which Talik had participated. Episodes of the past were inexplicably interspersed, one after the other, like the pages of an album.

The last couple of years, after the actual breakup of the guild, it was not so interesting to play. Yes, he was still one of the cluster's most in-demand supporters. There wasn't a moment when he didn't have tempting offers to take part in some adventure. There wasn't a day when he wasn't invited to another guild.

But Talik stuck with "The Dawn Mist" fellows, and after they left, he didn't have the energy to start all over again or to join the already established company. The romance of new acquaintances was gone, leaving a sweet and bitter memory. He even got caught up in the complicated role-casting, regretting that he'd found this part of the game so late.

Talik could not find the will to leave Yggdrasil, because he was too used to it, but he no longer felt the joy of the game that once attracted him. So the news of the imminent closure of the project he took with ambivalent feelings. Of course, he was sorrowful that it was really coming to an end. On the other hand, it was probably the only opportunity for him to quit Yggdrasil. The game had long been causing him problems in real life, and it wasn't giving him the feelings he was trying so hard to get from it.

And now, having withdrawn all the funds he had managed, Talik paid his last respects to this world. A magnificent parade with an artistic salute.

23:55

Thousands of voices merged into a single cry that swept through the city.

"Glory to the passing world! Farewell, Yggdrasil!"

The small firecrackers and firecrackers rumbled, the fireworks no longer painted a picture in the sky, but glittered with growing chaos, heralding the climax. The NPCs cheered and danced around the square and the streets.

Talik turned around, glancing around the hall behind him.

Thin columns with white and gold ornaments. Tapestries with allied guild symbols and "The Dawn Mist Achievements". Yes, they never were in the top list, not even in the first thousand, but they had many rare and unique achievements.

The mosaic floor, the stained-glass windows, the frescoes on the ceiling. Everything reeked of a genuine, deceptively fragile elegance.

"Yes, 4eJl, you really are a professional... I've always been amazed at your talent. Why didn't you even respond, huh? You could have at least... Yeah"

Talik took a deep breath and braced himself. The show must go on.

He glanced around at the four figures, frozen, kneeling. Four of the guild's top six NPCs. Draga, Illadria, Warboss, and Wilhelm. Marius and Titan were left out. They still needed insurance in case some assholes decided to attack the Dawning City towards the end. Marius guarded the first 'floor' against such intrusions. Sure, it wouldn't hold up a full-fledged assault, but it would keep any group busy for at least fifteen minutes. And Titan... Talik didn't like him, albeit for a silly reason. And it didn't fit into the planned action.

"Wilhelm." Talik made an inviting gesture. "It's time for your speech."

Of course, he didn't have to go that deep into the role. But, damn it, he couldn't afford to unfit into a role in a show he created himself.

Wilhelm stood up smoothly and strode to the balcony with his head held high. Like all the NPCs present, Talik created him personally, though he did so based on the ideas of his friends.

A powerful figure, clad in black and blue plated armor, with a discreet crown on top of a chainmail hood. At his belt was a simple hilted sword in a black, silver-encrusted scabbard.

The archetype is a tank, a support warrior. Armored like a fortress, he could live for a very, very long time, even under heavy focus. But his value as a combat unit was not in good survivability, or rather, not only in it. The main feature was his skills aimed at buffing allies, limited only by area, not quantity. These buffs could be summed up with Talik's own buffs. In this NPC's area of responsibility, even a measly level 25 was equal in power to a level 40, if you watched the timers carefully.

Higher levels became even more dangerous. The short action time was compensated by the high cooldown rate, which helped a lot when the enemy was showering him with dispels. And what about his 'invocations', removing negative effects and giving short-term resistances... His relatively weak own damage was an almost imperceptible disadvantage.

According to his lore, he was the son of a baron in a kingdom plagued by a tyrannical dynasty of warlock kings. When the last king of his country brought the nation to the brink of destruction by making a deal with demons, William's father rebelled. The rebellion failed, and the rebels were executed. And before William himself was executed, Talik came to him in prison in the guise of a ghost and offered salvation and the power to change everything, in exchange for eternal service in the aftermath. Talik created a long and eventful story, at the end of which William overthrew the tyrants and had a more or less happy ending, after which he fulfilled his oath and went into the service of Talik, eventually becoming king. Proud, arrogant, reliable as a rock, and an infinitely loyal vassal.

23:57

William, raising his hands patronizingly, proclaimed. "Listen to your King!"

The noise of the festivities subsided moments later, and all the 'residents' respectfully turned to the figures on the balcony.

"It was a wonderful time, full of glorious victories and great accomplishments! The word of the Prophet Tallarius led us through all adversity, from the dark past to the dazzling present. And I, King William, am proud that I was destined to rule over such a people. Yggdrasil's end was foregone with his birth, and we were ready for it. We went all the way to the end, and in the last moments of this world, we will not grieve. We will rejoice that we happened to catch this moment in health and prosperity. Let us lead Yggdrasil into oblivion without fear or sorrow, and let us praise it for the beautiful times it has given us!"

The rest of the elite came out onto the balcony, greeting the crowd. Wilhelm continued.

"Greet the elder vassals of the Dawn Mist!"

The crowd on the plaza erupted into a standing ovation, chanting random praises for Yggdrasil. And Talik, clenched his teeth, watched the timer.

It was not what he had expected. To be more precise, the ceremony, which up to this point had only been a line of code, was far more heartbreaking than he thought it would be. He hadn't imagined it would hurt so much to say goodbye to the game for real. He understood why he had clung so tenaciously to the outdated, unbalanced Yggdrasil.

What is reality? Gray skies, concrete forests, and synthetic food. Slavery at the keyboard and dreams on the display. Yesterday, today, and forever. No time and nothing to dream for. Nothing to discover. No reason to discover. A gray, bland emptiness for the next 70 years and an imperceptible death. And all the good things that gave you the strength to live are now gone. Gone in a beautiful show he directed as a requiem for his dreams. The timer began to count down the last seconds, and there was silence in the square, broken by the symbolic ticking of a mechanical chronometer.

23:59:50

23:59:51

23:59:52

23:59:53

23:59:54

23:59:55

"Yes, Yggdrassil is leaving... We'll have to continue without him." Quiet, bitter words echoed through the silent plaza.

23:59:57

23:59:58

A powerful explosion shook the sky, blossoming into the last, brightest flash of fireworks.

Talik gripped the balcony railing tightly and squeezed his eyes shut. Reality would have to be accepted, one way or another. It was stupid to close his eyes - he'd missed the last salute. But I didn't have the mental strength to see the virtuality fade, crumble into pixels. He didn't want to spoil his last moments. Now there would be slight dizziness, then emptiness, and an anatomical couch in a concrete anthill.

"Goodbye, Yggdrasil. I really loved you…"

The last second stretched on and on. Talik was even happy about it, but at some point, he realized that something was wrong.

It was noisy. The sound of water in the fountains, laughter, hubbub, fragments of songs. A cool breeze stroked the face.

Without opening his eyes, Talik took a deep breath of fresh air.

"What the fuck?"

He didn't want to open his eyes. The hallucination was beautiful. He inhaled and exhaled the air in a measured and deep way. It was clean, cool, and slightly moist. Without the bitter, slightly suffocating aftertaste that should have been present. And without the chemical-medicinal one, which also had a right to be. Fresh evening air. A very, very expensive treat.

I wonder if I'm in a coma. That wouldn't be very good... He thought.

Talik felt himself standing up. His sense of touch was working as hard as it could, reporting about the fit of his clothes and shoes. The pressure on his feet. The cool railing on which his hands rested. There was no such thing in Yggdrasil, for a number of reasons, not just technical. There was, of course, tactile and vestibular emulation, just to maintain orientation in space, but this sensation was not even in the project. Not even in the more advanced games.

It was scary to ruin such a beautiful experience. He wanted to just stand there, breathe and listen.

From below came congratulations, shouts of joy, and easy, natural laughter.

That's how you get mad, isn't it? Well, I don't even mind. He thought.

Talik hesitated for a long time to change his pose. What if everything disappeared? On the other hand, it would be foolish to freeze like this forever. He shifted his weight carefully from one foot to the other, then straightened, hooked his arms behind his back, took another full breath, and dared to open his eyes.

The night sky, with clouds and stars. City streets illuminated by twinkling lights. People. A lot of people. And not just people, yes. It's hard to see the details of the clothes, but by all accounts, it appears to be a universal design, developed by Kazuchi. A good cut that fits all proportions. It's enough to change the coloring to make identical suits completely different. A great way to save system resources, by the way.

Some little girl was dancing playfully on the edge of the central fountain, with a small crowd clapping its hands around her. Here she stepped on the hem of her dress and, unable to keep her balance, flew into the water with a cheerful screech. There are cheers and laughter, and several people reach out their hands to help her out. She splashes into them.

At the other end of the square, the door of a restaurant is opened, and several people, led by some stout little man, carry out the bulky bottles. The bottles are unsealed and go out into the crowd. The fact that the restaurant door cannot be opened because it is a textural shell is simply ignored.

A musician with a lute walks down the street. Talik was not sure that this object of the entourage was a lute, but there was no way to check when designing. And here comes a man, playing an amusing melody and with a pleasant baritone humming something with a double meaning. Women accompanied confused glances, men sang along. A group of people burst out of the alley, grabbed the musician, handed him a bottle, and carried him away.

Talik didn't immediately have the words to comment on all this.

"Holy crap.".

He didn't immediately remember that he wasn't supposed to be alone on this balcony.

He turned around and saw four familiar figures kneeling before him. He looked at them for a few minutes, but they didn't even move.

"Wilhelm."

"Yes, Prophet?" The big man in the armor murmured, raising his head. Talik studied his face with interest.

Mimics. That's what separates the current situation from common sense. Well, among other things. There shouldn't be any facial expressions, Yggdrasil's engine didn't allow any realistic developers wanted to introduce a facial expressions patch, but on the test servers it led to a large increase in system requirements, and the patch was not approved. And here you can quite see the change in facial expressions.

Talik leaned back against the railing.

"Wilhelm, what do you think about the situation?"

"I admire your decision to prolong our existence."

"So... What makes you think it's my decision?"

"It's obvious. In the last moments of the world, you proclaimed that life would continue even after the death of our world. And here we are, and we exist."

Talik had once heard of the Turing test but had no idea how to do it. But so far his hallucination was quite confident in answering questions that simply could not be in the game. He wonders what's going on with his body right now. Is it blowing bubbles in his helmet, convulsing, or just lying there as a log? They'll find him by morning at most. He wonders how fast they'll bring him back to consciousness.

Please, guys, don't rush this.

"Draga."

"I am listening to you, Prophet."

Such a deep voice. It says she has a deep and strong voice in the settings, but of course, she actually had a standard voiceover. Even the speech for Wilhelm had to be edited apart.

"Draga, what do you think about what's going on?"

"I am in accord with the King. I only dare to hope that you will not leave us on this path."

"Why?"

"Without your will, existence is meaningless."

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely."

As she spoke, she looked at Talik. Oh, that face was beautiful, mesmerizing. Its author was 4eJl, the best artist Talik knew. Talik's standard customizer was, well, unsatisfactory, and he was able to get an old friend who'd long since given up on the game to draw some faces.

Thin, black eyebrows, high forehead, big, bottomless eyes. The graceful, fragile bridge of the nose, the sensuous lips... Trying to create a verbal portrait in his head, Talik realized that he could not find the right words to describe Draga's predatory beauty.

Such a look... Looking into his eyes, with barely perceptible adoration, from the bottom up, she knocked Talik out of his mind. It was hard to hold his breath, and his heart was literally on fire. It was the kind of look you'd only see in the movies, and it would surely be addressed to the first of the macho men.

Subconscious, subconscious, what are you doing to me, huh? Hey, ambulance guys, I don't want to wake up, you'd better kill me now. I'll give you all my organs for it. Please.

"Is there anything else the Prophet would like to ask his servant?"

The magical voice of Draga continued to destroy Talik's self-control.

"Maybe later."

She stared gracefully at the floor.

"Warboss."

"I crave your words, Prophet."

"What do you think about what's going on?"

"I don't know, Prophet. I don't think. We are, and that is good. I crave your orders and hope for glorious new battles."

When a suitable set-up for a quick sweep of temporary locations was chosen, Talik took a long time to select an image for the 'troops'. The prototype was the classic Western fantasy orcs. Dark green fanged tough boyz with axes and no brakes. Intelligence on minimum, strength, and speed on maximum, health on average. It wasn't very easy to fit such an image into Yggdrasil's customization. The Japanese 'orcs' were a mixture of a human and a pig, after all. Talik always thought it was stupid. He argued a lot with Katsuba about it. They couldn't come to an agreement, and in the end, Talik used a sneaky trick after all. The status of the guild leader. Katsuba took offense for about three weeks, screaming that it was despicable and resenting Rodas for giving his status to such an unprincipled asshole, but then, of course, he cooled down.

How is he doing, by the way? Hey, narrow-eyed pervert, you missed your chance to die happy, lol.

The green, square, fanged face with a reverse bite was adoringly drilling Talik with the look of tiny, deep-set eyes.

"So... Do you realize that a battle is always someone's death, don't you?"

"Death on the battlefield is a prayer to you, Prophet. Honor to those who die and kill.".

"What will you do if I disappoint you?"

"That's impossible." The orc growled confidently.

"What if there are no battles? If I told you to just do nothing?" Talik got into this little game.

"So that's how it should be."

"And all the orcs will accept it?"

"All who live will accept your will, Prophet. All."

Hmm, about living. I wonder what Marius would say. Archilich, commander of the undead army. It might be possible to ask.

Talik glanced at the watch on his wrist. 0:27.

Well, there's still time. Hey, guys with the defibrillator, seriously, don't wake me up.

"Illadria."

"I am listening to you, Prophet."

Oh, even more pathos than the others. Subconscious, what are you doing? I'm going to be embarrassed!

Talik looked at Illadria's face with an appraising glance.

Eh, 4eJl, did I tell you that you are the greatest artist in the world? How did you manage to combine subtle nobility and this kind of naive mischief into one image? Draga burns through the dark side of the soul, and Illadria is a balsam for the light side.

"I asked everyone the same thing. You answer it too. What do you think about what's going on?"

"I share the opinion of all your other vassals, Prophet. I am proud and happy that we have all been given the right to continue to serve you. I and my people will do our best not to disappoint you in your decision."

Illadria is an elf, and there's no way without them. Elves are a must-have fantasy attribute. A tight dress, gold sandals. Small breasts. Oh yes, Katsuba, I remember your tantrums on that subject. Of course, a Japanese elf girl should have elbow-length ears and a bust the size of a fire extinguisher. But you lost this time, too, and old Tolkien won. And once I heard you rustling your clothes rhythmically in the voice chat when you thought I was AFK. And I know for a fact that at that time you were holding Illadria as a fire support unit. And in her logs, I later found dance commands. You lost twice. The second one was when you went into ICU two days before closing time. I wonder what you would have seen?

The voice is like silver bells, like a forest stream, delicate, tinkling, engaging. A perfect match for what the charlist described. Eh. I guess I won't speak to Marius, it would spoil the whole impression.

"I heard you. Well, it looks like the celebration was a success in every way." Talik turned back toward the square.

"Yggdrasil is dead, which means we're somewhere else, and I want to know where. Illadria, send scouts to explore the area outside the city. Not the elite, but ordinary 20-30 level scouts who specialize in stealth. Have the elite follow them from afar. If you find any signs of intelligent life - stay in stealth and report immediately. Avoid any direct contact without orders. Scouting area... one day's march from the outer walls."

"I will, Prophet. Dare I ask why not send the best at once?"

"It's obvious. This is more of a provocation than a full-fledged exploration. The loss of the ordinary scouts will make no difference if it happens. But it will immediately give us the nature and minimum capabilities of the potential enemy."

"I admire your wisdom. May I begin?"

"Go."

Talik wondered if it was worth the trouble. Maybe it wasn't worth it. But it was interesting! He glanced around, everyone was in the same pose except for Illyadria, who had disappeared. Well, let's continue the game!

"Wilhelm. I want to know the supply situation. Namely, how much food we have and how many mouths need it. The same goes for water. Take care of that, I expect a report in the morning. If there's an emergency or disturbance, report immediately. Off you go."

"I obey, Prophet!" Wilhelm pressed his palm to his chest and walked quickly out of the hall.

"Warboss. Prepare the orcs for the fast mobilization. If the scouts encounter the enemy, I need you to be able to bind them by combat as quickly as possible. And calculate roughly how many warriors you have now, whether you have enough weapons available."

"Yes!" Inspired roared the big man and quickly rushed away.

"As for you, Draga..." Talik hesitantly stroked his chin.

"I am all attention, Prophet."

There is no salvation for the one caught in the abyss of those eyes. Not a chance to resist. Hey, hallucination, be as convincing as you are, okay?

"Arrange in this room two comfortable chairs, a table, wine, and some snacks."

T. N. Just a song for fun.

RiP · Jun 24, 2021

Chapter 1

"Does the Prophet desire anything else?"

As he looked at the bowed maid, Talik felt his irritation grow again.

"No. I'll let you know if I need anything. Go ahead."

The pretty girl in the cassock bowed even more deeply and ducked behind the tall, austere door, shutting it behind her. Talik leaned back in his chair with his hands behind his head. He felt like dragging his feet over the desk, but he couldn't quite do it. The furniture looked too expensive.

In fact, he drew this office himself. So did the entire Temple facility. Formerly part of the Royal Palace, the Temple was nevertheless a separate 'floor', the smallest of all. To enter it was possible only from two places, and how to say enter - to be transferred. Whoever entered the gate was transported to a separate location. At least, that's how it was supposed to be.

Yesterday it became clear that all mini-locations of the Dawn City had become one. The temple was no longer a separate 'floor' and became just a fortress inside the fortress. From the open windows, he could get out on his own, throw an object, follow the movement in the inner courtyard of the Palace.

It is not known whether things are the same with the other floors. It would not be very good, in fact, in terms of defense, it would be a huge disadvantage. Almost the entire defense system was tied to the limitations of crossing floor boundaries.

Experiments and research were required. Not only that, there were so many details to figure out. And it was impossible to say what was more important and what was less important.

"Yeah." Talik exhaled and looked at his surroundings.

Of course, everything here was familiar to him. But this was only the second time he really looked at his office. He'd only been in here once since he'd started the floor; there was no need for it. Guild's console functionality was still accessible from the throne room, the balcony room, and the meeting room, and it was far more convenient than having to move here and do the same thing alone. Decisions requiring the use of administrative functions were still made collectively, by the entire guild.

The console, by the way, didn't work. 'Processing the interface...'. Well, at least the display was on. The game menu, for example, was not displayed at all.

And now he came here, to get some privacy. To try, as in books and movies, to gather his spirit in solitude and appropriate surroundings. An octagonal room, twenty paces across, racks full of unique books and scrolls by the walls. A high vaulted ceiling with abstract frescoes. An exquisite stained-glass window scatters rays of light from outside, drawing subtle fairy-tale paintings in the air. A crimson carpet with gold pentagrams over lacquered parquet. Arching doors to the preaching hall, the bedroom, and the laboratory.

It seemed impossible to find a better place for seclusion.

Yep. Right.

The temple servants, originally just mid-level support units, also 'came' to live. They were indescribably delighted that the Prophet himself had come to visit his chambers. Yes, he didn't come around here very often. It was, by and large, just the last line of defense, the place destined for the final battle. Now these fanatically happy creatures - humans, elves, draconians - were obsessively eager to be helpful.

How did this happen? What happened, what caused all of these? These questions kept Talik busy.

Yesterday he sincerely thought he had lost his mind and decided to have one last entertainment. Now he wasn't so sure. Everything was too real, too tangible, and too detailed to be a hallucination. His memory worked perfectly and his consciousness did not feel the inaccuracies typical of a dream. It was unlikely that insanity could be so vivid, consistent, and detailed.

Everything around me was alive. It was real. Common sense protested, but the facts were stubborn.

Draga. I wonder how she feels now? Yesterday he literally felt her heartache, and he blamed himself.

They had a great night last night. Talik didn't know much about wine, but it tasted very good, though it was only tipsy for a few seconds. Berries and cheese caressed the tongue with previously unfamiliar natural flavors. A pushy, confident beauty. A short conversation about insignificant things turned into flirting, and a little later into an indescribably pleasant kiss.

And from that moment, he... Lost interest in what was going on. No, of course, he finished the job. Or rather, he let her finish the job because as a man he was very... inexperienced in the matter. But he felt sex was simply a mechanical sexual act. The pleasure was purely physiological. Emotionally, he felt nothing at all. Like with a doll, an inanimate object.

Oh, sure, Draga was trying very hard. And of course, she felt something was wrong. When it was over, she looked crushed and kept asking for forgiveness. The evening was hopelessly ruined, and Talik's attempts to recapture its charms were frankly pathetic.

It was a terrible situation. Talik kept chasing those thoughts away, but they kept coming back, bringing back the smallest details of the fiasco. Something had to be done, but what?

"Yep."

Talik decided to finally get down to business at last. At least look at the reports provided.

The pages of papers with numbers, neatly bound in folders, were quite easy to read. Nice large handwriting, with symbolic monograms on the titles of the paragraphs. He wonders if Wilhelm wrote it himself, or dictated it.

He ran his eyes over the first folder, relieving his nagging anxiety. All morning, along with his worries about Drags, he'd been gnawing at his doubts about how things were going in this now-real world.

In Yggdrasil, you could roleplay such details as farming, cattle breeding, and so on. But no one really bothered with it - too boring and non-fantasy. Talik has not gone far from the general mass of players in this matter. The guild system simply consumed gold and crystal resources, deriving an abstract balance between the expense of general maintenance of the guild and its individual enclaves, and income. Income was passive, from 'household plots' and 'mines', and active - actually injections into the expenditure side of the treasury.

It was preferable to maintain a positive balance. Not necessarily, but preferably - who would be happy to quit for some reason for a month and come back to find services disabled and no NPCs, for which there was no money to support anymore. In the worst cases, the system also deleted floors that had passed a certain loss mark. With everything that was on them.

Now, judging by the documents provided, the unknown event had filled in the logical holes in the supply. There were fields and cattle farms outside the city, iron and silver mines nearby, and even a few small fisheries were present. Grocery stores contained enough supplies that even in the event of an apocalypse, the city would last a couple of months without a problem.

Talik took note - make sure to check it out in person.

Next, there was a folder with a condensed report from Illadria. The sorceress reported that the current position of Dawn City was a valley deep in the mountain range. A reconnaissance of the area showed three possible paths beyond this mountain range. Deep canyons and clefts, difficult to pass, but quite suitable for road construction.

No further reconnaissance was conducted from this mountain valley, according to the order received. No living, sentient beings were found, but there are unambiguous traces of civilization. Destroyed structures of unknown purpose in the nearby mountains, and collapsed tunnels going into their depths. Abandoned, tentatively, four or five centuries ago. The nature of the damage indicates signs of war, with the use of explosives and war machines.

Animals are common, not magical, assumed to be level zero ('creeps', one-hit entourage) to level eight. Higher levels have local predators.

Animal habitats, ruins, and paths through the mountains are marked on the attached map.

Well done, Illadria. It's impossible not to understand, just like you did for an idiot.

A report from Warboss. Oh yes, it's impossible to assign this handwriting to anyone else. Little sloppy letters, uneven lines, savage entourage just oozes.

How many?! Eleven thousand ready for immediate combat, seventeen can be deployed in half a day, twenty-five in 24 hours with full mobilization? What the fuck? From where? And where are these hordes physically located right now? What are they eating?

Talik returned his attention to the documents from Wilhelm.

Yes, the king included the orcs in the expenditure part. He wonders how many 'royal' troops there are. The 'backbone' that started the idea itself.

Initially, low-level NPCs were simply automatically generated in numbers as the guild infrastructure allowed. Any losses among them were replenished by default after a few hours. Convenient and fast. So, how's everything going now? And what's the deal with higher-level NPCs requiring 'manual' generation?

There's so much to figure out. And I have to go to Marius to see how he's doing.

Talk to the undead of the highest rank, yeah.

It's kind of creepy, man. He wrote archlich a long time ago, and already forgotten half of his story...

Okay, there's a lot to do, no time to complain.

Talik stepped out from the table with determination.

Draga, I hope you can forgive me.

Chapter 2

In the Dawn City, in addition to the usual residences for 'ordinary mortals', there are several separately built buildings designed to house the guild's most valuable vassals. These vassals vary greatly in rank, strength, and occupation, but they all have one thing in common.

The Lords of Dawn Mist deemed them valuable enough to appoint to positions of responsibility. Most of these vassals were created or summoned by the Lords from oblivion. They were empowered as they were, and initially best suited to their assigned tasks. There were also those who earned their place in the hierarchy by merit, assisting the Lords in their journeys through times and worlds.

Both were justly proud of their part in the lords' greatness. Especially the elder vassals, those endowed with the greatest powers and gifts in existence. Six of the most powerful - after the Lords - beings created and enlisted in the service by the Prophet Tallarius.

Each of them had a great responsibility, each had a great demand. And each had the highest reward - the right to serve the incomprehensible schemes of the Lords.

Marius is the Archilich, the eternal guardian of the guild's borders. The one who took the first blow of any invasion. Lord of the undead hordes, master of terrifying curses, master of time and space. One who kept a tireless vigil at his eternal post, even in the final hour of the world.

Illadria is the mistress of fields, streams, and groves, the lady of storms, and the head of the forest folk. She has accompanied the Lords on their journeys countless times. Her scouts, hunters, assassins, and minor wizards have kept watch beyond the territories of the Dawn Mists. Few adversaries had a chance to slip past her spies, and few events could escape her omnipresent servants.

Warboss is the head of the vanguard forces. The Lords did not take him on their journeys, but no worthwhile battle between the Lords of Dawn Mist and their allies against the lords of the other guilds happened without him. In any new lands, his armies were the first to go into battle, covering themselves in unfading glory.

Wilhelm - by the will of the Lords was given full power over the inner city. The legions that form the backbone of the guild's power obeyed him. While Warboss's orcs took on an unstoppable onslaught, Wilhelm's legionnaires and knights were known for their ability to fight as a single mechanism, maneuvering and adapting to any situation on the battlefield. Outside the war, Wilhelm ruled the provinces, sparing the Lords the need to get involved in the petty hustle and bustle of the world.

The Titan, an automaton that could rightly be called an absolute weapon, guarded the peace of the inner temple and treasury. A weapon was so destructive that even the Lords did not invoke its power without critical need. Only twice, when hostile Lords were able to break through to the heart of the guild, did he go into battle. And both times the immortal invaders cursed that day.

All the high vassals were important, necessary servants of the Lords. And when the Lords were gone, leaving only the Prophet and his closest associate, Katsuba-sama, the higher vassals became even more important to the fulfillment of their plans.

EXCEPT YOU.

Drega shrank into a ball, screaming silently, scratching the granite of the pillars in the basement of her tower. The web of darkness that braided the circular hall of the dungeon mocked her and her suffering in a many-voiced whisper.

YOU ARE NOT NEEDED.

Draga was not equal to the others. She was stronger than every one of the elder vassals, the Herald of Darkness, equipped with the best warrior gear in the guild, after Katsuba-sama. In one-on-one combat, she would have cut any of her 'colleagues' to ribbons. Though she had no armies of her own, she was worth more in battles with dragons, monsters, and hostile lords than any of the other elder vassals with all their warriors. But the Lords of Dawn Mist did not take her on their journeys and wars. Her creator, the Prophet Tallarius, summoned her only once. It was a truly terrible massacre, and the victory was theirs. Too hard a victory. After that time, she was never again ordered to leave the confines of the Dawn City

BECAUSE YOU'RE USELESS.

Her fate was an ignominious existence as an expensive toy. Her status as an elder vassal was unsupported by anything. But she hoped she would get the chance to be useful again. And that chance came.

AND YOU FAILED.

On the last day of the world, of all the Lords, only the Prophet remained with the guild. Even Katsuba-sama, the closest of the Prophet's friends, did not condescend to their shared brainchild to see it off with dignity into oblivion. And when the Prophet decided that it made sense for Dawn Mist to continue to exist, each of the elder vassals was assigned something important to the guild.

And she alone was entrusted with something important for the Prophet personally. To please him. The highest honor is imaginable. The deepest dream of every female vassal of the Dawn Mists.

After Malikriss' betrayal, the Prophet lost interest in carnal relations and now wished to remind himself of them. And she disappointed her creator. He was bored with her.

YOU'RE NOTHING.

The darkness in the hall was no longer whispering, but shouting with a thousand cursing voices, and there was no way not to hear it. Draga's heart convulsed, her tears dried up, and now blood flowed instead. Instead of tears, though? Trying to numb the inner pain, she clawed her immortal body, bringing tangible pain. But it did not help. She wanted to disfigure, to mutilate herself, but her body was the Prophet's creation, and she could not have such right.

He ordered nothing more, demanded nothing more, and even tried to comfort her. All she deserved from her dream was pity? All she is capable of is suffering? What does she exist for? Oh, how she wished she could go mad or die to drown out this monstrous pain.

But she was not given such an order.

* * *

[message]

"Lady Illadria, this is a scout from the east canyon. On the edge of my line of sight, I see movement, looks like some kind of caravan. No obvious threats."

"Stand by."

[message]

"Prophet, please forgive my impertinence and listen to the report. Scouts from the east canyon report signs of intelligent life. Looks like a caravan, with no sign of a threat. What should we do?"

Hearing the melodious ringing and followed by the soft voice of Illadria, Talik looked around in confusion and reflexively folded his fingers to invoke the menu. It was the first time he had received a [message] since the Event, and it was hard to comprehend that an NPC could use it.

Although there's a lot of things he can't comprehend.

Talik felt like an idiot. [Message], man. It's more convenient than personally running after NPCs, although now they, not NPCs anymore. It just didn't even occur to him that this simple magic could work properly without a target player.

Actually, he needs to deal with magic. Obviously, it works now, but how can he use it without a game console and voice macros? He had, of course, planned to look into the matter, but a little later. Now that he knew for certain that there were other sentient beings here, the question became critical.

"Prophet?"

"Ah, sorry, I was thinking. Send a 'tail' after them, I want to know the type of creatures, their approximate level, and intended goals. Also, send more scouts to those areas. I want to have as detailed a picture of those territories as you provided this morning."

"The order is clear, Prophet. I will carry it out."

"And, Illadria, I want to hold some sort of meeting. After sundown, I'll wait for you in the Prayer Hall, and I'll inform the others myself."

"In the Hall of Prayer itself?" There was a reverent shock in Illadria's voice.

"Yes. That's it, see you tonight."

I'm sorry, Marius, but I have the perfect excuse to postpone my visit to you. Ah, [message], yes... Let's just say "I forgot, forgot". I'm sorry.

[message]

"Scout, pursue the caravan, or whatever it is. Scout the lineup and see if you can figure out the levels. If you show yourself, retreat immediately and report back."

The scout was surprised by the strange notes in his mistress' voice as if she could barely control her happiness.

"Copy that, Lady Illadria. I'll keep you informed."

Talik stopped at the door of his office and pondered.

Checking the work of skills is not just shouting the name of a spell and seeing what happens. No, of course, you can do that, too. But a good, thoughtful test isn't done that way.

He needed a large open space. A city square would be fine, but there were two strong arguments against it.

First of all, there are a lot of people there all the time. It is, in fact, the center of the city, the point at which most of the streets are united. He could ask Wilhelm to get everyone out of there and block off the square; he's not likely to say no. He is a Prophet or a pig-tail? After all, He could tap his shoe on the table. But he didn't want to inconvenience a bunch of people like that. It was the Elites who saw in him something great and inscrutable. But the ordinary inhabitants might see him as a small-time employee of an out-of-state engineering office.

Second, if he failed, it would be the embarrassment of the century. Just the thought of embarrassing himself like the last chunibyo (I think that's how Katsuba called his problem) in public view in the center of a densely populated city... Nah. And if the Elites also realize that someone here doesn't fit the standards for the wise and all-powerful Prophets, it's scary to imagine what will happen. No, no, no. We're not going to the square.

Where else can he find a lot of space, and with fewer spectators? That's right. If you can't solve a problem, dump it on somebody else.

[message]

"Illadria, this is Tali... Tallarius."

"There is no greater happiness than to hear your voice, Prophet. How can I serve you?"

\

Talik grimaced.

This is way out of line. Does she have no self-respect at all?

"Your groves are within the current guild territory, right?"

"Yes, it takes up part of the interior territory. Should I remove it?"

"No, I don't. I need to... Do you have a clearing about 100 feet in diameter? And not too many people hanging around. I want to test something."

"Yes, Prophet, I know such a place. Would the Glade of the Old One's suit you?

"Is that the one with the Stonehenge in the center? Yeah, I guess that would be okay. Oh, by the way. You must know some portal magic. Try opening a portal to the clearing at my coordinates."

"I obey, Prophet."

Talik crossed his arms over his chest in anticipation. Nothing happened for a few minutes.

[message]

"Prophet, I beg your forgiveness, it's not working!" Illadria's voice had an anxious tone in it.

"That's good. I'm sorry I didn't tell you, but I'm in a temple where all teleportation of any kind is blocked. I wanted to see if this restriction works now. It's okay, relax. Try opening a portal to the common chambers of the palace."

After a moment's pause, the relieved voice of the elf woman was heard:

"The two-way portal between the common chambers and the Glade of the Old Ones is open, Prophet."

"That's good. Keep it open for now, track how much power it will take. I'll use it soon. And, yeah, make sure no one's at the clearing, okay?"

"Yes, sir!"

Talik disrupted [message]. He was a little ashamed of his impoliteness, but the thought of having to hear Illadria sing undeserved dithyrambs to him again was too embarrassing.

He opened the door and peeked sneakily out of his office. His hope of slipping in unnoticed was immediately shattered.

The Hall of Prayer (the design name 'Chapel' didn't stick - the guild members demanded pathos) was impressive in its current state. As part of the game's universe, of course, it was also very beautiful, but you quickly stopped paying attention to the game's setting. You just remember what's where and how to move around, and that's it.

And now... Now it was real, every detail of it, and the difference between its past appearance of scenery through the interface, and the current one, was staggering. In some ways, it was similar to Talik's office, at least in the shape and vaults of the ceiling, but it was many times larger. The turquoise-blue marble of the floor flowed into the pale gold of the twisted columns, decorated with crystal patterns, reaching up into the dizzying heights of the ceiling. The ceiling itself consisted almost entirely of multicolored crystal plates that filled the entire hall with pure, lush color combinations. Always different, depending on the time of day. Quiet choral chanting flowed in a smooth, whimsical melody, scattering with barely audible echoes.

In the very center, on a small pedestal, stood a carved altar. Of course, in an ordinary religious building, one would never place an altar in the center, for that would cause a part of the audience to have to look at the back of the preacher. But here such a position was due to two rational factors at once. First, from an aesthetic point of view, it was symmetrical. Second, it was equally easy to reach both allies and enemies with spells from the center, and there was no need to move around the hall to cast aura effects. And, in fact, the altar itself served as a protection for Talik in battle. As long as the altar was not destroyed, the Talik could not be harmed, and under its protection, for a short time, it was possible to deliver the ultimate healing efficiency without worrying about self-defense. It's extremely valuable in a hot PvP environment.

Talik could hardly tear himself away from his contemplation and sighed. Of course, the temple servants were here. On either side of the door stood beautiful girls in cassocked robes. Figures in ceremonial robes were also standing beside each of the columns. And all this fraternity was now looking at him with adoration and reverence.

What's the matter with you people? Seriously, this is not natural.

Talik exhaled and, trying to keep an important look, silently left the office and headed for the exit. The feeling of being stared at was not relaxing, and every step required intense concentration.

The last thing he needs is to stumble in front of everyone, damn it. Something must be done about that.

Talik thought longingly about the teleportation rings. These were truly lacking. However, to be able to create one for guild members required the Symbol of the Guild. A stick, to put it bluntly, of two ends. On the one hand, it increased the power of the guild NPCs in the guild, expanded the possibilities of the treasury, decreased the expenses on all services, and allowed unlimited teleportation within the guild's bastion with the help of the Rings. On the other hand, it made the guild vulnerable. If they had such an item, there would be no need to atomize every 'floor' in order to destroy the guild, spending several days on each. For the guild to cease to exist, it would be enough to destroy the Symbol. Of course, such an item would be kept as the apple of the eye, but it's still a big risk. They'd been taken out twice, and if they'd had the Symbol, the guild would have been gone in the first six months.

This is if you ignore the fact that the Symbol is not something you just go and order. To only get the necessary materials for it, the entire crew would have to epically grind for months. And then perform an extremely hardcore quest.

Anyway, the Symbol wasn't worth it, though, of course, greed about the rings was stifling. Especially now.

On his way from the temple to the common chambers (the part of the palace where not only guild members but also allies could gather before large campaigns), Talik could hardly resist the temptation to touch and almost lick everything in sight. With his perception no longer limited by game possibilities, he felt like a tourist in a fairyland. It took a lot of effort not to be distracted by everything. Keeping a poker face and an indifferent look on his face as he passed the bowing servants was even more difficult.

In the center of the common chambers, designed in antique style (Talik was already full of impressions, and did not dwell on the furnishings here as well), shimmered purple teleport oval, smoky blurred at the edges. Talik didn't use nonstationary teleporters very often, even his own (he was a master of this magic at its lowest rank), and he walked around it in a circle with interest. The portal's vortex felt as if it were turning to follow him. It was like in the game.

[message]

"Illadria, this is Tallarius. I'm near the teleporter, about to go through, is the exit area under control?"

"Of course, Prophet. I humbly wait for you on the other side."

"Have you roughly estimated the cost of mana for support?"

"As you commanded, I monitored mana consumption. Its regeneration in my domain exceeds the consumption of the portal."

"Okay. Would it be difficult for you to open a few of them at once sometime later and hold them for a couple of hours? I'd like to have an idea of your capabilities."

"I will get right on it."

"No, let's do it later. I might need you now."

He interrupted [message] again.

Damn, this could become a habit, it's not good.

Upon entering the portal, Talik habitually waited for the three-dimensional loading screensaver. The loading of locations in Yggdrassil could take entire seconds, and the developers were careful not to bore players too much in the process. Short scenes of battles or particularly spectacular magic, views of grim ruins and majestic castles, there were a lot of random choices. But the transition was instantaneous, Talik felt nothing at all - stepping into the mouth of the portal, he was immediately in another place.

He appeared from the portal in the center of an oval field the size of a baseball stadium, covered with soft emerald grass. At the edge of the clearing stood in a bizarre arrangement of ancient mossy stones many meters high. On top of some of them lay transverse stone beams of similar scale. XxxDeFoexXx - the author of this place - called it Stonehenge, it was sort of a copy of a very ancient structure from former Britain. There was no way to verify the truth of these claims, nor was there any way to make sense of such a structure - the part of Britain that contained these ruins had gone down with a third of the island during the last Great Economic War, long before Talik was born. Except that it seemed to be a much smaller place in the game.

The border of the clearing was an emerald green forest - immense trees, thin tender grass, everything exactly as it was in the movies and in ancient encyclopedias. To see a real forest was a luxury that not everyone could afford. But even so, the guys had done a great job - the forest looked real, inviting, and mysterious, even better than the work of Yggdrassil's artists.

Illadria, who had changed her dress for a more regular robe, was waiting for Talik, kneeling and looking down. The ridiculousness of that attitude aside, she looked even cuter than she had yesterday.

"Get up off your knees, please. There you go, thank you. There's no one around, I mean, not even NP... uh, guild servants?"

"Yes, Prophet, I sent everyone away. Now it's just You and me."

And how does she manage to say even a simple 'you' with a capital letter?

"Okay. I want to test some spells that might be... A little dangerous. And you go to the edge, okay?"

Illadria bowed and walked away to the edge of Stonehenge. Actually, he wanted to send her away at first, but then he had an idea that required her presence.

Talik stood and searched his memory for the available spells. Despite his concerns, there was no problem; every spell came to mind as soon as he thought of it. Along with a description of the effect, the cost in mana, and the timers of the cooldowns. Minus one problem.

Talik tensed up and tried to force his will to turn on the aura [good presence], one of his favorite abilities. It reduced the duration of negative effects and their power to allies in the area of action by a third. It didn't work.

That sucks.

\

Talik closed his eyes and tried to concentrate again, to visualize himself clicking an icon in the virtual interface. Again he failed.

It sucks. Okay, last call...

He looked around to make sure he wasn't being overheard and whispered:

"[Good Presence]" Trying to hold in his mind the mental image of the icon with the skill.

And yes, something happened this time. A fuzzy feeling of mental lightness appeared. The weakness of the feeling did not matter - the very fact of a positive result was unspeakably gratifying.

Well, let's run all five levels first. Oh, there's so much to test.

Illadria was truly happy. When the Prophet approached her and asked for a place to test his great ideas, she was glad to be useful, but that was quite normal. But she could not have imagined how majestic a spectacle she was about to see.

The mighty streams of power shook the world, forming by the will of the Prophet into inexhaustible sources of life force. In bright letters in the sky and on the earth, the signs that commanded the universe itself blazed and succeeded each other. The riot of pure energies at His will turned into indestructible walls and resilient winds. Pure golden light braided everything around, becoming either dazzling rays or a caressing ligature. Some of the spells were already familiar to her, but that was only a small part of what she saw today.

He did not draw power from the outside. His very essence was the source of this unimaginable power, and He generously shared it with the world. Earth and heaven gratefully accepted this great gift, absorbing without a trace all that He no longer deemed necessary to His mystery.

Illadria didn't know how long she'd been watching this incredible act - she didn't care. She was ready to spend all eternity contemplating and only dreaming of touching this miracle even for a moment. But the Prophet finally dispelled what he had created with his whim, and the universe returned to its usual state.

He turned to her and, with his usual easy spontaneity, asked:

"How's that?"

She couldn't find the right words. It was always very difficult to answer Him with grace. He is stronger than any god, as wise as time itself, and as carefree as a child. An absolute being.

"It was incredible, Prophet. I don't know the words to describe what you showed me."

"Get off your knees, please. Thank you. Now, we're going to try something together."

Illadria felt her heart skip a beat. Had He found her worthy? Without daring to hope, she clarified:

"What is required of me?"

"You're obviously thinking something weird now. I want... I guess you could call it a game. Summon some weak creature."

Illadria, frantically putting her thoughts in order, summoned [little unicorn].

"Oh, he's a lot nicer than I thought he'd be, and I kind of feel sorry for him. Now we'll go to different sides of the clearing, and you try to kill him with magic, and I'll protect him. Start with level one spells, and go to the limit. You can use absolutely any combination you want."

Illadria was taken aback.

"But how can I try to confront you?"

"It's a game. Any game is a confrontation. It's fun, believe me, you'll love it."

Seeing her doubts, he added:

"Illadria, don't make me talk you into it. Come on."

She resigned herself to her strange role and stepped back to the edge of the clearing. The little unicorn looked at her trustingly, as if to remind her that she had nothing to fear - after death its soul would simply return to the cycle of the elements. Illadria began.

[Ice Needle]

A thin, sharp icicle flew out between her palms and headed for the animal's heart, but it stopped and fell into the grass three paces from its target.

[Ruthless Wind]

The air, obeying her spell, swirled around the unicorn, trying to lift it up and spin it through the air - unsuccessfully. The vortex of the little tornado couldn't come within the same three steps. Illadria felt a slight interest

"Let me help you out a little bit for the sake of interest."

The Prophet whispered something, and Illadria felt a rush of power. This had happened to her before when she had accompanied Him on his adventures, but, as always, the feeling was as fresh as the first time she had had the chance to feel His support. But...

The [Lightning] faded, barely halfway to its target, and the same fate befell [Dragon's lightning].

Illadria's excitement swept over her head. The wild but obedient power that had been placed at her disposal by His will stirred her blood. Crystal clarity reigned in her mind, giving her a fresh perspective on the possibilities of spells. Perception sharpened to a level never before possible, giving her a sense of POWER over the mana.

And she immersed herself in this game completely. Having quickly passed the low and medium levels of magic, she began to use what she was truly proud of. Levels IX and X.

[Double Magic Enhancement]

[Triple Magic Enhancement]

[Crystal Storm]

[Ice Inferno]

[Rampage of the Elements]

[Lightning Fantasy]

[Energy Overload]

[Phase Bombs]

[Absolute Permafrost]

[Tsunami]

[Skyfall]

In each of her chosen spells, she invested all the power given by the Prophet, sometimes even feeling His shields sag, retreat. She had no doubt that He was letting her, and she felt dual feelings. On the one hand, gratitude that He had given her a chance to at least see a chance of success. On the other, certain anger at herself, at her weakness for allowing him to play giveaway and still win.

The air crackled and howled, no longer able to contain the excess power of the spells. The land around the unicorn was a lifeless, cratered ice desert. But when Illadria had exhausted her and the Prophet's reserves of mana, the summoned animal was quietly nibbling at the three-pointed patch of grass untouched by the elements.

Looking at what the Glade of the Old Ones had become, the enchantress looked around frantically. But, contrary to her fears, the grove and the ancient stones were completely untouched. The earth, plowed and disfigured by magic, ended exactly half a step away, and the grass was as green as ever.

"That was hard, to be honest." The Prophet smiled with fake fatigue. "Keeping a small object under dynamic protection and such an area under a static one, at the same time, was something I'd never done before."

"Did I disappoint you?" Enchantress looked at him hopefully. "My magic is nothing against yours..."

"Not at all. I told you, it was very difficult. Very. You had a pretty good chance. You just lack experience, but I think it's only a matter of time. For instance, when you were shooting lightning bolts and ice bombs, you should have been able to cast your spells in a delayed fashion. It would have taken a lot more force to adjust the defense, and there was a chance I would have missed - and had to go in with my trumps and waste a lot of time. Getting the opponent to waste trumps is half the victory. There were a couple of other dangerous moments, too. But okay. Thanks for the good sparring."

Illadria memorized every word. It's not every day that an Absolute Being shares his wisdom so casually.

"Oh, we've spent quite a bit of time. Open the portal to the common rooms, please. Then get... Take care of the Glade okay? And no kneeling now, I insist."

"Of course, Prophet."

She opened the portal and bowed gratefully after him.

RiP · Jun 25, 2021

Chapter 3

***Daimon***

The setting sun was golden on the trees, giving the woods rare windless weather. The clearly delineated shadows of the trees lay on the hills and edges of the ravines. The gradients between the still bright light and the dull shade were so sharp that travelers unaccustomed to the terrain always suffered an eyesore

.

The Cursed Forests. The triviality of the name caused an awkwardness, and almost everyone who heard it for the first time involuntarily cringed.

And anyone who had the doubtful pleasure of living in these lands for any amount of time is no longer skeptical, but grimly frowning. The name didn't come from the views - on the contrary, they didn't fit the name at all. Dense thickets, mighty crowns, picturesque mosses, and even old deadwood looked quite life-affirming. Here one could find plants so rare that they were considered imaginary. Even fairies, creatures almost completely extinct in times immemorial, were rumored to have been found in these parts at some times.

No, that's not why these thickets were called Cursed.

These woods were shrouded in a great number of macabre legends, the most famous of which was the legend of the penultimate King of Greed.

It was here that, according to the legends, he met his end. When drowning in the madness of greed, the Eight could not divide the world even among themselves, when each betrayed all others for their own ambition. When, in fear for their power, they destroyed the symbol of their own power and their loyal servants finally turned against them, a true hell on earth was unleashed. Hell compared to the nightmare they had plunged the world into by conquering it seemed like child's play.

And the penultimate King of Greed, unable to defeat the onslaught of the rebellious alliance of former slaves, retreated into the deserts that were then these forests. His last battle was fought in these lands. A hellish massacre, lasting many days, in which time, space, and death mingled. The King eventually fell, taking countless legions of his enemies with him to the afterworld. A forest grew on that monstrous battlefield, leaving such fertile fertilizer. Hiding the unsightly picture of the war of gods against mortals, a war of mutual annihilation without compromise. And the ruins of forts and the mass graves of the fallen have found rest beneath its roots. And the curses that had fallen on the land had not gone away.

At least, that's what the legends said.

But even if one does not take the ancient legends seriously, it was a lot of the desperate to adapt to life in these forests. Beneath the tree crowns and picturesque reliefs lurked terrors that witnesses were wary of mentioning out loud. The beasts that lived here were a disaster, and even herbivorous prey was deadly to any hunter. Its blood was poisonous, and the urge to kill exceeded the instinct of self-preservation - what was normally fearful prey here knew no fear. Predators, hunting their prey, did not drive it into exhaustion - they fought a real battle with it. The price for unsuccessful hunting was not hunger, but life.

Although, the sapient adapts to everything. In addition to the danger, there was a great benefit. Ingredients extracted from local plants and animal organs were highly valued throughout the continent. The ruins that occasionally showed up from under the landslides and the rivers that had changed course lurked with incredible rewards. Whoever was willing to take the risk always had a chance.

Like Daimon's group, The Immortal Hope. This was their third quest into the Cursed Forests, one of the hidden dungeons they had found by sheer coincidence. A third quest that risked ending in fatal failure.

Four men were breathing heavily in the narrow corridor, lined with hewn granite. Daimon, the leader of the group, was breathing in and out, resting his palms on his knees. His armor was visibly dull and scarred at the right shoulder and across his chest. Hot, dirty sweat fell from his face to the floor in large drops.

"Daimon, we're in trouble." Looking into the darkness, Bryce said.

"Really?" Daimon turned around with his eyes bulging.

"Seriously. The exit was buried. There are no lights, not because it's night or anything."

Bryce, a short, very bony, and wiry fellow looked much better. His armor was a thick leather jacket, studded with tightly fitting steel plates, and the same cuffs with tucked-in trousers. His shoulders were scarcely protected except by the broad sleeves of a black shirt, baggy at the elbow. He didn't look rested, but he was clearly fresher than Daimon.

"That's not good news, I agree. But there is some good news."

"That's a balm for the soul. You don't mean the approaching footsteps of those monsters, do you?"

"Huh, not without them. The good news is that the corridor is narrow, and if they don't have a change in lineup, I'll close it off. And no one will stop you from digging our way out."

"Are you kidding?"

"I'm gonna tank."

Bryce cursed and looked longingly at the blocked exit. It seemed that the ceiling had failed and sagged, succumbing to the many meters of earth above it. A pile of earth mixed with rubble blocked the way out of the dungeon. Then he turned his gaze to Era, the sorceress.

Her robe had long since become grimy tatters, and the expensive staff remained there in the depths of the dungeon. She grimly ignored her last companion.

Actually, the whole situation was about their overestimation of their skills, but Era blamed it all on him. Now it didn't bother the sorceress that the boy wasn't responsible for their plan. They were in dire need of a healer for this dungeon. And since there were no good spell casters or priests to be found, they had to take the first one that came into their sight. In conversation and training, Lias was quite good, not as good as their previous partner, of course, but not so terrible. They had risked going with him and now regretted it.

Lias appeared to be a coward and a whiner, unprepared for the real business. Only on the spot, it turned out that his reserve of energy was much smaller than it had seemed at the beginning. His reaction speed in combat was worthless. In the main, he was completely unsuitable for adventure, except to sit in the camp and treat the group after they returned from the raid. As it turned out, that was exactly how he imagined the healer's job in the group.

Thus, it was an absolute failure. Lias seemed to realize this himself and just waited for it to be over.

Daimon didn't like such problems, but as a leader, he had to deal with them as well. And now, unfortunately, there was no good way out. He preferred not to think about the fact that they might all die, too.

Now he, too, could hear slow footsteps from the darkness beyond the corridor. He listened closely. Judging by the number of feet and the creak of rusted metal, it was the same trio who had chased them here. Daimon raised his heavy shield with a sigh and closed his visor.

"Guys, I know you're all very tired, but I don't see any other options. You'll have to dig, and you'd better do it before I get cut up here. Era, lights, please."

The sorceress concentrated, detaching herself from discomfort and emotion. Daimon was right; she could say what she thought about the situation and the reasons for it later. Right now, the important thing was to survive.

[light]

A flickering light source, like a very bright firefly, appeared behind Daimon's right shoulder, and out of the darkness ahead came two skeletons clad in deceptively rusty armor, and the outlines of another a little farther away. Daimon pursed his lips and stiffened, blocking the narrow passage. He'd dealt with the undead before, and at first, he hadn't taken any skeletons, even if they were in rusty armor, seriously. It turned out to be a big mistake, almost costing them all their lives.

One of the warrior skeletons, pacing like a drunken loader, leaped toward him with barely perceptible speed and swung his two-handed axe sharply. Daimon, already aware of their way of fighting, bounced back down the aisle. Taking such a blow with a half step on his shield would be a costly thing to do; his arm had nearly been broken the last time he'd faced it. The axe's blade jettisoned a spark from where he'd just stood. The second skeleton, a moment later, delivered a powerful straight thrust with his halberd. Daimon brushed it aside with his shield. There was a great temptation to pile on with all his weight and press the weapon against the wall, but the idea was spoiled by a skeleton with an axe. Pinning one opponent's weapon down would rob him of the ability to evade another's attacks. Daimon was well aware that without the ability to maneuver, he would be dead.

By retreating to the back of the corridor, he gained an advantage - there was no room for the axeman to swing, and his blows without a good swing could already be blocked. And most importantly - there was no third skeleton warrior to get through. A more or less regular heavyweight brawl began. The skeletons, helping each other (also, who would have believed it), relentlessly poured simple, but powerful and fast attacks, while Daimon blocked them and led them away with his shield. Some of his attacks gave him a chance to close the distance and push the invading undead back, which he used to get back to his starting position. He didn't even try to attack himself now, only parrying what he could with his sword. There was no visible damage to his attacks anyway. Of course, if he had used an axe or mace, the result might have been different. But the axe and mace wore him out after a few minutes of combat, nullifying his advantage.

Punch, sliding block, return kick. A strong but light foe is thrown back a step. A swift lunge of the halberd, Daimon not having enough time to shield himself, and the tip left another dent in his armor, his ribs aching. Another axe strike, another sliding block, another halberd lunge. It's all predictable, but it's too fast - there's no way to get into a rhythm. Hit - lunge to the body, hit - lunge to the head, hit - lunge to the legs. Taking another attack with an axe, he didn't have the strength to move it fully aside, and the heavy blade snagged his helmet. His head snapped back in a jolt, and Daimon could not react in time to the thrust of the halberd. The piercing tip pierced the visor, sinking into it but leaving a deep cut on his cheekbone. His ears rang with pain.

The bone is caught. Daimon noted in passing. It's very bad.

[shield push]

The muscles crackled with the sudden exertion. The fighting skill, one of Daimon's favorite special moves, threw the axe-maker out of the passageway with a crash. It took the rest of the skeletons with it, giving him pause for a few seconds. Sweat mixed with dirt and blood trickled down the back of his neck and tickled unpleasantly. The exhausted body was beginning to lose its grasp. That was it. There were no aces left for the day.

Through the twisted visor, in the darkness broken unevenly by the flickering faint light, it was hard to see, but it was also clear by hearing. The enemies were up and attacking again.

"Daimon, retreat, retreat, back, there's a way through!"

Hope filled with new strength, and the warrior, almost completely behind his shield, quickly scooted back down the passageway. Retreating that way made the enemy attacks much easier to bear. Keeping his balance wasn't easy, his feet were stuck in the soft dirt, and then his shoulders were barely able to squeeze through. The powerful blows from my opponents even helped a little to move this way. It was a little scary not knowing where you were retreating to, but Daimon had faith in his comrades. And, as always, not in vain.

At some moment there was no support under his feet, and Daimon went tumbling down the thorny grassy slope. A few moments later, his back slammed into the shallow water, crushing the thin reeds. The evening sun glinted merrily through the hole in his helmet.

"Fffuuuuuuh."

Someone came swiftly up to him and with a couple of jerks lifted the jammed visor. His eyes were teary and it was impossible to see who it was, but the voice and tone were unmistakable.

"You're looking kind of creepy, Dai. Have you been beaten?"

"I was shaving drunk. The others are alright, the undead is not chasing?"

"Yeah, it's fine. Looks like the undead is at least somewhat normal, they stay out of the sun. Can you walk?"

Daimon analyzed the feeling.

"Bones seem to be intact, I think I can do it. But I'm going to whine."

"After Lias, you don't impress me at all."

"Okay, I won't. You didn't lose the loot, did you?"

The silhouette, which had almost turned into a dirty, wet Bryce, silently shook the bulky leather sack. Something inside it rang distinctly and melodiously, and several oblong objects were visible as well.

Daimon stretched out his arm, and Bryce, grabbing it, helped him up. His head was dizzy, his face wound burned with throbbing pain, and his eye was rapidly swelling. Era and the healer were shaking off the waterlogged puddle with a hopeless look on their faces. Both squinted funny at the bright light.

"Lias, I know you're tired, but there's work for you."

***Talik***

Talik left the improvised training ground completely exhausted and pleased by himself. All the spells he was used to using, and even the ones he hadn't thought of for a long time because they weren't needed, were working. He would have to get used to the new ways of activation, but his worst fears were not confirmed. He hadn't yet been able to fully test the ways of use, but that could be done a little later. Still, it was a must-do. Applying spells in combat, in Yggdrasil, is a science, after all. Goals, priorities, calculating area of effect, timing, considering external factors, positioning, planning long-lasting casts, timely use of safes, many, many interdependent circumstances. You're a shitty healer if all you know how to do is push the toolbar.

Illadria was very helpful. It was a great practice to test his skills. He thought at first he would just stretch, but she gave him such a thrashing that he seriously feared he would lose. Especially after his buff. Even had to use his aces, without a super-level spell limiting the area and power of AOE damage with a consumable to trigger instantly... Wouldn't have made it. Had it been a real PvP player, Talik wouldn't have had a chance to defend the poor horned pony, or even get out of danger himself. She is, after all, extremely predictable, and that saved his prestige and faith in himself.

He wonders if this new self-awareness will allow them to learn independently. Without the need to manually enter conditions and algorithms.

In general, he really liked the feeling of using spells. He felt something with his whole body when he used his arsenal, and it wasn't just adrenaline.

That's how chunibyo feel in their imagination, isn't it? Only I'm so much cooler, lol. Because it works for me.

Although, if he's actually giggling and drooling blissfully under drugs in a straitjacket right now, it's not so much cooler. But certainly more interesting.

He thought of Illadria, and his mood dropped a little. Her attitude toward him had seemed amusing at first, but now it was beginning to... worrying, maybe? He didn't mind a good relationship at all, but this kind of adoration was too much. After all, imagining him to be something great is a huge delusion. It's unpleasant to feel like a cheater pretending to be someone else. And what would happen if the secret came out, what would he say to the disappointed fanatics? Triple unpleasant was the nasty suspicion that this was all actually an absurdly large-scale performance, where for unknown purposes he was being persuaded to adore, despise, or even hate in fact. It was imperative to make it clear, and preferably without losing face. Well, as much as possible.

Draga, again. If she's anything like Illadria in her attitude, that's a real problem. Which must be solved in the very near future.

He recalled last night.

Well, if that's true, she shouldn't have been left alone, without clarity, without the right words. What a sheep, he should have taken it more seriously. Though who knew? Maybe he should do it right now. But who knows how long it might take, and it was very desirable not to be distracted by anything else.

Clarify a few things with Wilhelm, and then go to make peace with Draga. Oh, he wishes there wasn't such unhealthy subservience in that big, nordic man. From a woman, it is still at least somewhat tolerable.

[message]

"William, this is Tallarius. I want to talk to you, do you have time?"

"I am flattered, Prophet. Of course... I have 'time' as you call it."

"I'll come to you in about fifteen minutes. You owe me tea."

"The best that exists, Prophet."

"Got you. Wait."

Talik interrupts [message]

***Wilhelm***

Wilhelm enjoyed it. He valued comfort, good company, and a chance to relax, and now all three of these concepts came together.

Yesterday, when he received the Prophet's order, he took the importance of the task and approached it with great responsibility. The clerks of all the warehouses, farms, mills, and markets were running like mad. The archivist spent half the night cross-checking figures in town records. Low-ranking orc chiefs shuffled through tents, counting their green-skinned bands. Only Illadria dodged attempts to involve her in the thankless task of inventory with graceful politeness. At once she voiced the requested figures and suggested that she not be bored with pointless clarifications, for she had her own Orders. Wilhelm liked to emphasize his status powers, but there was nothing to object to.

By morning all the data had been summarized, organized into columns and lines, and presented to the Prophet. Wilhelm wrote the document himself - the idea of entrusting a scribe to write a document for the High Lord seemed to him a total sacrilege. The High Lord appreciated the work of his loyal vassal and honored him with a visit. And now they were chatting and drinking tea at ease. Wilhelm could not recall such a thing in all his years of service to his personal deity.

He listened to the Prophet, catching every word and striving to remember every detail of his image. He wanted to learn how to enjoy simple things like a comfortable chair and good food and drink. Wilhelm endured a lot - terrible wars, betrayals, struggles for leadership, victories more bitter than defeats on his way to the top. Until the moment when, at last, the Prophet demanded that he fulfill his oath, Wilhelm had no idea what a good rest is.

Still, William's entire life was but a mere shadow of the hardships and difficulties that stood in his and the other Lords' paths. But He and His divine companions did not despair a single day, continuing day after day to put super effort into achieving their super goals. Each new difficulty that would break William would only generate excitement and a desire to overcome it.

The temptations that had drawn Wilhelm in headlong when he gained power were powerless to shake His spirit. He passed through what he considered insignificant and did not turn back to what was not really needed. Holding absolute power in his hands, He appreciated the little things. Possessing the greatest power, He did not use it unnecessarily. And now, sitting in a comfortable chair, He simply enjoyed the comfort of it. As He tasted the tea, He simply rejoiced in its taste. Not more, not less, but just enough that it didn't interfere with the work of the mind.

William was passionate about adopting this attitude of existence. Even as a king, he was aware of how far behind his true greatness he was in comparing himself to Him. Only the manner of speech... It was confusing. Not suited to a person of such magnitude. Though it was not for him, born a pathetic mortal, to judge the whims of a deity.

They had been talking for quite some time, discussing the current state and condition of Dawn City and the surrounding areas, the work of services such as water and sewage, the economy, the army. And, of course, magic. Today the Prophet willed to reveal some of his powers to the new world, and there was much discussion on the subject throughout the guild.

"Speaking of skills. Wilhelm, I guess you haven't tested your skills yet, right?"

"No. It hadn't occurred to me, actually. Should I start checking immediately?"

"You don't have to drop everything right now and go check it out. But in the near future, be sure to do it. Things that until now have been considered natural may not work the way we are used to, I have already experienced this today."

"I understand you, I will certainly do so in the very near future. Would you share any thoughts on the difference you've already encountered?"

"Hmm. Basically, it's the affected area, it's bigger now. Also, it's much harder to accurately estimate the effect. My skills are very different from yours, so it may be different for you. Anyway, I want to have an idea of your current capabilities."

"Wise, as always. Let me ask you a question." After waiting for a nod, Wilhelm continued. " Do you already have plans for this world?"

The Prophet grinned weirdly and shook his head.

"This is too complicated a question, Wilhelm. I don't... I don't have an easy answer to it, I'm sorry."

"I'm the one who should apologize. I asked more than I could comprehend."

"Just relax. We'll see."

"Wilhelm nodded respectfully. There it is, the attitude of the Great Ones toward mundane matters. Seeing complex things in simple ways."

"Also, I want to have some kind of meeting tonight at eight o'clock, with all the Elite. Do you have any plans for that time?"

"I can't imagine what plans could match your wish."

"That's good. Then I'll be going, thank you for the tea, it was delicious. No, don't escort me, I want to walk alone."

"I wish you well on your way, wherever you may be going." Wilhelm bowed, clasping his palm to his chest.

The Prophet left the chambers, leaving William in the best possible mood

Chapter 4

***Draga***

Draga did not know how long this nightmare lasted. Any pain and suffering for her always had a beginning, a course, and an end, she could adjust to it. She always sensed the passage of time and was able to assess her condition at any particular moment.

But not this time. Despair, guilt for a mistake, fear of an eternity filled solely with emptiness. The unspeakable pain of feeling deprived of the radiant attention of her Creator. Thousands of voices of Darkness, formerly part of her, cursing and reminding as if devouring her alive and giving no hint of peace. Thousands of voices of Darkness, against which she felt neither the strength nor the right. It was more painful than she could have even imagined, more disorienting. Her consciousness could not know WHEN it had bound itself to a certain moment, and only a will freeze in monstrous tension kept her at the edge beyond which her soul would be torn into tiny pieces.

So she could not tell how much time passed when those voices began to fade, and a tiny ray of hope broke through the bottomless blackness of despair. That beam was subtly broadening, multiplying, dispelling the fog of pain, loss, and fear of the future. Little by little, she began to realize again what she sees and where she is.

Afraid to frighten that beam away, Draga froze on the floor in a fetal position, delighted even by the cold coming from the rough stone. The chorus of Darkness supplanted the only whisper that still sounded on the edge of audibility. The whisper called to her begged her to listen and promised her that all would be well. Draga gave in to it cautiously.

For a moment she felt dizzy, and there was a strange sensation of split consciousness. It felt as if there were actually two of her, and the one that was the second was skillfully, quickly going over the memory of the first. The fake was getting to know the memory of the original.

Draga sprang to her feet, gathering her will, rejecting the intruder with the use of her skills.

[Washing by Darkness] Instantly applicable skill, with long recovery time, eliminating all current negative effects.

[One Man Army] Instantly applied skill, with long recovery time, for a short time giving total immunity to damage and negative effects. When the time expired, the skill returned 100% of the damage and effects received.

At the same moment, Draga activated what the Prophet called an 'equip macro'. Armor, jewelry, and weapons disappeared in an instant from [inventory] and appeared clothed on her body.

"Show yourself!" She shouted, swinging her two-handed sword around and searching for the unknown enemy.

"Oh, such a magnificent gratitude for the relief of pain." There was a low, velvet-soft female voice behind her.

Draga instantly turned around and put the point of her sword on the shoulder of the source of the voice.

A medium-sized woman with gray-purple skin, dressed in a shabby rag tied at the waist with a rough rope. It was strange to think of, but it looked good on her. Her silver-white hair was pulled back in a high ponytail, and a rag was tied over half of her face, along with her eyes. Demonstrating defenselessness, the guest spread her arms to her sides, tilted her head toward the sword, and continued.

"Is that in trend right now, or is that your personal style?"

Draga, who had regained her icy stillness, replied.

"Who are you, how did you get here, and why are you here? Answer quickly and briefly."

"Take away your dangerous sword, Draga. I have helped you, and I expect for other thanks."

Draga, hearing the wrong answer, jerked the sword down sharply, across the collarbone and chest of the intruder. But the blade met no resistance, passing through her as through smoke.

"I am not here." The guest stepped smoothly toward her, letting further swings of her sword pass through her. "What you see is only the image you have in mind. With my help. And you need me, don't insult me. Or do you prefer the loneliness from which I pulled you?"

"I'll say it again - who are you, how did you get here, and why are you here?"

"How stubborn, almost like Wilhelm." The guest smiled. "I am the one who is branded a traitor. I'm here because I wanted to ease your suffering, and you gave me the opportunity to do so. And in return, I need a small favor from you that you cannot refuse."

Draga's mind was struck by conjecture, and she muttered, barely able to contain her anger.

"Malicriss."

She wanted to shred the traitor, to cut her into a thousand little pieces, but she knew that was impossible. The only way to destroy what is only in your head is to kill yourself. [Washing by Darkness] was useless because there were no negative effects from the connection, and closing one's mind to the speeches of such monsters... Only Lords can do that. And Malicriss herself.

"Whatever you want from me, you will receive only contempt and hatred." Draga, though she gave up trying to kill the image, remained in a fighting stance.

"Oh, believe me, I won't be impressed with that." For a moment, a cold, tense expression ran across the beautiful part of her face that was visible from beneath the bandage, and then the ironic smile returned. "Your misery a few minutes ago is not even a shadow of how I've lived all these years."

"Just leave me alone and go back to your dungeon to rot for the rest of eternity, bitch."

"I am beginning to tire of your bravado, you foolish child. My freedom is only a matter of a very short time. Now I want to know if we will be friends or enemies by the time I get it."

Draga's body began to fill with renewed fatigue - the effect of [One Man Army] was over. At the same time, it felt especially light. It seemed that the feelings I'd recently experienced weren't going to come back. All that was left was an eerie hazy memory of them, but that, too, was slowly fading into nothing. Desperate hatred was replaced by dislike.

"So why did you think your imprisonment would soon come to an end?"

"Haven't you sensed this strange change? The world has changed. It is only the appearance of a small wave that portends a mighty storm. A storm of destiny that will overturn the existing order of things. And this storm is the key to my freedom."

"So what do you want from me?"

"Hmm..." Malicriss raised her face to the high ceiling. "Tell Him about our conversation. Help Him remember me."

Draga only inhaled to speak out angrily, but an unpleasant insight came over her again. 'A favor you can no longer refuse me.' Could such an encounter be hidden from Him?

"You sneaky, lying bitch, you think that's going to be enough?"

"You'll see. And remember this - you can call me mean, you can call me a traitor, and it will be the truth. The truth for someone who doesn't know how to see things through." She grinned with a piercing sadness. "But among all my sins there are no lies. Well, my bet is made. I'll see you around."

The image of Malikriss was gone, and her voice was no longer there. She was alone again, and she felt the Darkness behind her, greedy for her suffering, attentive but indifferent. It was a sickening thing to realize, but it was worth thanking the Betrayer for.

"Fuck you..."

But no time before Draga gathered her thoughts, she heard a melodious ringing [message] and felt a new presence - one that was impossible to confuse with anyone else. Prophet. The light, the reason, and the way, the one whose attention she craved with all her being and whose disapproval was worse than all the torture of the world.

"Draga, this is Tallarius. Aren't you busy right now?"

"I..." Draga knelt at the sound of His voice. "I..."

"I can contact you later if it's inconvenient for you."

Draga cursed her own unaccountable clumsiness. Thoughts, until recently relatively orderly and predictable, scattered like moths.

"Yes! I mean, no! I mean, I'm all yours!"

"I'm glad to hear you're feeling better." The Prophet's warm voice echoed in her heart in a singing, enthusiastic voice. "There's a meeting tonight at eight o'clock in the Prayer Hall. I want to see the whole Elite there, including you."

The Hall of Prayer... The very heart of Dawn City, the sanctum sanctorum. The most beautiful place in all the worlds. The first place Draga saw when she was born. The passage between the world of gods and mortals.

"I have no words to express my gratitude for such an honor, Prophet..."

"I'll take that as consent. I'll see you there."

The seer interrupted the communication spell, and Draga still stood there, remembering the words and the voice with admiration. Was He glad she was all right? So He knew she was having a hard time and cared? Did He care? He had personally called her to the holiest place in the world, and would share His wisdom and plans! And how did Malicriss figure it out, how did she know, because she didn't pick this particular moment by accident?

Malicriss

It was as if a worm was stirring in the heart. A name that symbolized betrayal and meanness. In collusion with one of the Lords who plotted rebellion, she turned against the guild at the decisive moment. In that decisive battle for the future of the guild, her stabbing in the back caused the death of the Prophet. Yes, death is far from over for the Lords, and he was later able to rise again. But without his support, the other Lords also fell, unable to withstand the furious onslaught of the enemies. The city was destroyed, looted. All the treasures, artifacts of unimaginable power, all the wealth, inevitably fell into the clutches of outsiders. All the vassals of the guild met their tragic end that day.

The Lords, having risen from the dead, was able to restore everything. To bring back to life those who were possible. To fill the treasury again with treasures and wonders. It is impossible to imagine the effort it took.

The traitor was destroyed. His continued existence was reduced to endless deaths, and in the end, he repented and decided to end his existence in Yggdrasil. Whether such punishment is appropriate to his action is not for us to judge - it is the Lords who decide matters of such magnitude.

But Malicriss, the root of evil, the main weapon with which the fatal blow was delivered. Instead of eternal hell, instead of the most horrible punishment, she received only imprisonment and oblivion. A cell in the depths of the palace dungeons. Such magnanimity Draga simply could not understand, though she accepted it like everyone else. If the Prophet decided so, then it must be so.

And now THAT wants freedom...?

At the thought of assisting Malicriss, Draga felt sick. But somehow it turns out she has no choice.

Well, in any case, the Prophet will figure it out. And she will do her job, like a true loyal vassal. Report in every detail, and let it be.

***Marius***

To see the walls of the Dawn City, visitors who did not have an invitation from its Lords had to pass through the city's cemetery. By the Lords' powerful creation magic, it was created in such a way that one could not see the city walls. From its entrance, one could see nothing but endless rows of tombs and crypts. The simpler tombs were closer to the edge, the richer ones closer to the center. Crypts and graves formed a real necropolis divided into streets and alleys. The sun never shone there, and the grass never grew taller than ankles.

The eternal peace of this place was guarded by a multitude of creatures. Legions of skeletons and knights of death, clans of vampires, wights, and lichs, hidden from view, kept a watchful eye, waiting in graves and shrines. The deadly seals were ready to open the gates to the underside of life, where monsters so powerful languished in eternal thirst that their continued presence in this bastion of peace was unwelcome.

Having come uninvited, it was necessary to destroy the necropolis in order to open the way to the city itself. That in itself was not easy, but the main problem was the Archlich Marius. Dwelling in a crypt as solemn as any temple, adorned with columns and unspeakably beautiful statues, the lord of the undead. His curses were so terrible that not even death itself could deliver him from them. His fighting style, which some fools called cowardly, included the use of portal magic, at which he was also flawless. Elusive and deadly, he wreaked pain and terror on the battlefield, while hordes of his less dangerous servants kept their footsteps down, engaging in battle in the narrow, uncomfortable streets of the necropolis.

But the vilest surprise, which was recalled with hatred by the participants of the three raids that managed to overcome him, was something else.

Marius did not stand to the death. His job was only to wear down and curse his enemies, forcing them to expend supplies. When he sustained near-fatal damage, he would flee the battlefield - that was his order. Once he'd escaped, he'd receive a limited recovery, and then, in the words of the local Lords, 'entertained guests with petty nastiness'. Outside his domain, he was deprived of a significant portion of his powers, but there was still something he could do. He could only be avenged for the suffering at the very end.

Marius was now seated in his chambers. In one of the cellars of his crypt, unquenchable torches cast an uneven light on rows of decorated marble sarcophagi. The walls and floor were covered in rune ligature, black as if carved into space itself, with occasional green flashes.

Archilich walked around in circles and pondered. And there was a lot to think about.

He knew that he had had the habit of walking in circles while reflecting, but he did not know where it came from, and he had never done so before. That is, the habit, a phenomenon seemingly commonplace, was being realized for the first time. Illogical.

He knew that he had always felt certain boredom, from which there were two things that were a good escape. The first was reading. Reading, creating in his mind a picture of the idea enclosed in the text. Absolute memory allowed him to model in detail everything that was embedded in the text, and after reading, to calculate the possibilities of how the complete picture might look if one of its elements were changed. Spells, history, manuals, fiction - it didn't matter to him what subject the book belonged to. Marius knew he had read thousands of books, but - he could only remember what related to his spells. Absolute memory, referring to the image of the book he had read, yielded only a general thesis of what it was about. Attempts to recall the text, the structure, or at least the number of pages, gave absolutely nothing.

Did he forget? It doesn't make sense.

The second thing that served as entertainment was conversations with subordinate vampires. Endowed with intelligence and personal opinion, unlike wordless wights of all kinds, they could sustain or even direct a conversation. Marius knew there were many such conversations, and each time they ended up frustrating the intellectual abilities of his minions. But in detail, it was just like with the books. Trying to recall the dialogues, he got only blurry images. Not a single detail - a word, a topic, or at least the exact date when the conversation took place.

Forgotten, too? This is close to absurd. Marius completely denied the possibility that his personality was capable of losing its memory, leaving its mental acuity and ability to analyze. These are interrelated concepts, one cannot exist without the other. Without absolute memory, the ability to analyze, without quick access to accurate data, would degenerate. The expenditure of time in trying to remember, the expenditure of mental resources in constructing parallel logical constructs that take into account possible unknown factors, the expenditure of both time and mental resources in analyzing and calculating the nature of unknown factors, and the resulting ambiguous results all shattered the final efficiency of the mind.

And one thing is the actual absence of data. It is static and can only progress in one direction - missing data can only cease to be such and accumulate. But if memory fails, everything collapses. The bastion of logic, haphazardly losing bricks and columns of known facts, will anyway turn into ruins.

But Marius was absolutely sure of himself and his ability to think. His mind was extremely clear, transparent, and capable of multi-layered abstract analysis. That is, either he forgot everything steps by step and did not pay attention, which is impossible, or he forgot everything at once, in one moment, and it was not preceded by any extraordinary events. Also highly unlikely. So it had to do with something else. What it was, Marius could not yet come to a final conclusion - there was no data.

The only thing he was certain of was that he had noticed the first discrepancy between the usual and the real state of affairs seventeen hours ago. According to what he knew, the world should have ceased to exist at that moment, and it did not. Marius was quite sure of this, and quite reasonably believed himself to exist, and this fact contradicted the idea of his ceasing to exist as part of the world.

So, instead of ending his existence, something else happened. Something that affected, among other things, his memory and the usual order of things. Something global and at the same time elusive. Such changes occurred only at the will of his Lords. Beings beyond his idea of what was possible, beyond the narrow and ridiculous limits of binary logic.

All that was left was the waiting. The fact that it existed showed that it had a place in the Lords' plans. One, to be fair. The Prophet Tallarius, head of a conglomerate of poorly predictable Lords in recent years, was the only one who never got bored of this game of being. It was a game in its purest sense - Marius could not otherwise appreciate the actions of omnipotent beings who had created for themselves certain limitations and rules of interaction.

And as an undoubted element of this game, Marius must have had some part to play. He was eager to know what it was, but he could not clearly understand it. And the only one who could bring clarity to what was happening, the artist of all destinies, the almighty Prophet, had not yet done so.

Waiting... It was both irritating and pleasantly intriguing. Remnants of emotion tickled his dead soul with forgotten sensations, and Marius savored every nuance of those feelings.

"Something great is coming."

"Behold, Master, what grandiose can be in an ordinary game of chess?"

Marius glanced at the vampire sitting on one of the sarcophagi at the chessboard. In an attempt to dispel boredom, diversify the flow of his thoughts, and test a hunch or two, he summoned one of the minions to his side. He was predictably silly, predictable, and quickly bored the lich, but there was still a long way to go before the game was over. And the vampire did not interfere, sometimes even entertaining for a brief moment with his ridiculous comments.

Archilich looked at the situation on the chessboard and moved one of the pieces with an act of will. Trying to understand the changed circumstances would definitely occupy the vampire for quite a long time. It would be great if he could think of some clever and extraordinary moves. Of course, the probability of such an event tended to zero, but there was still one.

And so it happened. Lich felt the touch of communication magic on his mind. He readily acknowledged the connection.

[message]

"Marius, this is Tallarius."

"I'm glad you finally took the time for your servant."

"Do you have plans for tonight?"

"If you find no use for me, I will find something to occupy myself with, Prophet. But I hope to hear and do your will."

"Then here's a show of my will - be in the Hall of Prayer at eight o'clock in the evening. I want to set up a meeting with the Elites."

"It will be done."

The Prophet interrupted the connection, and Marius wished he could smile. Yes. Soon there will be clarity, there will be tasks and goals. There will be a purpose.

He looked at the chessboard and the concentrated frown of the vampire. All the minion's attention was absorbed by the game that had already obviously failed for him. Marius decided to leave it as it was for now but to expand the entertainment for the future. Why should he limit himself to just one game? The crypt would hold quite a lot of creatures...

***Talik***

Talik had expected the worst from his contact with the lich or even feared it. He did not remember his backstory exactly, according to the inner lore of the guild. But he remembered very well his impression of what he had read at the time. Marius was an impassive, utterly rational intellectual who had no clear-cut reasons for serving the guild. Assuming such a creature gained self-awareness, trying to control him directly would be like saddling the devil. If it does, it's worse for you.

He probably cannot be fooled and cannot be ignored. He is not Wilhelm.

With Wilhelm, everything was clear enough. The 'King' turned out to be an understandable person and obviously motivated to serve the guild. Of course, he kept the conversation to himself, giving more of assent and asking very little, but it was nice to see that there was no fanatical adoration in his eyes. There was a deep respect and a general attitude that Talik did not deserve, but there was clearly no unhealthy depth of feeling. He replied intelligently and reasonably, bringing him up to date on the current state of the city and the surrounding area. It was enough for Talik to ask a general leading question.

Talik learned quite a few new details about the place he now 'owned'. Most of what he heard coincided with what he had already guessed. What had once been merely configured services had indeed become quite existing farms, workshops, and stores. Houses that had been mere scenery became real and fully inhabited. What is more, Wilhelm was firmly convinced that this had always been the case. Oh, and what a sweet voice he used to sing when it came to the army. It was obvious that he was proud of them, but everything he said was definitely worth seeing.

Warboss, too, pleased him with his extremely simple attitude to everything - there is a command, he follows it. And he had his own, quite obvious motivation to serve - glory, valor, and honor.

Draga returned to normal mood, the problem had dissipated, and that was a good thing.

In general, everything seems to be fine so far and no one plans to make problems. Although, everything will be clear after the general meeting.

Talik sighed heavily as he sat on the carved bench by the fountain in the palace's inner park. He would have been happy to leave things as they were; in fact, he was quite happy with the situation. Health, strength, and wealth that hardly anyone could ever dream of - there they were. But he wasn't sure it would stay that way forever. Former NPCs, dolls, pieces of code, and fragments of rendering libraries, had become living full-fledged personalities. With their own preferences and points of view. And even though most of their characters came from the description invested by him and his friends, there were some moments in which they behaved in their own way. For example, there was no guide to conversation behavior for Illadria. And she somehow determined her attitude and line of behavior on her own.

What thoughts, decisions, and actions can they come to as they develop as individuals? How they currently feel about Talik is more or less clear. But what are the reasons for this? Where does the attitude come from, and won't it change at some point? How will they react to his words and actions if they don't meet their expectations?

All these thoughts were already giving him a headache. It was necessary to clarify relations, to find out his real position. Everyone had agreed to come to this meeting, and now Talik was thinking hard about what to say.

He should have thought of that beforehand, an idiot.

He really wanted to let things go on their own. Just do nothing, and let it be. And yet it was clear that it wouldn't work that way. Everyone expected him to do something. Wise orders, plans, great deeds, and wonderful revelations. Something he couldn't give. If it were a game, no problem, Talik was well aware of the intricacies of game mechanics, politics, and everything else. But this wasn't a game at all. It's a new world, and by all appearances, an inhabited one.

This afternoon he decided to walk through the city. He didn't think he would be noticed at all; he just wanted to walk around and look. But everyone he met, humans, elves, draconians, and other creatures he met, literally parted from him. He walked through the streets, and he always saw the same thing - the inhabitants lined up at the edges and bent down in a deep bow. When he tried to talk to someone, it turned out no better than with Illadria. He was not seen as what Talik really felt he was. They saw him as a descended deity.

This grandiose misunderstanding was, in some ways, pleasant, but it could not go on like this. It is UNNORMAL. Talik is not a god. Talik is a third-degree nanohydraulic systems design engineer. His most significant personal professional achievement is the development of an automatic clamp for fixing mechanical console light bulbs on industrial hydroponic equipment. A part that never went into production, because the equipment itself was already scheduled to be removed from production as obsolete at the time of the tender.

He is not a man to be looked upon as a god. And the sooner he brings clarity, the less the payoff of such a long deception will be.

Talik glanced at the phantom square above his wrist. It was time to go.

He got up from the bench, glanced around at the bushes and flowers, and walked toward the Temple. Two hundred steps down the cobblestone path, and there they were the gateway to the Temple. A tall, gilded archway that reeked of peace and coolness. He ducked into it and walked through the long, high hall that led to the Hall of Prayer.

They were already waiting for him. Five figures knelt in a semicircle, bowing before the altar a few paces away. Talik involuntarily admired the symmetry as he walked past them. Walking up to the altar, he touched it in known places. Now, no matter what happened, he would have a head start on time.

Talik made the appointment here for a reason. Each of the former NPCs had his own area of responsibility in which he was much stronger than usual. The Cemeteries for Marius, the Groves for Illadria, the Orcish Camp for Warboss, the Palace for Wilhelm, and the Palace Cellars for Draga. Here, in the Hall of Prayers, none of them had a definite advantage, but Talik did. This was his 'area of responsibility'. His 'floor' as a player. If the former NPCs rebelled after his words, this was the easiest place to take the fight. He exhaled slowly, chasing away the treacherous shiver, and began to speak.

"I see we're all here. Let's begin." He pursed his lips, gathering his thoughts. "The world around us is not Yggdrasil, as is obvious from many indications. And, contrary to what you've told me, I assert that I have nothing to do with its existence. We are just here, and that is a given. Now I want to make it abundantly clear who "We" are in this situation. My question is who am I to you, and why do you... Serve me? I don't want a vague answer. I want to know a clear motive for your service."

There was silence, diluted only by the ghostly chorus of voices that were always there. Talik struggled to keep his composure, preparing for the worst.

Finally, Wilhelm raised his hand without rising from his knee.

"I'm listening to you, Wilhelm."

"Prophet, this is a task worthy to be set by you. Demand to put into words all the obvious things we hold in our hearts. As always, I admire your ability to make the complex simple. In my eyes, you are the measure of being. Though I will never reach the heights from which you view the world, I aspire to do so with all my soul. At your whim, I went from being a condemned rebel to being a king. Your will has given me a power and authority that no other mortal could ever dream of. And with this power and authority, I am proud to serve the will of the one who gave it to me. Proud to serve, knowing that I am fulfilling a higher will. Deprive me of these privileges, if you see fit. I believe in your justice and that my destiny and my highest good is to follow the path you have shown me, wherever it may lead. This is my answer, Prophet."

"I heard you. Does anyone else have something to say?"

The head of the orcs raised his hand.

"Speak, Warboss."

"Wilhelm said it all very well. I could not have done so. I know one basic truth-the orcs did not exist until You wanted them to. With your hand, you brought us out of nothingness, made us what we are. Neither I nor any other orc can imagine a life not filled with service to the designs of its creator."

The Warboss stopped, apparently believing that enough had been said. Illadria raised her hand next.

They're still waiting for permission to speak, aren't they? Oh, where, when, and at what point did a good idea of figuring things out turn into a pathos-soaked farce? After all, it's just a more detailed replay of what happened yesterday on the balcony. Why doesn't that make them angry?

"Speak too, Illadria."

"To answer the question of who you are to me, I would say God. The one who is able to create the mind. One who commands the flow of totally incomprehensible forces. You are in control of life itself in all its manifestations. Why do I serve you? By serving your will, I serve the Universe of which I am a part. There is no greater joy for me than to fulfill your desires. I am proud to be your instrument and witness of your deeds, and I want no other fate."

The sorceress became silent and respectfully stared at the floor.

"Draga, it's good to see you smiling again. I'm listening to you."

"Prophet, I...can't say anything you haven't heard from Warboss." Oh, there's that murderously deep voice again. I must try to persuade her to try one more. "To me, you are the parent and ruler, I see you as the hand sees the head. My soul and body are your creation. I have no other dream, no other motive to live than to be of service to you. I am unable to tell it as thoroughly as Wilhelm or Illadria. But this does not make my feelings any weaker. I humbly beg you to accept them, and to remember your faithful servant."

"I get your point."

Talik could hardly keep from facepalm. This theater of the absurd wasn't just going on, it was growing. Coming here, he was determined to be tough, trying to prove that he was not who they saw him be. To give unsightly examples, to ask provocative questions, to call for common sense. But that determination melted away like smoke under their serious stares.

They were quite serious when they said all that, and their feelings were real. He felt it in a strange way. It really was their way of life, and the way he had thought to behave at first seemed ridiculous, silly, wrong. He was going to convince, provoke, give examples, like 'well, what if I... what do you say then?' There were plenty of 'if' options, all kinds, mostly unsightly. Now he knew that it would literally be an outrage on their attitude, and he would still be forgiven. Or even accepted as a reward, they would do. The whole 're-education' plan, now obviously childish, went to hell.

No, I can't get used to it, guys. Still, I'm going to have to change some things. At least in appearance.

Then the lich raised his hand. Talik, to his shame, realized that he had almost forgotten about him.

"I'm listening to you, Marius."

The soft, husky baritone, which sounded as if several people were speaking at once, suited him very well. It was the kind of voice one would expect from a figure in armor over an expensive robe. His head was hooded, with two blue lights flickering underneath, and it was not immediately obvious that there was a bare skull underneath. The fabric of the robe rippled in the air, slowly and smoothly, as if it were in the water at great depths.

Everyone here has made a good point, but I'm not sure that's what you were expecting. I will try to make my own way of expressing what I understood to be the essence of the question you asked. Why are we all loyal to you, and can you be sure that nothing will change? My unquestionable answer is yes, you can count on me, under any circumstances. I've always admired the games of the Lords, I've always been a little envious of you... Creatures are so powerful that they have to confine themselves to the cramped confines of reality in order not to be bored. Those who have created even themselves for the sake of entertainment are an unthinkable, delightful outrage on the primitive worldview available to us creatures of inferior origin. We are all just part of your game with what we understand to be existence. And no matter what your circumstances, no matter what way of thinking and acting you choose, we will remain what we were created to be, and we will do what we were created to do. To serve you. For us to betray you, you will need to change us yourself.

It was creepy. Marius understood the nature of Yggdrassil very subtly, albeit in his own way. And very well, he seemed to be quite happy with that state of affairs. Talik took a closer look at the lich's 'face'. Strange that the creature's appearance did not frighten him. In a world where Yggdrassil was just a game, it would have broken his heart to see such a beast. Here, though, he's at peace with it. If you look at the situation soberly, it's not very normal.

Maybe it's because I still don't fully believe it's all real?

Your point is very clear, Marius. You have simplified things considerably.

Actually, you've made it pretty fucking complicated, my friend. It turns out that all these creatures, and the Elite and everyone else, see the world the way NPCs would see the game? The only difference is that they now think and feel, not just react according to their algorithms.

Talik once read a manga about robots who gained consciousness and tried to be robots first and then became frustrated with their masters. So it's a similar situation here, isn't it?

Talik really wanted to leave everything as it was and run away from this place. But he knew that, in addition to his conscience, he would be followed by these guys. They would find him and ask - why did you leave us, what did we do wrong? He could think of no good answer to such a question. To stay here and meet their, to put it mildly, inflated expectations? They're reasonable now, and surely they can learn. It's only a matter of time before they realize the depth of their delusions. And then the third-degree nano engineer, nerd, and beggar, will answer to the King, the Undead Lord, the Orc Chieftain, the Elf Witch, and the Demon of the Shadow.

Talik felt as if he were reading a beautiful fairy tale, knowing about the tragedy at the end. On the other hand, how far that ending is, and what prevents him from at least trying to prevent it. And at the same time just live and enjoy it. For, in fact, comparing the 'real world' and what's around him now... Here he has MAGIC, his own, you might say, fan club, here he doesn't have to work a third of his life to get a chance to make noodles in the morning. 'Reality' is much worse, and it doesn't matter how this adventure ends for him.

So, you want an omnipotent, omniscient prophet. I'll try to be one. I can't promise much, but I'll try. Keep that in mind when you judge me.

The elites were still like frozen statues, seemingly waiting to hear what he had to say next. The light diffused by the stained-glass windows gave the whole picture a kind of mystical accent, and Talik couldn't help but admire it. But he had to say something, so he gathered his thoughts and continued.

"In gathering you here, I had originally planned a rather long debate. Now I realize that would be a waste of time, so let's skip that part and get to the main point. It's a different world. A new world about which we know little, except that it is possible to live in it and that other sentient beings are present. Our first tasks are to understand exactly where we are, and what surrounds us beyond the mountains. To assess the powers and abilities of the local inhabitants, to investigate ours, and to compare them. To understand what dangers and benefits await us here, and what we can eventually become for this world. I'm sure it will take a lot of effort, and I believe we can do it."

It was a hastily reworked quote from my firm's director's speech at the firm's big-market launch party. Oh, good thing you don't know me, my 'vassals'.

"I want to ask each of you if you have encountered anything unusual since yesterday? Something out of the ordinary. Every new detail is important now, so if you have something to share, I'm listening carefully."

Lich immediately raised his hand.

"Yes, Marius?"

"My memory has changed in some incomprehensible way, Prophet. It's still perfect, but I can't remember the contents of any book I've read, only blurred images. There are other minor problems, but it would take too long to list them, and there are no important ones among them."

"I heard you. We will get to the bottom of this very shortly. Please put the whole list of these 'minor problems' in writing when you have time."

"It will be done."

Draga was next. She was obviously hesitant but finally raised her hand.

"I'm listening to you."

"I... I talked to Malicriss. She was able to get inside my head when I was... Meditating in my chambers."

If the word 'silence' could be applied to the word 'burst', then that's exactly what happened. Surprise and anger spread out in waves from everyone present.

Talik froze, too.

Yeah, what did I expect? Everyone has 'woken up,' including the skeletons in the forgotten closets. Malicriss could be a real problem. A bigger problem than, say, an out-of-control Archilich.

There was a rather murky and unpleasant story with Malicris. It was an experimental character, originally designed exclusively for PvP, as a weapon against hard-charging Elites. A mind mage, or mentalist. They didn't bring her up to level 100, because that would have been too expensive an experiment. At 80 she was good enough to unlock all the passives and spells she needed. The level invulnerability threshold was 40, so even 60 would have been enough, but perfectionism was a factor here.

LadyLilim, who was in charge of setting up Malicriss, turned out to be an 'insider'.

Infiltration and sabotage in Yggdrasil were not considered improper, on the contrary, it was an art. Create a new account, a character, and develop from scratch into a target guild. Such a character could only be used for its intended purpose once, and the blow had to be perfectly calibrated. And so it turned out.

It was the only time their guild had ever received a World-Class item, the 'All-Seeing Eye'. Not a combat item, but from the list of the most valuable, because first, its use was limited only by the daily cooldown, and second, because of its property. When used, it displayed system information for the owning group about everything in its field of action. Levels, equipment, equipment properties, buffs, items, traps, maze schemes, and the positions of all creatures. Any invisible object became briefly visible to the group unless hidden by the effects of another World Item.

Dawn Mist knew perfectly well that it was beyond their power to possess this object. The All-Seeing Eye came to them quite by accident; there was no way they could have protected such a valuable object. They planned to sell the Eye. But the buyer, during the bidding process, seems to have decided that it would be cheaper to use the 'can' and raid them.

LadyLilim, with full access to Malicriss' settings and combat algorithms, perfectly sabotaged the guild's defenses. At the most crucial moment, Malikriss began to control Talik with a combination of spells and took him out of the game, after which the invaders had no problem breaking through the guild defense and took the Eye from the treasury by force. The Eye, and all they found. They completely ruined Dawn Mist.

Oh yes, then they tried to get revenge on Lady Lilim, they hunted her down, and quite a few friends got involved. But it was of no real use because Lady Lilith was only a one-time character. No one would dare take revenge on a player in the real world anyway.

Worst of all, Talik had dated Lady Lilim in real life for some time, and they had even slept together a couple of times. She had abused his feelings, both in game and in life, leaving a deep wound in his soul.

Well, the NPC Malicriss... It's just a dummy that couldn't be held responsible for its customizer. There was WAY too much real money invested in it to just remove it. After things settled down, during the rebuilding of guild territory, Malicriss' settings were fixed, closed off access to guildmaster level, and just left in deep reserve in case it came in handy. The archive of the logs of that battle was also left, for analysis and comparison for the future. In a burst of emotion, Talik wrote her a story of great love, betrayal, and remorse and ended up just forgetting about her.

And by all things, it appears that Malicriss has come to life, too. And according to Draga, a 'mentalist' is no longer just a user of a number of specific spells. And given what's written in her lore...

"Fuuck..." Talik swore. "It's good of you to tell me, Draga. I appreciate it very much."

He was quiet for a while.

"Well, the instructions I gave you earlier still stand. When we have enough information, I'll reconvene and we'll work out a plan of action. Draga, as I recall, you don't have any personal tasks at the moment?"

Instead of answering, the beautiful girl seemed to sink to the floor.

"Then... I need an assistant, a sort of adjutant and perhaps a guide. Would you be willing to take on this role?"

"YES"

"Then we're done. Everyone is dismissed."

Talik stepped off the podium with a neat step and went to his office. Draga followed silently behind him.

RiP · Jun 30, 2021

Chapter 5

***Daimon's group***

It wasn't easy for Daimon's group to get out of the Cursed Forests. For the third day, with little or no sleep or even normal rest, they had been trudging through drifts, ravines, and dense undergrowth. Three of the four members of the group were well aware that getting out of the dungeon was only half the battle. Even aside from the dungeons, death lurked in every shadow here, and no one wanted to give it a chance.

Except for Lias.

In less than two weeks of acquaintance, Era had managed to hate him. At first, she didn't understand why she disliked him so much, and she suppressed the feeling. Lias wasn't a bad guy, just a little naïve. He was so excited about adventure, glory, and wealth as if he'd learned his whole idea of the adventurous profession from the songs of bards and the tales of drunkards. He pictured himself as the protector of the common people and aspired to feats and glory.

An idiot.

Era exhaled loudly, keeping the rhythm of the marching. Stems crunched and tangled beneath her feet, thin branches whipped at the remnants of her hood. After Daimon at the head of the group, the trail was quite bearable. With his strength and stamina, he was literally breaking through the thicket. Who knows how slowly they might have moved without him.

Era heard a muffled scolding behind her and turned around. The sight was to be expected. Lias stumbled and fell. Era called out to Daimon, and when he turned around, she raised her hand to say, stop.

"What's up?"

The indomitable leader and his old pal Bryce stopped moving. Both looked tired and pretty beat up. Era sat silently beside Lias and patted him on the shoulder. He tried to curl up into a ball and muttered in a trembling voice.

"I can't. That's it. I can't do it anymore..."

Era, barely able to contain her contemptuous rage, was about to slap him, but Daimon approached and intercepted her hand.

"Era, don't need it. Please."

They exchanged glances, and she averted her eyes first. Meanwhile, Bryce, who had approached, frowned at Lias and crouched at his leg.

"Daimon, hold the kid."

Lias only breathed heavily when the leader held him down with his knee and occasionally twitches when Bryce gently palpated his ankle.

"Don't be so nervous, dummy. Daimon, it looks like we have a fracture here."

"How serious?"

"So serious so that he will ride. Kid, you know, you're so useless... Hold on tight."

Bryce, grunting, took the healer on his back. Lias, hissing in pain, made himself comfortable. Era, looking at what was happening, began in an unnaturally calm tone.

"Why are we..."

But Daimon interrupted her.

"Era, believe me, I don't like babysitting him myself. But it's our word and our responsibility."

She only raised her hands in annoyance.

"Ok."

"Thank you." Damon patted her on the shoulder. "It's gonna be okay."

They were on their way again. It was getting dark, and they still had a few miles to go before they reached the edge of the thicket.

Era felt a burning shame. It was a good thing she hadn't been allowed to finish her cruel words. Looking at the boy dangling on Bryce's back, she knew she hadn't been entirely fair to him. It was just... He just wasn't adventurer material.

This became clear in the first few days as they searched the path to the ruins, which was familiar. In Lias's mind, adventurers were engaged solely in the noble destruction of villains and monsters. He was totally unprepared for the exhausting marches, the austerity of drinking water, the lack of sleep, the filth, and the other pleasures of adventurer life. Even then, Era's deaf dislike began to transform into anger. She was used to reliable and terse fellows, but Lias... He commented sarcastically on the inconveniences, complaining about the mosquitoes and fatigue. When, on the approach to the ruins, their group was attacked by a pack of magic-altered wolves, real, hungry, and desperate monsters, he huddled in his tent and squealed hysterically while the others dealt with the problem. Then he demanded that they take him back to town immediately.

Then the guys had a quiet and serious talk with him, and he shut up. It didn't get much easier; he still made the situation worse, expressing displeasure and indignation with every gesture. But the dungeon itself broke him completely. The suffocating dust, the stench that took your breath away, the perpetual darkness, the deadly traps, and the extremely dangerous undead. All the things iron-ranked adventurers live and die by. All the things they speak and write so beautifully about.

He wasted all his energy in the first run, and only then did it become clear that, first, he had very little energy, and second, it was recovering much more slowly than they had all hoped. Disappointment and constant fear had turned the slightly spoiled but positive naive kid into a twitchy, jaded fatalist. But they took him with them and held him responsible for his life - these are the unbreakable dogmas of the adventurer. Those who broke the ground rules were quickly stripped of their badge, and at best they changed jobs. At worst, they disappeared without a trace, and their equipment sometimes appeared on the black market.

After Lias was carried on Bryce's backs, their progress quickened considerably. Daimon's group was out of the Cursed Forests even before darkness had set in. The familiar gentle descent down the hill and the small valley by the river were pleasing to the eye. But the luck that had watched over them for three days in the thickets seemed to have run out.

By the river, in the exact spot where they had camped the week before, someone else had already established themselves. In the gathering darkness, they could see several tents and a flickering fire between them. Daimon frowned.

"Bryce, check out these guys."

Bryce nodded, laid Lias down gently, and silently disappeared into the bushes.

"Era, I hope to avoid a fight, but..."

"I understand, Daimon. I'm ready, even without the staff. You know me."

Magic could be used without aids at all, but the image of a powerful wizard has always been associated with staff for a reason. A good, properly made staff made it much easier to control mana and allowed you to cast spells much faster. But the specifics of training, which Era preferred to remember less often, allowed Era to cast spells equally quickly and efficiently with or without a staff. The price for that was a very high expenditure of energy, but enough for a short fight. Era kneaded her fingers with a crunch.

A few minutes later, Bryce appeared out of the bushes.

"Goblins. About a dozen. Looks like hunters, not trappers, and probably not local. A proper watch, but only within their camp."

Daimon sighed.

"Looks like we'll make it. Era, stay here and cover us if something happens."

"Maybe just hit it from here?"

"And you guarantee you'll hit hard enough and accurately enough that no one escapes? Two or three vengeful freaks in the woods could give us a lot of trouble, you know."

Era nodded silently. The goblins are not serious fighters, they fight mostly in numbers and pose no threat in the open countryside. But in the woods, vengeful, perfectly camouflaged partisans with their poison arrows and traps...

All she had to do was wait. Hidden in the bushes, she watched from afar.

The green-skinned men spotted Daimon in tattered armor and Bryce with a full set of throwing knives between his fingers and scurried about. After a hoarse shriek from the sentinel, several small, wiry figures sprang from their tents, waving spears and axes, and lined up in front of the camp. Four, armed with bows, scattered in different directions and crouched in the tall grass. Era noted for herself where exactly.

Daimon stepped forward, gesturing and growling menacingly. One of the goblins, the tougher of the bunch, stepped forward with his spear. Something of dialogue ensued. Era could hear nothing but the sound of hoarse swearing. For a moment the negotiations seemed to have reached an impasse, but then Bryce, in a smooth, beautiful, and swift movement, threw a knife into the grass where one of the bowmen sat, and Daimon lunged with his sword at the parliamentarian's throat and continued shouting. The green-skinned men hesitated and retreated. Within minutes they'd packed up their tents, and, looking around, they were marching in a single file along the river and into the woods. After making sure the competitors were gone, Bryce headed toward Era.

"I wish it were always like this. It's good when the enemy wants to live too."

Bryce picked up the semi-conscious Lias and they headed toward the now vacant camp.

Unfolding the tent, Bryce lamented.

"We should have taken the tent away from them too."

"And then spend all the profit to cure sores and lice, eh?" Era teased him.

"You need to look at the world more positively. What if it had been just lice?"

"At least they didn't finish their stew; there's a pile of it."

"You know, I'm not really hungry. But treat yourself if you're too lazy to cook."

Era was not tempted by the stinking pile of something slimy and set to cooking. Once, at the beginning of their acquaintance, she had flatly refused the job. She wanted to be seen as an adventurer in the first place, not a cook. But there were plenty of interesting things for everyone to do at the campsite. If you didn't want to cook, no problem, you could go get firewood, fetch water, dig a cesspool. And the guys also cooked terribly, and she gave up.

While Era cooked and Bryce tried to do something about Lias's leg, Daimon sat down staring at one point and began unbuckling the straps of his armor. Era couldn't imagine how hard it was for him. He worked for everyone. Took the hits in combat, handled dangerous situations like this, was always there, and found the right words to cheer, to calm, to stifle conflicts. And that was not counting the purely physical exertion. She wanted to hug him, but she could not dare. For her, such a hug would only mean moral support, but men usually understood such impulses in a very different way. It wasn't that she didn't like Daimon, but she was fine with the way things were.

"We'll have to pass the information on these goblins to the guild, remind me, okay?"

"Yes, Daimon. I don't think they'll be here much longer, though."

"The Guild needs to have an idea of what is going on and where. What you don't think is important may be a valuable part of the overall statistics."

They remained silent as they watched the water boil in the cauldron.

"Era, I think you want to tell me something, but you don't know how to start. Am I right?"

She wiggled a twig in the coals.

"Yes. There is nothing to hide from you. I wanted to... To talk about the future of the group. Not about tomorrow or the day after tomorrow, but about what we should do."

"I suppose you rate the outlook as extremely grim, and that's because Lias has failed, and you're in a lousy mood because you're tired, right?"

"When you talk about it like that, I seem like a cranky fool to myself."

"Oh, of course not. It's just that we all need to get to civilization, relax, wash, and get properly drunk. And then think about such things as our future possibilities."

"That sounds great. But... Oh, okay."

"Just say it already."

"You know, there's something that's been bothering me for a long time..." Era hesitated, choosing her words." We take too heavy quests for the silver rank. Yes, the reward from the guild is good, and the loot is often even greater. But we... We're taking too much risk, you know? I'm not afraid, don't get me wrong. But..."

"I understand. But this is the only way we can become stronger. Stronger, richer, higher in rank. Remember how we worked our way up to the iron ranks, and then to silver. It was hell, and now we are what we are."

"We had a great healer back then. He's gone now."

"Then we'll find another excellent healer. Don't interrupt, please." He held up his hand, warning me of objection. "Yes, we haven't had much luck lately. But our careers, all we do, and all we strive for, are not limited to today or tomorrow. Until we manage to find a good member of the team, we'll take simpler tasks. Even if it takes a year or more to find the right healer, we'll find one. It was my fault for dragging Lias straight into hell. We won't do that again, and we'll get used to each other on easier tasks.

They stayed quiet.

"It looks like I haven't fully convinced you yet. Then let's try it from the other side. What would you do if you left the group? Any plans? Traveling with us, you've grown steeply as a sorcerer. I'm sure Theocracy would be glad to have you back, and I'm sure you'd rather cut your own throat than go back. What have you got to gain by giving up the group?"

"Nothing."

"Exactly. So, stop worrying about nonsense. We'll get to a hot bath and some wine, and then we'll see, okay?"

Era smiled and pushed him on the shoulder.

"You're impossible." And after a pause, she added. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. We're a team."

Bryce came over and interjected himself into the conversation, which immediately drifted away. Lias was fractured, nothing serious, but he wasn't able to heal himself yet, and there was no time to lose for a proper rest. The goblins have gone, acknowledging authority, and are unlikely to be fished out on the forest trails. It is only a day's journey to the village, where they can have a proper rest. According to a preliminary estimate, the hastily picked up in the dungeon goodness will simply fly for a hundred gold at least.

The next day seemed as if it was ashamed of its strenuous predecessors and pleased with quiet, moderately warm weather and good trails. Daimon's group reached the village even earlier than they had planned. Bryce, visibly tired from dragging an incapacitated body, cheered up when he looked at the sturdy paling.

"Oh, that's nice, the map didn't lie. It looks like we missed it by a few miles, though."

"What makes you think that?" Daimon asked.

"Look how the path goes, from north to west. According to the map, it's... I'm not even going to try to remember what kind of a shithole place it is. But in general, this direction of the road and the village is noticeably north of where we were supposed to go."

"Oh, who cares. If they give you something to eat and wash, it was worth the mistake. Let's go to the gate."

They approached the gate. The thick, sturdy, pointed logs of the stockade rose to a height and a half of a man. The wooden gate, reinforced with iron bands and braces, was closed. The group had evidently long been spotted, and the watchful looks from unshaven faces could be seen over the prongs of the stakes.

Daimon knocked on the gate.

"Hey, dear villagers, let us in, please. We need lodging and food, and we have something to pay for it."

A hoarse, grunting voice was heard from above.

"Who are you?"

"We are adventurers. We were doing a job nearby and got a little lost. We're not a threat."

Daimon pulled out his badge on a chain, putting it on display. Bryce and Era followed suit.

Some negotiations were heard behind the gate, after which the bolt rattled and one of the flaps moved aside. A stout man with a beard and worn clothes looked out from behind it. He looked at the strangers and muttered grudgingly.

"You're welcome." And he stepped aside, letting the guests pass.

***master Akuro***

Akuro had been feeling restless for the past couple of days. There was no explanation, but he felt as if someone was watching their caravan. He kept this strange uneasiness to himself, but the way he sometimes looked around and listened did not escape the eyes of his soldiers.

"Hey, Scar, how long till we get to the village? The cargo needs a rest."

"We'll be there by evening, commander. I remember these places well."

Akuro looked again at his caravan.

Four sturdy wagons, one after the other, pulled by four horses. The first and the last carried his boys, twenty hardy thugs, ready to jump into the fire at his command without a second thought. Most of them had been with him back in the days when Akuro was an unknown bandit. Reliable guys, equally adept with sabers and crossbows.

In the middle of the column were carts equipped with wide, low cages covered with sailcloth. The goods were carried in them. At the edges of the column were five riders, the best of the best, the most trusted people.

Akuro was proud of the idea that helped him make a name for himself. Yes, he wasn't the only one who caught and sold slaves, but there was a significant difference. He and his boys didn't ravage settlements in neutral lands. Once upon a time, when he'd first managed to sell two prisoners to a Theocracy fence, he'd had a bright idea. Why not? He got more gold for the two heads than he did for two weeks of risky plundering. Then he gave a rousing speech and led his boys into the deep neutral lands, looking for more slaves to sell.

At first, things were not so good. He had to fight his rivals pretty well, and when he stormed the first elven village, he lost half his men. They took a dozen long-eared girls with them, of whom only five survived the journey to Theocracy. But the money they got for them from the reseller eclipsed all their losses. And that's not counting the goods they took from the ravaged houses. And so it went.

But after a couple of years of raids, he realized that ravaging villages was unprofitable. A massacred village brought money only once, and the next time he had to go farther and farther away, the resistance was more and more desperate, and each time he lost more and more men. And then a bright thought occurred to Akuro. The elves weren't the only ones in the world. Sure, they didn't keep human slaves in Theocracy, but first, Theocracy wasn't his only market, and second, he didn't capture women specifically for slave labor. Young men and women are universal commodities, bought equally willingly by the nobles of Baharuth and Re-Estize. And definitely not for fieldwork. The longevity of youth, like that of the elves, did not matter. Such living toys live a couple of years at most anyway.

Now, he 'patronized' a few villages beyond the formal boundaries of the Theocracy. Neither country's feudal lords had power there, and Akuro had slaughtered the local bosses as soon as he'd entered the land. And now every six months he passed through these villages, collecting tribute - one man per village. It was a mutually beneficial business. They gave him the goods voluntarily, and in return, he didn't cause a massacre, everyone benefited. Yes, the one-time profit from a raid into elven lands was much higher, but there was no risk, and there was a regular flow of profit.

His business prowess and reliability as a partner was recognized first by merchants and then by noble theocrats. And Akuro finally became a respected and very wealthy man with good connections. Just as he had always dreamed.

A week ago he refreshed the memory of the daring villagers. One village refused to give him a local beauty, and now that settlement would serve as a fine example to others. He took from there not one, as agreed, but more than a dozen captives. He would have taken more, many begged for mercy, but there were certain requirements, and not all would have met them. The space in the cages was not endless.

And this nagging uneasiness, coming from who knows where was spoiling the mood. It had escalated in the camp yesterday, and he'd sent men to search the area around the camp, but they'd found no one. The uneasiness receded, but it did not disappear for good.

As we pondered, time passed without notice, and there was a palisade.

***Daimon's group***

The team of adventurers set up in a nice, cozy cabin on the outskirts of the village. When the locals realized that the adventurers were not from Theocracy, their first cold greeting turned into a warm welcome. They were allocated an empty house left from a logger who died in a fight with a bear and given food, brew, and firewood. Moreover, Daimon even had to insist that they take the money. The locals looked away at first as if embarrassed to take it.

The adventurers thanked them warmly for their care, and now the fire in the stove was crackling merrily, the washed clothes hung dry. The only thing that marred the evening was that Daimon had expressly forbidden them to drink the brew. Era regretted it a little, but she knew that the leader's demand was justified. Bryce, too, grumbled for the sake of appearances, and then stopped talking as he tidied up his gear. No one asked Lias at all, and he was snoozing quietly now, wrapped in a blanket on the wide bench.

When the adventurers were about to go to bed, Bryce became alert. He listened to something, then silently patted the hilt of his dagger. He was understood without words.

Era, cursing to herself, took the hated potion out of her backpack. The little vial, the penultimate one. A sunshine potion. Pleasant to the taste, it chased away fatigue, numbed the pain, and calmed worn-out nerves. But the main thing was that it restored magic powers very quickly. Not immediately and not completely, but about a third of Era's strength. The positive qualities could not be overestimated, but the cost of useful benefits was something that Era remembered very well, too.

There was a quiet, hurried knock at the back door of the house. Daimon, who had already pulled on his tattered armor, gave the sign, and Bryce silently walked to the door with his dagger. The knock was repeated. Bryce threw back the locking wrench and opened the door a little with his foot. After examining the guest and looking behind him cautiously, he let the fidgeting figure into the house.

It turned out to be an elderly woman, in her usual casual clothes. She was clearly nervous. Her slumped shoulders trembled, her fingers became anxious.

Daimon put his hand on her shoulder and looking trustingly into her eyes asked.

"What's wrong, good woman? Is there anything we can do for you?"

"You... I can't..." She began, breaking down into sobs. "Run. Please run away from here, now, please..."

"We appreciate your concern." Daimon's voice reeked of calm. "Who should we be running from, and where?"

"The people from the Theocracy will be here soon. We can't let them see you. Please leave this place, for your own good!" The guest managed to steady her voice, though she was still nervous.

Era grew darker. She had a good idea of the ways of her abandoned homeland.

"Daimon, she's right. Let's get out of here, fast."

"Do you think they would dare do anything to us?"

"Daimon, don't be a child, please. Thank you, kind woman, we'll leave now."

While the Daimon thanked and comforted the poor woman, Bryce rushed to the window overlooking the township wall, carefully pryed the frame with his dagger, and pulled it into the house. He looked out, looked around, and gave the sign - clear.

Era glanced sadly at the laundry that had been hung out. If they had to leave quickly, they'd have to leave them all behind; they wouldn't have time to pack them.

Daimon hugged the woman.

"How can we thank you for your kindness?"

" I... I have a daughter. Take her with you, I beg you. She... She doesn't deserve it, I beg you, I beg you, I will give you everything I have, just take her with you, please!"

"Shh, calm down. We'll take her with us. Where is she?"

"She hid there, behind the door. Do you promise? Promise me you'll take her!"

"Yes, we promise."

Era's heart was heavy. They already had ballast, and now Daimon had promised to take another, which was a bad idea. If a raid from the Theocracy came here, every minute is worth its weight in gold. But...

This woman took a great risk in coming here to warn them. These are neutral lands, and there is no law except personal power and personal morality. Accustomed to impunity, raiders will not limit themselves to anything, regardless of their goals.

The human race is the highest form of life, and other races should honor the right to serve it. A basic tenet of Theocracy. Outside the borders of Theocracy, the Raiders understood it somewhat differently. From their point of view, the state of Theocracy Slaine stood over the world, and ALL other peoples should serve it. Of course, the Theocrats had respect for strong states like Baharuth. For the time being. But where is the strong state here? To the theocrats, even the Guild had no significant authority. What did they want here in the first place?

Era began to push the still not yet awake Lias.

"Get up, we're leaving."

"Where? Why?" Lias opened his red eyes grudgingly, trying to brush her off.

"There's no time to explain. Get up, we have to get out of here."

"I'm not going anywhere!" Lias huddled against the wall beside his bunk. "We're finally out of this hell, and you're telling me we have to go out again? Like hell we do, I'm sick of you guys! My leg is broken, I haven't slept for over a week, I've been eating shit and listening to your lectures, I've had enough! Leave me alone!"

"You useless jerk." Era began, in a tone of icy fury, tugging at his scruff. "You're a ballast and a waste of space. A disgrace of the Guild. I'll be glad to get rid of you and forget your whining like a bad dream when we get back to the Guild. But now, you'll get up, get on Bryce's neck, and we'll go on our way, whether you like it or not."

Lias, instead of giving up, grabbed her hands and suddenly shouted.

"Somebody help! Help!"

Era, taken aback, let him go. Daimon barked briefly.

"Leave him, let him stay."

Then there was another knock on the door. Bryce spat angrily.

"That's it."

There was a desperate child's squeak from outside, but it was immediately interrupted. The woman in Daimon's arms went white, tried to break free, and screamed. Daimon pressed his lips together and struck her, and she collapsed. He and Bryce looked at each other.

"We're not leaving quietly, Daimon." Bryce said calmly.

Lias continued to yell until Era punched him in the solar plexus. There was another knock on the door, more demanding. Daimon went to the door and asked loudly.

"Who's there?"

"Good people who are concerned about whether their neighbors are doing well." A strong, bossy voice was heard from behind the door.

"Everything is fine, no need to worry."

"It's not very polite to talk through the door, is it? Open up."

"Disturbing people in the middle of the night is also bad etiquette."

After a brief pause, a blow came from outside the door, so violent that it snapped off its hinges with a pitiful screech. A tall, athletically built, gray-eyed blond man in chain mail appeared in the opening. His thick leather boots and gauntlets were covered with engraved plates of an unusual metal, and a very expensive-looking thin straight sword hung on his belt. There was a cold, polite smile on his straight face with a deep scar on his chin.

"Well, since no one here observes the rules of etiquette, I will enter uninvited. My name is Akuro, and I am the patron and benefactor of this village."

Behind the man, several figures in the same outfit, but with helmets, could be seen. Daimon assumed a protective stance, shielding his companions. The man literally reeked of danger. Era felt like a mouse in front of a cat, no matter that his sword was not in his hand but on his belt.

"I am Daimon, adventurer, iron rank, and this is my group. We are not pleased by your visit and wish to rid you of our presence." Daimon said smoothly, raising his shield. "I would like, if possible, to disperse without a quarrel."

"Oh," The guest smiled broadly, looking carefully at the decor of the house. "I agree with you, there's no need to quarrel. But there's something I'd like to know before we part ways."

"I would be happy to inform you."

The blond man smiled at some thought of his own.

"Adventurers, then. Why are you here?"

"We were on a mission in the Cursed Forests, and when we got back, we lost our way and came here".

"You mean you weren't hired by the local trash?" He raised an eyebrow skeptically.

"No, we were not hired by the locals. We didn't come here deliberately."

Here came Lias's faltering voice.

"Sir, these people want to take me away from here by force. Protect me, please."

Akuro raised an eyebrow ironically.

"There are really no words. The adventurers, the hope and support of mankind in the fight against the monsters, hold the poor young man by force, no way."

Akuro strode up to Liase, who was clutching at his body, with an unhurried, deliberately relaxed stride. Daimon stepped back to let him pass. Era was surprised; this was the first time in her memory that a leader had ever acted this way. The unpleasant surprise, along with the sense of danger exuded by the blond man, made all her senses throb with alarm.

Akuro leaned over Lias.

"And you must be useful to be held by force, right? Who are you?"

"I am Lias, sir. Lias Mai, healer."

"How interesting, Lias Mai." Akuro was beaming with pleasure. "Would you like to come with me? Our knight's troop could use a good healer."

"I... I'd love to, sir! Thank you!"

"Lias," Daimon spoke calmly to him. "You're making a big mistake."

"Well, well, dear adventurer," Akuro said to Daimon with the same smile. "It's not proper to speak against one's choices like that. Go on, boy, we'll take care of you."

Lias limped out of the house. Era glanced at him, feeling relieved and, at the same time, feeling that what they were doing was wrong. Out of the corner of her mind, she noted that Bryce had disappeared from view during the conversation. It gave her some hope of getting out of the situation if things got really lousy. Attacking from the shadows, Bryce was deadly. Though this blond monster didn't inspire a sense of defenseless victimhood even in a surprise attack.

"Well, gentlemen adventurers, it looks like we've settled all our affairs, right?"

"It looks like it." Without changing his tone, Daimon replied.

"Well, then, if you'll excuse me, I'll take my leave."

He headed for the exit, but stopped, raised his hand as if he had forgotten something, and turned around.

"Ah yes, where are my manners. Leaving without returning the favor. Dear Lady," He turned to Era. "You're so charming, I can't help but invite you to brighten up the evening with our lovely company."

Era's heart felt cold.

"Thanks for the offer, but I will decline."

"Oh, I insist. Come on, you'll have fun." Akuro tilted his head slightly, continuing to cut her with his gaze.

"My companion has expressed her opinion, Mr. Akuro." The tension in Daimon's voice broke through after all.

"I'm not talking to you, trash!" Akuro barked contemptuously.

Daimon started with aces.

[iron body]

[small reflex enhancement]

[strength]

[small dash]

[powerful shield strike]

Combining combat skills is one of the rarest talents that fate has bestowed upon Daimon. He was one of the strongest adventurers of his rank, and it was thanks to this talent that they were many times able to get out of seemingly losing situations.

Rushing through the air as thick as jelly for a moment, Daimon struck upward, knocking his adversary over. Bryce emerged instantly from the shadows on his back, stretching out in a long lunge with two daggers at once.

But the blows missed. Akuro was no longer there. Era, about to unleash her lightning bolt in the only direction the blond could retreat to, was surprised and horrified to find him beside her. The next moment, her eyes darkened with pain. Akuro delivered a brutal blow to her gut. Curled up in pain, she could no longer see Akuro pierce Bryce's stomach with two stabs, without looking, dodging Daimon's attacks with playful abandon. She could hear Daimon's furious roar, Akuro's mocking laughter, and the clang of metal. The brief fight ended with the sound of a heavy body falling and a wheeze.

Akuro walked up to her and roughly lifted her by the hair, peering into her face.

"Adventurers, ha. Yeah, after all the praise, I expected more from the likes of you."

"You underestimate the Guild, you bastard."

Akuro slapped her across the face, holding her hair back.

"I didn't let you talk, whore. Amazing." He continued, dragging her by the hair toward the exit. "Who lets chicks run around with swords in the company of assholes, huh? I never understood that. A woman's supposed to serve a man, no more, no less. You know how much it pisses me off when I see smug bitches like you who don't know their place, who think they're somehow equal to men? It really, really pisses me off. That's okay, we're going to dispel your little delusion."

Once outside, he threw her at the feet of his soldiers, who stood outside waiting.

"Hey guys, this whore doesn't understand the woman's role in the world order."

Jokes and laughter erupted, and Era, feeling her clothes being torn off, tried to kick and elbow her way out. But it was no use - her arms were skillfully bent and she was pinned to the ground. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the villagers standing off to the side and tried to call for help, but in vain. The people averted their eyes.

Era didn't think it would be so painful.

Daimon didn't know how long he'd been like this. Keeping his body in the iron grip of his will, he never let his mind slacken for an instant. Control of his body, conscious control of his heartbeat, the rugged muscles of his arms and legs, demanded the utmost concentration. Floating in a fog of pain, he felt his powerlessness, and could only wait for the blood to bake and the edges of the wounds to grip. He couldn't affect the situation in any other way than to keep the blood in his body, keeping it from dying.

This Akuro was a true expert swordsman. Daimon knew this as soon as he saw his first move. They didn't stand a chance, and, hoping to avoid a fight, Daimon went against his principles and let him take Lias. The naive boy must have really thought he was choosing the best fate...

About a year ago, Daimon tried his luck at a tournament in the Re-Estiz Kingdom. He learned a lot back then, but the highlight was sparring with Gazef Stronoff. Gazef didn't just beat the crap out of him, Gazef showed him the difference between an amateur and a true expert swordsman. Now Daimon saw that difference again. Just at the tournament after the fight, Gazef patted him on the shoulder and complimented him with a smile, expressing hope for a bright future as a promising fighter. And that bastard Akuro left him, paralyzed, to die of pain and wounds.

Daimon saw Era being dragged outside. He heard her scream and cry and then fall silent. He heard the bastards laughing at her screams and tears.

Oh gods, how he hated them. Them, and himself, for his powerlessness, to do anything about it. In the beautiful stories Lias loved so much, the hero always found the strength to stand up and defeat the villains. Daimon was no hero, and he couldn't. He could only hope that Era and Bryce would live to see Daimon get to his bag.

Hatred gave him the strength to resist. It became the light that guided him in the darkness between life and death. It filled every space in his soul, displacing the self-control and decency Daimon had taught himself over the years. The desire for survival and revenge fought against the hope that his friends would live to see him rise. It fought for a place as the top priority in life.

Daimon didn't keep track of time. Just for a moment, he felt a touch on his neck and the familiar voice of an older woman.

"You are alive... Thank the gods..."

He remembered stunting her and tossing her aside in the pantry, away from the showdown. She was fussing over him, he didn't know what she was doing, but he could feel her touching his wounds. It hurt like hell, but his body wouldn't listen, and there was nothing he could do about it. Lying in a puddle of scruffy blood, he saw her go outside, and after a while, several men brought the body wrapped in a sheet into the house and laid it on the bench on which Lias had slept earlier. Nearby, on the floor, they laid Bryce, having removed his pierced armor.

Only no one touched him. A sad, bearded old man tried to turn him over, but a familiar woman prevented him from doing so.

"Touch him and he'll bleed to death. Can't you see he's saving his energy?"

"But, Greta, we can't leave him as he is, he'll get cold in the end! What will we tell his friends afterward?"

"If you accidentally kill him, we won't tell them anything good. Neither will they tell us."

After brief bickering, the old man and Greta got to the bags and began going through the contents.

Daimon, who had barely begun to gain faith in people, collapsed into an abyss of despair. Looting. So predictable...

Still, it turned out they weren't being robbed. In Bryce's bag was an emergency supply, two health potions. Good, very expensive potions from Lizzie Burrell. Intended for the most extreme of cases.

The woman walked over to him, knelt beside him, soiled her skirt in blood, unsealed the bottle, and dripped it on his lips. The droplet flowed almost completely into his mouth, dissolving into it. The processes in his body, which had almost stopped, came shuddering back into motion. Another drop, another, and another-accurately, precisely, so that not one precious drop was wasted.

After getting almost half of the vial, Dimon tried to sigh, and he succeeded.

When they heard the hoarse sighing and moving, the rest of the house darted away, huddled against the walls and staring fearfully at the bloodied Daimon.

He sighed again and tried to move his arm. It obeyed, though through the woozy pain. He reached for the vial, and when Greta hastily handed it to him, he drank it in small sips. The pain was rapidly receding, and in a minute he was able to sit up, looking around himself. It was pathetic.

He stood up in silence and walked toward his companions, taking the second vial from Greta. He hissed.

"Everybody out."

And when, after a few moments, the house was empty, he checked Bryce's pulse. The wounds in his stomach were doing their job, but Bryce wasn't yet cold. Daimon closed his eyes, resting his hands on his comrade's body.

[self-sacrifice]

A blinding, sharp, all-consuming pain pierced his stomach. Daimon almost swiped the vial open beforehand past his mouth. He checked his friend's stomach, the wounds were gone, and he was breathing evenly, just staying unconscious.

Daimon, barely able to contain his fear and despair, removed the sheet from the second body. Era.

He tried not to look below the waist. It was enough of what was on top. The beaten face, the abrasions, the bruises, the teeth marks on her chest, the crumpled ribs, the dislocated shoulder, the nail marks on her neck. Daimon checked her pulse. She was alive. That's all that matters.

[self-sacrifice]

He was ready for it. But still, he almost cursed his gift. Every feeling, every emotion, every pain, all spilled over to him, crippling his body and soul. Every face, every signature, every smell was forever etched into his memory. He knew that Era would not forget what had happened that would be impossible. But she would have only a faint memory, without much detail. She would get over it.

They're alive, and that's all that matters.

***Talik***

Two days had passed since that memorable 'meeting,' but Talik still could not say that he was used to what was going on. No matter who he spoke to, every word was perceived as a kind of revelation from above, and sometimes he could hardly keep from checking how obedient they all were, to what extremes could he bring them? But realizing that he would not forgive himself for that, he chased those thoughts away.

Yesterday, Wilhelm had given him a tour of the military units. Actually, at first, Talik was more interested in going to the 'Roman bath', but he had to keep his face, he'd asked for it. And he was deeply impressed.

Still, when you look at toy soldiers in VR, everything is perceived differently. The huge, sterile viewing platforms, where perfectly trained soldiers in beautiful armor and cloaks practiced their combat techniques, were stunning. Even more striking was that as he and Wilhelm stepped onto the platform, like a podium, hundreds of people saluted him on their knees.

Guys, please ignore me. Oh, yeah, guys and gals.

It was expected, but still strange. There were men and women in his newly formed army as equals. Talik sincerely hoped he wouldn't have to order all these people to go to war. He couldn't imagine doing something like that.

Talik remembered the draconians in armor. Oh, it was an indescribable sight. The two-meter-long black half-men with horns, the mother-of-pearl white patterned armor on top of their own scales, the heavy moving tails that made them look like the perfect killing machine. It remains to be seen, though, whether they are actually worth anything in battle. In Yggdrasil, they were level 40 rank-and-file units, except with better protection, and the racial differences for these kinds of NPCs were purely aesthetic gimmicks. The human, elf, and draconid of this scale had nearly identical stats, with a random variation of up to 5%.

And yes, there were thousands of these warriors, too. Many thousands. He didn't look at the rest of the training grounds and barracks, rightly assuming they were no different.

But Wilhelm, 'riding the wave', dragged him to show the palace guards. These were already warriors from levels 60 to 75, with combined classes, not just purely attacking or defensive archetypes. Some time ago he had thought about naming them and writing out their stories, too, but he'd given up, leaving a generic description for all of them. However, the equipment was no longer standard, from the system, but from the loot, which was a pity to sell. Not great, but much better than the standard. At 75 levels even the legendaries were on, so...

Talik hummed. Yeah, it wasn't exactly like a standardized army. It was hard to find more than one or two of the same things on the 'palace guard'. Although you have to hand it to Yggdrassil's designers, no one looked like a clown. Everything was stylish and handsome.

He did not linger there long. In the waiting hall, where Wilhelm had gathered his 'elite,' he stood with raised hand, causing a storm of excitement, and quickly took off.

He also noticed that all the soldiers were moving deliberately slow while practicing their techniques and sparring. It wasn't that they were slowing down, but the movements were perceived as leisurely and smooth. The 60 levels were a little faster, but still, the general idea of the capabilities of 'his' army was slightly disturbing. After all, this is another world with sentient beings. And what would happen if they had firearms? Not to mention rocket and energy weapons.

With such a difference in the level of development, it will be very sad. Brave guys, beautiful (really beautiful), but slow fencers, against missiles and bullets... And the clash will be inevitable if there is an advanced civilization. No one will look blankly at the aliens. Someone is bound to decide to get their hands on them.

He wanted to know more about the world around him, but it wasn't up to him alone.

He had high hopes for magic in the first place. It could be a significant trump card, even against an advanced civilization.

Now Talik decided to inspect the guild's treasury. In fact, after his tour of the barracks in the city, he'd been literally dragged in different directions by Illadria, Warboss, and Marius to 'pay attention' to their fiefdoms as well. Illadria was weary, she seemed to think it was a grave mistake not to have dragged him through her groves for half a day on his last visit. Talik wanted to walk in nature himself, but there was too much to experience. Going to the treasury was a pretty good excuse to get away from everyone at once for a while.

Talik looked around. Draga, as she had been all along since her appointment as 'Adjutant', was behind her right shoulder. She was wearing the 'Full Dark Invasion Commander's Armor', a reward for winning a unique event. Ebonite-black accentuated her strong, trim figure. A divine class, almost a top. Katsuba had used them for a while before he'd gotten a more advanced set. He complained, though, that he was desperately short of cheater vampirism.

Talik sighed, closed his eyes, and activated the passageway to the lower part of the temple. He still didn't like using teleporters, though he knew he should start getting used to it.

The construction of the treasury was extremely simple. The guild saw no point in pouring resources to complicate the place. First of all, there was no one to boast about the design idea and decorations anyway - 'no strangers walk here'. Secondly, if the enemies have already got here, it's the kind of guys who have broken through the defense of the entire guild. Nothing will help.

A circular vaulted hall with nine aisles in different directions, each ending in a smaller hall. A discreet gray marble with pearl streaks, twisted columns, and graceful statues in niches in the passageways. Above each aisle was a burgundy velvet flag with an inscription pointing it out. "gold", "crystals" "unique" "legendary" "divine" "art" "for sale" "reserve sets" "special".

In the main hall stood a semicircle of carved racks for things that had no room in the specialized departments. Potions, duplicates of high-level spells and recipes, crystal ingredients, and rare books of Yggdrasil. Each shelf had a tall extension ladder to reach the top shelves. Later, when it became clear that there was not enough space on the shelves even in such conditions, they were improved so that they could go up and down, like an elevator. But they kept the stairs, it looked too entourage-like.

Talik grinned. There was a time when he was studying for exams while in the game. Then he downloaded a huge pile of study materials into the game, crammed them into books, and put them here. The idea didn't work - he quite expectedly failed to study while playing. But he left the books here, he didn't move them to the library.

Draga looked around after the transfer, wide-eyed and breathless with delight.

"Do you like it?" Talik asked softly.

"It's just unbelievable. I could never have imagined such a thing!"

"Come on, there's not much of value here. Do you want me to show you the most valuable object?"

"Of course, Prophet!"

"Come on."

He headed in the direction of the 'special' section. A little nasty goodbye to the invader obviously greed would lead them there in the first place. Right into an isolated room, planted with traps that would likely send even a good tank to respawn. And it was in that compartment that the last fruit of Talik's irrepressible gigantomania was located.

Walking into the spacious hallway, Talik instructed Draga.

There are a few basic rules for being here. Violating them will lead to a quick and extremely painful death. First, no active magic, no acting skills. As soon as you use anything like that, the treasury will recognize you as an enemy. It won't look good, trust me. Secondly, you can look at anything, but it is highly undesirable to touch anything with your hands without permission. There are a lot of surprise exhibits here. It used to be just a scrap of damage with debuffs, now I can't tell you what the hazards are. It can rip your arms off or kill you altogether. And thirdly, taking anything... With my permission, it turns out... Make sure you leave a note of it in the logbook on the way out. Name, date, and the full name of the item taken. If you violate this point, I will punish you personally.

Draga nodded very seriously in response.

They walked into the hall, and Draga, seeing that was standing on a pedestal in the center, stepped forward and covered Talik with herself.

"Prophet, WHAT is it? It is dangerous!" Her voice rang with genuine alarm.

"Аh..." Talik wrinkled his nose, surprised by the maneuver. "Meet the most expensive item in the treasury. A Titan. If you use a skill or spell now, it will become your enemy."

"I hear you. Forgive my behavior."

"It's no big deal, just keep it in check, okay? Take a look at him if you're interested."

Draga hesitated for a few moments, then with emphasized dignity went to the Titan and stood in front of him.

Titan's idea was a collective one, everyone liked the idea of using the automaton to guard the treasure trove. The design, the behavior patterns, the combat algorithms - it was all the fruit of collective work.

The two-and-a-half-meter tall, reverse-knee-humanoid robot was deceptively frail. The white plastic armor, the full mask, the bundled 'dreadlocks,' it was categorically out of place in Yggdrassil's lore, but it was damn good-looking. And efficient - the stats and armament were done by Talik. In his first and only battle, he received dozens of tickets from the attackers. The GMs spent two weeks trying to figure out if there were cheats or abuses of the game mechanics.

There was an 'energy' cannon embedded in the right hand. The shots looked like clots of blinding blue plasma blasting from the fist. On a direct hit within a temple location, these shots inflicted astronomical numbers of damage. Only a bloated, overbuffed tank wouldn't crumble from a single hit. Any other class archetype was gone with one hit, not even [Radiant Beryl's body] helped.

On the left side was a forcefield 'generator', which held back comparable damage and was an insurmountable obstacle. Until you take down this shield, not only can you not deal damage to the automaton, but you can't even get close to it. The nice thing about this shield was that it completely neutralized any blow that came at it - even at one unit of strength, it completely absorbed any last attack before dispersing. Of course, outside of his 'zone,' his attack power and shield strength dropped by about a factor of two and a half, but in any case, the Titan was the most powerful unit in the Dawn Mist in terms of damage numbers. Even counting the players - for example, Katsuba's [astral dissection] critical hit did eighty percent of the machine's regular damage.

The picture was completed by the high dexterity and the 'stealth' mechanic, which was never needed.

Still, the Titan had one fatal, critical flaw. It was expensive. Really expensive. The whole guild donated to him, and Talik secretly added almost all of his reserves for a rainy day. In the event of his death, Titan could be dismantled into elements, making resurrection impossible. But the problem wasn't just the price of the Titan itself.

The main problem was ammunition. Three cassettes of seven charges, one charge for each shot or use of the shield. Two repair kits. A spare power battery for acceleration mode.

The cost of spent consumables was equal to 70% of the treasury capacity, which the guild had never reached in its entire existence. It was barely scraped together in six months of grinding, leaving not even a speck of dust in the coffers. During that time, the guild had not received any development. And the developers had one answer to all complaints - 'we are always ready to meet the players who bring donations to our mutual project'. Estimating the scale of donations, they even wanted to disassemble and sell the Titan, it would be enough to build another Dawn City, but in the end, we decided to leave it as 'Ultima ratio regum'. After news of Yggdrassil's imminent closure, Talik tried to sell it, but there were no more buyers.

Since then, Titan has never been turned on again, and all of Talik's projects have been peer-reviewed for acceptable idiocy.

Draga stared spellbound at the automaton.

"Prophet, I... I never thought I could imagine the limits of the Lords' power, but this... Is this Titan one of us? Does he serve the guild?"

"He should. But as long as there's no threat to the existence of the guild, I don't want to check it. Let's go. We're here on business."

Draga nodded briefly and followed Talik, never fully turning her back on the Titan.

He examined the gold and crystal sections with a pained heart. The state of the monetary part of the treasury was frankly pathetic. A room equipped to hold a maximum of twenty-five billion gold coins held less than a million. By Yggdrassil's standards, it was like going out for bread.

Things were even worse with crystals, the second major currency. Less than a thousand universal data crystals. Not even enough to put properties into an empty legend. Barely enough even for a couple of good long fights with consumables.

Talik was clutching his head as he looked at the devastation. And he'd taken everything he had into the real world himself. Draga, on the other hand, didn't care. She rejoiced like a child at all these 'wealth' and praised the wisdom of some mythical Prophet and the wealth of some mythical treasury.

His musings were interrupted by [message]

"Prophet, this is Illadria, I have news about the explored area beyond Dawn..."

"To the point." Talik was in no mood. Even Illadria's beautiful chirping was annoying now.

"I got it." From the sound of her voice, she pulled herself up and took on a sternly responsible look. "The map of the area is ready, and I have information for which [message] is not well suited. You would probably want to know it urgently and in a proper setting."

"I see." Talik was surprised. It was the first time a former NPCs had ever insisted on anything. "Well, how soon can you come into my office?"

"I humbly wait at its entrance, Prophet."

"I'll be there in a moment."

Talik interrupted [message]

"Draga, let's go, urgent business came up."

RiP · Jul 8, 2021

Chapter 6
***Talik***

Talik was sitting at his desk, looking at the map Illadrya had unfolded. The elfess herself was standing at his shoulder, leaning slightly over his ear. Talik felt some discomfort at having a beautiful woman standing beside him as he sat by himself, but he had to fight himself. His 'vassals' found this state of affairs quite natural and even honorable. Illadria at first tried to kneel in front of the table.

He could not see the almost palpable sparks between Illadria and Draga, standing on the other shoulder. She glared murderously at Illadria's profile as she touched the Prophet's shoulder, as if casually. The elfess herself ignored the creature of darkness with the magnificent condescension that only women can.

"You say there are only humans in the caravan. And they're armed only with cold steel?" Talik stretched out with puzzled doubt.

"That's right, Prophet. Swords, sabers, and crossbows are all the weapons observed. Also, I should note that the equipment on these men matches their weapons. Mail armor and brigandines, only five magic items were spotted, all on one person. No use of magic was seen. More than half of the caravan rides in tent wagons in the middle, and do not leave the cover."

"Yeah, well, if there were real weapons here, no one would have used any of this a long time ago," Talik said thoughtfully. "The Middle Ages, then. We're lucky, I guess."

"Please forgive your servant, I did not fully understand..."

"Never mind. You can't know these words. What can you say about their levels?"

"The level of people in the caravan ranges from first to tenth. The highest, apparently, is the leader - the twenty-seventh. He is also the owner of all detected magical items. Also, this person begins to show anxiety when scouts get too close."

"You mean the lowest rank?"

"Yes, level 30. Stalkers 70 and above stay back, just like you told me to."

"Hmm..." Talik leaned back in his chair and thought.

The levels were not impressive, to put it mildly. If there's any consistency with Yggdrassil's level system here, these guys are very, very weak. What are they even doing outside the walls of big cities? We had to make sure somehow, but the easiest way was to get confrontational. It's not very decent, attacking people just to find out how strong they are. Besides, if the local twenty-seven isn't identical to the usual level system, there could be some trouble.

He looked at the map again.

"All right, let's leave it as it is. What about the villages?" Talik pointed to the line of symbols on the map.

"The settlements are in a chain along the edge of the forest that surrounds our mountains. They are extremely poorly fortified with the usual wooden paling. The population is between a hundred and two. The level of inhabitants is no more than a sixth, very likely living off hunting, gathering, and primitive farming. Tools, clothing, and buildings... In general, it does not appear that these people are capable of producing swords and chainmail, Prophet."

"Curiouser and curiouser, yeah? Level 6, they're all so fucking risky. In the woods, you said there were beasts and monsters up to 20?"

"That's right, Prophet. There is reason to believe that this is not the limit. You did not specify to seek such a thing."

"Somehow this caravan with level 27 at its head and with weapons that the locals can't produce doesn't really fit in. Merchants? By the way, what's that notation mean?" Talik tapped the cross next to one of the villages on the map.

"This... All the inhabitants of this village have been killed, Prophet. It looks ruined, comparatively recently. This village is the reason I assumed the possible urgency with which you would want to know this news."

"Well, I'm sad to hear that a bunch of people was killed somewhere, but should that mean we have to rush out and save everyone? We don't know anything about the reasons for what happened, although your initiative pleases me. By the way, the movement of this caravan, is it directed toward this village, or away from it?"

"The caravan moves away from it."

"Oh."

Talik pondered. The hypothesis that it was a trade caravan, already not very plausible, was off the table. Reasonable businessmen would have left the dangerous area by now, no matter what era it was. That left two assumptions - either they were some kind of rescuers, or they were the bad guys. Both easily explained the passengers not leaving the wagons.

"How far is the caravan from the nearest village?"

"Apparently, they're going to leave it. They spent the night there."

"All right, let's leave it at that for now, the point is... How many of your people are in the area? Elves, sorry. How long will it take to gather them around that village where these guys go?"

"Seven, within ten minutes, can group at that point."

"Gather them there, and let them ... Just watch for now. If they... Start killing people, then have them intervene, make it look like a raid or something. Keep them from risking their lives, but take the attention to themselves if possible. No unnecessary deaths."

"I understand, Prophet. It will be done."

Talik thought again. On the one hand, he didn't want to interfere in other people's affairs. For now, he didn't know who had what kind of relationships in this world, and why they were the way they were. On the other hand, he could not sit here, in this office forever. And in some things, it is better to see everything and make conclusions in person, rather than rely on testimonies from creatures he had never even seen. Well, or saw, maybe, but never talked to. With NPCs in the game, there was usually no heart-to-heart talk.

Illadria, judging by her closed eyes and distant appearance, was communicating with her subordinates through [message]. Talik waited for her to finish.

"Illadria, how long does it take to get to the destroyed settlement?"

"About half an hour on the griffons."

"The griffons..."

Talik chewed his lips. The Gryphons were a common flying transport, one of the services provided by the guild system. It was quite handy in the game because you could fly to the right point in the location. Stationary portals were much faster, but they had a fixed exit point that still had to be opened. He would definitely have to take a ride later.

"No, the griffons won't suit, it's too noticeable."

"Then only Lord Kazuchi-sama's flying carpets, or riding mounts, remain. In that case, the trip would take at least three hours. Would it be permissible to set up a two-way portal there?"

"I don't like portals, to be honest. No, no, that applies to all portals, not just yours." He hastened to reassure the pale elf. "I guess we don't have much choice... Well. Set up a portal from the General Chambers to the outer cemetery, and from there to this destroyed village. Prepare some of the toughest watchers you've got, they'll go too."

"Understood Prophet. I'll get right on it."

Illadria bowed deeply and swiftly strode out of the office. Talik tried not to stare at her back and down, but it wasn't going well. Finally, she stepped out and Talik was able to shift his gaze to Draga. Sure, Draga was not inferior to the elfess in terms of figure, but Talik had slept with her before and had to admit that that time had put all interest away. And when did he start to be so picky?

Draga stood at a standstill, gloomy as a storm cloud.

What is it, I wonder?

"Draga, I'm going to go to that village in person. And... I'm going to need someone to protect me in case there's an ambush. Is that alright with you?"

The Creature of Darkness knelt.

"Prophet, I will take all the hits of the world to protect you! I will justify your trust, I swear!"

"Um..." Talik felt embarrassed again. "Let's go then."

The oval of transition was already curling in General Chambers. Talik made an inviting gesture, and Draga stepped into the portal, and he followed.

The cemetery was virtually the same as the one in the game - a grim, solemn necropolis. Except that the weather was far more detailed and bleak than he was used to. Dusty snowdrifts and leaden clouds, coming so low you could seem to reach out with your hand, had certainly not been here before.

In the square of Necropolis, next to the exit from the portal to the palace, a denser spatial gap was already deployed. Next to it stood at a standstill, very much in the background of the necropolis, a light elf woman, and on the other side, Marius.

Yeah, well, you wouldn't have missed the activity on your floor, right.

"Happy to see you in my humble post, Prophet. Truly a wonderful surprise." The lich bowed low. Here he was, fitting in perfectly with the surroundings.

"And I'm glad to see you, Marius. I may need your help, and it's a good thing you appeared here on your own."

"How could I ignore your visit, Prophet, no, it is impossible! What use is your feeble-minded servant? Command me!"

Talik noticed that the lich was in some kind of high spirits. He had been so measured and judicious at the meeting.

"Ahem... I command you. Assemble the strongest undead unit you have at your disposal and can assemble right now. And wait here. I'm going to the outside world, and if I have to flee from
there, you'll cover me."

"It will be done!" Solemnly proclaimed the lich, thrusting his index finger into the low sky.

The ground trembled and groaned, and a bluish, fluorescent mist fell from the crypts surrounding the square, instantly flooding the entire area. From this mist, several dozen translucent, ghostly riders with spears made of impenetrable blackness slid smoothly out. In the surrounding breeze, cloaks slowly fluttered as if woven from otherworldly flames.

The riders instantly surrounded the portal, and as the latter was getting into place, the air heaved heavily overhead, and an armored bone dragon landed en masse on the roof of Marius's mausoleum.

"My army is ready, Prophet. Give me a sign, and it will wipe your enemies to dust!" The lich proclaimed with a pathos that matched the setting, spreading his arms wide.

The Eighties, Talik noted. And a dragon of the ninetieth. It would be a pity if they were lost. They don't respawn automatically. He looked around at the undead warriors. The view was impressive. Such measures seemed a little excessive, but Marius was so radiant with joy and pride in his minions that Talik didn't dare tell him so.

He wonders how Marius is able to convey emotion if he has a bare skull instead of a face.

"Okay. Illadria, are the Stalkers there yet?"

"Yes, Prophet, they are waiting for your orders."

"Tell them to spread out around the village, and if they find a way out of sight of anything they haven't seen before, sound the alarm. Draga, go through the portal. As soon as you're in place, use [Aura of Absolute Hatred] and defend yourself."

"As you command!" She roared and disappeared into the portal.

"Illadria and Marius, wait here. I hope your help will not be needed."

He waited a few seconds. [Aura of Absolute Hatred] marks the user as a target for all creatures and players within its range by default. It also caused enemies to launch an attack with their strongest skill. It took a very, very good reaction and a lot of experience to stop the attack before you dropped out of stealth.

If there were any high-ranking men sitting there in ambush, there's a good chance they'd reveal themselves. The silence in the square was broken only by a dragon on the roof, wiggling its bony wings restlessly. Talik waited for a moment, but Draga was not reporting anything. He glanced at Illadria, who was apparently undisturbed, indicating that nothing dangerous was going on. Or maybe it was a trick, he thought. Why didn't Draga say anything?

Because she can't [message]. I am such an idiot.

He activated magic.

"Draga, is everything okay in there?"

"There are no enemies here, Prophet." She reported cheerfully. "Only a few beasts attacked, but they're already dead."

"Then, I'm coming."

He sighed, concentrated, and entered the portal.

As soon as Talik passed through the teleporter, he felt so sick that he almost vomited. The stench was so bad it made his eyes water. He rested his palms on his knees and tried to steady his breathing, but it didn't help.

"Prophet, what's up with you?!" Draga's anxious voice sounded the ear.

Talik, holding his breath convulsively, held up his hand, letting her know he was okay.

The stench of decomposition and soot seemed to be felt with all his senses, not just his nose, but even his mouth, eyes, and ears, and it was foul pungent all over his body. He could feel echoes of a similar smell in the Marius cemetery, but they were totally incomparable things. Covering his face with his palms, Talik did not immediately remember that he could use spells.

Rummaging through his memory, he remembered something that might work.

[area cleansing]

When he spoke the name of the spell (that's how magic worked, he found out), the murderous stench receded. Not completely gone, but gone beyond the edge of perception where it was a minor inconvenience. Talik breathed a sigh of relief and looked around.

And then I almost bent over again in a gagging spasm. The picture was horrifying. He was standing in a sort of square, with no pavement, just trampled earth and a collapsed well in the center. The square was surrounded by burnt-out ruins of houses, but that wasn't the point.

There were dead bodies everywhere. Bloated, blackened, mutilated, they were everywhere. On the palisades, nailed by the arms and ripped open. Crucified on the ground, legs spread wide, naked. Hanging from crooked stakes, mauled and nibbled by beasts. Death, in all its ugliness, grinned mockingly from everywhere, displaying its perverse forms.

Everything was so real it made him dizzy. Talik had never seen dead people in real life, and what he had seen since the transfer he was quite at ease with, treating it more like a decoration. Things were different here. Levels, skills, and other things that he was beginning to get used to as something natural, all shattered against the picture of the real death of real people.

With a shiver in his hands, Talik regretted coming here. As long as he'd just heard the reports, he'd somehow not paid much attention to the deaths of others. But now he saw what Illadria was talking about so calmly and mundanely. And it was really scary.

He realized that Draga was still holding him by the shoulder, looking into his eyes with genuine concern. He put his hands on her shoulders and rested his forehead against her armored chest.

"I'm fine. Don't worry, I'm fine. One moment."

The sensation of touching the cool metal partially restored his ability to think straight. He searched his memory again, looking for something appropriate.

[Iron Will]

Fear and disgust melted away at once, leaving only a heavy acceptance of what was happening. The effect of this simple skill in Yggdrasil gave protection against low-level mental debuffs. One of the initial skills of his primary 'monk' class

Talik felt something on his palms, looked at them, and was surprised to find blood and dirt. He looked at Draga, and realized what was wrong. She'd used her skill to shroud every living thing in her range, including dogs and crows. Their remains adorned the square in a generous scattering, but he hadn't paid attention to such little things in the beginning. Flies and other insects simply died from the wave of hatred the skill exuded.

"Let's take a look around. What happened here is clear enough, I want to imagine who did all this."

A look around the village didn't tell us much, but the overall picture was clear. There had been a real massacre here. Whether it was an act of terrorism or something else, he never understood. One good thing was that there were no dead children. Talik tried to apply [resurrection] to a few bodies, but to no avail, they just crumbled into dust.

"Basic resurrection is minus five levels, mine is minus four. I guess there's no level zero here, is there."

He could try a high-level spell that reduced the resurrection penalty, but it required either crystal or caster experience. Neither of which he was willing to spend right now. He could try to find someone with a life level higher than five, but there was no telling how long it would take. And what was there to talk about with someone who had lived through such a nightmare? What would he say if he were asked to bring everyone else back to life? Struggling with his conscience, Talik decided to leave it at that.

Examining one of the bodies, he found two short, thick arrows in it. He pulled one out of the body with a heavy heart and twisted it in his fingers, examining it from all sides.
There were crossbows in the game, and their projectiles looked very similar. He sent an arrow into his [inventory] (which he was instantly accustomed to on his first day here). He had some serious questions about this enigmatic caravan, and questions of ethics no longer bothered him.

[message]

"Illadria, where is this... 'caravan'?"

"The caravan left the village and moved on to the next one. There was no attack on the inhabitants, although there seems to have been an abuse of a local woman."

"Abuse... I don't want to know the details. Is she alive?"

"Yes, Prophet, but it seems that without outside intervention it won't last long."

"Stalkers have healing skills, am I remembering correctly?"

"Yes, Prophet, all stalkers have the ability to heal wounds, except the critical ones."

"Send one of them there, keep her alive without giving herself away. No great healings or anything. Just don't let them die."

"I will."

He did not know why he had told Illadria to do so. It wasn't very rational on the whole, but after today's experience, Talik was willing to take a risk and intervene.

"Also, Illadria, could you open a portal a few miles ahead on the course of the caravan?"

"Of course, Prophet."

"Very well. I'll talk to Warboss. He'll send his guys, you can work out the details with him later. And yes, just a moment. You say 'Prophet' a lot. It's embarrassing."

"I..." The elf's voice sounded confused. "But how can I, it's..."

"I believe in you, you can do it."

"I will do my best to fulfill your will, Pro... I'm sorry."

Interrupting [message], Talik thoughtfully stretched out aloud, stroking his chin with his finger.

"How to do all this..."

"Prophet, let me punish the bastards! Their deeds have marred your holy tranquility, I will personally send them to hell for it!" The hitherto silent Drega bowed before him.

"Oh, that's what I wanted to do at first. But that's not a good idea. Sending you there is like burning down a house to get rid of a cockroach. I want from those... people... too much to just go in there and kill them off."

Draga still looked upset, and he tried to comfort her.

"Draga, I really appreciate you willing to help me. But you're too valuable to me to go around killing faggots like that. I'll need you if there's a really serious threat, and then I believe you'll show yourself in all your glory. Okay?"

"Of course, Prophet. Forgive my undignified behavior..."

"It's okay. Let's go."

Heading back toward the portal, Talik used [message] again.

"Warboss, are you busy?"

"I will listen to you, Prophet."

"I want to find out what your boys can do in the new world. Your lowest level is 30 if I remember correctly?"

***Akuro***

Akuro was in the best mood he'd been in days. The night before, when he arrived in the village, he was of course going to have fun himself and let his boys have some fun. But he could not have guessed that things would work out so well. The rabble had a pretty girl with them, and she was the type of woman he hated. Self-confident, arrogant, unaware of her place. With the kind of backbone a woman shouldn't have. It was a great pleasure to watch her break down and surrender, accepting life as it was.

His warriors appreciated the gift and didn't get off the bitch until late-night, with a break for a drink. It's a wonder she didn't die under one of them. After using her, though, some dumbass came up with the idea of throwing her into a barn somewhere so she wouldn't look like an eyesore. It really wasn't much of a sight, and the leader didn't go ahead with the reprisal. Akuro was too squeamish to go and finish her off. He didn't like the stench of manure, and he didn't want to let his clothes and hair soak in it. She wasn't going to last long anyway.

The peasants (he had long regarded the inhabitants of the Green Line as his peasants) should be grateful to him. After all, it was because Akuro found such amusement for his warriors that their women did not have to take her place.

The adventurers frankly disappointed him. He had heard of the adventurers' valor and ingenuity, their combat experience, and other things. At first, he even chickened out a little when he found out who they were. Still, the locals might have made some sort of cutthroat hire to get rid of him. He had made it clear to them long ago that he was one of the hundred strongest swordsmen in the Theocracy. He wasn't called to the Scriptures just because of his controversial past, and even the fact that he was now a respected businessman didn't help against the dogmatic heads of the Church. He would have been all for it - after all, as a warrior, he had already reached a certain limit that could only be overcome in battle with a strong adversary. The Scriptures dealt, among other things, with the destruction of such targets. And besides - respect, honor, good material base, access to strong magical items, and other bonuses.

The idea of becoming an adventurer he had once regretfully rejected. The possibility of facing the strongest monsters beckoned. The hardships of camping, the prohibition of habitual things such as violence and robbery were bewildering. He was not accustomed to denying himself simple pleasures and obvious benefits. The thought that he would not have the right to take something he liked, or to meekly accept a woman's refusal, was unacceptable. Not to mention that no normal business could be done.

His thoughts came back to the adventurers. After all, what had they really forgotten there? He had expected a lot from them, but despite his disappointment, he was glad for the warm-up. And in the village, the misgivings had at least briefly subsided, but now they were back again.

"Commander." The hoarse voice of Scar, an old veteran and one of the men he really trusted, pulled him out of his thoughts. "Look."

Akuro looked ahead to where Scar was pointing. In the distance, on a gentle slope in the middle of the road, stood a man with a big axe. He looked as if he had been standing like that for some time, waiting for something.

"What the hell is this?" Akuro stretched his head in a flip-flop. "A noble vigilante or a stupid bandit? Well, well, well. We ride on, and when we come within shooting distance, slow the wagons down. All hands, get ready for battle, charge your crossbows, and keep your eyes open. Raise shields on the sides of the cages, watch the goods as if they were your own balls."
As he approached, Akuro got a good look at the man and became wary. It was clearly not human, but more like a cross between a goblin and an ogre. It was dark, dirty green, half a head taller than Akuro, shouldered, lumpy with muscles, with a small belly. Fangs the size of a finger protruded from his lower jaw, which was barely half his head. A bull's neck, small, tattered ears, prominent brow arches, and an almost total lack of forehead. From deep within the eye sockets, tiny, close-set piglet eyes drilled into the procession.

The strange monster stood in a relaxed pose, an axe on his shoulders. He was dressed in some kind of leather junk with rusted iron inserts, but the axe caught Akuro's eye. It was a work of art, not a weapon. Simple in form, but perfectly crafted from layered steel. Akuro realized that he would get this weapon at any price.

Akuro raised his hand, and the procession came to a halt. He himself, taking two of his closest companions with him, stepped forward. The monster, to his surprise, was a talkative one.
"Hey, shitheads, who are the toughest ones here?" The voice was in line, husky, low, and slightly mumbling. "I'll fight him."

Akuro almost laughed at the irony of the situation. Yes, the monster didn't look weak, but it was only half-human. And it dared to address the theocrats in such a tone?

"Scar, kill the bastard."

The old veteran nodded silently and trotted toward the relaxed monster. As he rode up and swung his saber, Akuro realized that the monster didn't just look weak. He wasn't.
The green creature, without changing its relaxed posture, swung the axe with barely perceptible speed straight from his shoulder. The blow was so powerful that Scar was literally knocked off his horse, which roared backward with a pissed-off roar. The rider, shredded from shoulder to chest, flew a few paces away, flopped down like an empty sack, and remained to lie there, only his limbs twitching.

"A weakling." The creature scratched its ass in frustration. "Not good."

Akuro felt fury with a touch of excitement. The blow showed the monster to be a very fast and strong opponent, and the weapon had no trouble penetrating the expensive armor. He signaled his second comrade-in-arms to retreat and dismounted from his horse, drawing his sword. The gods love irony - only this morning he regretted that there were no strong opponents. Now it was even worth it to apply combat skills.

[astute senses]

[accelerating reflexes]

[small strength]

His body was filled with a pleasant feel of power, and all his senses sharpened, making the world brighter and more detailed, as if he had removed the veil from his eyes and the plugs from his ears.

"Well, monster, you must realize that you have earned a very, very painful death. Who are you, what cave did you come out of?"

"I'm Jay-Gul, and you don't #$% where I come from. Are you strong? Let's fight."

"As you wish," Akuro growled.

The monster was no longer relaxed but remained exposed.

[double merciless stab], a move discovered personally by Akuro, his pride and trump card, did not pierce the insolent monster, though it did wound him. He jerked to the side in time, and Akuro's sword simply made two deep cuts in his side.

Akuro barely had time to jerk himself to the side, if it hadn't been for his enhanced reflexes, the punch would have hit him straight in the face. The next moment he had to tear his muscles to escape the axe blow.

Akuro was completely focused on defense. It would have been idiotic to block such blows with a sword, so all he was left to do was parry, dodging the attacks. The blows were artless and predictable, but they came with such speed and force that there was no time to counterattack. Several times he made counterattacks, first aiming at the face, and then anywhere, just to hurt, to inflict a wound. But his opponent paid no attention at all to the cuts and jabs from his sword, continuing his unrelenting onslaught.

The monster pushed him steadily to the side of the road, which Akuro was glad of - it was much harder to use such a long weapon between trees. And this was clearly not a case where any advantage could be neglected. Struggling to fight off the hurricane of blows, he felt the possibility of defeat for the first time in years. His sword hand ached from the effort, and his breathing gradually began to give up. If it weren't for the chainmail, he'd be dead by now - a few blows had slashed at him in passing. At best, it would just leave bruises.

The monster, on the other hand, didn't have any trouble. There was no sign of fatigue; on the contrary, there was the excitement of a cat chasing a rat. A big, dangerous rat, but a rat nonetheless.

Pure hatred burned in Akuro's heart. It was the kind of humiliation he could never even imagine. The subhuman, the living garbage, looked down on him. And worst of all, there was nothing he could do, no way to turn the fight in his favor. To order his men to fire crossbows at the monster was to waste precious moments, to lose breath and rhythm. A completely unacceptable risk with such an opponent. And with such a tempo of battle, there was an enormous risk of getting an arrow himself.

Where did this monster come from? He had never heard of such a species. A hybrid, a bastard of some creepy mesalliance? Where did such power come from, how could it be defeated? There was no idea, and Akuro could only defend himself by retreating to the trees.

But he seemed to understand the maneuver. The saving trunks were already a few paces away, and Akuro was already figuring out how to move among them so that the surroundings would interfere with the enemy as much as possible. But in deflecting, diverting aside another blow, he screwed up. He didn't notice that the axe wasn't flying at his head.

His right wrist became numb, and a sharp pain whipped through his arm. The sudden change in his body balance threw him off balance, and Akuro fell. He looked down at his hand and was horrified to see a bloody stump just above the joint. The sword had fallen in the grass a few paces away, out of reach. There was severe weakness, the effects of the skill had worn off, the blood draining through the wound in pulses.

The damned monster, playing with his axe, stood over Akuro, stepping on his chest with his foot. The body seemed monumental from below, obscuring the sun.

"So, that's all?" He spat noisily. "And so much talk was..."

He leaned down, grabbed Akuro by the collar with his free hand, and lifted him as easily as a paper doll. Seemingly utterly defeated, Akuro took his chance. He took the knife out of his boot with his remaining hand, and thrust it briefly, without a swing, under the freak's chin.

But the damn beast was vigilant enough to jerk its head away, and the blow missed, splitting the cheek. Akuro was surprised at how thick and hard the skin was. Blood ran cheerfully.

"Heh, close," the fanged face grinned.

Akuro was unable to make a second strike. The last thing Akuro remembered was a sledgehammer-like fist that knocked him unconscious.

The warriors, who believed in the invincibility of their brutal commander, turned pale in horror. The battle was hard to follow, and all they could see were the blurry flashes of blows. They had seen what their commander was capable of, how he could literally gut any enemy with playful ease. And now his senseless, bloody body was being dragged by his hair by the creepy goblin. Dragged to them. No one knew what to do, and even the commander's closest comrades-in-arms only glanced at each other nervously.

The goblin kept coming, and the men and horses kept backing up until they were against the wagons. Then the goblin lifted the commander's body, leaned forward, and yelled.

"I, JAY-GUL, HAVE WON! WHO ELSE WANTS TO FIGHT ME?!"

The answer was silence. No one wanted to die. The goblin cast his bloodshot eyes over the demoralized soldiers.

"ON YOUR KNEES!"

Everyone understood that this was not a claim that could be ignored. But kneeling before a lower being... no one dared to be the first. After a brief pause, the goblin hummed, tossed the commander's body forward, and put two fingers in his mouth, and blew a deafening whistle.

At the same moment, the forest seemed to explode. On either side of the road, two dozen of the same monsters burst out of the woods, howling and laughing. Only one man managed to raise his crossbow before he was blown away with an axe in his chest.

A wave of green swept through the disorderly ranks of warriors, and moments later the battle, before it had even begun, was over. The bloody dust settled quickly.

Jay-Gul watched in satisfaction as his gang, surprised at the all too easy victory, tied up their prisoners. The Boss had ordered them to be taken alive. They took almost all of them, and whoever died on the way, such is the battle. It was a novelty for him to do such useless nonsense as taking prisoners. He had fought in the Prophet's wars before the death of the old world, and that was worthwhile. Gambling, risk, and death, that's what orcs lived for - it was more than enough. Enemies were always strong, it was always a joy to fight them. Not such a disappointment. Only the leader was worth something, but if it weren't for a direct order to take him alive regardless of the circumstances, he would have been dead much sooner. The others - to spit and grind. Weak in body and spirit. Even to despise it is too much.

Warboss said that these bastards had pissed the Prophet off badly, and Jay-Gul couldn't understand how they'd managed to piss off the Creator. On the other hand, it was none of his business. His business was the Boss's orders, and he didn't give a damn about the details. The Boss and the Creator had big heads, let them think. They know best from above.
Heading toward the covered wagons in the middle of the caravan, Jay-Gul gave the overzealous fighters a cheerful slap.

"Easier '?; %, they're squishy. If you break them, the Boss will rip your balls off."

The Boss is such a person, he could. All orcs lived in a simple and clear hierarchy. The boys are those who are capable of holding an axe. Tough guys - those who distinguished themselves in battle, Jay-Gul was one of them. Tough guys led families or small gangs. The Nobs, the tribal leaders, were subordinate to the Boss. The Boss was subordinate to the Creator. Each rank looked down on the lower ranks. The Warboss looked down on all orcs. The Creator looked down on the whole world. In this utterly simple worldview, the promise to rip the balls off was not an empty threat, but a very concrete prediction for the future.

As he approached the covered wagons, covered from the side by boardshields, Jay-Gul sighed sadly. It's a pain in the ass. What does it mean to 'let them escape'? A punch in the face is always welcome, with pleasure, it's easy. He didn't have 'escape' in his pocket. But orders were orders.

He tore off the flimsy deck board and pulled aside the blood-splattered cloth. He uncovered a large cage, divided into many small cells. More than half of them were occupied by girls with leather shackles on their hands and feet. They squinted at the bright light, but then they could see Jay-Gul.

The girls huddled panically against the bars, screaming and shrieking in terror. Jay-Gul grimaced and pulled the cloth back.

"№?; %."

The screaming did not stop. He pulled the cloth aside again and barked.

"QUIET №?; %!"

His cry caused leaves to fly from the nearby trees. The inmates froze in shocked silence.

"It's better."

He estimated the best place to start, grasped the square bars, and pulled them apart with some effort. The bars bent reluctantly at first, and then came out of their sockets.

"Idiots and slackers. They couldn't make a proper cage. It's a shame."

He estimated that any of the prisoners would have no trouble getting out through the gap. There was one, a very young girl in this particular cell, with a stony expression and wide-open eyes. Jay-Gul stretched out his hand to grasp her but immediately yanked it away.

"Ouch, №?; %. What are you doing?" The girl, realizing she couldn't dodge, bit his finger. - That hurt, №?; %!".

"Don't touch me, you monster! You'll never take me alive!"

"Hey, chicken, №?; %! Calm down, I don't need you. No tits, no ass. Get out of here."

The girl ignored the order, continuing to huddle against the opposite wall.

"Well, stay there. Are you guys going to be done soon?" He looked around. The boys had already tied up all the enemies if you can call them that. "You, bandage that moron's hand, he might die. You, there's a sword lying around, wrap it up separately. The rest of you, dismantle the cages. Get rid of the girls, don't touch that one, she's a biter."

After issuing instructions, he staggered toward the second covered wagon, peeled back the boards, and growled just in case.

"Hey there, in the cages, if anyone squeaks now, I'll tie their mouths in socks. You got that?"

There was no answer. He pulled off the covers and found that yes, they got it. A dozen frightened eyes stared at him, but not a sound was made.

"That's it, yeah. Oh, boys, check it out, there's a man in a cage, hee-hee," Jay-Gul laughed. "?#% , it's embarrassing. Man, in a cage with chicks. I thought I'd seen a lot of shit. But, you know, live and learn."

A hoarse laugh rang out at the same time. To the orcs, the very idea of a man being shackled and caged was ridiculous. How was that possible? Why didn't he die in the fight? And also in the company of women.

"Hey, sucker, shake your panties, are you sure you've got balls?"

"Could he be a woman, too?"

"Ah, I've heard. Men who ?#% other men. I mean, like a man, but a woman."

"Humans."

The guy in the cage blushed thickly at this mockery and in a faltering voice began to make excuses.

"I am a prisoner, I was not allowed to fight!"

"Huh? Did you ask permission?"

"Oh, may I fight, please?" Somebody whispered in a thin bass voice.

"Boys, it's hilarious, we should tell the Boss about it."

"Enough, ?#% ," Jay-Gul commanded. "We've had enough fun, time is limited."

The boys regretfully stopped their amusement and proceeded to dismantle the cages. Jay-Gul stepped aside from the harness, pondering what to do with the horses. On the one hand, they are valuable animals. On the other, they'd have to be carried across the forest to the place the Sorceress Elf had designated. They could, but it would be a hassle. Hard to drag, hard to leave. The order was clear on that point. The Boss said to take everything they could carry. A horse can be carried, so it must be carried. How to make them kick less.

He heard someone sneaking up behind him and turned his head.

"Are you still there?"

The girl who bit his finger froze with her hand outstretched toward him.

"Why are you still here? Get out of here."

"Ehm... Are you really letting me go...?" the girl asked.

"You have the heart of an orc, but the mind of a goose. I told you to go away. Don't you understand ?#% ?

"I'm not an orc," she said indignantly.

"It's ?#% obvious, the orc would know what's what from the first time. What do you want from me? I'm busy!" The cuts on his face and side itches terribly, and this annoying child...

"Aren't you going to chase us afterward?"

"Who ?#% needs you?"

"Аm..." the stubborn child wouldn't let up. "Will you let the others go? The ones in the cages?"

"Take it."

"And also... And that man over there - he's one of them! He's their sorcerer! I saw him in the village..."

"Oops." He glanced in that direction. The wagons had been dismantled, only the bottoms and wheels were left, and the sucker was hunched around. "Boys! Hit that wimp in the head and tie him up, too! And blindfold him, he looks like a sorcerer! Yeah, you can do it with a sock."

He looked at the girl again.

"Any more surprises?"

"Аm... no..." she's lost all her earlier bravado. "Aren't you going to walk us home?"

"Maybe I should also run and get you a beer?"

"Please... It's a long walk to the village, what if animals attack us... You're so strong, you'd protect us..."

Jay-Gul facepalmed.

"Listen to me, you insolent child. Either you go home, or you come with us. But you're not going to like it, and nobody's going to let you go back. Go home. Nothing more dangerous than a mosquito on this road today. That's what the Boss said. Stop bothering me with stupid questions."

The girl suddenly wrapped her arms around his waist, her arms barely enough.

'Thank you, Uncle Jay-Gul! Will you come here again? If you do, come and visit, okay?"

"?#% ... Okay. Maybe I'll pass by. I'll put the notch over there. Shoo!"

The girl finally broke away from him and ran toward the group of former prisoners, huddled together fearfully. Jay-Gul looked around. His boys had not disgraced the looter's title; everything the caravan had been before had been disassembled, packed, and distributed in bales and sacks. The horses were stunned and tied up.

"All right, you lazybones, time to go home!"

The orc squad grabbed the bodies and the sacks on their shoulders and disappeared into the woods. Only a few puddles of blood almost soaked into the ground, and Akuro's severed fingers scattered across the grass reminded anyone of what had happened here.

***somewhere***

Seven figures in precious black robes stood at a pentagram. Only the candles in the corners of the star were the only thing that dispelled the darkness of the place.

"Master! Hear your slaves, there is important news!"

The darkness around became particularly thick, stirring with countless threads. A cold, commanding voice answered.

"Talk."

"My Master! The crystals you bestowed upon us have cracked! Somewhere magic of unprecedented power has been used. As you foretold, my Lord. But your faithful servants could not determine where..."

"Nor could you. The magic of Kings is far beyond anything you will ever comprehend. The time has come. You know what to do. Call up the agents. Give knowledge and strength to the minor cults. The Kings are strong but foolish, they must reveal themselves, one way or another. Find them. Don't disappoint me. I look forward to the news."

RiP · Jul 15, 2021

Chapter 7

*** Daimon's group***

When Era awoke, she looked around and wondered aloofly. The rest of last night was a blurry memory. She remembered only vaguely what had happened to her. Somehow there was no pain, and there was no sensation in her soul that she would have expected. It was as if she had been dreaming.

Daimon sat on the floor, leaning against the wall. His eyes were closed, his lips were compressed painfully, and sweat beaded on his pale face. Era examined herself and understood everything. She's covered in blood, but not a single scratch on her body.

He had an ability that they preferred not to talk about. An ability to take away any diseases and injuries, as long as the creature was still alive. This ability was not to be used unless it was critically necessary. Such as it is now.

Era couldn't hold back her tears and hugged him. She had no idea what he was going through. Gratitude for taking such a step, guilt for the pain he was going through because of her, compassion - it all came out in tears. And when Daimon smiled at her and patted her on the head, with his usual 'it'll be all right, don't worry,' the stream turned into a full-flowing river.

Finally, she more or less calmed down and gently pulled away.

"Where's Bryce?" He wasn't in the cabin, though his backpack is in the corner.

"He went to find out about the situation," Daimon said tiredly. "When he gets back, we can figure out what to do next. I'm not sure I'll be able to walk properly for the next couple of days, we don't have any more potions."

"I don't care about potions, we can buy more. But we won't be able to find a new you anywhere else."

"And there's no need to seek, I'm the one and only."

Era was piercingly sad that Daimon was trying to make a joke in such a deplorable state. She was just about to say what she thought of it when he raised his hand warningly.

"Era. Before you start pitying me and suffering the way we've all been treated, I'll remind you of one important thing. Yes, it was a very bad day, but it was not the last. We are professional adventurers. Our life is a constant risk and a struggle for life. I need your shoulder to lean on, not pity and guilt. Leave it to the commoners."

Of course, he was right, she understood that. The higher an adventurer's rank, the less space there is in the life for useless feelings like pity or fear. Those who cannot understand this simple truth have never risen above copper or iron, or perished.

But even knowing this, she couldn't accept the fact that they would just have to accept what had happened and go on living as if nothing had happened.

"Daimon, you're... You're right. Thank you for what you did. But I can't just accept what happened and your sacrifice. I'm gonna get back at those bastards, no matter what it takes."

Daimon snorted.

"That's a good mindset. And believe me, you're not the only one who wants revenge. But there's a problem. We're too weak against such an enemy, you know? Trying revenge now would only amuse him."

"So we're going to get stronger. Remember when I said we were taking too many risks and that I doubted we had a future? I take it back. I'm not going down that road, and I won't let you. We'll get stronger, we'll find this asshole and he'll pay for everything."

"Oh, that fire in your eyes, I've missed it for the last year. It's good to see you like that again." He wiggled his leg and grimaced. "Back to the point. There's blood all over the house, and while it's hot and we need to get it cleaned up before the flies and the heat do their work. I told you before, we're here for a couple of days at best."

Era helped him to lie down on the bed and began scraping the floor. It wasn't easy, the blood didn't wash off the chopped wood, and she had to go outside to the well several times. The well was literally ten paces from the house. The people she met avoided her and tried to disappear at her sight, which was a good thing. Not that she blamed them for not intervening to help them yesterday. But she didn't want to see or talk to them at all.

Bryce came in at dinnertime when only a few dark stains on the floor and a door that had been torn off its hinges reminded of what had happened. Era was just changing Daimon's bandages and wiping him with a damp towel.

"Hearing those groans, I thought there was something more interesting going on..." He dodged a bloody rag. "My bad, that was a bad joke."

"What did you find out?" Era looked at him angrily.

"Quite a few things. First of all, those guys who gave us trouble. Turns out they've been at it for years. Slave hunters. Once every six months, they go through the villages and take one or two people they like, mostly girls, but sometimes young boys too. No one ever hears about them again. I guess things aren't going well for them. The locals aren't enthusiastic, and even seem to have tried to put up resistance. In that village where we were supposed to go out first. It ended sadly, good thing they got the kids out of there first."

"So we're even lucky." Era stated gloomily.

"Sort of. I don't have the guts to say it myself, though."

"Is that all?"

"Oh, no, that's the preface. The fun part is next. Anyway, this Akuro, or whatever his name is, drove on this morning. Picked up, by the way, that girl that woman was worried about. And about an hour ago, that girl returned to the village, in the company of almost two dozen other girls from other villages."

"What?" Daimon and Era asked in chorus.

"I tell you, here's where it gets interesting. Anyway, Akuro and his men were attacked by a gang of goblin-like creatures, only as tall as a human, or even larger. The prisoners don't know the details. They did not see anything from the cages. But they remembered that first the carts stopped, and then there was fighting and shouting. When the tent was pulled down from their holdings, they saw our old friends tied up. These goblins dragged them out of their cages, piled them up, and then just left them alone. The poor girls expected anything, any kind of horror, but they simply dismantled the carts on a plank, the cages on a twig, and left. They took the captive soldiers and the horses."

"That sounds a bit fabulous." Era snorted a bit skeptical. "So a gang of overgrown goblins overpowered Akuro and his men, freed the slaves, and left without charging for their rescue."

"For what I bought, for what I sold. This is the version all the girls adhere to. Not word for word, but in general they all say the same thing. And that little brat they asked us to take away from here, she also talked to their ringleader. His name is Jay-Gul, something like that. When he tried to get her out of the cage, which, by the way, he broke with his bare hands, she bit him in fright. He did not seem to take offense. She said that Jay-Gul was a great man and a noble knight. And that he had a boss of his own."

"It doesn't even make sense." Daimon hummed thoughtfully.

Goblins are small, vicious creatures. In general, they can be considered intelligent, they even have their own primitive culture. Among other aspects, this culture includes ritual torture and the eating of other sentient beings. And assuming that these creatures have gathered enough strength to overpower Akuro and his soldiers, it is still possible. But... Released prisoners?

"They're definitely not goblins, I think the girl must be mistaken." Said Era. "Maybe some other kind of monster, I don't know. If goblins had the power to fight that bastard, they'd have killed all the people here a long time ago."

"That's what I thought, too." Said Bryce. "Anyway, monsters like that are a real threat. We don't know anything about them, except that they're strong enough to overpower the swordmaster and his underlings. Who's going to hold them back if they decide to be the bad guys?"

"I'd like to talk to that girl myself." Daimon stretched out thoughtfully. "I need more information. If there really are monsters out there, then the Guild must send a cleanup party to wipe them out before they become a real threat."

"Well, we promised to take her anyway, so I don't think there will be a problem with that. Mind you, the kid sees the situation differently than we do. If she understands that we're not going to be friends with suspicious monsters, she might not want to help."

"How did the locals take the news?"

"Differently... Some are glad that Akuro is gone but afraid that he'll come back and it'll worsen. Some don't like the fact that new mouths appeared, though no one is going to push them out. One old man blurted out that Akuro was defending these lands and everyone would be fucked without him, and he almost got beaten to death. I can tell that everyone is worried about the rise of a new unknown force."

All three of them were silent, pondering.

"It's all bullshit, leader." Bryce interrupted the silence. "I'll get the girl and you figure it out yourself. I'm thinking of going to the scene to see if I can find any clues. How are you?"

"I'll be fine. I just need a couple of days to rest."

"Era, what about you?"

"I'm fine, Bryce. It was a bad adventure, but I'm okay now. Now we have to patch up Daimon, get to the Guild, finish the job, and get a new one."

"You aren't going to retire already, huh."

"Not until I've gutted the bastard."

"Ha, I'll be holding him at that moment. Well, guys, then I'll go get Annika and run over to the 'battlefield'. It's not too far away."

"Okay." Daimon waved his hand.

***Talik***

When Talik heard the results of the fight, he was very pleased. The level system, though it looked strange in reality, to say the least, was similar to what he was used to from the game. The level 30 orcs that Warboss had sent had defeated the bandits without any problems (Talik no longer doubted their social affiliation).

Talik remembered how the head of the orcs had urged him personally to go on the mission, or at least to send the strongest of his subordinates. The idea of why Talik would insist on the weakest did not immediately make sense to him, if at all. Talik also didn't like the Warboss' attitude about the fact that he would have to interact with the elfess. The orc wrinkled and snorted as Talik explained to him how to get to the site.

At first, Talik thought to pretend he hadn't noticed, but then something in him burst out. He asked the orc directly.

"Warboss, I see that you are not happy. What's the problem?"

He thought about it for a long time, but then answered in an unexpectedly succinct manner.

"Prophet, I feel humiliated. Orcs have always served you with all their heart. Always carry out your orders on their own. I never thought we would have to rely on the Elves and their magic. Your distrust of us is painful to me."

Talik was at first confused. He didn't immediately find the words that seemed right to him.

"Warboss, you've got it all wrong. I don't distrust you." It was a blatant lie; not only did he not trust him, he was openly afraid of his 'servants'. But he didn't say that out loud. "It's a matter of speed. I don't want to take too long to get to know the world, and it would take a long time for your boys to get there on their own. I don't want you to work together because you are unable to do something. It's just that working together will get you a much better result than if everyone is doing everything on their own. Also, the strongest of those people should definitely be taken alive. That's very important. And if your fighters cut him to pieces, the elves won't let him die too soon. Do you understand?"

"I will try to understand it, Prophet. Forgive my shortcomings."

Warboss didn't look convinced at that moment, but at least he stopped showing so much frustration on his face. Talik didn't pry further into his heart.

Here are the problems, Talik thought at the moment. Elves and Orcs are always fighting. It would be very nice to avoid that. How is that even possible, he wondered?

And now, when Talik was informed of the skirmish, he rejoiced wholeheartedly. So was Warboss, who was bowing in front of his office table. Talik had forbidden them to kneel, it was too embarrassing. Bowing was embarrassing, too, but not as much.

"Did you free those who had been held captive by these people? Were there no problems?"

Talik already knew that they got to the village without any problems - stalkers of Illadria had tracked it. But he wanted to know what the orc thought.

"The head of the warband says that one of them asked to escort them to the village and invited them to visit, but that was not part of the order."

"Wow, I thought they'd be scared."

"That's the way it was, Prophet. One kid quickly realized we weren't a threat at the moment and pestered the boys with questions."

"What does he think about it?"

"He's a little worried about the child's future. He says she has a brave heart."

Talik was pleased to hear that. If the child tried to talk, it means that contact without the use of force is quite possible. It would be necessary to build on this success.

"Okay. I'd like to talk to him on occasion. What about the people you captured?"

"Nineteen men, one of them a weak sorcerer, tried to hide among their own prisoners. We have dug several pits for them. There they await your sentence."

The word 'sentence' scratched Talik's heart. No one had appointed him a judge, no one had given him the right to do so. He didn't feel he had the right to decide anyone's fate. He was still haunted by doubts as to what to do. And his order to capture the prisoners he saw as an unreasonable arbitrariness. On the other hand, there were no police to whom this responsibility could be shifted. And with any possibility of doing something about it, he was unwilling to let a gang of murderers and rapists walk free. It was against everything he believed in.

"I heard there were more than twenty of them?"

"I have no excuses, Prophet." The orc bent under the weight of guilt. "Two did not survive the fight. The boys brought their bodies."

"Don't worry so much." Talik has already learned not to panic in such cases. "Everything is according to plan. You go to your quarters, I'll be there in a few hours to talk to the prisoners. The dead will be needed for the experiments."

"I'll have everything ready for your visit." The orc muttered and left the office.

Draga, who until now had remained silent, asked.

"Let me express my admiration for your plan. I only now understand the depth of your plan. You have tested the power of enemies and allies, captured prisoners, material for experiments, a native wizard, and discovered whether the natives are capable of seeing your servants as more than enemies. Now I understand why you would not let me personally destroy them all."

"Well, that's pretty much it, yeah..." Reluctantly, Talik agreed.

In fact, of all the above, he thought only of a test of force and didn't want to burden his conscience. The rest came out on its own. He looked back at Draga, who was still in a respectful bow.

Yesterday he found a way to get rid of this obsession with worship. More precisely, he found out one of the reasons why all the former NPCs of the guild reacted to him that way. It was a shame to realize it so late, but better so than never. It was all about auras with passive effects. Once he was at level 90, they began to consume such a minuscule amount of mana that he stopped turning off their effects altogether. Their consumption was not even partially covered by regeneration. [Aura of purity], [Zeal], [Holy patronage] - they gave a permanent positive effect, small but with a very wide range. In the game, nothing special for top-17 cluster support. But here his auras literally drove those around him crazy. When he turned off the effects, the 'vassals' began to behave much more appropriately. They could still follow his every word, but they didn't look like complete zealots.

[Message]

"Prophet, may I come in?"

"Oh, Illadria comes in of course."

She used [message] instead of knocking on the door. It was so usual for Talik that it even seemed strange. In real life, no one had knocked on doors in a long time, either. Everyone communicated through implants.

The elfess entered and bowed gracefully.

"I came to report on your assignment regarding the reconnaissance in the woods."

"That was fast." Talik smiled.

"I am so honored by your appraisal." She bowed.

***Orсs***

The orc camp, consisting of seven huge clusters of tents and hog pens. It was situated on a plain between the human farms outside the city walls and the mountain range. The smoke from the peaceful fires and hearths stretched into the sky, as it always had before.

But nothing else reminded me of the usually measured peacefulness of the camp. It hummed like a beehive, and from above it looked as if someone had stirred up a huge anthill with a stick.

Tents were moved "in line,'' the loose logs that formed paths were feverishly rearranged. The women hastily removed washed cloth from the ropes and scraped dishes to a mirror-like shine. Usually lazy tough guys shoulder-to-shoulder with the common boys were digging cesspools, tinkering with paddock fences, and renovating chicken coops. Eternal holes of chafing on

leather canopies were patched. Outraged pigs, chickens, and geese were scurrying around the camp, chased with foul language by big green men.

There was a thousand-voices hubbub everywhere, in which it was difficult to separate orcish swearing from childish laughter and screeching. Occasionally there was an isolated shriek from the nobs.

"And, got it!"

"Why is there shit on the road again?! Clean it up!"

"Wai-Gol what the fuck is your tent stained! Turn it back clean! What? I DON'T GIVE A FUCK. I SAID TURN IT AROUND!"

"Whose boar is it?!"

"Calm the child!"

The orc tribes were putting things in order. Noisy, extremely traumatic, and always postponed events. The Boss said the Creator was coming. So everything must shine.

Jay-Gul, like everyone else, was imbued with the importance of the event. The Creator had been here exactly once when he'd given his creatures the right to live here. They should not have screwed up. He might step in poop or trip over a drunken body. Or the stench of unwashed feet with the foul breath from someone's tent would offend his holy person. There is no way to let that happen, and it's not even about ripping balls off afterward.

All the orcs wanted their father's praise. They wanted him to approve, to let them know that everything was right. To show that they lived by his laws and were happy.

And Jay-Gul also found out that he had drawn His attention to himself personally. That's what the Boss said, "the Creator asked for you, wants to talk to you".

Whether that was good or bad, Jay-Gul didn't know yet. It was unlikely that the most sacred being himself would call him under his very eyes to pat him on the shoulder, saying he'd done a fucking good job. More likely to give him a showy scolding. You're a fool, the raid a failure, hens shit in your tent, your wives are ugly, and you should die in shameful agony.

So as not to languish in obscurity, Jay-Gul, like everyone else, took part in fixing the probable problems. The tent was shining, the pit was covered, clothes urgently patched, feet washed, and fangs shined. Both wives had their faces painted up and received marital attention for joy in their eyes. The animals are securely penned in their pens.

Yesterday the sorceress elf had thrown them right into the camp. They didn't have to go through that creepy cemetery. They were right in front of the chief's tent. The chief bemoaned the fact that not all the prisoners were alive, estimated the loot, and praised them. They brought a lot of useful things for the farm, things that the Creator would not even look at. The chieftain had passed the responsibility for the prisoners on to someone else, and Jay-Gul sent the boys off to drink and brag with a clear conscience. After all, the first raid in the new world was on them. And it didn't matter that the enemy was weak.

He didn't think the Creator would come here in person. Indeed, what would he be doing here? The highest attention is flattering, of course, but where there's attention from superiors, there's always trouble. The bosses never bother where there are no problems. So even if there are no problems, there will be.

Finally, the bugle sounded, which could only be heard on major holidays. It was time to go. Chiefs and gods don't like to wait.

***master Akuro***

Akuro had never felt so terrible in his life. He didn't know where he was or how he got here, though, remembering the last fight, he was sure he was a prisoner. It was a deep damp pit circular one and a half meters in diameter and three meters high. On top of it was a rough grate.

He woke up from terrible aching pain in his arm and found himself without any clothes on. His whole body was bruised and his arm was wrapped tightly. His vision was doubled, he felt nauseous and dizzy. He touched his face and immediately jerked his hand away, pain piercing his face. There was nothing in the pit to look at the reflection, but there was a certainty that he would never be the handsome man he had been.

There was some noise and shouting from above but it didn't sound like anyone was fighting. He was thirsty and tried to shout upstairs in a weak voice, but no one seemed to hear.

How long is he going to suffer like this? Why was he brought here? What kind of monster was that? How to escape from here? What had happened to his men? Unanswered questions were swirling in his head, mixed with flashes of pain. All that was left was to wait.

He sat in the pit for several hours after he regained consciousness. He measured his time by the light in his pit. For a long time he hesitated, but then he had to go and urinate by the wall of the pit. At last, he heard a long high howl that turned into a wheeze. From the volume, it sounded like a wind instrument of some sort, not the voice of a living thing. At least he hoped it wasn't some beast he was going to be fed to.

The grating at the top pulled aside and two green fangy faces looked down.

Two. So there's more than one monster out there? Akuro shuddered inwardly. Such creatures shouldn't exist. Of course, they can't be as strong as the one that defeated him. But the very fact that half-humans are intelligent enough to speak, and there might be talented warriors among them... They must be exterminated. At all costs, to the root. Humanity already had enough problems with elves and godless men.

One of the creatures brought down a long stick and poked him. Akuro hissed and tried to swing away. A satisfied grunt was heard from above, and one of the freaks jumped down. Without thinking, Akuro tried to poke him in the groin with his fist, but his arm was immediately caught and snapped with a crunch. He hissed in pain but held back a scream.

The monster grabbed him by the leg with his other hand and threw him up like a doll. As he flew over the edge and fell to the ground Akuro fell into despair. There were dozens of green monsters around. With weapons of equal or better quality than Jay-Gul's. He did not get a good look at the details of the surroundings. A dusty leather sack was thrown over his head and he was dragged off at arm's length. When he tried to put his feet up to resist he received a severe blow to the liver, and they just dragged him on.

The journey was short. A minute later, he was forcefully brought to his knees and the bag was pulled off his head. Akuro quickly looked around. Apparently, he was inside a huge tent. The dressed leather over thick, sturdy supports was painted with rough but harmonious designs. A stone hearth stood in the center, and around the hearth sat several green-skinned men and two creatures that Akuro had never expected to see here.

A young boy in an incredibly expensive robe. Pathetic semblance of this cloth with printed embroidery was worn by the high priests of the Theocracy at the annual great prayer. A proper but utterly unrecognizable face - barely a glance aside, Akuro couldn't remember what it looked like.

A woman of absolutely astonishing beauty. Not the kind of beauty attributed to princesses, but rather the kind that would suit the Devil's daughter. A vicious, searing beauty, from a fleeting glance at which matures lust. She was protected by full armor, so black that the eyes watered - only her head was open. Akuro wanted her. For real. The desire to possess such a woman, to be her master, burned him.

The guy was drinking something from a rough cup and interrupted some conversation with one of the green-skinned men, not much different from the ones Akuro had seen before.

"And there's our guest." The voice suited that face very well. He was well-pitched, with an unmemorable intonation.

"I am not a guest, but a prisoner." Akuro wheezed.

'Yeah, that's true, too." The faceless man agreed. "How do I address you?"

"Akuro Bogun. And you?"

"I'm fine with 'you', no names."

"That's not very polite, You-san." Akuro began to probe the situation.

"It doesn't matter." The faceless man gently interrupted. "You're here because I want to ask you a lot of questions."

"I will try to answer them, good sir."

Akuro knew such people well. Polite, sometimes even seemingly indecisive. Never doing anything with their own hands. And often they have great power behind them. Money, military, powerful friends. They do not accept vague answers and get easily irritated if they are pushed. It is very easy to make friends with such people if you are helpful, and very easy to quarrel with them if you disappoint them.

The way he acted he must be in charge. Akuro was relieved to see that he was probably some powerful wizard who had created dozens of monsters to be his servants. How a wizard, apparently not much inferior to the legendary Paradin, came to be here was a secondary question. How he was attracted to Akuro is a question of primary importance. You have to live up to his expectations, and then there's a chance to stay alive.

Or even make a good acquaintance. Powerful friends are always a good thing.

The faceless man asked questions, very general, that were difficult to answer briefly. There was the sensation that he was not from this continent. He knew nothing about the history of the countries, or the Church of Heroes, or the Kings of Greed, or even what countries existed here and what order they had. On the Kings and Heroes, he was especially pointed, asking very strange things. What they looked like, what servants they had. Akuro had no answer to these questions, he was a little afraid to say such things. It wasn't his fault that he didn't know the names of the Kings, but who cared? Definitely not this strange wizard.

The interrogation took hours. During that time, Akuro spilled everything he knew, even remembered things he had long forgotten. Finally, the faceless man chewed his lips thoughtfully and said.

"I guess that's all for now. Send him back." Akuro's heart fluttered with joy. "Into the pit, or wherever it was."

"Sir," pleaded Akuro. "What have I done to offend you? Tell me, I will fix it. I have satisfied your interest, do I deserve to die in the pit from festering wounds!"

"Oh," the faceless man said dryly. "You deserve so much more. But you're right about one thing."

The faceless man stood up and approached Akuro. His presence was not felt at all, as if the man simply did not exist. He whispered something, and Akuro was surprised to note that all the pain was gone at once. A moment later his body tingled pleasantly, especially in his face and at the area of his mangled arm.

"Take off the bandage," the faceless one ordered.

The green-skinned men who held his hands immediately obeyed the command. Akuro looked at his arm with some fear and was astonished. Bone was growing back literally on sight, and soft, pink-skinned flesh was rising along with it. Moments later, the hand was literally good as new. Without a blister, the skin pale pink, the nails perfectly smooth, like a well-groomed woman.

Akuro was shocked. He had heard of such magic, that the high priests of the Church of Heroes were supposedly capable of it, but he had always thought it mere speculation. He touched his face. It was perfectly intact. Even the scar on his chin from the enchanted sword years ago was gone.

The faceless man turned away and waved his hand lazily. At the same moment, a bag was thrown over Akuro's head again, and a short time later he found himself back in the pit. But now Akuro believed he would be all right. Because he knew how to be useful, and the man who interrogated him obviously likes useful people. A very, very powerful man. Akura was beginning to think he was actually lucky to be in such a jam. Such patrons were worth more than sitting in a pit.

***Talik***

Talik sat in the Warboss' tent, processing the information. The prisoner turned out to be quite knowledgeable about the local world order. He didn't cause any problems and understood at once what was wanted from him. Talik had expected that things would be much worse, that he would have to resort to torture and other abusive methods.

He was disgusted at first to listen to this man. A stubborn racist, driven by religion and the superiority of his nation over all others. It wasn't just about other races, it was about people who didn't share his faith and background. There were people with such views on life in 'real' life as well, but it led to huge wars several times. On Earth, one could easily go to prison for such views.

But there was one thing that made him different from the habitual Nazis. This in every way a bad man followed certain rules and believed in what he was doing. He was not, how to describe it, a hypocrite. Nor was he a coward, and was firm in his convictions, in his intention to defend his truth. He didn't try to deceive or pressure, to evade answers. Talik had literally been burning with a thirst for 'justice' before this conversation, and now, after talking to him, he didn't know what to do.

Well, let him sit in the pit for a while. I'll think of something later. Am I doing a bad thing? Honestly, yes. Honestly, I don't care.

This Akuro told quite a lot about the world around, but several things interested Talik the most. First, the local legendary figures. God-like and omnipotent, who reshaped the world at will. The Kings of Greed.

Talik knew them well. They were rather arrogant snobs, well versed in the game. I was a very strong guild, Talik had been hired for their raids several times, and they had even tried to recruit him for good. Their massive ego in the game was completely justified. And now they seem to have ended up here. By the local calendar, quite a long time ago, about eight hundred years ago. Not all of them, just the top ones, but this world had enough of the top eight nerds. These generally not bad guys simply destroyed civilization when they got here. Crazy from permissiveness? I guess so. From what Talik has learned from the prisoner, level 30 here is beyond the power of the vast majority. What's 30 by Yggdrasil standards? Nothing.

Talik did not know the heroes who founded this Theocracy of Slaine, nor could he remember anyone similar. Surely there must have been others, just who had left less of a mark on local history. Or maybe they were still there now, just didn't stand out. Or they would show up again.

And it's good if it's guys like Stairway to Heaven. What if they're psychopaths like AOG? What are they going to do when they come here? Redesign the world to fit their vision of how things should be? Realize ambitions from their lives? It's scary to think what such people are capable of. Who just happens to have a very specific divine power.

What could he himself become?

And there's no honest way to say that he doesn't want to change the world. The prisoner voiced things that Talik would not accept on principle. Things like the interracial war of extermination. Things like slavery. Things that in Talik's world have faded into the distant past, becoming simply lines of dry text incompatible with logic.

There are no police, no firearms, no unified law, and no means of communication in the world. In a world where the law is just a condition for violence. With power close to absolute, what will he do?

It was hard to accept. He was fine with it now, but would it continue. The slight tension between the Warboss and Illadria could well be the cause of real conflict. And this might just be the first swallow. Who knows what kind of bugs are running around in the others' heads.

And one cannot ignore the possibility that somewhere here in the world there are other powerful ones present. Local, or other players. Neither the Kings, nor the Heroes, nor any of the other 'deities' mentioned died their own deaths, one way or another. So it doesn't matter how powerful Talik is by local standards. He won't just make people live the way he wants them to. There's no law in the usual sense of the word, but he has his own views on life. And these views are strongly opposed to the attitudes that the Kings have adopted.

There was much to think about. Talik noticed that he wasn't tired at all during the interrogation, though he should have been for several hours.

"Warboss, you said there was a sorcerer. Let them bring him here, but don't take the sack off his head. Better yet, have him blindfolded."

Who knows, what if he can [message].

***Daimon's party***

"Anyway, that's all I found."

Bryce carefully laid out a rag roll on the rough wooden table. Inside was bloody flesh. It was hard to tell at first what it was.

"I suppose it must have been worth it since you brought it here? What is it?' Era clarified it doubtfully.

She hadn't had that rookie fear of blood and dismemberment for a long time. But she never learned to like it all, or even to be indifferent.

"This is a piece of the hand. You see, the fingers, and here is half a hand. There is reason to believe that this is our dear Mr. Akuro. More precisely, his hand."

Era's eyes felt like ice at the mention of that name.

"I assume this from the nails. The hand is male, but very well-groomed, especially the nails."

"I'm glad to hear that asshole is now seriously injured," Daimon informed grimly from his bed. "But I'm guessing you didn't just bring his scrap here?"

"Right. Mostly to share an observation, and perhaps to confirm it."

"What kind of observation?" Era asked tensely.

"This injury is inflicted with two exceptional factors. The first is the weapon. I know a few things about the sharpness of blades. Believe me, not every blade is capable of cutting through bone

so perfectly. In one fell swoop, without crumbling or crumpling, just snapping."

"And the second one?"

"And the second is an equally exceptional skill. The cut is perfect not only in terms of the sharpness of the weapon. It went completely straight... How shall I phrase it? When you make a slashing blow, your hand somehow tucks the blade, and it goes a bit at an angle. But not in this case. To make a long story short, our mutual acquaintance was in a bind with a far more skilled fighter."

"So, what do we have here?" Daimon summed it up. "Mighty goblins, taller than a man. Armed with fabulously sharp weapons. At least one of them is tough enough to defeat a swordmaster in hand-to-hand combat."

"Yeah. And there's not a single predator or scavenger within a mile. That arm's been there most of the day. Did you talk to the girl?"

"Yes." Era grudgingly stretched out. "She told me exactly what you told me, only with a little more detail. She really does believe those monsters are friends. She refuses to go, despite her mother's insistence. She says she promised this 'Uncle Jay-Gul' that she'd be expecting him to visit. She doesn't seem crazy she sincerely believes in the goodness of monsters, and her sanity is beyond question. But the only way to get her out of here is by force, and I don't think that's a good idea. One thing I can say is that I've had enough adventures in this damned forest, and I don't want to get involved in another story. Let the Guild deal with it."

"I know what you mean," Bryce agreed. "I talked to the locals, and they're willing to sell us a wagon and a horse. If you're willing to spend five coins on the transport, we can get out of here today.

"Isn't that a lot, five coins?" Era raised an eyebrow.

"Well, they didn't come to that number right away. At first, they did not agree at all, because there are three horses in the village, and the money can only be spent very far away from here."

"Fair enough. All right, I'm in. Daimon, what do you say?"

"I'll tell you, I don't really want to sit here and wait for an invasion of unknown monsters. We didn't get paid for it, especially since if someone defeated Akuro then we certainly don't stand a chance. Leave a coin on top for the headman's kindness."

"As you say, leader."

Bryce left to make arrangements. Era was tending to Daimon, and doubts crept into her soul. Against all reason, she wanted at least to see those who had unwittingly avenged them. Even if they were monsters. And also, there was something of rebellion in this desire. Against the Theocracy's dogma of human supremacy, and against the dogma of the Baharuth Empire and the Kingdom of Re-Estis. Could it be that monsters with which one could find common ground existed? They'll get to the Guild and file the evidence, and a really strong clean-up team could very well be headed here. Kill all the 'goblins' without figuring out what the truth is, just because they might be dangerous. Is it wise, is it dignified to attack those who might just be a threat in the future?

She wasn't sure.

***Talik***

The interrogation of the second man, who called himself a healer, stumped Talik. Unlike the last one, this one had no sense of dignity at all, and most of the time he whined for mercy. Only the direct threat of execution forced him to take things more responsibly.

Guild of Adventurers. Tanks, mages, healers, roughs. Quests and rewards.

God, what idiocy is this? Talik was in some kind of shock. These are attributes of the game, they cannot exist outside of the game. The adventurer's guild is a tool for game designers to easily manage the game. A way to bring players' interests together in a more or less predictable way. A way to quickly get information to new players about the events. A way to reduce and simplify the least interesting elements of quests.

This is not something that could exist in reality. Even though levels and combat skills may well have existed here, but still.

The Guild of Adventurers is an independent organization of people without obligation to the government. Strong men with weapons who are not vassals. What idiot would allow such an organization to exist under his side? It turns out that there were such idiots, and there were many of them.

Of all the countries he had learned of today, only the policies of the Baharuth Empire seemed reasonable to him. The Emperor, who had recently come to power, had not abolished the traditional guild. Simply reassigned to the professional military the tasks the guild normally performed. Started recruiting prominent members of the guild.

He's an uncommonly rational man, Talik noted to himself. We should have a chat one day.

But on the whole, the existence of such a guild made everything much easier, from passive information gathering to concrete espionage and more. Indeed, it was enough to have an adventurer's badge to be allowed into any city without any problems. You don't have to report to anyone, you do what you want. It's perfect. You can deploy a network of any orientation.

Wilhelm would surely be happy to provide candidates for the 'adventurers'. And Talik himself would need to get to know the local elites. High-ranking adventurers were considered some of the most powerful people in the world.

It is interesting, what keeps them from taking all the power? Clearly, everything was not so simple.

Talik's soul became light and pleasant. This was the way to look at the world without creating problems for himself or others. Silly and naive as it may be, but if it's okay here, why not?

The guy being interrogated even evoked some sympathy. A little younger than Talik, guided by fairy tales, he was in a difficult position and got a very shitty choice. What to do? In a good way, he could have been let go, but now he 'knew too much', as it was said. Talik thought and spoke.

"You helped me, and you didn't do anything wrong in general. I don't want to make trouble for you. But I can't let you go either. Tell me, what would you want, besides freedom?'

The guy winced.

"Sir, I... I wanted to become strong, important, and useful, but I didn't get any of it... Have mercy on me, please, I will do anything you say..."

"You don't understand the question. I'm asking, what do you want, assuming you don't go home anytime soon?"

"I... Sir, can I learn from you? You are very strong, I understand that, and such mighty monsters serve you. You would never be in my situation. I want to learn from you."

The question stumped Talik. Well, what can he, just a spell user, teach someone? Here's an idea, though.

"I will not teach you myself. But I know a powerful mage who might be willing to do it. Mind you, if you agree, you will have to overstep some of your principles... If you have any."

"I am ready, sir! Whatever you say!'

"Good. I don't want to hear any whining later. Draga, I want you to take the other prisoners and this guy to Marius."

"I will do everything, Prophet." She bowed respectfully.

[message]

"Marius, are you busy right now?"

"I'm trying to teach these stupid vampires not to play chess so predictably."

"And how's that going?"

"It's miserable and humiliating, Prophet."

"Draga will come to you soon, and she'll bring men from the locals. Your task is to teach one of them something. I know it's a vague definition, but try to find talent in him for at least some of what you know."

"I would be honored, Prophet. What about the others?" The lich inquired predatorily.

"Anything you can think of. Anything that might require live or not-so-live test subjects."

These men were outlaws, and for many of them, there was a state bounty. Technically, by killing them (or rather, by entrusting it to someone else), Talik was not breaking the law. In fact, despite the fact that they were outright criminals, it was hard for Talik to decide that they should die. Well, Talik, here's your first deal with your conscience...

RiP · Jul 17, 2021

Chapter 8

***Jay-Gul***

"It's nice here in general. I like it, I'll come again sometime."

The most powerful creature in the world looked straight into Jay-Gul's soul and smiled warmly. A humble smile, as if a shy friend had come to visit.

The Creator's visit was coming to an end. Jay-Gul was glad he liked it here. He himself was greatly relieved. For the last couple of hours he had been aching for a piss. It was, you might say, a matter of life and death. But there was no way he could lose face. Also a matter of life and death.

The experience of meeting the Creator was unspeakable. He was in the same form that Jay-Gul remembered from the old world. A human young man, almost a teenager, white-haired and smiling. He was a head shorter than the orc and twice his shoulders. Why he should look so frail, Jay-Gul didn't know and didn't want to know. The gods had their own quirks.

It is unlikely that the Creator was really trying to deceive anyone with this appearance. His existence had always been felt by every orc, and his personal presence was physically palpable from a mile away, or more. A presence that made Jay-Gul seem like a blade of grass on the side of a volcano. Majestic and breathtaking.

Jay-Gul was inspired and happy that he hadn't really been summoned for a scolding. So inspired and happy, in fact, that he drank a barrel of that damned beer while interrogating the wretched swordsman. The Warboss, the supreme leader, even looked at him with envy and respect.

And when the business with the prisoners was over, and the Creator decided to speak to Jay-Gul, the beer reminded him of itself. In an ultimatum. The orc now knew exactly what the expression 'between the hammer and the anvil' meant.

The Creator asked him about the mission in a thoughtful, detail-oriented manner. J-Gul replied calmly and measuredly. Out of the corner of his eye, he noted the unobtrusively crunching fist of the High Chief, who realized what the matter was. Two granite stones crumbled in his fist like bread crust.

The conversation with the Creator was not that long, though it seemed like an eternity. In general, he asked what Jay-Gul thought of the enemy (they are fluid), how the release of the 'civilians' went (how the water flowed), and what they talked about with that human child (babbling like a stream, I can't remember). Smiled something of his own when he found out that Creator had invited Jay-Gul to visit.

"It will be another great day, Prophet." the Warboss replied.

"Warboss, I keep wondering if this Akuro can be useful. The reason for keeping him alive for now. By local standards, he is a strong warrior."

"He has a strong spirit, but a weak body. I don't know what good he could do."

"What do you think, Jay-Gul?"

"My opinion is nothing before your will."

"And still?"

Jay-Gul had an idea about it, though he hesitated to voice it. No one wanted to risk spoiling the Creator's mood with a delusional idea. But if asked, he had to answer.

"He's not much of a warrior compared to any of the boys. But he's more skilled than the older kids. He'd be a good match for them. He's agile and wants to live."

"That's a good idea. Warboss, you have no objection?"

"I dare not think about it." The High Chief bowed guiltily. "If it is your will, the children will train with him."

"I'm relying on you, but no deaths. There's no point in that type of study. I have a business to attend to, so I'll be going. Draga, take the others to Marius and then wait for me at the temple."

"It will be done, Prophet." She bowed.

"Warboss, escort me to the city gates. There's something we need to discuss..."

The tent guards watched with suspicion and then with interest as Jay-Gul literally crawled out of the tent on all fours. He did manage to get to the pit.

He, however, was driven away by the sight of the small crumbs, formerly two grungy pebbles, which lay in two piles near the empty barrel.

***Marius***

"What delightful irony. I should have expected nothing less from the High Lord."

Marius, crossing his arms over his chest, studied the sniffly pale young man who was gritting his teeth frantically.

Draga, hovering over the unfortunate on the other side, in the same pose, replied.

"This is a direct order from the Prophet. Where do you see the irony, Marius?"

"Haven't you been paying attention? I'm a monster from the other side of death, must find talent in a living enchanter of the light powers. Do you understand? Apparently not. What an unfortunate lack of sense of humor. Not surprising, knowing you."

Marius prepared for the arrival of the Prophet's personal servant with all possible diligence. He had time to go through thousands of ideas in his head, which required living bodies and souls. Many theories need to be confirmed or disproved, many spells need to be tested. Marius selected the most important ones, and still, there were more of them than there were victims.
One of the crypts, next to Marius's private mausoleum, was urgently converted into a laboratory. Not that the vampires, evicted from there to shrines far away, were happy about this change of pace. But they weren't stupid enough to contradict their lord. Now instead of cozy sarcophagi, the crypt was occupied by marble and granite slabs. These made excellent memorial gravestones, but now they served as tables. There were lecterns for journals besides the tables, and gothic shelves of tools, reagents, and scrolls by the walls. There were no books - they were useless to Marius. He remembered them all by heart anyway.

The subjects, immersed in deep hypnosis, were already lying on the tables, naked. A plan of experiments had already been prescribed for each of them, and Marius was anxious to begin.
He noted with some displeasure the fact that Drega had brought no one with her but her prisoners. He had seriously considered letting the convoy in on the experiments as well. Of course, such a move would cause resentment, but after the fact, it was not so important. At least the Prophet wouldn't nag him about such a little thing.

"Is it just me, or are you provoking me into a confrontation?" Draga arched an eyebrow.

"Of course not," the lich brushed aside. Though the idea is interesting, I'd love to get my hands on your corpse someday."

"You can always try, lich," Draga said in an icy tone, putting her palm on the hilt of her sword.

"You take everything too personally." Marius sneered. "There's nothing more foolish than to interfere with the Prophet's plans, and your death is certainly not one of them yet."

Draga relaxed a bit.

"In general, I wonder how someone like you can even respect the opinions of the alive."

"I respect first and foremost the wishes of the High Lord. He cannot be called 'alive' in the full meaning of the word. The presence of flesh and blood is nothing more than a whim to him."

"So you treat life like any other undead? What keeps you from spreading death everywhere?" Draga stared at the blue lights in the lich's eyes very seriously. "Just orders, or something else?
"Hmm. Not only that." Marius stroked his chin. "I won't deny that living beings are somewhat repulsive to me. Fragile, unreliable flesh, so dependent on so many factors. A mind is dependent on fleeting emotions and fickle morals. The inability to fully control even the functions of one's own body. This is terrible. Yet everything has a price. The more experience, excitement, and knowledge gained during life, the more perfect, beautiful, and fulfilling death will be. Not all living beings are capable of evolving, it's true." Lich raised his index finger admonishingly. "But everyone will die. No one lives forever."

"Have you ever heard of elves?"
"
The number of long-livers I know does not exceed the statistical margin of error, and for them, the question is still open. However, back to our immediate affairs. You." Marius beckoned a finger at the cornered boy. "Come here."

The sorcerer huddled even deeper in the corner. Marius tilted his head slightly to the side.

"Listen to me carefully, you little nothing. The Lord told me to find and develop some talent in you, and I will. So you will not die, not yet. But to think that it takes away my leverage over you is a great delusion. Come here."

The sorcerer prayed in a hoarse whisper but ignored the lich.

"Yeah. I was hoping we'd get to chess soon." Marius grimaced. "But it looks like we'll have to start with the basics of training."

[Agony]

A thin, tearing cry ripped through the silence of the crypt. Draga grimaced.

"Well, have fun with your new pet. I'll be off."

"Come by sometime."

"I'll think about it."

Lich led her a glance. He really hoped she would come by again sometime. An opponent who disagreed with him on anything was a rarity, and Marius appreciated it.

[cancel]

The spasms released the sorcerer's body and he went limp. Marius waited until the boy was breathing normally.

"So, let's back to the beginning. Come to me, Lias."

"I... Don't..." sobbed the pitiful guy.

"Don't what?" the lich inquired. "You don't want to feel pain? Then don't test my patience. These phenomena are interrelated."

Lias hesitantly stood up, and, trembling heavily, approached Marius. He looked at the boy, half-dead with terror, and wondered.

Level 7.

What did the Prophet mean when he instructed him to train this wretch? Is such a thing even possible? His doubts were interrupted by a vivid hunch.

Lords never did anything for no reason. There was always a point to everything, even if it was not always obvious. Every decision, every action had the consequences the Lords expected.
Could anything have changed now? Certainly not, just that his point of view is inexcusably short-sighted. If the Prophet gave him a task, he must have foreseen the possibility of accomplishing it. And that task is just part of some grand puzzle of supposedly random and purposeful actions. This means that he, Marius, will finally be able to touch something truly great. To become something more than a gatekeeper. Become part of the destiny the deity is building.

Marius loomed menacingly over the hunched and trembling man.

"Do you realize where you are and why?"

"I... don't know... The faceless lord said... he would let me learn from the great sorcerer..."

"Ha! Who do you think is in front of you?"

Looking into the eyes of his future apprentice, which widened in shock, Marius felt the long-forgotten urge to laugh. The Prophet's sense of humor was certainly as profound as his power.

***Talik***

Talik was preparing to go out into the world. It wasn't for the first hour. The idea looked fascinating and simple at the time of adoption, but when it came down to business, problems began.
For example, the equipment. From what he could find out, the equipment he was used to was not in use. Even the wretched unique and legendary items were beyond awesome here, to say nothing of the divine class. With such equipment, quietly joining and exploring society was out of the question. Finding something more or less suitable in level, even if it was 'rare', was a problem. There was no such garbage; they let it go on the crystals without even reading the description, as soon as it was in the inventory.

When he consulted Illadria, all hell broke loose. The elfess understood the expression 'find something discreet' in her own way. In the blink of an eye, the common rooms became a high-end flea market, with only one mannequin. He'd barely restrained himself from swearing a few times already. The only thing that saved her was that same enthusiastic, puppy-dog look and the captivating figure in the tight dress. He didn't want to see her upset.

Wilhelm added spice to the mix. He brought volunteers to be 'adventurers' right to this impromptu fashion show. Talik stared at the rows of seventy-somethings packed in unique ammunition. Men, elves, and draconians of both sexes were beaming with happiness and eagerness to serve, kneeling and devouring him with their eyes.

"Wilhelm, I asked you to look for volunteers from the common ranks. Why did you bring the 'royal guard' into this?" Talik sighed.

"Absolutely everyone volunteered, Prophet. I chose the most worthy of those who had no special titles." Wilhelm was clearly proud of himself.

Talik took some time to choose the words.

"You are completely missing the point, Wilhelm."

The Nordic strongman's entire body is lowered.

"There is no excuse for my shortcomings. You do not think them trustworthy enough for the honor of accompanying you on your voyages. I... I am sorry. Allow me to correct that mistake. I will find someone more worthy."

Talik closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

"We seem to have a misunderstanding." He glanced again at the troops, quite good enough for a good fight, even by Yggdrassil's standards. "Send them back to their posts."
Wilhelm waved his fingers and the warriors quickly left the hall.

"First of all, I'm not going to be escorted by an army." He raised his hand, interrupting the inhaling king. "And we won't discuss it. I'll be supervised by stalkers. If there's any real trouble, Illadria will get me out through the portal."

"Prophet, we cannot risk you!" There was a ring of metal in Wilhelm's voice. "You need a decent guard!"

Talik began to get a little angry.

"Wilhelm, I am much harder to kill than you think."

"It's a new world and we can't know all the dangers it holds!"

"We will NOT be discussing this."

"I believe you know what you're doing. But, I ask you, let me help you with this!"

"I will, and I will even demand it when I need it." Talik was beginning to calm down. "Forgive my bluntness, but I know better than you what's going to happen. What I need from your subordinates, for now, is a willingness to come to me through the portal at any moment."

Talik was bluffing. He had no idea what he would actually encounter. But he didn't want to travel through the new world surrounded by a constant crowd of fanatics. It was uncomfortable and unwise. According to his plan, several of the former NPCs would join a guild of adventurers, in different cities. While doing the work, they would make acquaintances and learn about the world, relaying the information they gathered daily to Dawn City by [message].

And, needless to say, they will be the bait. A favorite tactic of hardcore players - a small fish in full view, a shark in the shadows. Stalkers will keep a close eye on the 'adventurers'. If anything happens to them, they will provide full information. And Talik himself will simply try to attract less attention than his agents.

He wasn't sure how it would actually work out, but the risk seemed acceptable. After all, if he did get nailed, he would at least have time to run away. And if there was an enemy that even a stalker wouldn't notice... Nothing could save him from that, anyway.

"I submit to your will." after a long mental struggle, Wilhelm said. "But please remember the importance of your life. If you..."

"No." Talik cut him off. He wasn't sure if he should interrupt, but he didn't want to have to listen to the same arguments over and over again.

He looked longingly at the closet that Illadria had carefully picked out. Along the walls of the hall, bypassing only the tall windows were rows of outfitted mannequins. Illadria bowed respectfully, waiting beside them, clearly intending to continue this exercise of trying them on. Talik was quite sure that he would not use any of the proposed clothing in his 'going out'.
"Illadria, thanks for the effort, I saw even more than I expected. I'll let you know when I need something. I'll look some more in the treasury but in the meantime put it all back where you found it. Draga, let's go."

After Talik departed, Wilhelm rose from his knees and, clasping his hands behind his back, walked pensively to the window. Illadria looked sadly at the door through which the Prophet had left.

"I never thought I'd see Him angry at any of us." The elf girl said quietly. "It hurts."

"I'm sorry. This is my fault." Wilhelm answered grimly, looking out the window.

"Maybe," Illadria said thoughtfully. "You know, he wasn't interested in our opinions before. I don't think that's the kind of mistake you can be seriously blamed for."

"Right. Something has changed since the death of the old world. Sometimes I begin to think that it is not the world that has changed, but ourselves. I'm losing confidence in what I'm used to, and I don't like it. Do you think it makes sense to talk to Marius about this?"

"I don't know, Wilhelm. It's not that I don't trust him or underestimate his intelligence. I'm sure he understands a lot more than the rest of us. It's just... He's been dead for hundreds of years, and that imposes a strain on his sanity. Actually, I'm surprised you're asking for my advice. That's cute."

"Why not. You're more intelligent than I am, and your opinion might be useful. By the way, I've noticed how you behave in his presence. You've decided to move Draga on the bed, haven't you?"

The elfess smiled sadly.

"That sounded pretty dirty, choose your words."

"Sorry. And still?"

"I'm thinking about it. It looks like Drega screwed up, it wouldn't be good to pass up a chance like that. So far I'm provoking her more, but if this keeps up, I'll make my move. Why did you ask?"

Wilhelm stared thoughtfully out the window.

"Let's just say I'm on your side on this one. The half-elf as the heir is more satisfactory to me than the half-demon."

Illadria laughed a little.

"You're charming. I don't know whether to tell you that no one asked you for your opinion, or that the Prophet has no intention of leaving the post of High Lord."

Wilhelm paused again.

"I know how it sounds. My preferences wouldn't make sense if they went against the will of the Prophet. But now..." He turned around and gave Illadria a hard look. "He couldn't be said to care at all about such trivial matters as the race of the child to come. But you can say with certainty that there is no one to replace Him if He were to abandon us in pursuit of His ideas. Do you understand?"

Illadria approached him and placed her palms on his cheeks, smoothing out the anxious wrinkles. Then she answered with a mischievous smile.

"I see. You said very well what I am afraid to think about. You, too, must understand that what you said is on the verge of heresy. Be careful with that, will you? I'd hate to lose someone who's 'on my side'."

Wilhelm touched her chin.

"It's a deal."

***Talik***

Talik felt like a squeezed lemon after his 'adventurer' briefing.

It wasn't hard to find the right people. Did Wilhelm mention that absolutely everyone volunteered? Excellent. He walked out of the palace and into the square. Life here was booming, almost as it had been on the first day.

It's a good thing he learned to turn off auras when he didn't have to.

Of course, he was still recognized, but now it was a normal human joy, not imbecilic happiness. When he appeared on the streets, all activity did not cease, and it was possible to feel like a living person in a living city, rather than... it was even difficult to find the right 'not'.

By the fountain, the artist was painting a portrait of a lovely old woman. She was sitting on the ledge with her hands folded at her belly, carefully holding a small flower in her right palm. The painter, a skinny, white-haired guy with his hair tied up in a ponytail, was naked at the waist, his arms up to his elbows in strokes of paint.

A tent was placed at the entrance to the restaurant, under which there were tables for visitors who preferred fresh air. There were quite a few of them, mostly young couples. The whimsical melody of a stringed instrument came from within.

Across the square in the open chapel, under the cozy shade of a huge emerald-leafed tree, a tall draconian man in a white robe was speaking softly. His lack of facial expressions was made up for with measured gesticulation. A group of twenty people listened intently, occasionally clarifying things.

A girl was reading a book on the third-floor balcony of a residential building, and a cup of something hot stood beside her. The first floor of the building housed a tea shop and a flower shop. On the corner of the same building was a small coffee shop, the aroma of which seemed to tickle the nostrils of the palace itself.

You could stand there all day and just stare. Talik had to make a conscious effort to take his mind off it. As he headed toward the edge of the square, he shrank inwardly, remembering the reaction to his appearance on the first day. But it was all right. People greeted him, bowed respectfully, and made way for him. Then they went back to their classes.

There were guards in every street that flowed into the square. Strict soldiers in tall helmets, white and blue-patterned armor with shields and spears. More a tribute to traditional design than a necessity - there was no real need for guards here. Talik approached one of them and took a closer look. The man was elongated, looking straight ahead.

"Name yourself." Talik addressed him.

"Kraus Morgeri, Your Holiness."

"Have you heard anything about recruiting volunteers for a dangerous task in the outside world?"

"Yes, Your Holiness. I volunteered, but was refused."

"No, you got the approval, Kraus. Do you know where the Common Chambers are?"

"Yes, Your Holiness!" the guard shone.

"I'll meet you there in an hour. You're going to have to take it up with your commanding officer, refer to me."

The guard bowed and walked quickly away. His colleagues saw the 'lucky one' off with glances full of longing envy. Talik spoke in the same way to several other guards in different streets and headed for the palace.

Easy peasy.

It wasn't so simple after all. The chosen candidates were ready to go into the dragon's mouth now (for the glory of the Dawn, of course), but they did not understand the idea of 'undercover work'. In explaining to them the importance of personal legends, Talik dropped his face into the palm of his hand more than once but finally achieved the result.

Rummaging through the treasury, he picked up a nice set of divine-grade rings, a unique necklace, and a legendary rope belt. There was nothing else there that looked relatively modest.
Well, it's a good thing I found this. I could have dismantled it for crystals if I had a buyer. Heh.

Legendary items were noticeably inferior to divine items in terms of stats and number of properties, but like everything in Yggdrasil, they had their own thing. They only had one or two properties, but those properties were stronger than the divine items. The frequent uselessness of the properties (e.g., a 300% shortening of non-cooldown spell recovery time) was compensated for by the ability to change the property to another, random one. Each attempt cost a certain amount of crystals. Some maniacs even managed to capture specific properties on purpose. For example, Zloberman of the allied 'ZOG' guild fished out two rings with a +30% resistance to darkness bonus. Not a bad bonus for next to nothing - at the cost of the stats from just two rings he closed the only hole in the resistances. Katsuba-san caught two slots in his necklace for Destiny Stones. This is despite the fact that one such slot was not much more common than a mammoth.

The belt Talik took with him had only one property. It made the wearer invulnerable for five seconds upon receiving a potentially fatal blow. Not more than once a day, but I didn't find anything better. And it doesn't matter that there are no stats at all. Five seconds is really a lot of time for an experienced PvP-fighter.

The search for suitable outer garments did not last long either. On his way back to the palace from the temple, Talik met a low-level novice in one of the corridors. In a 'rare' robe with a hood.

Why not?

"Do you think, Draga, that's enough for traveling around the noob-zone?"

"Under my protection, you might not even need it." She bowed respectfully.

It was a surprise.

"Draga, I mentioned that I would go without an obvious escort."

"I... You don't need me anymore?"

Draga lowered, her voice treacherously shaking.

That already sounds like blackmail. Maybe let's change the plan.

"Of course you do. I would even say that it is vital. There is an important task that I can only entrust to you."

Draga cheered up.

"What should I do?"

The Common Chambers were already waiting for him. A dozen level 40 warriors dressed in the simplest armor. There was no problem with the armor as there was with the robes. Simple 'rare' armor and weapons were in abundance from Marius. It was a matter of half an hour to 'undress' a dozen trashy skeletons and clean their gear to a more or less decent degree.
Wilhelm and Illadria were also present. Wilhelm was strictly reciting something to the warriors, and the elfess prepared the portals. Talik gave them an impatient look.

"Does everyone remember the instructions? Is everyone ready?"

"Yes, Your Holiness!" A dozen fighters knelt down as if on cue.

The elder vassals simply bowed.

"Go ahead."

One by one, the warriors disappeared into portals leading to the edge of the forests. Each had to make his way to one of the assigned cities.

"Draga, do you remember what we discussed?"

The Shadow Demon, who had only changed her weapon to a simpler one (the real one was still in her inventory), nodded decisively.

"Yes!"

"Go for it. She dove into the portal. Talik followed her example."

RiP · Aug 14, 2021

Chapter 10

***Era***

The furnishings in Era's room were always austere and clean. A hard bed, a chest, a lectern, a table, and two benches. A magic teapot (the most expensive thing in the room) was steaming on the table. Era even used candles, as opposed to the other enchantress. In general, she was a bit weird for a spellcaster. She liked to read standing up, avoided using magic without real need, and never bragged about her achievements.

At the time of Daimon's arrival, she was rereading an old favorite book, 'The Unseen in the Obvious'. Of course, it was not the original, written in ancient times. A retelling of the retelling and so ten times, many times translated. Nevertheless, the ideas contained there were still fresh and relevant.

Upon learning of the leader's decision, Era was surprised and annoyed.

"Daimon, you can see that this man is hiding something. I don't understand how you can trust him with our lives."

"Era, you are exaggerating. I've learned a lot from our quest with Lias, too. Remember what we talked about at the goblin camp? When we find a new healer, we'll work on easier quests. And if there's something wrong with him, we'll just say goodbye on a friendly note."

They'd been talking about it for half an hour. Daimon suggested that weird guy Taler works with them. Era didn't like the idea very much, and she spoke up right away. It wasn't that she wasn't grateful for the cure, she just doubted that Taler was driven by pure nobility. His manner of speech, his demeanor, his appearance - everything about him indicated a man unaccustomed to the roughs of camping. And, just as importantly, Ere had seen the way he looked at her, and she didn't feel the slightest sympathy in return. It didn't take a genius to see what kind of trouble that could cause on a quest.

"Well, let's say he can do it. He's still kind of a shady guy, something's wrong with him. How can I rely on someone I don't trust? How can you rely on someone you don't trust?"

"I'm not relying on him yet. I want to see him in action. You know, I'm sure after two or three missions everything will fall into place. And if you're right, we have nothing to lose. And if I'm right, we have a lot to gain. Look at how we used to work out with Bryce. You hated him back then," Daimon smiled.

That was the plain truth. Bryce was outright disliked at first, for many reasons. Extremely dubious sexual interests, duplicity, a complete lack of tact, cruelty, and heartlessness. Nevertheless, after a while, he turned out to be one of the most reliable friends in the world.

"It's impossible to argue with you. Just keep in mind that I don't like this idea."

"I'll keep that in mind, and you try to control yourself. Deal?"

"It's a deal. Have you found a job yet?"

"Yeah, we're going out in a couple of days. The Plains of Katze, there are a couple of places where problems are looming."

"What kind of problems?"

"It seems that there is another unrecognized genius of necromancy who has lost his mind. An assignment for a small landlord from the outskirts of Katze."

"Oh, and you said something easier to start with. Why'd you taken the job? You know how landlords pay."

"I know. But I think there won't be a problem with payment, believe me."

"Okay. But Bryce will tell you a lot."

"Everything will be fine, don't worry. Just be ready to go out the day after tomorrow."

Daimon saluted her jokingly and left. Era tried to go back to the book, but the letters scattered before her, her mind occupied with other thoughts.

She may not like this Taler guy, but he's already on the team, at least for the next assignment. She doesn't want any trouble, which means she has to work at it, too. Don't create the conditions for a fight, don't offend him. And if this guy has a crush on her, she needs to make it clear before he imagines God knows what. Of course, somewhere inside it was nice to know that she had an admirer. And, of course, it didn't mean that she could afford to keep her hopes up.

Working for a landlord was totally uninspiring, and if she hadn't known Daimon, she wouldn't have taken it. Minor nobles with tiny estates weren't rich. Two or three villages, sometimes hunting grounds, very rarely some sort of mine or sawmill. And yet they treat non-nobles, commoners, as trash. They don't care how much stronger, smarter, or richer you are. They always consider themselves superior and more important, simply by descent. And that's why they sometimes allow themselves to do stupid things, such as not paying their bills.

The minor nobles saw nothing wrong with paying only partially, or not paying at all. And it takes some time for them to understand why they should not do so. Sometimes it took up to six months before they realized what a guild's blacklist is. Monsters don't care how noble you are, they care whether you can fight back or not. Adventurers, monster-slaying professionals, were cheaper than maintaining a regular army. A lot cheaper. And more reliable. Much, much more reliable.

Monsters are always very good at sensing weakness. Once you don't fight back, you're screwed. And the silly nobleman has to ask the Guild to solve their problems again. And the moment of truth comes - the Guild remembers its debtors very well. Do you want to solve your monster problem? Easy. Pay the debt, the forfeit, and the full prepayment. The Guild bosses have no heart; they don't care about pleas. If they don't get their payment, they will watch indifferently as you are torn apart, or as your town dies out from the plague.

But for an adventurer who had been cheated of payment, there was no joy in retribution. Money is money, and the Guild compensated only part of it until it received full payment. That's not counting the cases where adventurers were killed quietly so they wouldn't have to pay. All in all, working for the minor nobles was an extremely thankless and risky business.

All these thoughts prevented her from concentrating on the book. In fact, that was why she avoided all disturbance during the rest period after her assignments. Practicing meditation, searching for new knowledge between the lines of old books, taking personal notes, arranging impressions, required complete peace and quiet. Only close friends could get away with intruding on her personal space. And yet, an entire evening and night were wasted.

Era sighed heavily, wrapped her cloak around her, and went out for a walk to get some tea. Maybe the fresh evening air would bring back some peace of mind.

***Talik***

After the 'aptitude test,' it didn't take long for Talik to formalize his adventurer status. It was a standard questionnaire of several sheets, mostly indicating where to look for him if anything happens, and specifying whether he was wanted, and if so, where and for what reason. The paper was quite interesting, strange to the touch, like velvet. The polite lady at the front desk, Mory, said that this paper changes color if you write down false information. Talik wasn't sure if it did, but just in case (magic, after all) he made all the points honestly, albeit loosely.

After issuing him a copper badge (a fancy plate, the same touch as paper) with his personal information, Daimon invited him in for a word. Talik liked this guy in general - very intelligent, good at sensing moods, had dignity, and showed respect for other people's opinions. But most importantly, he understood very well what he wanted and how to achieve it to mutual advantage. Talik rarely met such people in the game, and never in real life.

Daimon asked him to join the team. Actually, it went a little against Talik's plans. He wanted to meet some really strong guys. However, Daimon had gracefully convinced him that it was worth a try. A Copper healer isn't likely to be called up to strong teams right away. Starting from scratch, working with other copper and iron ranks would be too long, and not everyone would be easy to work with. And in general, it would be useful to see what an adventurer's 'work' looks like beforehand, under optimal conditions.

Not the last thing that convinced Talik was Era. Her image was firmly lodged in his soul, and he longed for at least a normal relationship. There was a kind of sad irony in that. In the Dawn City, he would have had to point a finger, and any pretty girl would have been honored to be with him. And yet he'd fallen for a girl who could barely contain her dislike for him.

Daimon somehow mystically understood what Talik was thinking, and told him honestly that nothing would work with Era. He hinted at Era's personal dislike of men in an intimate way, and Talik knew exactly what he meant. She was the one who had been abused by two dozen of Akuro's soldiers.

But still... Still. He wanted at least a friendship. For now.

Bryce didn't show up, but Talik wasn't too worried about that yet. He doubted very much that this guy was going to screw him and disappear with the money. And even if something like that did happen, the loss of two bars of gold wasn't a high price to pay for a lousy test. By the standards of the guild's treasury, of course. It only took forty Yggdrassil coins for the bars. And just in case, Talik still had the money taken from Akuro's gang in his stash. Quite a lot of silver and some gold.

There was no problem at all in locating lodging - the guild building had rooms for rent. The prices were steep by local standards, but Daimon willingly paid for a room for the night, and Talik went to his apartment in the morning after his tour of the city.

The room was not at all impressive after the palace and the temple, but there was a kind of ineffable comfort here. It was a small room, with a minimum of furniture, smelling of wood, straw, and clean cloth. The window lets in light, but he couldn't see anything through it.

As Talik approached it, he realized what was wrong. Instead of glass in the faceted frame, it was some kind of translucent leather.

It must be what's called a bull bubble. It's cool, there's no smell at all.

He opened the window. The sounds of the city at night entered the room in a soft wave. The sound of the wind, sometimes the flapping of birds' wings, distant scolding, the hubbub of a nearby alleyway, drunken singing, the sound of footsteps, the clatter of hooves. Against the rapidly darkening sky, there was light in the silhouettes of houses in some places, and in the streets, the lights of lanterns were illuminated. The view was mysterious and very beautiful.

"Spy, are you here?"

"Yes, Your Holiness," the elf appeared in the corner of the room, near the wooden door, and bowed.

"Watch where Daimon went. If to Era, listen to what the conversation is about, then come back, tell me all details."

"It will be done, Your Holiness."

Spy was gone, and Talik couldn't tell if he had any remorse. He should have - it was an invasion of privacy, after all. In fact, there was only a very faint feeling that it was better not to do so, simply because it was indecent. Commanding the elf was also somehow easy to get into the habit.

Well, he doesn't see anything unnatural in it himself. Why should I care?

Observing the view from the window, he spoke through [message] to the inhabitants of the Palace. There was no notable news.

Wilhelm, mercilessly exploiting Marius's undead as brute slave labor. He was building a road through crevices in the mountains. Talik had recently suggested that he think of something with permanent roads; after all, they are here for a very long time, and it is stupid to travel by portals alone. The 'King' became enthusiastic, calculated a resource estimate, and squeezed out permission to use the undead. Talik appreciated the idea if there was a landslide or some shit, no regret for the undead. Perfect discipline and no fatigue like real robots. The work went according to plan, and in a couple of weeks, we could expect the first 'highway' to be completed.

Talik doubted how Marius himself would feel about having his subordinates snatched away from him, but the lich didn't seem to care at all. He was interested in something else entirely at the moment. Namely, experiments on prisoners. As he said, Talik would soon receive a detailed report on the work he had done. From his point of view, Lias was not exactly a star in the sky yet, but he had prospects. Talik decided that as long as the lich was into something nonthreatening, so be it. He felt a little guilty for the bandits, but his conscience was silent.

Illadria reported the results of the gryphon breeding - three pairs had already formed and could be expected to breed, one more was in question.

The idea of trying to breed reanimated gryphons had recently occurred to Talik, to his shame. He should have thought of it right away, but better late than never. If gryphons could be bred and tamed, they would be a good substitute for conventional aviation. Sending small shipments, ferrying agents, scouting - the value of air transport is inestimable.

Draga cheerfully reported that she had gained some prestige in 'her' branch of the Guild, and her rank had already been promoted to silver. That counted as a very quick career, considering she'd been in the Guild less than a week. Now she was just on another mission - to find and destroy an insolent ogre troll on the border of the Tob Forest. There had been no attempts at contact from the powers that be, but Talik was sure it was only a matter of time.

The news from Warboss was a little depressing. The Orcs were bored without war. Not that disturbances were brewing, no. But in general, the uncertainty of the future created tension. They got a little respite rather by accident, thanks to the idea with Akuro.

The former gang leader spent all day in an improvised 'ring' with the orcish youth. He was a little more advanced than the 'kids,' according to Warboss, but no more. But his example gave the chief a bright idea. And now orcs had a new amusement - some semblance of tournaments. All in the Orcish way, without tenderness, with only one condition - not to death. Everything else was easily resolved through spells and regeneration potions. Potions were brewed on the spot, from renewable resources (boar blood and some other crap). They were weak, but for their level, fine.
Nevertheless, their energy had to be channeled into something specific. And obviously not in the construction...

Talik lay back on the bed and exhaled. He liked the role of 'remote director' better than being the center of attention. Spy respectfully appeared in the room and reported Daimon's conversation with Era.

"I am deeply offended by their irreverence, Your Holiness," the elf concluded. "I believe it is necessary to set them in their place."

"Let it be as it is for now," Talik replied.

This attitude made him cringe, but, in all honesty, it was quite justified. He decided that time would show.

"By the way, Spy, do you ever sleep at all?"

"Yes, Your Holiness. All stalkers have a limited need for sleep. Usually half an hour four times each twenty-four hours."

"Is it enough?" Talik marveled.

"Quite so, Your Holiness. In a busy environment, sleep can be neglected altogether."

Talik only hummed. He didn't feel much need for sleep himself, either, and slept more out of habit. And that's not to say that he slept, more like dozed off.

The evening turned into night, and he got bored. Without the Internet, social networks, forums, and other things, he just didn't know what to do. In the usual game world, he had long been farming, raiding, or cheerfully fighting in PvP locations. Now, like a fantasy, but there is nothing to do but lie on a hard bed. After thinking for a while, he went down to the common room. At least there was some life going on there, at least to hear what they were talking about. Maybe he could hang out with someone.

There was a knock at the door.

"Come in."

Isaac Bardon, head of the adventurer's guild of E-Rantel, was about to finish his business for the day and was surprised by the late visit. A girl from the receptionist's office came through the door, bowing, holding a wooden pencil case.

"Oh, it's you, Mory. What do you want at a time like this?"

"Mr. Isaac, I apologize for this late visit, but the case seems important."

Bardon made an inviting gesture, and Mory walked over to the table.

"Look at this."

With that, she removed two intricately cut stones from the pencil case. Bardon stared at them incredulously.

"Are those sensory stones? What happened to it? As far as I remember, it's supposed to be transparent."

"Yes, Mr. Isaac. A new man registered with the Guild today, claiming his role as a healer. I ran tests on his skills and activated the stones. They have completely lost transparency, a testament to the third rank of magic. But it's been a few hours now, and the translucency still hasn't returned. I decided to report back to you, just in case."

"Hmm. That's it," Bardon said thoughtfully. "You're good to come and tell me about it."

Bardon took the warm, almost hot stones in his hand and thought. Mory probably just didn't know it, but a total loss of transparency is not the third rank. It is rank three or higher, and judging by the temperature of the stones, perhaps even higher than rank four. Very few people could use the magic of such power, and there were only three of them in E-Rantel.

"Where does this man come from?"

"Here are his case, Mr. Isaac. He is staying in the guild rooms."

Bardon took the sheets of enchantment paper from her hands and read them. Nothing specific.

'Where are you from? From a country so far away that its name doesn't tell you anything.' It's on the verge of boorishness, although the answer is acceptable.

'Why did you decide to become an adventurer? I want to meet the strongest adventurers in the world.' And not a word about money

'Are you afraid of death? Yes, I wouldn't want to die.' Uncommonly honest.

'Have you ever broken the laws of a Kingdom, Empire, or Theocracy? No' Not a common occurrence. The answer was perfectly true, judging by the paper, which meant that the candidate did not
even have a tomato stolen drunk on his conscience.

'Are you a wanted man in any of the countries of the continent? If so, I am not aware of it.'

And all the answers are in that order. Subtle, vague, but completely truthful.

"A stranger with no roots here, who uses powerful healing magic, and has never been seen anywhere before... Yeah, that's weird. Has he found a partner yet?"

"Yes, Mr. Isaac. He was accepted as a member of the Immortal Hope, the leader, Daimon."

"I remember these guys, capable. Mory, if he asks for help or information, do what you can, and then give me the details of the case. Feel free to refer him directly to me if the matter is beyond your competence."

"I got it, Director.

Maury bowed and walked out. Bardon pondered, looking at the questionnaires. It was probably because of this kid that the minor official of the gatehouse had thrown a tantrum on him today.
Novice adventurers appeared all the time. They were children of peasants, mercenaries, bandits who decided to legitimize their affairs, children of impoverished aristocratic families, and former criminals. Mortality, especially in the copper and gold ranks, was very high, but this did not affect the popularity of this occupation. The guild always had a good selection of candidates, not everyone was accepted. There were quite a few criteria, including hidden ones. The Guild needed reliable, fearless fighters and spellcasters. Weak or crooked ones were not needed.
Talented prodigies were very rare, and as a rule, they already had some track record. At least it was not a problem to find information about them. But with this healer, it was obvious that there was no way to find out. But with the talent he showed, it was no problem at all.

There could be two problems. The first is that he could, in theory, be an envoy of the Theocracy. Technically, the Guild was outside politics, but who cares about formalities when it comes to real power. So, agents of all three great states infiltrated the ranks of the adventurers with enviable consistency. They never rose above the rank of silver, so no harm was done. Unless the Guild arranged so that the agent could only receive assignments within the borders of his homeland.

Could the Theocracy have sent an agent here with at least rank four magic? In theory, yes. In practice, such training is a disgrace to any spy. He literally shouted 'pay attention to me' with his behavior.

And if it was not an agent of the theocrats, another problem arose. A talented newcomer, potentially one of the best healers in the region, or even the country, the Church would try to get its hands on. The Church was bound to try. This had to be avoided by all means. The Church has a lot to offer, but the Guild has a few trumps, too.

And the old guild branch head was also bothered by a certain coincidence. The guild used magic [messages] for coordination. Not very reliable and very expensive, but the ability to exchange data quickly was worth it.

During the past week, four more fairly notable figures have entered the guild within the Kingdom. Three were fine defensive-type fighters, spear and shield oriented, in extremely good armor. They were probably ex-soldiers, but from what army? Theocrats and Imperials relied on straight swords to arm the regular army. Professional mercenaries from those places followed the same trend. The kingdom of Re-Esties used spears, but only in a tight phalanx formation. Very long spears that could not be used with a shield.
The fourth notable figure was the adventurous newcomer who showed up in E-Pespel. A warrior, a swordswoman. According to the head of the place, an extremely self-confident woman with truly exceptional equipment. On her first day, she had a big fight with some of the higher-ranked warriors. As a result of the scandal, she playfully beat the gold-ranked team to a pulp. With an ordinary wooden stick.

And now a talented newbie comes to his city, too, from far away places. There's a reason for all this. Bardon tapped his fingertips thoughtfully on the paper.

"Well, let's see how you perform, adventurer Taler. It's interesting, to say the least."

***Era***

"As she left her room, Era was about to walk to the familiar shop that sold herbs and tinctures. She had been buying tea there for the past couple of years. Her relationship with the shopkeeper, an elderly, snarky old man, allowed her to stop by at odd hours."

As usual, Grandpa sold her not only a handful of expensive tea but also a bunch of funny tales from his youth. The visit dragged on until midnight, but she didn't mind. There was a beauty in long conversations with the old man. Any worries or problems receded into the background as she listened to the herbalist's tales. He never repeated himself once during their acquaintance, and he never pestered her about her life. He was a perfect companion.

When she returned to her room, she saw a new member of the team in the nearly empty room, lit only by the fireplace and a couple of candles. He was sitting there, staring at the fire and slurping something hot out of a cup.

Era thought about it. It wasn't a bad time to get to know him, to set boundaries, to find common ground. Not that she wanted to get to know him at all. But he happened to be her mate for the next mission. And making contact, clarifying boundaries, would be better before they performed. On the way to E-Rantel, they never really talked.

She walked toward the table where Thaler was sitting. He turned his attention to the approaching girl and raised his hand in greeting.

"Yo."

"Hi. It's strange to see a sober man in a drinking hall at midnight," she smiled neutrally.

"I was bored, I thought I might meet someone or hear something interesting. But all the decent people turned out to be asleep long ago. I don't feel like sleeping anyway, so I'm bored here."
There was an awkward pause. Era just couldn't find the right topic to start a conversation. After half a minute of staring at the fire in the fireplace together, she decided to start right away with what interested her.

"Daimon invited you to join the team, and we'll have to rely on each other for a while. I trust our leader, but I don't know you at all. Why did you decide to join us?"

"You're very direct..." Taler hesitated. "Okay. I'm not going to lie, I wasn't going to join the group. I had other plans. It was only after I talked to Daimon I realized that I didn't know anything about
what was going on here. So he offered to join the team, temporarily. I thought, why not? At least I'd get to see what was going on."

"That's how. And you are very sure of yourself." Era smiled politely. "I don't think you realize how hard and risky our work is."

"I don't want to start an empty argument, the decision has been made, and time will judge. You don't like me. Can you tell me why?"

"I realize that sounds rude, I apologize for saying so. It's not that I don't like you. There was a guy who traveled with us before you... He was hopeful and didn't know what was what. He was very confident, too, at first. Then we had a lot of problems. It was a very bad experience for me."

Taler smiled wryly.

"At least it's honest."

"Do you already know what kind of work we have to do?"

"Something about the undead in the east. You probably already know, I'm not from here and don't know much about geography. Can you give me any details?"

"Yes. The Plains of Katze. Cursed lands the size of a small country. No one in their right mind would go inland. The territories bordering the outskirts of these plains are constantly under threat."

"And that's where we have to capture the crazy sorcerer? Won't he die on his own, even without our help?"

"It's good if he dies. But I wouldn't count on such luck. We'll probably have to make a good run around the outskirts of the plains, looking for where he's entrenched."

"What if it's not on the outskirts?"

"If not on the fringes, it's an assignment for teams much stronger than ours."

"I see. Actually, you know, I'm a little surprised - why do these plains still exist? I mean, why haven't they all been piled on top of them from different directions and cleaned up once and for all?"
"Oh, this topic is often discussed. The answer is simple - it would require the leaders of all three countries to agree and cooperate. This is impossible, each of them thinks he is the smartest and will surely betray the others in order to keep his army. Everyone understands this."

"Why doesn't the Guild do it? From what I know, it might have the power to do something like that. Well, at least seriously reduce the cursed area."

"The Guild can, but only if it is paid. And the sum for such an order would be unaffordable even for Emperor Baharut. Especially since the Plains of Katze is the most secure border there is. If it weren't for them, the Empire would surely have clashed with the Theocracy by now. Anyway, the Plains of Katze are as we know them for a bunch of reasons."

"I already want to look at them."

"And there's not much to see. Dead lowlands, constant fog, easy to get lost. Well, at least that's how it is on the outskirts."

"I see. Any advice for a beginner, about these plains?"

"Advice?" Era was surprised. Taler wasn't starting to make such a bad impression in general, and now he wasn't shy about asking for advice. "Take a change of clothes, write a will, and grow eyes on the back of your head."

"I can't promise about the eyes in the back of my head, but I'll try to do the rest," he grinned and got up from the table. "Thanks for the conversation. I'm going to try to get some sleep."

Era followed his example.

"Bryce should be here tomorrow morning to give you the proceeds for the gold."

"I'll wait. Good night."

"Good night."

Era went to her room with much less of a burden of doubt. She still didn't trust Taler, but she had fewer worries. Though that self-confidence... Well, worst-case scenario, he will die there.

Waiting for Bryce before going out was a good idea. He brought a weighty purse of gold and silver, for a total of fifty gold pieces. Bryce watched with a chuckle as Talik counted the coins.

"You don't trust me, I respect that."

"I just want to understand how much money I have. What's the point of checking if I don't know the prices or the rates? Anyway, you helped me out, thanks. What do I owe you for your efforts?"

"Two golds, I already took. We're a team now, though. Do you want it back? - He rolled the shiny coin meaningfully over his fingers.

"Let them stay with you," Talik smiled. "I can add one more if you help me with something."

"Really? And who should disappear?" Bryce grinned. "I warn you right away, I don't take on ministers or children."

"It's much simpler than that. I need someone who knows the city. I'm going for a walk, and I don't want to pester passersby with questions."

"I know something about the city. A coin? It's a deal."

The city seemed big when Talik drove into it. But after a couple of hours, he realized that it wasn't. The city was tiny in the sense of a megalopolis resident, a few kilometers from wall to wall.

There was a lot to see, though. Even in such a relatively small area, there were a lot of interesting things to see. There was room for all sorts of contrasts. The luxuriantly decorated palace of the mayor was literally a kilometer away from the impossibly miserable slums. A bustling marketplace buzzed with life one street away from the majestic (by local standards) temple. Vile basement taverns, expensive establishments for noble gentlemen, brothels, grim barracks, apartment buildings, huge storefronts, and blank alley walls. All this managed for generations to fit and coexist within the city walls.

Bryce turned out to be a connoisseur of dubious entertainment and knew every joint in E-Rantel. Gambling dunks, smoking houses, places where they served 'something more interesting than booze'. As he passed by another joint, Talik noticed the half-dressed girls wearing something like collars. He realized, after a closer look, that they were more like tattoos.

"Bryce, what's that on their necks?"

"Oh, you haven't seen it before? These are slave tags. Evidence of belonging."

"Slaves?" This was the first time Talik had ever seen such savagery in person. "You mean they are slaves?"

"Yeah."

"I heard slavery was abolished, no?"

"Oh, Taler-san, your naivete is something. Do you see the collars on them?"

"No, but..."

"That's it. What do you do to the owner of the shop? In any court of law, he will say that they are not slaves, but hired girls, for example. And try to prove otherwise."

"So at this point, they can just walk away?"

"Where? To the judge, the tag means nothing. But to anyone who understands it, it means someone's slave. Decent people won't have anything to do with them, and non-decent people... You know what I mean."

"How is it that a man becomes a slave? Yesterday he was free, and tomorrow he is caught, tagged, and that's it?"

Well, not exactly like that, but in general almost. Caught, taken to another city, for example, and that's it. No friends, no relatives. Or parents can sell the child out of hopelessness, or they can take him away for debts. There are all kinds of cases. Although, usually, they do not live long anyway. Drugs, violent clients. Some commit suicide, but that's rare.

Talik was shocked.

"And what, no one resists?"

"You are like a child, Taler-san. Who would allow a slave to resist?"

"Why ask? Stabbed and fled, no?"

"Oh, you have heard some interesting tales. For the very attempt to show will, for a slanted look, there is a punishment. As severe as the owner's imagination allows. One way or another, everyone breaks down. Believe me, any talk of resistance is empty."

"It's hard for me to imagine something like that."

"Don't you have slavery in your homeland?"

"Huh...some call it that, but it's not all that brutal. There is always a choice as to which master to serve."

"What do you mean? A slave is a slave because he has no right to choose anything."

"You probably wouldn't understand... In my country, only someone who wants to be a slave can be a slave, so to speak. Trying to force someone to work against their will is the surest way to jail or even the grave. That's not how the law works in our land."

"Good places, it must be."

"Just yesterday I would have disagreed with you."

Talik looked back at the girls. Fifteen or seventeen at most. If the fate that Bryce had described awaited them... It was too unfair, there was no way Talik could just accept that and not try to do something. Of course, that didn't mean he'd rush right in to save everyone and everything. It was tempting, but it wouldn't do much to change the big picture if he started trashing brothels. And then what to do with those whom he helped in the heat of the moment. He can'! guard them for the rest of his life. need a better idea.

"So, you're not up to the heroic task of rescuing poor maidens?" Bryce squinted his eyes sarcastically.

"I really want to, but... I don't know the best way to set it up yet."

"Ha, I like your confidence. But you know, not all of these slave girls are so unhappy. Some of them generally live better lives than they used to."

"What do you mean?"

"They don't starve, they don't get sick, they sleep in warmth, and they wear nice clothes. Yes, the work is not sweet and there is no freedom, but believe me, not everyone would like to return to their villages. To give birth every year in poverty, to plow in the fields for the rest of their lives, to constantly wait for bandits or monsters to raid, to crawl on all fours in front of every generous turkey. Where things really suck is on the estates of the nobility. But you'll never get there, so just forget it. You'll get used to it."

Talik thought about objecting but didn't. He certainly wasn't going to 'get used to' what he considered barbaric and criminal. But it didn't seem to make any sense to argue with Bryce about it. The man had been born and raised here, and for him, this was the normal order of things.

The mood for walking was gone altogether. Fantasy reality was becoming less and less romantic. He said goodbye to Bryce, who was about to drag him to the 'best place in town, you'll love it,' and went back to his room, preparing to be bored for the rest of the day. And as it turned out, pretty just in time.

[message]

"Prophet, pardon the intrusion, there is important news."

"What's up, Illadria?"

"One of the low-level scouts in the outer forest is attacked, wounded, and carried somewhere. Stalker-watcher, according to your order, does not interfere."

"Who attacked? Levels, numbers, race?"

"Goblins, a gang of 22 creatures. Levels 10 to 19. It was an ambush."

"I'll be very interested to know how they managed to arrange that. But later. Right now, let the stalker see where they take ours. If there's a threat to life, have him take it back and let the strongest escape, and then hunt him down."

"Shall I send a punishment squad?"

"No, the orcs will take care of that. You will help them with the transport to the site."

"I dare not question your orders, Prophet. But why don't you let the elves teach them a lesson for their insolence?"

"Because I want to keep the presence of combat-ready elves a secret for now. Be prepared to intervene personally, but only as a last resort."

"Got it, Prophet."

[message]

"Warboss, I need your warriors."

"At any moment, Prophet! Where should they be and whom should they kill?"
The goblin squad waited patiently for their prey. They'd been tracking their prey for a week. Cunning, cautious prey that hid well. Not good enough for the chief hunter of the village. The chief hunter had been able to find the trails the cunning elf walked. And now the goblins were waiting. Today, tomorrow, or some other day, the prey would surely pass through here.

* * *
Each hunter dreamed of catching an elf. There were very few elves, and they hardly ever appeared in the Forest of Tob. Only very desperate fugitives from the lands of men. Such prey is a great honor and respect of the whole tribe. Elves live very long under the knife of a shaman, very long screaming. The gods like it. And then there is enough meat for all the men to taste.

And if you are very lucky, there will be other elves. A woman with a child, for example, or a wounded friend. It would be a great feast. There has been no two-legged prey for a long time, none at all. People with borders learn quickly, and they don't go through the woods alone.

The prey finally appeared. He emerged from the bushes, looked around, climbed deftly up a tall tree. He sat there, scribbling something in a book. He got down from the tree and ducked into the ravine in front of the pond.

The chief hunter gave the signal, it was time. At once the bushes rustled, and several hunters threw spears at his feet. From the other side of the trail, a thin net of weights was thrown. The prey was doomed.

The chief hunter was terribly angry. Ogres had come to the village. Huge, strong, and greedy masters of this part of the forest. When they came, they always took what they wanted. Food, knives, bling, skins. Anything they liked. Sometimes they took the warriors of the tribe with them, for war with the trolls from another area. Always humiliated, beaten, and mocked.

The ogres had a short conversation. Anything they don't like, they whack it with the club. There was a goblin, and now there's a bloody puddle.

The chief hunter realized as he approached that something was wrong. The hidden village had always been very quiet, but now it was noisy. Far beyond the rough palisades came growls, thumps, screeches, and guttural laughter.

He could not go and hide, it would destroy his authority. And the prey might die without suffering, it was impossible - the gods would be angry. So the party did enter the village, and the hunch was confirmed - the ogres had shown up. The middle of the village was torn down and trampled, the fatheads had built a fire from the rubble of the tree, and the tents were sitting on, like mats.
Of course, they immediately spotted the prey. And, of course, they immediately took it for themselves. One of the hunters got angry and tried to push the raking hands away from the prey, and immediately got hit in the head with a club. And so did two others who had done nothing.

The head hunter was furious, but he kept his cool. This was not the kind of situation where a little goblin could do anything. Gritting his teeth, he watched in silence as the bound elf was rolled into a clay lump. No shaman's knife, no favor of the gods, no tasty meat. All taken by the ogres.

The only hope was that the elf was not alone in the forest. The head hunter was already figuring out how to find his campsite. It would be good if there was a woman there. And he wouldn't drag his new prey into the village at once. First, he would make sure there were no evil guests.

He was the first to spot the new guests, even before they broke through the fences the ogres had breached. They looked a lot like goblins, only twice as big and fleshier. The first guest launched an axe at the head ogre. The goblin could barely keep track of the heavy iron.

The axe crunched into the ogre leader's chest nearly two-thirds of the way through with a juicy crunch. He goggled, coughed, and looked around incredulously. The rest of the ogres froze, stunned by such insolence.

And the new guests wasted no time at all. While the ogres were trying to figure out who had the nerve to run into the forest owners, several of the new guests had already reached them.
And the axes and clubs danced. The ogres roared in a frenzy that tore down the tents that were still standing. The guests weren't far behind. They turned out to be surprisingly agile, quick, dodging their clubs and hacking, hacking, hacking back.

Not everyone was able to dodge the bludgeoning, and some of them got hit. One of the guests was knocked aside almost immediately. And that's when the goblin got really scared. The two-meter tall, broken body, with its arm sagging and its bones sticking out, stood up and laughed. With a scary, wild laugh. And rushed back into the fight. As the green lunatic took another swing with his club, he grabbed her with his good arm and bared his teeth to the ogre's wrist. And he died, still laughing.

The guests were amused by the wounds. They had fun fighting to the death.

To the hell with all this, though the goblin. It's time to run. But it turned out that the guests weren't just having fun with the ogres.

The hunter's eyes were filled with carnage. There were many of them, and they were chopping goblins to pieces all over the village. In some places the buildings were ablaze, the smoke smoky, the barking laughter and desperate shouting coming from all sides. In less than a minute the village was a blazing massacre.

The goblin tried to escape, and he almost succeeded. Under cover of greasy smoke, he crawled through the ruined tents, through the garbage pits, between the piles of bones to the wall where the coveted breach was. He made it outside the ruined village and sprinted away, but he could only take a few steps.

A sharp pain pierced his leg, and the goblin fell. He pulled out a bone knife hidden under the rags and tried to roll over. The pain was so intense that the goblin couldn't stand it and screamed. In spite of his unruly limbs, he was able to twist himself around to see what was wrong.

There was an axe sticking out of the leg, in the back of the knee. From the hilt, a thin rope ran backward somewhere. Just as the goblin spotted it, the rope tightened. The pain darkened his eyes, and he didn't keep track of the moment when the two-meter tall axe wielder was beside him, pressing his fingers hard against the thin neck.

"And where are we sneaking off to?"

RiP · Sep 7, 2021

11

There was a quiet panic in the village.

A few days earlier, when the former captives of the cruel "master" of the place had come to the settlement, the herbalist's daughter, Annika, had raved about the noble monsters. About how the good monsters had defeated the evil men and set the unfortunates free. The usual unbelievable tale of miraculous salvation. The only difference was that the heroes and villains switched places.

No one shared Annika's enthusiasm, especially her mother, and for good reason.

Once upon a time, she happened to fall into the hands of goblins. She was one of several people dragged by the evil creatures into their settlement. It was pure luck that she survived: when it was her turn to be roasted alive, the adventurers came to the green-skinned lair on a punitive mission. And though many years have passed since then, every moment of captivity was vivid in the memory of the elderly woman.

Her daughter was incredibly lucky to be alive, and it was a blessing. The mother can only hope that Annika will not encounter any more monsters. Let the child believe in fairy tales if she wants to. And let those fairy tales remain fairy tales.

Nothing remarkable happened in a few days. The new arrivals were put to work, and life began to fall into a routine. But one fine early morning the fisherman Palt returned much earlier than usual. The man, disheveled, exhausted, ran into the village and collapsed on the ground, shouting.

"Monsters are coming!"

At first, no one understood what he meant. Of course, to be on the safe side, the gate was closed immediately, and a patrol was set up. Who knows - what if wolves or other magical beasts. The fisherman was examined, but there were no wounds, and even his clothes were no more shabby than usual. The boy just kept repeating like a maniac.

"They're coming here. They're coming for us."

The headman, looking at the panic brewing - and how could he not, considering where they lived - shook Palt by the scruff of the neck.

"Hey, stop being hysterical. Who goes where, why?"

Palt just looked at the crowd with goofy eyes and kept repeating.

"They're coming here, now we're really screwed. The end. It's over."

A bucket of water brought by one of the villagers helped. After being doused with ice-cold water, Palt came to his senses somehow.

"Well?" the headman asked angrily.

"Ah... I was on my way to check my fishing gear, and when I got to the river, they were already there. Huge goblins, huge, even taller than me. I ran, but they caught up with me, I thought

that was it. I was scared shitless, and their leader asked me who I was and where I was from. I told him, and he let me go and told me to tell everyone that they would be here soon."

"Just like that?" The headman was incredulous.

The case was very strange. Goblins never let go of their prey. No goblins, no half-human from these parts would do that. Maybe the ogres could, but they lived at the other end of the forest. And there's no mistaking them for goblins.

"Yeah," Palt replied. "I told you, they let me go and tell everybody. Told they were coming this way."

"When are they coming?"

"They said this afternoon."

By this time all the villagers had gathered in the village square. Everyone dropped everything and decided to find out what was causing such a commotion in the village. Those who arrived later missed the beginning, but from the words of the others, they also had a rough idea of what had happened.

In the silence that followed the last words, a child's voice rang out.

"I know them, they saved us all!"

The headman barked angrily at Hannah.

"Get your child out of here! It's no time for her ramblings now."

Annika started to speak again, but her mother shushed her and led her into the house. The girl tried to object, but received a slap and started crying.

As he watched the mother and daughter depart, the headman glanced at the crowd. A hundred and fifty people, not counting those who had hidden in their homes with their children. An aging falsetto was heard from the crowd.

"And I told you that Akuro was protecting us! You were all so happy that he was dead, and now there's no one to protect us!"

"Shut up, you idiot!" The headman was furious. "Shut up, or I swear I'll choke you myself."

He looked again at the crowd.

"I know what you're thinking. But we have nowhere to run, and even if we did, we wouldn't get far. The only hope is that these monsters can talk. Maybe we can convince them to leave us alone. And if not, well, let's fight back. We all have something to defend. We've had enough of one bastard slave-trader."

There was no determination in the villagers' eyes, there was a murmur, but the headman had known them for a long time. There was really nowhere to go, almost all of them had families and young children. Even if nothing happened on the way, who would welcome them in neighboring settlements? And those who would be ready to leave their families and run away by themselves were not here.

Of course, everyone wanted to believe that everything would be all right. But it was the second time in a few days that the mysterious monsters had made themselves known. And this time, they sent a very concrete sign that people wouldn't be left alone.

The headman looked firmly at the people.

"Take anything you can use as a weapon. Axes, pitchforks, stakes, everything. Take it and go up the wall."

People began to return to their homes with a grim grumble. The stronger men and women returned, armed with pitchforks, scythes, and other tools that could be used as weapons. After an hour, fewer than a hundred people had gathered on and under the walls. The mood was far from rosy.

The headman shook his head sorrowfully. He disapproved of those who had chosen to hide and wait, hoping for a miracle. Condemned, but understood.

A tense wait ensued. By noon the panic had subsided, and that was understandable. He hoped that no one would show up, no matter what Pelt had said or what he himself had been told.

At noon the monsters came.

From around the bend in the road, humanoid creatures appeared. They were tall, broad-shouldered, and lumpy with muscles. Almost all were bare-chested, their thighs covered by some sort of wide pants or skirt of tattered leather. Each carried an axe, and some even two. The headman understood why they were called goblins. Because of the swamp color of their skin and the fangs protruding from their mighty jaws. There was probably nothing else of goblins about them.

The visitors staggered to within striking distance of the walls and paused to stare at the terrified faces of the defenders. They reeked of superiority and overwhelming power. After a couple of minutes of a staring game in which the men were clearly losing, the toughest of them all stepped forward. He came almost close to the gate, looked up, and barked in an articulate voice.

"Who's in charge here?"

All eyes turned to the headman. The headman sighed and climbed the wall at the gate.

"I am in charge here. Who are you and what do you want from us?"

"I am Jay-Gul. We are Orcs. This forest is ours now. And everything near it, along with the villages on the edge, is ours, too."

"The whole forest? There are twenty of you..." said the headman hesitantly.

"There are twenty of us here. There are thousands of us in the forest. You'll soon see that."

There were many whispers. Thousands? Could there be such a thing? Could it be mere bluster?

"Anyway, man. The Boss says these lands belong to us now. You can take it and obey us. You can get the hell out of here, we won't chase you. You can fight."

The headman hesitated.

"What will you demand if we agree?"

Now the big guy was thinking. After a short pause, he answered.

"Here will be our camp. You will obey our boss. Share your food if necessary. And we'll protect you."

"Protect from whom?"

"Yes "#; % from everyone. Whoever comes here to fight, gets a "#;% ". Easy."

"Uh... I guess we could discuss the details," the headman began, but the green man interrupted him.

"# %& the details. I will come back tomorrow for an answer."

The orc waved his hand, showing that the conversation was over, and along with the others went on the road back into the woods.

The headman, feeling a hundred stares on him, declared.

"Well," he turned to those present and confidently continued. "Gather all of you in the square tonight. It's not a decision I can make for everyone. We will discuss."

* * *

It took Talik and the rest of the group three days to reach the estate, beyond which lay the Plains of Katze. They walked. Bryce had sold both horse and carriage. When Talik asked why they wouldn't leave a comfortable transport, they looked incredulous at first, but then Daimon explained.

A wagon, of course, is an extremely convenient thing if you travel across the plains and generally in the settled lands. The adventurers, on the other hand, mostly work in the middle of nowhere. In places where it is difficult to walk, let alone ride. No one will carry a horse and cart through impassable swamps, thickets, gorges, and so on. And leaving the transport unattended is the same as throwing it away.

Talik was new to such long hikes. Of course, living in a megalopolis, he sometimes had to walk considerable distances. Still, there was no comparison. In a metropolis you are never alone, there is always something to look at, everything is constantly changing. There are cars whizzing by, advertisements flashing, info boards broadcasting the latest news. You always have access to the Internet with you, either through your implants or a smartphone.

Here everything was much more monotonous and... slower, or something. Without the continuous flow of information from all sides, time was barely stretched out. It had been very easy and natural for Talik to get used to the views of nature a few days ago, and now he felt an acute hunger for information.

He never once felt tired, even after a day on his feet from dawn till dusk. It was boring. His traveling companions saved their breath, and they had known each other for a long time, so they didn't talk much on the way. When they stopped for a night, communication still was limited to the routine. Although it was in the evenings that Talik could stick to Daimon with questions.

This guy didn't know many of the legends of interest to Talik, but he was aware of what was going on in the so-called "now". Talik learned many interesting details. Since Daimon was not prejudiced against any of the continent's countries (well, except the Theocracy), his point of view seemed most complete.

In particular, the aristocracy's relationship to the crown became clearer. No one would obey the king simply because he wanted to. A serious military force had to be attached to the crown. In normal times, the king was supported by the most highborn nobles with their armies. This was enough to ensure the full obedience of the smaller noble families. These smaller clans could, in theory, stand up to the supreme power if they united. However, riven by petty squabbles, mutual distrust, a desire to break out higher, they would not last a few days in one formation. There would have been a squabble for supremacy, at the very least. And betrayal for personal gain.

It would take something really serious to unite the lesser nobles against the crown. And it is the job of a wise king to prevent such a thing.

But that was in ordinary times. Now, in the blessed kingdom of Re-Estiz, there was the same war for power. The king was old and ill, and there were three legitimate candidates, each with his own flair.

The eldest son was supported by the oldest, most militarily reputable families, descendants of those who had once conquered this land. Their military strength on the scale of the kingdom could only compare to their own hubris. The eldest prince himself had neither a great intellect nor any political accomplishments, but he was extremely convenient for the militarists.

The nobility, who made gold and intrigue their weapons, bet on the middle son. This candidate for the throne, unlike the first, did not have much military power under his belt. But this did not make him a mere rival in the struggle for power. His invisible influence extended farther than pikemen and mounted knights could reach.

The third candidate was a princess. Beautiful, as princesses should be, Daimon had even seen her from afar once. As a lady, she had rather low political weight. The nobles viewed her solely as a way to become related to the crown, a one-time card. And yet - she was truly loved by the people. And not just for her pretty eyes. She offered a lot of initiatives aimed at making life easier for the common people. And even if the vast majority of these initiatives were sabotaged at all levels, the part that gained force could not be ignored. For example, the abolition of peasant ownership. The peasant now had the right to leave the vicinity of the village without having to ask the feudal lord for permission. Also, the peasant could now possess the property themselves. There was also a fixed limit of tax penalties in peacetime. The same goes for the legislated duties of feudal lords to maintain order on their lands.

Of course, it could not bring her popularity among the nobility. But it would also be a foolish idea to press directly on a person for whom half the country would rise in one day.

The fact that the king was in no hurry to name a specific heir to the crown added drama to the situation.

Daimon told it all a little differently, but that's the way Talik understood the whole picture.

Rivalry at the top is eternal. Regardless of the world.

During the journey, Talik could hardly keep himself from pestering Era with talk. She had made it clear early on that she was not interested in Talik as a companion. Still, he couldn't help it. Era beckoned him. So intimately unapproachable, a figure concealed by a wide erudition. Rather, she was even closest to the notion of a "normal girl" in Talik's usual sense.

And like any normal girl, she was cold to him. It gnawed at him, settling in his chest a rattling mixture of the usual hopelessness and hope.

What attracted him besides sensual interest? Era was a magician, after all. Not a button smasher, but someone who understood how it worked. And though the magic available to her was frankly worthless by the standards of Yggdrasil, her skills were a personal achievement. Talik had decided long ago that once things were back to normal, he would try to get everything she knew about magic out of her.

'Well, yes, I realize she's not the only magician in the world, there are cooler ones. Common sense, fuck off, please. I like her, that's all.'

At the end of the third day, a manor house appeared from the hill. It wasn't as big as Talik had expected, just a three-story building. Two stories of stone, the third of wood. Nearby were several outbuildings. The grounds of the manor are surrounded by a relatively low, one-and-a-half tall, but the solid wall with spikes on top. Literally, a kilometer from the estate was a visible village, rather large by local standards, almost a hundred houses. The village was fenced with a log paling, from which immediately began squares of fields and a couple of orchards.

The travelers breathed a sigh of relief and headed for the gate. There was no problem - the guards clearly knew who they were and why they were here. They were allowed into the courtyard, and after a few minutes, a servant jumped out of the main house, inviting them inside.

Talik noticed that the interior of the house was not particularly bright either. The owner of the house clearly wanted to emphasize his status: there were paintings and tapestries in the corridors, while the reception hall, a huge room two stories high, had carpets and skins decorating the floor and walls. On the walls hung the heads of some beasts and painted weapons. But these efforts did not conceal the wooden floor, the cracks in the walls, the spot where the torches were held.

If he wanted to make an impression, why not do a proper renovation instead of all these decorations?

A large table was already covered with tablecloths in the hall, but there was no food on it yet. At the head of the table sat a thin, aged man with a long moustache.

"I suppose you are the adventurers the guild promised to send. I am Baron Gall, the owner of this region. Sit down. Dinner's almost ready. You can leave your gear at the entrance, they'll take it to your rooms."

The adventurers removed their backpacks and bags and sat down at the table. Daimon crossed his fingers and leaned his elbows on the tabletop.

"I am Daimon, lord Gall, and this is my team, Era, Bryce, and Thaler. If you don't mind, I'd like to get right to the point. I have some questions about your... Contract."

"Do you respect time? I like that. Ask your questions."

"The order states that we need to catch and kill a necromancer who poses a threat to your region. We can do it much faster if we know some details - who this necromancer is, what he threatens, where he might be. That's it."

Baron thought about it.

"I met this necromancer a month ago. He appeared under the guise of a traveler, a student of the Imperial Academy, who got into trouble and was lost from his caravan. He was an interesting, noble, and open-minded man. I offered him a place to stay with me. A few days later, the peasants began to complain of strange noises from the cemetery. The guards found the graves there desecrated. Of course, I immediately questioned my guest, but he swore that he had had nothing to do with it. Anyway, I asked him to leave my land. He disappeared that night, and some of the villagers saw him heading in the direction of the Katze Plains, and not away from them as one would expect. After that, some dead men rose up in the cemetery and made quite a mess of the village nearby, you could see it."

"The place was consecrated by a high-ranking priest from E-Rantel, and such a thing could not have happened by itself, not even under the influence of the curse of the plains. Nine peasants and two guards died before the threat was neutralized. Now more than forty people are sick with some kind of disease, which the local herbalist says is of magical origin. I have sent for the priest; he has not yet deigned to arrive." - He gritted his teeth.

"I made inquiries at the place where this student was supposedly going. They know nothing of this man. I believe that he is responsible for the misfortunes of my lands and wish him dead. If he is alive, he needs water, food, and a place to sleep. Under these circumstances, I suppose you will have to look close to my settlements. I do not think a living man would be able to go deep into the plains."

" I understand you, Lord Gall," Daimon replied. "Thank you for the detailed information. We will begin our search tomorrow. Do you have any belongings from your guest? Something he used or, better yet, his personal belongings?"

"No personal belongings left, but I'll instruct the servants to look for something... Lingerie, dishes, maybe we'll find something. Oh, he borrowed a desk set. We'll get it for you."

"It would help a lot in the search, we would appreciate it."

"If you need anything else, let me know right away."

At this time, several servants appeared from the depths of the house with trays. The adventurers, with the exception of Talik, clearly perked up. Era cooked comparatively well... for a camping trip. It couldn't be compared to a well-cooked meal from the kitchen.

And Talik didn't care. He had not yet learned to distinguish between "more tasty" and "less tasty". He was happy to eat anything.

After dinner, the adventurers gathered in one of the rooms assigned to them. It was like the rest of the manor, simple but pretentious. Era sat on the bed, and the others took the chairs beside it. Daimon paused for a moment and began the 'council'.

"What do you think about it? Surely everyone has an opinion, please share it."

Era raised her hand, and Daimon nodded,

"I'm not sure it would be that easy to find him from a trace of magic. If our target showed any common sense, we won't find invisible traces. And it's hard enough with personal things, and here... I think we should check all the local cemeteries ourselves. I don't know about necromancy, but there might be other clues."

"Got it. Bryce, what do you think?"

"It's nothing new. I'll run through the villages, ask around for the oddities. Bounty hunting, as usual."

"Taler, do you have any thoughts?" Daimon looked intently at the new member of the team.

Thaler chewed his lips, looking away, and then answered.

"I'm new to this, so don't judge me harshly. I... I think the conclusion is premature. To me, his guilt is not obvious, and I think it makes sense to talk to him first."

Bryce snorted.

"That's a lot of coincidences for doubts, kid. We might talk to this "traveler," but only if he surrenders. Otherwise, to talk to a hostile mage is only to give him time to kill you."

"I told you, don't judge me harshly. Daimon asked, I answered. Anyway, if it comes to a fight, I know my job very well. You can rely on me."

"Glad to hear it," summed up Daimon. "So, Bryce, you're going on a scouting trip early in the morning. Look through the cemeteries and note where the graves are desecrated, so that we don't waste time."

"I will, leader."

"Era, you try to squeeze something out of the writing set, start today if you're not too tired"

"I was hoping to get some sleep, but okay, I'll get to it now."

"Okay. I'll go talk to the commander of the local soldiers myself. Tell them to be ready for trouble, just in case."

Bryce stretched out skeptically.

"What good are they if the shitty undead killed two of them?"

"Shitty undead?" Daimon raised an eyebrow. "Remind me again how we got beaten up by shitty undead in the Cursed Forests"

"That's different, leader. If the same undead comes in here as out there, I'll fuck such a quest."

Taler could hardly suppress a chuckle, and the others noticed it.

"Sorry, I couldn't resist. That sounded so familiar. Don't mind me. Do you have any instructions for me?"

Daimon asked doubtfully.

"Do you have any ideas on how you can help not in combat?"

"Well, I can try to brew some holy water..."

"Holy water?" Three pairs of astonished eyes stared at Taler. "What do you mean?"

Taler was embarrassed.

"Well, in short, to charge the water with Light Power. The undead don't really like to be exposed to such water. It can be useful."

"I've never heard of it, but I'd love to see what you can make," Daimon said with satisfaction. "Do you need any ingredients to make it?"

"A couple of bottles, preferably fragile, so it's easy to break. But I could do with a wineskin, in principle..."

"Bryce quickly unhooked the waterskin from his backpack and handed it to Taler. He accepted and nodded."

"That'll work, I think."

Dimon summed it up.

"Everyone knows what to do. We'll start at dawn. Now, everyone except Era, go to the rooms and sleep."

Later, as Talik was settling into his assigned room, Spy approached him.

"Your Holiness, forgive me for disturbing you. I think someone is watching this house."

"Talik arched an eyebrow and looked around reflexively."

"Who?"

"I can't tell yet. There, outside the window," the elf pointed upward, "there's a bird flying. It's been following the same route since we arrived. I guess it's the same one, too, I can tell by the feathers."

"Really," Talik said in surprise. "Then check the area around, please. If you find someone suspicious, disarm and report at once. If you get into a fight and realize you're not strong enough, get out. No heroics."

"I obey, Your Holiness."

The elf disappeared, and Talik picked up the bag of water Bryce had given him.

How can I sanctify it so that I don't get totally busted...

In the usual game, he had the ability to sanctify water, this ability was opened by any supporter at level 60, regardless of the class. It was not very useful, though. Blessed water retained its properties for no too long and took up a lot of space in the inventory. One could put up with it if it was of any use at high levels. Holy Water was designed as a debuff and "damage over time" on the undead, but without the investment of extra talent points, it had a vanishingly weak effect. Well, on undead comparable to the caster level, of course.

How it would work in a world with such weak monsters was to be found out. Talik put the wineskin on the table, concentrated, and made a couple of passes over it, applying a "spell" from the game's arsenal. The wineskin flickered with a barely perceptible light and quickly returned to its original state.

Talik unsealed it and poured some of the water into a glass and examined the contents skeptically. The water was slightly luminescent. It was especially noticeable in the gathering dusk.

He just blurted it out. Now I can't get away with it, I have to show it. Okay, I'll say something about restrictions.

He poured the water back into the waterskin and collapsed on the bed to wait. There was nothing to do; he had already made contact with the City. Contacting the former NPCs just to chat was a stupid idea. These fellows saw some sacred meaning in his every sneeze, and he could not have an idle chit-chat with them.

After a while, he realized that he felt some uneasiness at the edge of his consciousness. It was hard to tell what it was exactly. It just seemed like he was missing something.

Hmm...

[message]

"Spy, what do you have there?"

"Nothing serious, Your Holiness. I found no sign of anyone who could control the bird, and the bird itself has disappeared."

"I see. You say it's nothing serious, but what's about not serious?"

"Weak undead headed from the east in your direction. Seven units of 25-28 levels. Ghouls, or something like that, will be here in about an hour at this rate. Any orders for them?"

"Where are they going, to the settlement or to the estate?"

"It's hard to say yet."

"Make sure they come to the manor."

"It will be done, Your Holiness."

Talik interrupted the [message].

Daimon 19, Era 15, Bryce level 17. Technically, the undead of such caliber would smudge them and not notice them, but they have me.

Talik was looking forward to his first adventure together. Of course, that wasn't very fair. Given his hundredth level, but no one knew that yet. Especially since his case was more of a safety net, he wasn't going to personally punch small ghouls in the face anyway. Good company, in any case, is more interesting than the balance. And besides, he wanted to see the adventurers in action. He was fairly certain they would be brought in to clean up the "invasion" of the undead. And, of course, he hoped that his usefulness in battle would break the ice in relationship with Era.

Only three things remained unclear - who was watching them, whether it was connected with the visit of an extremely powerful undead by local standards, and whether this anxiety was a reaction of the "new" organism to the presence of undead. If the latter is true, that's pretty good radar.

And who was watching, he'll see later. If it was Talik who was being followed (which is unlikely, he hasn't left much of a trace yet), he wasn't going to hide forever anyway. His presence in the world will be discovered one way or another by those concerned. If not already detected.

The portals, for example. Talik didn't like them for a reason. Any kind of spatial magic, unless it was a super level, could be detected in multiple ways. If someone tried hard enough, they could even detect an exit point. And a couple of times he'd run into a well-prepared ambush, and once he'd lost a few levels and a lot of expensive gear.

So if there is a power comparable to the Dawn Mist here, it already knows about the use of portal magic. Considering the fact that the "isekai" here consistently appear at least once every two hundred years, anyone can put two and two together and figure out what's going on.

All that's left is to provoke them into any contact and find out who we have to deal with.

* * *

Era wrestled with the writing, trying to extract the "echoes of power" from them. Only an amateur would think that such a thing was easy.

Use one type of reagent to find out if an object was actually touched by a dark-powered magician. A negative result is absolutely no guarantee that there was no interaction. It simply means that the magic is not imprinted on the object. The most common result, in fact. The object had to be strongly influenced so that something would remain in it. For example, if you wrote a spell scroll with a pen once, the pen MAY have retained its imprint. Or, more precisely, it MAY be detectable.

Then use other reagents to find out what kind of magic left an imprint. And do not confuse the magic of Light with the magic of Life or Water, for example. The reaction is almost the same.

Using third reagents, find out how much force was applied during the interaction and for how much time. A layman will always overlook this question, and in vain. Because without this analysis it is impossible to be sure whether the object interacted with one mage or several. And if one managed to pick out one echo of power among all the imprints, that leaves the most interesting part.

An echo of power remembers whose it is, in fact, a part of the owner. Based on previous analyses, by imagining who left the imprint, a piece of its essence can be used to reach the imprint itself and make divination. Which, theoretically, can give an indication of where the magician is at the moment of divination.

Era struggled with the first stage, having already consumed nearly a third of the minerals. Not very expensive and not very rare in their natural form, but to grind them to the right condition is a titanic task. If she uses up all of them, she'll have to grind the next stockpile for a week. And this reagent is needed for quite a number of procedures...

The wicked pen and inkwell did not produce a definite result, either negative or positive. Overall the situation was normal, but it was late at night and she wanted to sleep. Era was annoyed as hell. If she hadn't been ironclad in Daimon and the fact that he never set tasks for nothing, she would have given up long ago and fallen asleep.

She didn't even pay attention to the sound of the alarm and the shouting outside the window. It was only after a minute, realizing that some noise was adding to the annoyance, that Era finally noticed the alarm outside. She habitually covered the loose powders with the lid and went to the window.

The manor guards were running around the courtyard with torches in visible disarray. One of them, clearly the commander, gesticulated widely and swore profusely, giving instructions on where to go and what to do.

"What the hell is going on here?" The Sorceress raised an eyebrow.

She listened to her internal sensations. Not that her power source was very sensitive, but she could sometimes sense the presence of magic nearby. The core was silent, and it was hoped that it would be without magical creatures.

There was a demanding knock at the door, and Era routinely channeled power into her palm. After her recent adventure with the slave trader, it had become a reflex. The next time something like that happened, her lightning would strike without the slightest hesitation.

"Era, this is Daimon. There is some very strong undead coming, so get ready to fight. I'll be in the courtyard in a minute," and the heavy footsteps sounded as they moved swiftly away.

What the... I knew it, I knew it. You can't work with aristocrats. It's always trouble, and then they'll be late with the payment. Damn it.

She quickly pulled on her robe and picked up her new staff. It was weak compared to her previous favorite, but it was new, unscratched by magic. That was the eternal problem with wizards of great power - even very good wood burned with mana current, becoming flimsy and losing its original abilities as a conductor. She could not yet afford a staff of any other material.

The rest of the adventurers were already present in the courtyard. Everyone was packed, even that weirdo Thaler didn't look as if he'd just regained his sight yesterday.

"There you are. All right. In a nutshell, seven undead were spotted in the vicinity. At least, according to the sentinel, they're ghouls. I don't know if I can trust him, but don't underestimate the threat. They come straight here and will soon be at the walls. The guard's job is to prevent them from getting over the wall and fleeing if any of them make it through. We'll deal with the ones who get over. Any questions?"

"Daimon, ghouls are a little out of our caliber," Bryce remarked cautiously. "We can handle seven of them one by one. But if there are more than two in one place, we're screwed, you know that."

"Yes. So if more than one breaks through, we'll retreat to the house and take them in the corridors. The guards already know what to do, all the servants are getting ready to flee."

"So be it," Bryce agreed, and then he continued. "Second question. Does this Gaul understand that we're not going to take this fight for free? We've been contracted for a very different task."

"He understands. I'm not sure he'll pay right away, but the Guild will bill him. Yes, I know you don't like it," he gestured to Bryce, who barely inhaled. "We have a very good chance of winning anyway. If we leave, we won't win anything."

Bryce raised his palms in silence. Daimon listened and continued.

"Taler, what's up with your, what's it called, "holy water"? It's not dancing with skeletons, any advantage will come in handy."

Taler picked up the waterskin.

"Here. I'm not sure if it will work, but it's worth a try. The ritual... was exhausting."

Era silently let the discharge pass from her palm to the top of the staff. After the flash and the pop, there was a thick smell of thunder. The guards on the walls turned anxiously.

She had nothing to add. Daimon always tried to make time for a pre-flight briefing, it became a sort of tradition. It was very reassuring in any situation. Now Era was fully confident in her abilities and the ensuing picture of the battle.

It did not take long to wait for the first enemy. From one of the walls came the sound of anxious screams and the clang of weapons. The guards were doing their duty fair, but dealing with the high-ranking undead without magical equipment... They didn't stand a chance. They began to rapidly retreat from the section of the wall.

And at that moment, Era displeased the situation even more. It wasn't a ghoul.

The long, deceptively thin arms appeared above the wall, followed immediately by an indescribably ugly head, covered with blisters and sores. Half of its face was an open mouth, from which a bluish, elbow-length tongue dangled through a real pile of crooked, sharp teeth. The undead seemed to pelt the entire courtyard with a heavy stench with a noisy inhale and exhale.

With an elusive movement, the undead stretched out a long arm and clawed at the head of the hesitant guard. There was a wet crunch mixed with a metallic clang, and in the next moment, a human body in armor flew like a wet rag into the courtyard.

The creature licked its bloody paw and squealed deafeningly. Quickly the rest of its torso appeared. It was just as thin, covered in solid sores, with an eerily swollen, throbbing belly. As it tumbled over the wall, the monster clearly caught on one of the long prongs and twitched rapidly, trying to get off it.

Daimon instantly weighed the situation and roared loudly.

"Get off the walls! Everybody in the house, now!"

There was no need to repeat it, the guards drifted off the walls and quickly made their way into the house. Daimon beckoned to the older man.

"We talked about barricades and stakes. Get started right away. We'll hold them off as long as we can, but don't expect miracles!"

The soldier nodded and rushed into the building. Soon there were commands as short as barks and the clatter of furniture. The adventurers retreated to the entrance of the building.

Meanwhile, with the same unhurried grace, the rest of the creatures appeared over the walls, surveying the courtyard.

"Bryce," Daimon commanded. "Run around the place, see if they're still coming in."

Bryce nodded and was about to run, but Taler interfered.

"There is no need. I feel there are no others."

"Are you sure?" Daimon turned to him very seriously.

"Absolutely."

"I'll trust your instincts. Bryce, then hides and waits for the right moment. As you always do."

The assassin disappeared. Era, as usual, failed to keep track of the moment. There he was, she blinked, and he was gone.

"Era, check them.'

The sorceress concentrated and let her long-formed magic off the leash. The staff obediently vibrated, releasing a blinding, twisting whip at the head of one of the monsters. It smelled of thunder and burning meat, but the monster seemed only enraged by the blow. Shaking its blackened head, it shook the surroundings with a high-pitched screech, then scrambled back up the wall as fast as it could. Unlike the first, it didn't get stuck on the spike, skirting around it with obvious conscientiousness.

Era liked what was happening less and less. She knew the effect of her spells accurately enough, and in this case, it went against normal. She began to quickly recall the interior layout of the building. There was no chance of victory here. Only fleeing.

Daimon seemed to agree. But knowing him, she knew this stubborn sheep wouldn't run away. Until he was sure that everyone who couldn't stand up for themselves had left the dangerous place, he would stand his ground to the death.

As she watched the monsters, despite their nightmarish, unsteady figures, climb over the walls with some grace, she remembered an old arrangement. Back at the beginning of her career, when she was a runaway undergrad, he'd said he could die like this. Covering a retreat. And he didn't want to drag those who had a chance to leave with him.

It was obvious they couldn't win, but... She didn't see in herself the willingness to leave him and run. Not after all they'd been through together. Well, she'd give it her all. Monsters kill fast, judging by that guard.

She turned to Taler, who was frowning.

"Taler, run. We can't withstand it. We'll hold them off as long as we can. You have no reason to die here with us."

However, the new member of the team, still maintaining an inimitable calm, surprisingly dropped.

"Run away? From them? Hmm..."

He whispered something and put his palms together.

In the next moment, it was as if a wave of power was spreading from him. Era had never felt anything like that before. It was as if a cool breeze had blown over her after a hot day. The spark

of power that had been translating her thoughts into devastating spells suddenly turned into a roaring conflagration.

All the doubts, the fear, the sense of helplessness in front of unknown monsters seemed simply ridiculous. Her veins were filled with wild, frenzied power, just waiting for a willful command. Her body and mind became astonishingly light, her thoughts obedient, and her memory servilely highlighted every detail of known formulas.

Death? It's doesn't matter.

She drew up a new flux formula on the fly and directed the raging elemental toward the target. Oh, now it was real lightning, not a fake. A branching whip as thick as her arm struck the nearest monster, immediately swooping down to the next, and beyond. The sound made a cotton whistle settle in my ears that didn't let anything else through, but none of that mattered.

She felt the power, savored it, showering the undead with merciless, well-aimed blows. The bolts of lightning passed through the monsters' bodies, leaving holes in them and severing their limbs. Their movements seemed unsteady, their slowness no longer deceptive.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noted the actions of her companions. They were clearly on the move, too - Daimon was quickly at the center of the monsters' attention. Their attacks, once seemingly deadly, were playfully deflected with his shield or simply evaded them. He responded to every attack with his sword or his shield, and it was obvious that the monsters had a hard time staying on their feet.

Bryce flashed here and there as a tattered shadow. He appeared as if from nowhere behind the enemy's back, stabbing his daggers into the joints in a flash, then disappearing and reappearing to continue the deadly dance.

The monsters were not weak, oh no. They didn't give up easily. The undead doesn't know how to give up; they always fight to the very end, until they crumble to pieces or are put to rest. Their bodies were tougher than they looked.

Still, they didn't stand a chance. Under the furious lightning strikes, first one fell motionless, then another. Daimon counterattacked, ripping the belly of the third. Undead lost his balance, and Bryce's momentary hesitation was enough to slice through his neck vertebrae. Daimon severed the head from his body with the next lunge.

After a few minutes, there were no more creatures left that could even stand. Daimon and Bryce check the bodies, chopping off the ugly heads and limbs.

Era was stunned. The fire in her was still there, though it felt like it wouldn't stay with her for long. She was painfully reluctant to let go of that power and return to her usual state, which now seemed pathetic and worthless. The staff had crumbled into embers at the start of the fight, and from then on she beat it straight from her hands. Looking at them now, she was sorry to feel the flow of power literally slipping through her fingers.

"What was that...?" The question was unanswered, but an answer followed nonetheless.

"Blessings of the Old Ones. Isn't that cool?"

Taler walked past her to the rest of the guys, glancing over at her. She caught a fleeting, strange smile, and realized that now, at last, she could remember his face.

RiP · Sep 8, 2021

Chapter 12

A spiny insect, like a cross between a horned beetle and a hornet, hovered with a crackle, dispersing the stuffy, chilly air. About the size of a grown man's finger, it buzzed its wings much louder than you'd expect from a creature of its size. Maybe it was the good acoustics of the tomb, though. Or maybe it was the fact that there were thousands of miniature monsters like it flying and crawling all over the room.

The insect swung from side to side in the air, obeying a silent order, and took another turn. The creature was not interested in the meaning of what was happening, it just did what its master wanted. If it understood the command.

Marius glanced around the tomb. The stale peace was disturbed by the stirring, ominous humming, and crackling of hordes of mindless predators. They crawled over bas-reliefs, columns, magic lamps, and joints of marble in the floor. A cloud of tiny killers hovered between the vaulted ceiling, tens of meters high, and the floor.

Marius put his finger up. The insect immediately sat on it and froze.

Lich was disappointed. Not for the first time. He expected more from this spell.

[Unholy Swarm]

From what he knew of this spell, it meant that the caster's will summoned many undead insects, whose bites poisoned and infected the target with a variety of diseases. The swarm is obedient to the caster's will and capable of executing simple commands. Move, attack, rest.

It was one of his priority spells, and he always used and maintained it from the beginning of the battle. Of course, it was on the list of the first to be tested in the changed conditions. And here he received another blow to his ego.

Marius realized that he had no idea how it works. Between the moment in which he wished to summon the Swarm, and the moment in which the creatures crawled out of every crevice, there were processes going on that were hidden from him. Where do the soldiers of the Swarm come from? What is the nature of the diseases they spread? Where do their instincts, contrary to the logic of survival, come from? What connects his mental command to their actions?

He had hoped to find answers to these questions by studying the Swarm now, but he failed. There was a given - using the spell gave the stated result. There were more opportunities to control it than he remembered, but here it was more a matter of never thinking about atypical use before. There was simply no reason to give non-combat orders.

It was humiliating, unacceptable, and... It was a fact. He was just using a tool without knowing how it works. Yes, it was possible to justify himself with a simple explanation. The Lords of the Dawn had given him this spell. Everything in the past world was of their will, and it seems little has changed now. A universal axiom, requiring no proof.

But to accept such an explanation now meant to sign away his personal inability to comprehend the essence of things. To admit his limitations, to deny his intellectual superiority over the other vassals. To lose the advantage and reject the dream of becoming something more than the gatekeeper to the blessed abode of the last Lord.

These thoughts made it almost physically painful.

The dream of seeing the world through the eyes of the omnipotent Lords has cracked. How can he comprehend the absolute essence if he cannot even make sense of that which is part of him?

And so it was with everything. It had been a week since the Prophet had left Dawn City, and the entire week had been devoted to research and testing. A complete failure. In everything. All spells and skills worked as they should, with some variation in power, area of effect, and duration. No more than that. The mystery of processes remained a mystery. Only the action and the result were revealed to him.

Swarm, sensing the sluggish flare of his anger, flinched, ready to lunge at his target and tear it to shreds. Marius scolded himself for intemperance and calmed down. The globular cloud beneath the ceiling returned to its smooth rotation.

As he snapped the insect off his finger, Marius looked at his apprentice.

Lias sat on the floor, staring calmly at the lich hovering opposite him. The swarm didn't come within arm's length of him, Marius had ordered it.

In these days, Lias had changed his attitude toward apprenticeship, accepting it for what it was. Marius was pleased with this fact. The man's calm and fearlessness in front of the world revealed to him avoided tedious training. Of course, this balance of mind did not come as a free gift. He lost a lot of weight, his hair turned white, and he began to sleep and eat with complete indifference to the process. Though, from Marius' point of view, this was a vanishingly insignificant change.

With his inner vision (which again he could not explain), Marius saw other changes in him. The faintly shimmering source of power, at first merely unpleasant, grew stronger and larger. It had gained a kind of purity that somehow didn't irritate the lich, though it was the opposite of undead nature. The soul became more firmly attached to its physical form.

"Did you read the book I gave you yesterday?" said the lich.

"No, mentor, I have only just begun. The knowledge in it is very difficult to understand, and I have only just begun to grasp it."

"A mere two hundred pages of simple theses." Marius put a bony palm to his face. "Schematics and step-by-step instructions. What is it you couldn't understand?"

"Forgive me, I'm sorry to disappoint you, mentor." Lias pulled a book out of his bag, wrapped in a soft gray cloth. "I got stuck at the beginning. Here, the first diagram, the layout of the power lines..."

Lias opened the page he was looking for. A Sign of Power, one of the basic components for applying magic beyond the caster's level. A chain of such signs was required to outline the area in which the spell would be cast. Once inside the outlined area, Lias, whose maximum was rank 2 magic, could apply a third.

Marius remembered every page of every book in his necropolis perfectly. The first day after his meeting with the Prophet, he reread everything he could reach. This drawing was garishly and inaccurately drawn, as, in general, were many others. Surprisingly, the different copies of the same books were absolutely identical. The drawing, drawn by an amateur and clearly by hand, was resolutely indistinguishable from the same drawing in other volumes. A deliberate inaccuracy on the part of the great calligrapher? A thoughtless copying by means of unknown tools? So many questions and no answers.

"I guess you were confused by the fuzzy lines and floating angles here and here. I can understand that. I constantly overestimate your intelligence... Here's a note and a footnote, and on the other side of the page are clear numbers that should be used as a starting point for plotting. The drawing is only meant to generally visualize the result."

"Thank you, mentor. I'll do my best..."

"Of course you do. From the obvious, I suppose you'll need a drawing tool."

"I will ask Lady Rangeso, if you will let me." Lias bowed respectfully, standing up.

"It makes no sense, her tools are too complicated for you. You'll make mistakes and waste your time. Perhaps it makes sense to send you to the library to the alive..."

It was obvious that the kid's shoulders trembled with hope.

"Do you hope not to return? Leave your vain hopes and avoid painful regrets. You are in my hands, and this state of affairs can only change for one reason"

"Which one...?"

"By the highest order of the Prophet. He has entrusted you to me. You are my disciple until he commands otherwise."

Lias bowed silently, and some hesitation did not escape Marius.

"Is there something you want to ask me?"

"Yes, if you'll excuse me."

"I will."

"The Prophet... Is this the faceless gentleman who sent me to you?"

"Faceless... I hear that definition again. Yes, that's him."

"I would like to know more about him, if possible."

"Perhaps later. Right now, you're still incapable to realize what he is."

"Is he... God?"

Marius burst into a rage and immediately cooled down.

"You are thinking in terms of a weak creature, and your delusions are forgivable. You cannot compare the power of those who influence the world according to its rules with those who create those rules. The Prophet is of the latter. For now, just accept that fact. Now go."

Lias nodded respectfully and headed for the exit, hidden in the shadows.

Marius returned to the research of the Swarm. He had already figured out that he could control not only the whole Swarm but also a single element of it. Now it was necessary to find out if he could break the Swarm into more than two parts and control them simultaneously...

After a while, he noticed some changes in his perception. There was a feeling that someone else was present in the crypt. Marius ordered Swarm to fill the entire space of the crypt. The insects, chirping aggressively, rushed to carry out the order. Not a single insect encountered an invisible obstacle, which meant that the "presence" was not physical.

Someone whose presence is felt but not palpable, who is not recognized as an enemy, and to whom the crypt's defenses do not react.

Marius relaxed, letting the presence touch his mind.

"Malicriss. I was expecting you earlier"

A cautious stirring of outside thoughts and feelings was felt in his mind.

"I allow you to stand before me. Don't dig any deeper than necessary for the conversation. I am much stronger than you are. In all ways."

An outside current of thought became an image before her eyes. An elven woman with dark purple skin, with silver hair tied in a ponytail. A worn, faded sutana, a cloth blindfold over her eyes. Hands respectfully folded at her belly.

She bowed.

"Thank you for letting me talk to you, Gatekeeper. I'm sorry if I was impolite."

"I guess you didn't come out of your hole for etiquette."

"That's right." Malicriss straightened up, showing an enviably proud posture. "I'm here on business. We hadn't spoken in person before, and I chose to be polite. Well, for starters. You say you were expecting me?"

"That's right. A week or so ago, you appeared like that to Draga. Whatever the goal, I'm guessing you didn't achieve it. And given your reputation, you don't have much choice about who else to contact."

Malicris smiled weakly.

"Do you think I'm guilty of betrayal, too?"

"You committed it on direct orders from Lady Lilim. It wasn't your choice. The others think it was a collaboration, but I find it ridiculous. Like a murderer plotting with a knife."

"You don't think I'm guilty?"

"No. But I think you have no right to exist because you constitute a precedent for the unacceptable. Nevertheless, this is my personal opinion. Since the Lords have deemed otherwise, I can only humbly accept their will."

"You don't hate me?" Malicriss smiled guiltily.

"There's no reason for that. Leave these attempts to influence me through mimics and tone. I've been dead a long time, and I'm not interested in such games. Why are you here?"

Drow hummed, returning the cold expression to her face

I want to know what's going on. Something has changed, and I'm sure you understand far better than anyone else what has happened. You're dispassionate, intelligent, and open-minded. I can't imagine who else to talk to. Draga hasn't fulfilled expectations, it's true.

"Why didn't you contact me right away?"

"I had a definite plan that did not include a clever assistant. It failed."

"I suppose the plan was to remind the Prophet of your existence so that he would reconsider his sentence?"

"I know you think all Lords are flawless, but... They really are capable of forgetting unimportant things."

"A big misconception based on superficial judgment. But it doesn't matter. In a nutshell, our world ceased to exist, and the Dawn City with all its surrounding territories is now in another world. The basic theory is that the Prophet, at the moment of the demise of our world, transported us all to the other world. He himself has made it clear that he does not support this version."

"What do you think?"

"This is still only a hypothesis, confirmed only indirectly. It is subject to change."

"I'm sure of your judgment."

"Be that as it may. I believe that we did not begin our actual existence until that very moment, or rather a few nanoseconds after it. I'm not sure yet. I have analyzed all the data available to me and find too many inconsistencies. Our history before the death of the world and the actual state of affairs at this moment do not allow us to accept the generally accepted idea of transference as it is."

"That explains a lot. Lords are capable of more than that..."

"Right. Our creation, according to some sketches, fits quite well into the whim of a higher being. It is too early to tell more than that."

"Is there any information about the world we are in?"

"Poor and inaccurate. Based on the information I got from a few natives... in the High dialect, I guess you could say it's "a miserable sandbox with trash loot and no tough guards".

"The High Dialect... It has not been lost during my imprisonment, it makes me happy. I didn't expect to hear it again." Malicriss's smile had a touch of real joy in it.

"As long as I exist, I won't let it disappear," the lich bowed gallantly. "So you've heard my side of the story. Now satisfy my curiosity. What are you planning?"

"Well..." Malicriss grinned coldly, raising her face to the ceiling. "First, to take my place. I want recognition and power. In absolute terms, to rule in His name and for His glory."

"Daring ambition for a prisoner with the mark of a traitor," Marius remarked sarcastically.

"Daring doesn't mean empty. You have ambitions too, and we are on our way."

"Are you offering a partnership?" sniffed the lich.

"Rather, friendship and alliance. We can be very useful to each other."

"And what good are you to me?"

"If you help me gain power... This is a new unknown world. Not everyone will bow to us, there will be many wars. You will take whatever you want. Books, scrolls, research, materials, countless bodies, living and dead. Anything that can provide you first after the Prophet."

"It's tempting. And what do you expect in return?"

"Your intelligence, your power, and your influence. First, get me out of the cells. I'll need your help later, but I won't burden you too much."

"If you start fighting for power the way I think you will anger the Prophet. What do you think I would do in that case?"

"Will you destroy me? I have no objection. All I can promise you is that I won't do anything stupid like a rebel. One such mistake is enough. I want the approval and recognition of the Prophet, not his wrath."

"I should warn you that Wilhelm wants the same thing you do. And I predict that Illadria will support him. It won't be easy to compete with them, even for you."

"Don't think about it. I can handle it. They don't have you. I do."

"If look at it with an open mind, you might succeed. Wilhelm is mundane and petty, Illadria is naive and has no ambition, Draga has no influence, Warboss doesn't care about this mess at all, he just wants war..." Marius scratched the knuckles on his chin. "You definitely have a chance."

"I'm glad you understand that. Let's discuss the details..."

* * *

Wilhelm loved luxury. Not flashy and flamboyant, in the sort of "all the most expensive things in a pile," which, on the contrary, made him a little squeamish. He liked real, quiet luxury that could not be faked or imitated.

In his workplace, everything suited his tastes. Massive furniture made of rare stone, polished parquet, fluffy carpet, literally beaming with purity. High windows overlooking the palace square, half-covered by burgundy curtains with gold embroidery. On the walls are portraits of the Lords and a tapestry with the symbol of the guild.

In a nice environment and work is well.

Wilhelm stretched broadly, leaning back in his chair. On the massive marble table in front of him was a stack of papers that had already been signed. He was done with the business of the day.

The end of the week was like an endless marathon. The euphoria of the "Event" was gone, but his duties as governor remained. He had a huge pile of things to do. Civil, economic, and military problems demanded his attention. And he was surprised to note that he had never worked so hard before.

Most of the civil inquiries he simply rejected with a glance. There was neither the desire nor the time to waste time on the personal troubles of citizens. The rapidly accumulating appeals of this kind were put aside for the time being.

But there were appeals that could not be ignored.

The cunning merchant invested in several stores. He got debtors and started demanding concessions from them, which, in fact, he was not entitled to. Nothing contradicts the Lords' established order if you look at the general rules. But to allow an ordinary merchant to gain the power to demand something from other citizens? They need a solution that, on the one hand, will restrain the insolent businessman, but, on the other hand, will not be simply the arbitrariness of the authorities. A new law is needed that would clarify the rights and obligations of citizens in the field of investment.

A family of draconians complains of the constant noise near the central lake. The Lords have established that half the shore is set aside for masonry, and it used to be fine. Now the other half is where the guards used to gather after their shifts. It's a beautiful winery with a great view of the lake; why not, and it's close to the barracks. But the eggs need silence, or they might hatch early, and that's not good for the cubs. Everyone is right, a compromise is necessary.

Orcs. A small gang went for a walk in town, got drunk, lost their commander, and stole an anvil from the blacksmith. They do not remember why. The commander woke up, caught the hooligans, and told them to drag it back, but the scandal had already been raised. Warboss promised to take action, but we need to figure out how to calm the blacksmith and avoid this in the future.

Today alone he handled three dozen such cases. He issued two new laws and six decrees, spending a total of almost half a day on these proceedings. And this was just a warm-up.

The army demanded attention. The war machine was suddenly no longer flawless. Starting with little things like reserve equipment. The size and shape of the armor for humans and elves differed significantly from the same parameters for the draconians. Lizards are on average a third as wide and taller than humans and have different body proportions. And while stripping armor from a fallen elf and putting it on a human is no problem, it's not going to work with draconids. Neither would a quick mobilization of the militia. The lack of a uniform standard requires extra attention to supply.

The same is also true for formation training. All three of the Dawn Mist army's species worked well together in training, as long as they only had to maintain their restraining formation. The draconians' tall stature was perfectly counterbalanced by their specific stance.

Problems began when maneuvering the units. The lizards stood out here as well - they needed more room to turn than the others, due to their build and powerful tail. In the old world, it was never even an issue, but now it's become a problem. And it could not be said that the draconians' loss of formation was to blame. One, two, or ten fighters who have lost their basics are one thing. But all at once?

Another quirk of the new world that cannot be left as it is. To deprive lizards of the privilege of serving the Prophet? To deliberately go against the order established by the higher beings? Unacceptable on principle. All the more so because, as soldiers, the draconians were above reproach. Powerful, hardy, able to handle the harshest of battles.

It's good that they eat what everyone else eats. At least there's no ruse.

Wilhelm rubbed his face with his palms. Nutrition was also a problem and, personally, his unforgivable mistake. When he did his calculations, he overlooked an important fact. Orcs and lizards consume significantly more provisions than humans and elves. Farm output, as it now appeared, did not cover consumption. He still had to answer for this failure, and now he tried not to think about how he would justify himself to the Prophet.

Although he, no doubt, had already foreseen everything. As well as many other things. It's about the time most of the orcs went to conquer the forests outside the mountain valley. It was a victorious war, a test of combat effectiveness in a new environment, a bone to the ravenous dogs of war, a smoothing of relations between the leaders of races, and an opportunity to quickly improve weaknesses in the organization without too much distraction to riotous ruffians. And also, a reduction of the food burden.

Wilhelm grimaced and pushed the thought away. In any case, the problem was no longer burning at the moment. Instead of self-blame, he should have thought about how to fix the problem in the long run.

He rose from his chair and pushed the bell on the table with his palm. The oak door immediately opened and a servant appeared in the doorway. Wilhelm, not focusing his attention on him, ordered to prepare a tea table on the main balcony. The servant nodded and disappeared unnoticed.

A new, carefully cultivated habit is to relax with a view of the city after finishing the day's work. What could be better than a wonderful view and a fragrant drink? Only the same, but in good company.

Illadria was already there, taking a seat on the other side of the table. Her very presence suited the setting. The openwork table, the finest gold china, the silent presence of the servant, frozen in the shadows. A white dress.

As he sat down, Wilhelm was once again pleased with her company. It wasn't even the fact that the elf was so damn good-looking and skillfully emphasized it with her clothes and manners. She was a great conversationalist with whom to share a confusing thought, redefining it for herself. She was equal.

"I was already preparing to spend the rest of the evening alone." The enchantress smiled coquettishly and took a bite of her cookie.

"And don't even dream. If you have come, you must bear it." Wilhelm sat down across from her.

"A lot of work?"

"A lot, you know how it is. Sometimes I think that everything is going to hell, and we don't see it yet."

"As long as you're king here, nothing will go anywhere, I'm sure."

"You're right there. But you know, sometimes I wish I could tear myself apart into so many little Wilhelms and be everywhere at once. I could go on and on with the paperwork, follow orders, take requests, supervise road construction, I could go on and on and on."

"Don't tell me you don't like what you do," the elfish girl shot her eyes.

Wilhelm raised his index finger admonishingly.

"That's the authority, baby. I command it, the rest of them obey it. How can you not love it?"

"You're so imposing..." Illadria chuckled into her palm.

"But, no, I'll ask," Wilhelm pretended to be indignant and threw a cookie in his mouth. "You have nothing to do at all, I think."

"Well, that's not true. Do you have any idea how hard it is to get griffins not to tear each other apart when they're not under saddle? Not to mention how to pair them up. At first, it was just a nightmare, they didn't understand who was their enemy and who wasn't. So many people were crippled."

"The lords somehow handled them."

"Yeah. Who are we and who are the Lords."

"Also true. So you say it was bad at first, but how is it now?"

Illadria lit up with pride.

"For now we have a fourth pair, and we can expect eggs from the first pair in a couple of months."

Wilhelm's hands spread in admiration.

"Congratulations. You know who the main candidate for the second chicken is, don't you?"

"I can guess," the elf girl grinned. "I'll put you on the long, long list. You probably won't have time to do it anyway."

"Hey," Wilhelm said indignantly. "It's not funny."

Illadria laughed softly in response to the indignation, and Wilhelm relaxed.

"Actually, I'm not sure what it will look like yet," the elf continued with regret. "The cubs will have to take their example from the adults. And the adults... They are so aggressive, almost wild. They obey very few people, and even then, they are more likely to tolerate them. I'm sure the Prophet could tame them, but..." she spread her hands sadly.

"But the plans of higher beings are not an area in which we can demand anything. I see. Why don't I send in some of the toughest of the elite guards? Drakhs, for example. They're not easily maimed. Perhaps the gryphons need a show of force to show them who's boss. If they don't understand nice, why coddle them?"

"I don't know, we could try, but I won't let them near the ready pairs. These are manageable, but if they get mad, it's all for naught."

"All right, wait for them tomorrow morning. Arrange as you see fit."

They sat in silence for some time, watching the gathering dusk. From the huge balcony, they could see the street lamps lighting up and the warm glow of the windows one by one.

Wilhelm finally broke the silence.

"Can you tell me how it's going out there? Warboss stopped keeping me informed after he tried to send me prisoners."

"Why did you turn him down?"

"I don't want to take care of hordes of wild outsiders. His war, let him sort it out for himself. It won't make any difference in his dumpsite, but I won't let him turn our City into a barbarian camp. That's what I told him. I'm not going to let him turn our city into a barbarian outpost," Wilhelm said.

"You should have been more delicate with an equal," Illadria pointed out tactfully.

Wilhelm was indignant.

"With an orc? More delicate? You've got to be kidding me!"

The sorceress paused for a moment, choosing her words.

"William, you miss the point that your crown does not mean something to everyone. Until the Prophet has not appointed an elder after himself, we senior vassals are equal. And if you spoil your relationship with the Warboss, it will certainly do you no good, do you understand?"

Wilhelm grimaced.

"Yes, I understand. But... Well, the hell with it," he waved his hand. "Anyway, we're not really friends right now, so I don't know what's going on outside the mountains. And you should know too, you've got all the scouting on you. You won't tell me, will you?"

She thoughtfully sipped from her thin cup and began her story.

"In short, everything is according to plan. The Prophet allowed the use of portals for landing, with certain conditions. Orcs hit the biggest settlements on the first day, slaughtering the main local leaders. There is no statehood as such, just parity between the strongest tribes. Goblins, ogres, and trolls mostly, and magically altered beasts. There is also lizardfolk, very far away in

the eastern part, they do not interfere in this squabble, so they are not touched yet."

"Lizardfolk?"

"Yes, like the Draconians, only degenerated. So far I know that they are a primitive communal system, with either the beginnings or the remnants of a developed culture. In any case, their habitat is beyond the limits of the intended conquest. No losses especially, less than a hundred orcs as of this morning. Strong opponents were not met, personal participation of Nobs was needed only twice. After the fall of the main settlements only scattered tribes remained. No one there expected a big war. Especially not so fast. Not all the locals even know exactly what's going on, so the orcs are having all the fun. There are collaborators too, the most far-sighted have recognized the power of the orcs at once, and there are more and more of them. Many are fleeing the forest."

"Wilhelm raised an eyebrow with interest."

"Collaborates? Who are they?"

"Mostly goblins, they are used to serving the stronger. There are also ogres and trolls, but they are few. These almost always stand to the death, surrendering only females with babies. By and large, when you finish the path through the mountains, the forest will be completely under our control."

Wilhelm smoothed his beard thoughtfully.

"This is good, just when there was a shortage of building wood and fuel, and here are the workers at once. And orcs are likely to settle there, the valley will be quieter. Do you know the situation outside the forest? I'd like to know about the neighbors beforehand."

"No intelligence has been done there yet, the information is very sketchy. There are small human settlements along the edge of the forest, and that's where our border runs. The Prophet, as you remember, personally went beyond it, and left no instructions for that. His plans should not be disturbed by unnecessary initiative."

"I am interested in the neighbors because in addition to the current problems there are global ones. The issue of timber is practically solved, but what about fabrics? We won't be able to produce them in the quantities we need. It's the same with paints, clay, and alchemical components. Or silver, gold, iron, coal, even common salt. There hasn't been any deep exploration of the mountains yet, but I can already tell for sure that there are almost no ores or minerals here. Only iron, and not much of it. There are reserves of it all, but they are not bottomless, and it's good to know where to replenish them. Whether it's trade or war, we need to know who we'll be dealing with and think everything through in advance."

"Trust in the Prophet. I'm sure he knows exactly what to do and will show you the way at the right time."

"You're right, but I'm ashamed to rely on Him for anything and everything," Wilhelm said. "We exist to spare Him the trouble of dealing with trivial matters. So I'd prefer to eliminate the problem before it even manifests itself. Or at least have a solution, and preferably more than one."

Illadria put the cup on the saucer and looked bored at the darkened sky.

"And you also want to prove yourself, to be put in charge in his absence."

"Of course. Who else? Warboss? Or Marius, perhaps? Ha! I, and only I, am good for it. I was born for it."

"We've already talked about it, I remember. And don't bother reminding me of our agreement; I remember it, too."

The sorceress stood up smoothly from the table.

"I have to go. It was good to see you."

Wilhelm also stood up.

"I'm glad, too. I'm sorry if I was rude, I'm sorry."

"I'm used to it. I'll see you."

Illadria's figure disappeared into a myriad of rapidly extinguishing fireflies. Wilhelm smoothed his beard again. A remarkable woman. Beauty, intelligence, patience, tact. She would make a far better wife for the Prophet and mother for the heir than a mentally unstable demon.

And much more controllable.

* * *

Twilight was gathering in the Great Forest of Tob. A favorite time for any hunter. Any prey is especially wary at this time. And intelligent ones included.

Ryu, who had recently been the chief hunter, cautiously poked half his face out of the grass over the cliff. The cliff is not that high, four meters, no more. At a distance of two arrow flights a small lake, at the point where the underground river came to the surface. And there was a settlement on the bank. As big as three of Ryu's former settlements.

It's well hidden, all around cliffs and trees up to the sky. If you don't know where it is, you can't find it, you can't see it. Only by the tracks. If the local hunters are fools. And there are no fools here.

But Ryu knew where the settlement was, he had been here before. Other goblins had come from here to Ryu's settlement for women and slaves. They took what they wanted. The settlement was then halved in size. Ryu followed them for many days at that time. Those goblins came here.

What could one little Ryu do then? Nothing. Just watch and remember. But there is much he can do now.

Life changed abruptly after the orcs raid. When he was shot in the leg, he thought he was going to be killed. The orc laughed at him, grabbed him by the ear, and dragged him back to the burning settlement. Thrown into the pit. There were already many goblins in the pit, women, and very young children. There was so much screaming that Ryu thought his head would burst. After Ryu, a few more goblins were thrown in, also wounded.

Then they took them out one by one. When they pulled Ryu out, he didn't even fight back. His body was almost out of blood, his leg was swollen. He didn't want to die, but he was ready. He was thrown on the meeting ground under the feet of the conquerors. And between them stood the same elf. Standing by himself, as if they hadn't pierced his legs with spears.

The elf did not seek revenge. He only asked. How he had been hunted down, how he had been caught. Ryu did not want to be tortured, so he told everything. The elf gods did not demand torture. Ryu hoped for a quick death. But the elf just talked to the head orc and left. Then the orc spoke to Ryu.

Then everything became clear. New masters had come to the forest. Strong, brave, and cunning. Ryu could choose whether to serve them or die. Of course, Ryu chose to serve, and he did not regret it.

First, they cured his leg. They gave him some tasty drink, his leg itched and was as good as new. Then Ryu helped interrogate the other goblins, giving them the main message. Serve or die.

So Ryu became chief among the survivors. And he also began to lead orcs to other villages, so that they could attack unexpectedly. Then he was allowed to appoint leaders among the other survivors. He was responsible for the choice by his head and was very careful. If anyone could cause trouble, Ryu would kill him himself, at once. Just in case.

He was given everything he wanted. Food, the right to all kinds of women, even allowed to take something from the loot. Of course, he didn't have to get cocky. The slaps they gave them were hard. They also didn't torture prisoners.

Ryu didn't understand it at first, but then he did. He heard it, matched it, and understood it. A god had sent them to war. A very powerful god who spoke to them himself. No shamans or poison pollen. Their god was not interested in pain, no need to torture anyone. On the contrary, it's better to kill quickly.

The goblin gods do not approve of a quick death. They love screams and cries. But who cares about the goblin gods? Where are they? And the orcs are right here, and their god doesn't like it. A strange god, demands little, gives much. Live, love, kill whoever they say. In return, there will be no hunger, no pain, no fear. And after death - just a dream. If you serve well, God wakes you up and you live again. It may not be that simple, but it's better than the goblin gods. They demand much and give little. And not for everyone.

Ryu likes to torment, but he can be tolerant if necessary. He too wanted to pray to such a powerful god, but the orcs only laughed at him. They said he had to earn it.

Nothing ever came easy to Ryu. He always deserved what he had. Earn the right to pray? He would earn it.

Today he led the orcs to another settlement. It was nice that the green death was obeying him. No need to be flattered, but it was nice.

Here it is, the ruiners' settlement. The fence is ogre-high, with a moat in front of it, and stakes staked at the bottom.

What could little Ryu do then? Nothing. Cry out of anger and walk away. What could he do now? Put two fingers under his tongue and blow a deafening whistle.

* * *

The ogres were angry. They were over three meters tall, incredibly hardy, and monstrously strong. They had always considered themselves the masters of this part of the forest, and they had always been treated as such by its inhabitants. Even in foreign territory, ogres were rarely attacked. Ogres always took what they wanted, and it has always been.

Now, something incredible was going on. The chief of the tribe was outraged.

His tribe, part of a conglomerate of tribes, was moving into a large settlement. To pay tribute to the paramount chief, to confer, to divide the territory, to sort things out. Halfway across the day's march to the settlement, he encountered the pitiful scraps of another tribe. A dozen big men had lost their chief and families. Exhausted, wounded, burned.

After a short conversation, it turned out that they had fled the settlement. That the overgrown goblins had attacked the place and killed everyone. The chief laughed and told to kill the cowards.

As the tribe reached the settlement, he realized that there was some truth in the story. The huge settlement was a smoking ruin. A search of the ruins yielded very little. Hundreds of hacked-up corpses of ogres, goblins, pigmen. Noone was alive, the bodies badly chopped

And then the tribe was attacked. Not the main force, only about a hundred men. The goblins, but they were chest-high, almost armorless, and had horrible-looking axes.

The chief quickly realized why those he met were fleeing from battle. The overgrown goblins were incredibly ferocious, fierce, and skilled fighters. The ogres took the attack relaxed, relying on their size, strength, and the thickness of their skins.

And they were very wrong. They were much larger than the strange goblins, and much stronger, too. Otherwise... The first row of ogres was simply shredded. The goblins attacked in unison, three on one, one ducking under their feet, the second kicking their arms, and the third jumping on their shoulders and stabbing them in the face. As soon as the bloodied carcass fell, the goblins would lunge at the next victim. The confusion and anger of the ogres at the rear only made the situation worse; ogres' clubs were not the kind of weapon that was convenient to hit a fast opponent with. A scramble ensued, with these goblins piranhas and tearing apart the clumsy strongmen.

The chief realized at once that he was not going to get anywhere in this fight, so he ordered a retreat. Even if his men had won that hundred, there were clearly many more. He had to throw most of the tribe into the ruins of the city to hold off the enemy, and run shamefully away. He was still haunted by the fierce cries of the tribe dying under the axes of the strangers, as soon as he closed his eyes.

The ogre sensed that these goblins were not here in passing, that they would still have to be confronted, and he wanted to be ready for that. He brought the rest of his tribe to the village near the pond he passed through on his way to settlement and decided to wait here.

The local goblins weren't happy about it, but who cares what a goblin thinks. The ogre chief only cared about food, walls, and meat for the first ranks of the fray, and here it was all there. All unnecessary structures were dismantled, the wall was reinforced, and stakes were added to the moat. All that remained was to wait.

At last.

The quiet woods surrounding the lake exploded with a multi-voiced roar as darkness fell.

"WAAAAAAAGH!"

The chieftain kicked the goblin, considered the leader here, and blew the old, broken horn he always wore on his chest. The sleeping ogres awoke, crawling out of their tents and barns. Angry and sleep-deprived, they walked over the goblins' heads toward the walls.

The chieftain runs around the settlement, pushing the laggards along. He wanted the goblins to take the first hit, but the ogres simply ignored them, and it was too late to change course. There was no time to regroup. And the green ones were glad, scattering out from under their feet and hiding.

"You will pay for this later!" The ogre raged, seeing the scattered host.

And from the forest cliff, the enemies were already advancing. In the darkness at this distance, the ogre could not tell what formation they were in, or even how many of them there were. But he could see that they were carrying long logs.

He realized too late what was going on. His hopes for the moat and the walls, low though they were, were in vain. When they reached the moat, the goblins, straddling the logs on either side, began throwing them against the walls.

"WAAAAAAAAAGH!"

The ogres behind the wall, unable to see what was going on, were frantic with the desire to break the skulls of underdogs. The chief's warning cries were not heeded.

The overgrown goblins, having thrown the edge of a log against the wall, immediately scrambled up the wall. A few seconds and the first of them were within sight of the ogres. Only they knew what they were going to see, and the ogres didn't. And so they struck first.

"WAAAAAAAAAGH!"

There was a surprise for them, too - the ogres now had armor. The ogre leader took his strongest warriors with him, his elite, who were armed with the best. The blows of the first wave brought only a rumble, and the response did not take a moment.

One of the ogres got his bearings, after all, a few clubs went up and down in the darkness, and there was a wet crunch and a wheeze. One ogre managed to catch his attacker by the shoulder, pin him against the wall, and then swing his fist into his chest. The blow was so powerful that the wall shook, and the blood-splattered generously all around.

The first wave of attackers was repulsed, but only the first... The enemies kept coming, the armor-clad ogres no longer even observing the appearance of formation, but simply waving their clubs at random. Sometimes successfully, most often not.

"CHOP THE FATTIES! WAAAAAAAAAAAGH!"

One by one the armored carcasses fell. Some were wounded in the legs, some were already dead, each one's fate sealed. The chief gritted his teeth. He did not stand in formation but watched the battle from a distance, so it was easier to see what was going on and so it was easier to command.

Total defeat. Walls, armor, preparations, all useless. Well, at least these green bastards wouldn't get off easy. The chieftain roared and dashed for the walls.

The triumphant entrance into the fight didn't work. He swung wide, but he lost his balance with a sharp pain on the back of his knee, and the cudgel clattered awkwardly against the wall. A moment more, another flash of pain and his arm fell away. The chieftain fell on his side, tried to turn around to at least grab one of the insolent creatures with his healthy arm. He looked back, and all he could see was the edge of a razor-sharp axe in front of him.

* * *

Ryu stayed out of the fight. No one called him, and he didn't get upset at all. When a lion fights a bull, it's better for a jackal to stay away. He did his job. He showed them the place, helped them get there unnoticed, and gave them a sign.

It has been that way before, and it will be that way again. The forest has a new master and a new god. And woe to that who didn't realize it in time.

RiP · Sep 29, 2021

Chapter 13

The large troll, nearly two feet tall, spat and backed into a thick tree. The other, smaller trees, he'd just blown down on his way here. He was fleeing.

Trolls don't keep track of time, they don't have a fixed calendar. There is day and night, winter and summer. The last summer had been very good, nourishing. His search for food after winter led him to the outskirts of the great forest, and here he came across tribes of men. The weak and deaf-mute humans were very easy to hunt. When he was hungry, he could literally catch one or two in a couple of days. Of course, the humans quickly realized there was a hunter, and even tried to hunt him down and kill him. The troll then did a good job of replenishing his meat supply, some of it even rotten. The humans became afraid of him.

He became bolder and even stopped camouflaging his lair. On the contrary, he began to decorate his surroundings with bones. Wolves, humans, and even bears began to avoid his lair. There were no strong beasts so far from the heart of the forest, and the others recognized him as the strongest. So it was for the whole summer.

When that human female in black showed up, he was surprised at the insolence and a little relieved. The prey had come on its own. He crawled out of the den to meet her and tried to drag her into the depths, and then realized that now he was the prey himself. The female grabbed his finger and easily broke his entire hand with a single tug. She would have torn it off if the troll hadn't given in at the last moment. So he just slammed his head against the wall.

There was no place for resentment or disappointment in his worldview. He very easily accepted the fact that someone stronger had appeared and made him his own prey. It was a given that the strong would devour the weak. The troll had long been strong and ate the weak. Now someone stronger has come along and will eat him. If he catches up, of course.

She caught up. It had been a long chase, starting at sunrise, and now it was a hot afternoon. The troll was quite adept at ambush and stealthy travel through the woods and knew the local swamps and ravines well. At first, he even thought he could get away with it, the stalker disappearing from his perception now and then.

Alas. For this insanely strong female, it was a game. She amused herself by making him work hard in this pursuit. Giving him hope that he was about to get away from her. It was all in vain. When the troll realized that trickery would not work, he tried to just go deep into the woods. That's where this female could find a more interesting target.

It didn't work. Now the troll realized it for good. There was no point in running, no point in surrendering without a fight. The broken arm was healed, and he took hold of his club. It was a good club, made of the bone of some unknown beast whose remains the troll had found a long time ago. It had served him well for years. Sturdy, heavy. And useless.

The wait was short. Soon there was the rustling of metal and the sound of footsteps, and then a human female appeared. She was dressed in black, from neck to toe, with black hair flowing down her armored shoulders. At a leisurely pace through the clearing she'd left behind, she approached the troll.

He already knew the price of this slowness. With a short growl, he swung his club warningly, sweeping away the surviving undergrowth. He swung it once, didn't have time for a second. The second swing was too easy, and with it, the pain pierced his arms. The club continued to move, and the troll's hands along with it.

A female voice was heard, from behind him. A deep, soft, very scary voice.

"You don't want to play anymore?"

The troll turned with his whole body, trying to nail her to the tree, and was unsuccessful. His thick knuckles thudded into the trunk of the tree giant, and sharp pain and nasty weakness spread over his stomach. He looked down. The hard belly was ripped open and its guts were already spilling out. A new flash of pain pierced his back. His legs became abruptly false, and the troll fell.

"It's a shame to kill you like this."

Sharp pain in the neck, and the whole body became strange.

"You understood right away, and you did everything right. I'd even respect you if you weren't such a wimp. It's true."

The pain in the neck was replaced by dull indifference, and his eyes went black. The troll's mind resisted for a few more moments and finally faded.

Draga deftly tossed the monster's head into the leather sack and tied the straps. She didn't even bother counting how many times she'd done this. Three or five, whatever. It was always the same anyway. Those who think they are powerful monsters are so self-confident that they don't even try to hide in any way. Bears, ogres, werewolves. The troll at least amused her a little with his attempts to escape.

Boring.

Of course, the Prophet warned that this would be the case. At first, at least. Still, she hoped she would find something to be proud of. In vain.

The town she was sent to was unpleasantly squalid. It was small, dirty, and smelled like an orcish cesspit. The weak and arrogant people who lived there complemented it like worms complement a lying corpse. A harmony of disgust. She would have loved to turn it into a black-flamed pit, but...

'You will become one of the adventurers, the local mercenaries. Perform their tasks, gain reputation and fame. The more fame you gain, the better. You will divert all attention to yourself. Unwanted ones included.'

She must become the best mercenary. The most famous and the most respected. She must be the most visible to the powers that be. The rest of the Prophet's agents and he himself will be unnoticeable against her background...

And if these 'powerful ones' turn out to be the enemy, it will be her who will have the honor to take their hit.

So, the eradication of this abominable shithole was postponed indefinitely. As much as it saddened her, the Prophet's will prevailed.

There were no significant problems in the Adventurers' Guild. Of course, the stranger was looked upon very obliquely. Especially since she could not write or read the local language. That was strange - there was no problem with speaking. But with writing, there were a number of inconsistencies. She could not understand the local scribbles, and the natives understood neither Latin, nor Cyrillic, nor Kanji.

She didn't really care. So she didn't understand what was written, so what? Let them explain in words where to go and who to kill. There was a hitch with the first time, the administrator tried to mumble something about her duty to understand what was going on. One slap and the understanding was established. One mission, and the question simply never came up again.

There was another conflict. Her newly acquired colleagues had tried to point out her place. By that time she had learned to restrain her powers, and there were no fatalities. Some fractures and internal bruises, nothing serious. Strangely enough, the men held no grudge against her. Now, if she showed up at the guild house, she'd form an entourage. They're eager to learn how to fight from her and even offer her money to beat them half to death. And not just adventurers.

Well, there's a mutual benefit. At the same time, she learns not to kill or maim. It's not so easy, as it turns out...

Draga snapped her fingers. The shadows of the trees and ferns curved strangely and merged into one big patch at her feet. In a few moments, the simple shadow became a huge blob of impenetrable blackness. The blackness stirred and rippled, and a large stallion of the same color floated out of it as if it were on the edge of the spot.

Draga slapped the nightmare on the withers, jumped into the saddle, and hitched the bag to the saddle. She had to hurry, she didn't want to waste more than one day on one task. Sure, Nightmare wasn't the fastest mount, but it was the least strange to the natives. She must look as a human.

* * *

In the cozy office on the second floor of the E-Pespel Guild sat two persons. The Guildmaster was at a desk by a darkening window, and opposite, in a padded armchair, was a thin girl with blond hair tied in a ponytail.

Guildmaster of E-Pespel branch took a deep breath.

"Lady Tia..."

The girl with the cold eyes tilted her head to her side.

"Master Miran. We've already discussed it. If your new recruit is really that good. Then she doesn't belong in this hellhole."

They had been arguing for over an hour. Though it was rather difficult to call it arguing. Miran, of course, is the head of the guild branch, and formally has a higher status. But E-Pespel is a deep province. And Tia is a member of the adamantine-ranked team. One of the two strongest on the continent at the moment.

"Let me at least keep her for a month, please. There is literally an invasion of our outskirts from these damn woods. Not a day goes by without a clash with the greenskins. Every man counts."

"And how would you handle it if it wasn't for the occasional recruit?"

The elderly man grimaced and adjusted his monocle.

"As usual. But it's going to be very expensive. It's not even about the budget, although that too..."

"There will be losses of staff. They are much harder to replenish than the treasury. Talent is so rare..."

"Master Miran. Are you the head of a branch of the world's most reputable non-governmental organization, or a boarding house for noble ladies?"

Tia asked harshly.

The question was rhetorical, they both understood that.

"The weak will fall. The strong will rise."

Miran answered irritably. "And when they are raised, you will appear again and take them away, won't you?"

"Perhaps," came the cold reply. "It's not a question of my personal whim."

It was indeed so. Tia was doing her leader's bidding. Lakyus was aware of a lot of guild business that she didn't share with her fellow guild members. These orders could not technically be orders to the guild members. But the guild's top management always supported the guild's most prominent members. What today was a private request from Lakyus, tomorrow could be a direct order from the Head of the Guild. To oppose it is only to spoil relations.

Tia read the recruit's personnel file again, making it clear that the conversation was over.

If the rumors and the record are true, this is quite an interesting recruit. In fact, she was aware of several of them, coming literally out of nowhere, joining the guild at the same time. The rest were more like over-trained soldiers, albeit with good talents. Quickly joined the existing groups, greatly enhancing them, but that's all. What army these soldiers were from, remained to be seen, but for now, there was enough work for them, in which origin and political views did not matter.

E-Pespel was a very special case. An incredibly talented swordswoman, reportedly a religious fanatic, but one of the "quiet ones". She follows her faith without trying to attract other people to it. Suspiciously mobile, in a day of assignments whose purpose is far beyond a day's walk in one direction. Indifferent to the rank system, still walking around with an iron badge. And at the same time independently performs orders for experienced gold-ranked teams. Extremely confident.

It was very likely that the "upstart" was trying to be sent to her death by giving her a knowingly unreasonable order. Lucky sent Tia to see the recruit, and if it wasn't a fraud, to see to it that she was transferred to E-Rantel. Strong adventurers were much more needed in that frontier town, a stone's throw from the Tob Forest and the Katze Plains.

Well, if she is a scammer, then disclose the details of the scam and liquidate it. She would not be the first to try to earn fame and promotion in this way.

The usual hum of the reception hall changed slightly, and Tia paid attention.

"Looks like your recruit is back, doesn't she? She was sent to hunt a troll if I'm not mistaken. That was fast."

"Yes, Lady Tia," Miran nodded. "Should I invite her here?"

"There's no need for that. I'll come down."

"Whatever you say. Let me know if you need anything."

Tia nodded briefly and left the room. From the stairs to the first floor she could hear better what was going on in the hall. A subdued congratulations, an acknowledgment. That was definitely her target.

When she came down the stairs, she saw that woman. It was impossible not to notice such a woman.

A vicious beauty in exceptional armor, composed of craftily fitted plates. Her hair and armor are blacker than the darkest night, and she is politely dignified. Around her, at a respectful distance, are all the unoccupied adventurers of the city.

Tia appreciated the manner of her gait, her posture... Whether a cheater or not, she had beautiful movements. Smooth and graceful, yet precise and sparing.

Meanwhile, the woman, placing a large bag of something round on the receptionist's desk, brushed off the purse and, throwing something like "write it down in my name," went to one of the desks. Tia headed the same way.

She was recognized and given directions, and no wonder. Any adventurer knows an adamantine rank by name and face. Except for this new girl. When Tia sat down across from her, she raised an eyebrow with a silent question.

Tia noticed that the new girl was incredibly attractive. She was confused for a moment; she'd never seen beauty like that before.

'She could have been anyone. Any man would be at her feet at the wave of her hand. What made her become an adventurer?'

Someone dutifully placed plates of hot food, a jug, and a bowl in front of the new girl. She ignored the food, staring at Tia with a half-smile.

"Who are you, and what do you want?" the voice was appropriate.

"I apologize, I was rude. I'm used to being recognized as a member of my team at all times and in all places. I'm Tia, of the Blue Rose adamantine group. Your name is Draga, right? They also call you the Dark Maiden."

"That's it. What business do you have?"

Tia was slightly offended by this attitude even after she named herself.

"I want to test your power first. There are rumors about you, and I want to know how true they are."

Draga boredly waved it off, unsealing the jug.

"There's a whole line of people like you. Come tomorrow, early in the morning."

Tia began to feel angry at such disrespect but tried not to show it.

"A queue, so... I'm sure they'd be happy to let me have it. Am I right in assuming that?" Tia turned around meaningfully.

The crowd respectfully backed away.

"As you can see, the queue issue is solved."

Draga tilted her head and set the jug aside.

"You won't let me have dinner in peace, will you?"

"Right."

They stared into each other's eyes for several moments. Tia tried to understand her interlocutor, to read her facial expression, the movements of her pupils, and eyelids. It was in vain. A slight irritation and nothing more could be read on that beautiful face.

Finally, Draga hummed wearily.

"I usually beat the willing in the backyard. Let's go."

She stood up and walked calmly toward the back door. Tia began to boil over with such self-confidence; she wanted to put the insolent new girl in her place. She followed.

A crowd of spectators had already gathered in the backyard. Draga stood relaxed in the spotlight, with her head bowed to the side and her hand on the hilt of her sword.

It wasn't very convenient. Tia specialized in stealthy attacks and sneaky moves from the blind spot. Of course, she was an excellent swordsman in open combat too, but she still wanted to prove herself at her strongest side.

"Usually it goes like this. I get attacked and they try to hurt me. I fight back until I get bored, and then it's over."

"You are very self-confident, Mrs. Draga. Have you never met a strong opponent?"

With these words, Tia moved leisurely in a circle, keeping a close eye on her adversary's movements. Draga snorted contemptuously and waved her hand smoothly.

"It makes me sick. I keep hearing about the "strong opponent," but every time all I see is an arrogant worm with whom there is only one difficulty: not to kill by accident. Where does that come from in you, tell me?"

"I don't think I'm anything like the 'arrogant worms'?" Tia grumbled coldly, picking her moment to attack.

'She's a nasty recruit. Is there no authority for her? I'm no match for those you're used to, and I won't be coy with you. You asked for it...'

"Uh-oh, are you trying to talk me to death? I'm sorry for the time."

She hadn't finished the last word yet. And Tia attacked. With the utmost concentration, between inhaling and exhaling, Tia ducked and darted toward Draga. She aimed one dagger at her chest, more for a distraction. Clearly, she could not penetrate that armor, but anyone would defend against a first attack. The second dagger was aimed at her groin. No armor protects the groin from below. And even if the blow was unsuccessful, it could be redirected to the inner thigh.

If the attack fails on all fronts - Tia hits her in the chin by the head and breaks the distance.

And then Tia realized that Draga's bluster, while annoying, was justified. She just wasn't where she'd just been. Tia saw only a blurred movement to the side.

'Move so fast in armor? It's bullshit!'

She abruptly interrupted the attack and slashed the air in front of her with her blades, while at the same time she jumped back.

Draga looked at her with a bored expression. Her hand remained on the hilt of the sword. It didn't look like she planned to use it.

Although you can expect anything from such a dexterous adversary.

Tia, reassessing Draga, moved around her again in a circle.

'It looks like I'll have to use the skills'

She was terribly reluctant to do that. Skills are the trump cards of any talented fighter. They must not be known by others. Because one day you show your trump cards, and the next day there are countermeasures for them.

But it seems that without trumps this woman cannot be defeated. She will have to go to extremes. The adamant adventurer has no right to lose face.

As she continued her smooth stride, Tia used [heightened senses], [low acceleration], and personal technique - [deception]. This skill imposed an illusory effect on her that made her movements visible with a half-second delay. From the outside, she was seen where she was half a second ago. Such a discrepancy between visible and actual movement confused even the most experienced fighter, giving Tia a head start in any fight to the death.

She wasn't going to let the new girl go without a good whipping. Even at the cost of revealing her secret tricks.

[dash]

[step through the shadows]

And here in front of her is the armored back of her opponent. A double dagger lunge into her sides and... No resistance. Draga's silhouette melted away like smoke, and then Tia felt herself being yanked off the ground by the scruff of her twisted like a cat, aiming her daggers where Draga's face should have been, but she was too slow. Draga grabbed her by the collar from behind and just tossed her against the fence like she weighed nothing.

Tia reached the obstacle with her legs already assembled and immediately pushed off, making another dash toward her target. The silhouette was clear in her mind, no thoughts other than the need to kill or maim and finish it off.

She did not have time to understand what happened. Later, when she analyzed the fight, she realized that Draga had simply poked her in the solar plexus with the hilt of her sword. Now she just felt shocked and complete paralysis. The armor hidden beneath her clothes didn't help much, the cramping across her body hinted at broken ribs. Lying on the ground and trying to breathe, she saw the lath boots in front of her face. Draga squatted in front of her and stared into her face for some time with an unreadable expression.

"You really are stronger than the others. Like an ant is stronger than a mosquito. Well, get some rest."

She patted Tia on the shoulder and headed off to the guild building.

The spectators, who had been silent since Tia's first attack, began to whisper.

"Damn, I totally don't realize what's going on."

"Tia's fast as hell, but our Maiden read her ahead, did you see her?"

"Yeah, they're both like lightning, I can't keep track."

One of the adventurers came up to her and held out his hand. Tia waved it away irritably. She hated to realize that her defeat had so many eyewitnesses. Her breathing was almost back to normal, and she stood up and slowly stretched. Her bones were intact, after all, and that was a good thing. There was a respectful murmur around her. It seemed that the new girl's victims didn't usually get off so easily.

Lucky will definitely appreciate the information. And she should rethink her own outlook on life.

Draga was at the same table, drinking wine from a bowl. Tia approached the table and bowed.

"I apologize for that. You are a real master, I was wrong about you. I have come to make you an offer on behalf of my team. It is in the interest of the guild, and in yours as well."

"Hmm?" Draga wondered.

"Your undoubted talent as a warrior is wasted here. I suggest you change departments and move to E-Rantel."

"And why would I want to do that?" Draga stretched out melodiously.

"Whatever you're trying to accomplish as an adventurer, you'll get more at E-Rantel than you do here."

"Yeah?" Draga leaned lazily back in her chair and spread her arms. "What makes you think that?"

"E-Rantel is three times the size of E-Pespel. It borders the cursed lands and the great forest. Believe me, it needs strong adventurers much more. And it will offer much more to a skilled craftsman like you."

"I'll think about it."

Draga didn't want to make such a decision without asking the Prophet. Though she certainly wanted to be there. After all, the Prophet himself was on his way to this E-Rantel.

Draga heard his voice every day, in the morning and in the evening. And now would be an opportunity to see him. Everything else paled in the face of such an opportunity.

* * *

Three days had passed since the battle, and everyone's impressions had already settled. Monsters are monsters, but the main task still had to be accomplished. Find and neutralize the necromancer. Bryce went out that night, muttering that he couldn't sleep, to explore the local cemetery. He returned in the morning, brooding and frowning, and reported that the cemetery did show signs of desecration. Someone had been digging in the graves, not with their bare hands, but with tools. And after digging the graves back up.

So the spontaneous rise of the undead was out of the question. Especially so powerful. It was unclear at all where it came from.

Era renewed vigor to investigate the pens and inkpot used by the guest of the manor, and she got some results. She found that they had indeed been used by a strong but inexperienced dark wizard. Such a sorcerer would hardly be able to raise such strong undead.

Daimon helped clean up the aftermath of the fight. The funeral of the only casualty was quietly arranged without the adventurers' involvement, and they had nothing against it. Except that Taler volunteered to say the last prayer. No one objected, especially after what had happened.

He looked a little dejected after he realized that there was nothing more that could be done for the dead man. There was practically nothing left of the poor man's head, and no amount of healing could have helped. Era marveled to herself - before and during the fight he was calm and even somehow relaxed, intervening only once with his spell. Afterward, he was confused and visibly despondent, looking at the deceased man. It was strange.

He turned out to have a rather interesting face. Now it didn't fall out of my mind when her gaze slid off it. It was perfectly regular and symmetrical, and at first, it seemed juvenile. And if you look closely, you can see subtle wrinkles near the lips and eyes, the calm, soft facial expressions also did not suit such a young man. Sometimes there were moments when he seemed not just mature, but even old.

And most importantly, Taler stopped giving her such unwanted attention. No negativity just burned out and cooled down. He didn't stare while he thought she wasn't looking. Didn't look like he wanted to say anything when he was next to her. Nothing like that happened anymore.

And that was good.

The next morning they went in search of the sorcerer's potential lair. She was able to use the imprint of the power that she had obtained to make an amulet. It was supposed to react when they approached the person who possessed the power. Not a compass, of course, but it was a lot better to know there was a dark warlock within a few miles of you than not to. Especially when you're about to kill him.

The search seemed to take a long time. The lands of the nobleman who had hired them were not small at all, and only a small portion of them had been explored. The cultivated land and clearings ended about ten miles from the estate, and then the wilderness began. Not as wild as the Tob Forest, but it had its share of hard-to-reach places and ravines.

They walked around the explored land in the first twenty-four hours and found nothing suspicious. No sign of a campsite or camp. This meant that either the sorcerer had long since fled to another region, or... or he'd found a shelter on the cursed plains.

That wouldn't be so good.

In the evening, the adventurers combed the surroundings of the last farmstead and again found nothing. The cemetery at the farmstead itself was untouched, and its inhabitants had no complaints about nightmares or disappearances.

Now they were camped halfway to the estate.

"And I was so hoping I wouldn't have to go to the damn plains," Bryce exhaled, leaning back on the grass.

"There's a silver lining," Daimon replied thoughtfully, chewing on a herb. All his attention was absorbed by the way Era was stirring the fragrant brew in the cauldron over the fire.

"What is it?" Bryce asked sneeringly.

"Well, for example, the plains don't have ground fleas that always get under your jacket."

Bryce waved it off lazily.

"It's better than the undead. Honestly, there's been a lot of them in the last two trips. I want to finally kill someone warm and alive."

"The last time this "alive and warm", he cut you up like a fish," Daimon grunted uncertainly.

"Next time I'll cut him up. He doesn't have an arm anymore. And now we have Taler, too. You're going to do that thing again, aren't you?" Bryce looked back at Taler, who was sitting next to him.

Taler grinned at the corners of his mouth.

"I think something can be done."

"You see, leader, we have the power with us. You see, Leader, we have the power with us. Let's take on some bandits, huh?"

"We could. They are so well paid, after all. And it's so easy to prove that you killed a bandit, not a common traveler. And it's easy to catch them. It's a fairy tale, not a job."

"Oh, you're doing it again. Let me dream."

Talik was used to this kind of talk. Bryce was always whining and complaining, Daimon was playing along, turning the subject upside down, and Era was making it clear that she thought they were both idiots. Now he was included in their company, too.

In general, he liked it. These guys never got discouraged and relied on each other for everything. Usually such close-knit companies are not open to outsiders. But he was able to gain their respect. He was both pleased to feel that he had new friends and hard at heart. After all, he was cheating on them, no matter how much.

It was his fault they had to fight the undead. Not that he had much choice, though. If he didn't direct the monsters toward the manor, they could have attacked a less defensible settlement. Remembering how easily a monster had killed a guard, Talik had a good idea of what a whole pack of them could do to common folk.

Still, he could have ordered Spy to kill them on the approach. The guard wouldn't have died, the boys wouldn't have had to risk their lives. The fact that he didn't know it would turn out this way was a weak excuse. It was no consolation.

From his point of view, the battle was somehow sluggish and slow. Talik mixed the perception of Daimon and the others as living people with a familiar playful attitude. All their movements in battle seemed somehow deliberate, slow, like a theatrical production. These guys were no match even for the rank-and-file guards of "his" city. For a moment, he even began to see what was happening as really just a highly detailed game. It was hard to regain his grasp of reality.

These are living, real people. He can't treat them like game characters. It's unfair and dishonest. They deserve respect. He's the one who got unreal power for free. There's nothing to wonder about.

And along with great power came a huge pain in the ass. Thank you, Alien Space Bats.

One way or another, he would have to go back to his town. This little adventure, more like an escapism, could not go on forever. He had figured out almost everything he wanted, and he understood what ordinary life in this world was like. It was now possible to surmise the further relationship between the world and Dawn City.

Of course, with politics and trade relations, it is obviously not that simple. But with a general understanding of how the world lives in this world, it won't be very hard to figure it out. Especially knowing Earth's history.

Of course, there is magic here, and that changes a lot of things. A lot of things, but humans remain human...

What stressed him the most was the impending loneliness. He was here, if not forever, then at least for a very long time. There are no other players here, no one to share his real thoughts with. No one to open up and speak honestly.

Pretending to be someone else for the rest of my life. Not much of a price to pay for what I got, really. But it's still a little sad.

And even if other players show up here, it doesn't mean that he will make friends with them. Rather the opposite. Can his contemporaries, unconstrained by morality and law, be trusted?

No. Both local history and basic common sense say otherwise.

This reflection led him to an interesting thought.

I can find those who came here before. You guys are dead, but that's not a problem for me right now.

Why? Oh, he has a lot to ask them. At the very least, what killed them.

Resolved. I'll dig around in local libraries, I'm sure there will be clues as to where to look.

RiP · Oct 21, 2021

Chapter 14

A few years ago, Princess Renner turned her attention to the roads. The Tract became the direct property of the Crown, regardless of whose fiefdom it passed through. The Lords have traditionally resisted such a decision. They rightly felt that it was a dangerous precedent of secession. But Renner was able to exploit the greed of the feudal lords by taking the maintenance of the tract accountable to the crown to the balance of the royal treasury. So, at the annual meeting of the lords, the decree concerning the ownership of the tract was tentatively approved after all.

In the end, everyone benefited. In just one year, just in time for the next meeting of lords, the simple country road became a wide, comfortable road, fortified with wood and stone in the swampy areas. Wooden bridges appeared on small rivers that previously had to be crossed by wading. In-season mudslides stopped hitting internal logistics, and it became much easier and cheaper to move troops.

Gentlemen of Fortune, who had decided that their golden time had come, were outlived in the first few months. The Golden Princess, when she took on a case, always approached it very thoroughly. Gold poured generously into the coffers of all kinds of snitches and adventurers, noble but penniless knights gained recognition and sometimes even endowments in the places where they had distinguished themselves. Bandit caches were ablaze, and hundreds of hangmen adorned the tree limbs along the trail. Trade flourished unprecedentedly.

Though, of course, it wouldn't have been the Golden Princess's idea if it didn't have snags under the water. The noble lords were speechless when they realized that the toll of the new track went to the Crown, not to their coffers, and they had no right to impose additional tolls. Moreover, they themselves were obliged to pay for the use of the new tract. What then began...

Gazef Stronoff, as the king's trusted representative, was present at that meeting. His position and his lowborn status obliged him to many things, including keeping his cool under all circumstances. Only the gods know what it took for him not to burst into laughter at their lordships' faces crimson with indignation. He always remembered that day in the dark times, and every time his mood improved.

But not today. Today, like the last couple of weeks, the good road seemed like a curse. It was so convenient, not just for the Allies.

Gazef, stony-faced, stared at the destroyed village without leaving his saddle. It was the sixth since the beginning of this month. The pain of powerlessness was heavy in his stomach. They were too late again.

A little village with the funny name of Flea. Twenty-two families, thirty houses, a small apiary, a wheat field. Mutilated bodies on the smoky ashes.

His men were now clearing the wreckage in search of survivors.

The Imperial bastards had made a habit of leaving a few survivors behind, and this time it was the same. They found several guys crucified in the trees nearby. The poor people had seen everything that had happened with their own eyes, in every detail. Their account confirmed Gazef's hunch. A detachment of imperial soldiers, half a hundred infantrymen, and a dozen horsemen came into the village and, without speaking or hesitating, simply massacred it. And as before, they left several witnesses to their atrocities.

He spotted his lieutenant among the men on the burn site. He seemed to sense his gaze and turned around, shaking his head. Gazef waved a hand, signaling him to stop searching. The lieutenant gave a few short commands and the other two dozen men stopped searching through the charred debris.

Stained with soot and ash, the smoke-soaked lieutenant approached the unmounted Gazef.

"My captain, what are your orders?"

"Give the survivors some coins, we can't help them anymore. In ten minutes everyone should be ready to go. I think I know where they'll be next."

"As you say, Captain."

While the soldiers were packing up, the lieutenant approached Gazef again.

"My captain, I suggest we turn back to E-Rantel, get some reinforcements, and make a real raid. I no longer think we can overtake them with one small squad."

Gazef shook his head regretfully as he looked at the warriors gathering for the march.

"No, we can only rely on our own forces. It would take too long to gather reinforcements, and it wouldn't do any good. Even if we demand troops from this feud, we won't get cavalry. The bastards are clearly on their way to Baharut, and the border is a stone's throw away. The best we can do is tear our veins out, but catch up with them while they're still on kingdom land. The nearest village to their destination is Karn, a short distance from here, and we'll try to intercept them there."

"Captain, are you sure it's the Imperials at all? They look a little too flashy."

"Who else to think on? The fields around E-Rantel are burning, and so it turns out that this is where the troops will gather for the war this fall."

"Why aren't the local lords doing anything?" The lieutenant spat angrily. "I understand, the king sent us as the most mobile. But could they at least leave the garrisons behind for a while? Do something for their fucking people?"

Gazef hummed sadly.

"Maybe they could have. But all of them are afraid to disperse their troops, and all of them don't care about the common people. It's even good for them - in the coming famine, the grain supply will go for double the price. The king will buy for the army at any price. Don't think too highly of yourself, lieutenant. Our job is to catch up and deliver justice. Concentrate on that."

"Sir, yes sir."

The lieutenant glanced at the riders who were ready for the road. A variety of armor, mostly plate or chain mail - plate armor was good for fighting, but any march turned into a nightmare. Hardy, wiry horses in worn-out blankets, each saddled with a set of weapons for any situation. A crossbow, a sword, a shield, a spear, and a few Bec de corbins.

Each of them had worked with Gazef over the years from a desperate peasant to a savage thug, and who knows what would have happened to them if not for his great talent as a swordsman and his noble spirit. Gazef kept them from becoming a common band of marauders, and with his sword paved the way to the mercenary elite. And even if they have reached their limit, the commoners could never be true knights. But what they had achieved at the hand of the world's greatest swordsman gave them boundless faith in their commander. It made them willing to carry out the most senseless, the most suicidal order without hesitation.

The lieutenant was uneasy. Gazef had always thought rationally, and though noble, was never naïve. His view of the enemy's motives was quite logical. Still, the actions of the imperial soldiers, on whose heels they had followed for so many days, looked too foolish. Ostensible brutality, living witnesses. It was as if they were deliberately treading on the sore calluses of

Gazef, who had not forgotten his roots. They made him angry on purpose.

Gazef commanded to go, and the lieutenant banished extraneous thoughts. The captain said to concentrate on the job. All questions will be answered later by the Imperials.

* * *

"I see you've met our recruit, Mistress Tia. Not disappointed?" Miran glanced ironically at the pale adventurer over his glasses.

Tia walked a little tensely into the office, looked out into the hallway, and shut the door. She sat down in a chair and didn't answer right away, going over the details of the fight and what she had read earlier in the file in her head.

"I'm rather astonished. I want to clarify something that I didn't pay much attention to before."

The Guildmaster put aside the folder he had been studying when Tia arrived and put his hands on the table.

"I will be happy to answer any questions."

"Her extreme religiosity is mentioned. What exactly is meant by this?"

This was a really important moment for Tia. Religious people are prone to various oddities, sometimes quite dangerous ones. For example, adherents of the Church of Heroes, absolutely dominant in the Theocracy, saw nothing wrong with abusing and possessing ordinary people. Followers of the Good Sun often demanded no reward, providing medical services on behalf of the guild. The worshippers of the Blood God - well, rare enough - were constantly pitted against each other in duels, and at times served as perpetrators of riots.

One way or another, the Guild has always found a use for talents, even those with rather specific inclinations. But knowing exactly what you were dealing with was a must. Especially for Lucky and her companions.

"She sincerely believes that she is guided personally by a certain Faceless God, and she has mentioned it repeatedly. I am not familiar with the pantheon to which this god is assigned, but the Dark Maiden, she believes, is the most powerful god there is. I also note that she does not deny the existence of other gods and is very respectful of other faiths. She prays every evening and every morning, always at the same time. During these moments it is highly undesirable to try to capture her attention. Prayer time is sacred to her, and at the slightest disturbance of her peace during these moments she falls into a terrible rage. One day the girl receptionist neglected her requests not to be disturbed, and nearly paid for it with her life."

"What has been learned about the dogmas of this... Faceless One?"

"Almost nothing. I asked, but she dropped the subject, saying that only the most worthy can serve this god, and there are none in E-Pespel."

Tia suppressed the urge to snort venomously. This stranger did have a point. It wasn't easy for Tia to accept that, but she was foolish to deny the obvious. No one here was really her equal.

Even though nothing was yet clear about religion, other questions remained. Normally, they were not mentioned - there was no need. But when there is a candidate for adamantine rank right in front of her eyes, everything changed.

"How were you supposed to keep her from breaking the law if she did something like that?"

"I must assume that the issue grows out of a complex character and tremendous power. I will not lie, of all the possibilities I consider as real only the call of adamantine teams or the personal intervention of the Head. I have checked something during our conversation with her, and I will tell you at once - any artifacts and poisons at my disposal will be useless."

What was said gave Tia an oppressive impression. More than once, people endowed with talent had begun to put themselves above the laws and rules. Within the Guild, it was always met with a harsh, even brutal response, and very quickly. Now Miran had told her, quite bluntly, that the usual, failsafe tools were useless. And faith in the capabilities of the adamantine teams had cracked badly even earlier. Even considering that she alone is a far cry from the entire team with its artifacts and information.

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely. On the other hand, her religiosity plays into our hands. From what I understand, her god does not approve of senseless violence. And the hard character - well, that's not the hardest case in my practice. In fact, she's more like a child. Capricious and arrogant, but quite obedient, if you set your sights right. So, nothing to worry about."

"Nothing to worry about? What if tomorrow her god demands the blood of innocent people? You said yourself that you know nothing about this faith."

"Well, if this unlikely event were to occur, there would indeed be cause for concern. There might even be a catastrophe, but the solution to such a situation is beyond what I can do. I will put my trust in you and the Head." Miran threw his hands together thoughtfully.

"Why do you think this is unlikely?"

The Guildmaster of Branch hesitated and didn't answer right away.

"Because the moral character of the woman we are discussing is far cleaner than that of most adventurers I know. Completely absent are any of the vicious predilections characteristic of strong men. Yes, her contemptuous attitude toward those around her can hardly be called a positive character trait. But there was never a hint of unmotivated or even simply excessive violence on her part."

That really made sense. Tia understood that she had to be quite concretely pushy to get a sparring session.

"What about that gold-ranked team?"

"I can tell you that if you had been in her shoes that day, they would have suffered a lot more."

"You talk as if you want to let her go."

"I don't. She is extremely valuable to my branch. But my position requires me to be objective in my judgments."

A guild master's professional opinion, regardless of the branch, was always worth a lot. Tia knew that. Of course, even the information he had could in no way be complete, but the conclusions were worth taking into account. The important thing was that this recruit really wasn't making trouble just for fun, and it didn't seem to be in her nature at all. Lucky would take care of the rest.

"Your attitude is respectful. Have you received any news of other... unexpected recruits?"

"I have not yet received any significant news. But the overall picture looks as if it is some united group, fragmented for an as yet unclear purpose. Perhaps espionage or an attempt to infiltrate the Guild. No interaction hinting at the possibility of remote communication has been seen yet either. Either way, the only really notable figure so far is Mistress Draga. There is also a healer with an amazing gift, but I don't have the details yet. If you want them, you'll have to ask the E-Rantel branch, he's registered there."

"Thank you, Guildmaster. What time did you say the Dark Maiden prayed?"

Draga had to be dragged to E-Rantel anyway and held there until Lucky arrived. And spoiling her mood by coming at a bad time was definitely not the right thing to do.

"At a quarter to seven in the morning and evening. It usually doesn't take long."

"Okay," Tia stood up. "Tomorrow morning I hope to leave to E-Rantel, tonight I'll stay here."

"Here is the key to the VIP rooms. Have a good night." Miran handed her the ornate key and bowed politely.

* * *

The conversation with the Prophet had been over for several minutes, but Draga was still in a prayerful pose. Recalling the words and intonations given to her, it was as if she heard Him again and again. As she followed His instructions, she always felt a kind of rightness, her own part in something great, her own necessity. Draga had become unforgivably accustomed to being close to Him, and she was scolding herself for it. Now in the distance, she had to be content with just a voice. Those moments of connection through [the message] had been the most important precious thing in her life since she had left Dawn City. And as long as the sense of His presence did not melt away, she considered it sacrilege to rise from her knees.

But no rest for the wicked. Prophet praised her for her efforts and gave her a new goal.

She had been contacted by the "powerful" of this world, just as He had predicted. Now she should accept their offer and come to E-Rantel to further her career and connections with these "powerful".

It would be great if you became a hero to the locals.

You should not publicly destroy the authority of local champions, for no reason. Even if you are much stronger. It's better to earn their trust.

It was a challenge. But she could do it.

There was no point in delaying her departure, and it didn't take her long to pack, since she had only a few things. There was only one sword, one armor, and a bag of household items. The real stuff was stored in the inventory. She didn't need them, but the image demanded their use.

As she was about to leave the room, there was a knock on the door. Draga listened to her senses. Judging by the smell and the heartbeat, it was the same person who had insisted on a duel yesterday.

"I'm here. Come in."

* * *

Tia got the timing right. Draga had already finished her prayer and let her in immediately after knocking. Tia entered and looked around. An ordinary middle-class room, the kind usually used by silver adventurers and above - income allows, and status does not oblige to more. The bed was slightly crumpled, but the rest was clean and tidy as if no one had ever lived in there.

Draga met her gaze with piercing black eyes. She was silent. Her face expressed nothing. Tia, habitually assessing her facial features, noted that they were truly perfect. More like the work of an idealistic artist than a living person. Perfect symmetry, the complete absence of wrinkles, and traces of characteristic facial expression. A masterful illusion would have created such an effect, but there was no trace of spells used here. There was also something about her that Tia could not explain. Something inexplicably attractive.

Tia was neither a fool nor a prude. But this attractiveness was akin to what she seen in some men.

It was weird and wrong.

"Come in." An inviting gesture. "What's your business?"

Draga held herself a little differently than she had yesterday. The condescending contempt that exuded from every gesture and every intonation didn't get on her nerves. Tia took the offer and came in, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Have you considered my offer?"

"Yes, comprehensively. Now I'm off to E-Rantel."

" I'm glad to hear it," Tia was inwardly surprised at this quick decision. "Yesterday I was afraid I'd have to talk you into it."

"There's no need for that. God sent me there."

Tia decided it was a good time to ask about her faith.

"I heard that your god speaks to you personally, is this right?"

Not a trace of emotion on her face.

"Yes."

"May I know more about your God? With followers like you, he is a very prominent divinity..."

Tia noticed the barely perceptible pause before the answer. That's something.

"The day you can dodge my sword, I will gladly tell you everything you want to know about him."

Tia smiled.

"To dodge the blow of a master like you is out of the realm of possibility."

"Exactly. Only the strongest are worthy of my god. He has no need of the others. Is that all?"

"No. I want to offer you my company again for this trip."

Draga thought for a few moments.

"No. You couldn't keep up with my pace."

"I've heard a lot about your stallion, and if at least some of the rumors are true, he's very much your type. But I, unlike him, know all the trails and shortcuts to E-Ranthel."

"It doesn't matter. I have to go."

Draga left the room, clearly expecting Tia not to follow her.

She leaned back on the bed, again fighting senseless irritation.

Lakyus, was it really that hard with me?

* * *

The road to E-Rantel didn't go directly in that direction; you had to get to the crossroad before you could turn east. Normally it would have taken a rider a couple of days to get to the crossroads without stopping. Draga could get there in less than half a day, a riding nightmare - much better than a normal horse. But there was no point in taking the regular route.

Draga kept the semblance of an ordinary rider until the road entered a thick pine forest and the town was out of sight. When she was sure no one was following her, she snapped her fingers demandingly.

An elf in a camouflage cloak and a mask immediately emerged from the shadows of the trees nearby.

"What can I do for you, Mistress?"

It was one of the stalkers assigned to her on behalf of the Overlord. Draga didn't like having to interact with Illadria's servants. The sly bitch was clearly intent on sneaking into the Prophet's bed, and Draga was angry about it. Not that she seriously thought she was his only woman. But the fact that Illadria had taken the initiative was outrageous.

Illadria knew of Draga's every move outside E-Pespel. Draga knew nothing about Illadria's actions.

However, the Prophet ordered the constant surveillance of every agent outside the walls of the Dawn. The benefit of the stalkers was also quite obvious - without the help of these quiet elves, Draga would have to spend a lot more time looking for her targets.

"I have to get to E-Rantel. Quickly as possible, by land."

"There's no straight road from here. Keep strictly to the east, through the woods. After seventy miles, you'll find an orc-occupied village. From there, there's a road a little farther south that leads to the outskirts of E-Rantel."

"Copy that. Do you have orders to follow me at all times?"

"No, Mistress. I watch over you while you are here."

"Tell Illadria I'm changing locations. If she sends another spy, tell her to inform me."

"Got it." The elf bowed briefly.

"Draga spurred the nightmare, and it sped straight through the woods. If it had been an ordinary rider, it would have been killed by flying into a tree or a ravine at that speed. But shadow demons have many advantages over mortals. Their ability to become a disembodied black mist, helpless, almost blind, but virtually invulnerable, is one of them. Being in a disembodied state drained her strength, and sometimes she needed a break. Draga took advantage of these breaks to make sure she stayed on the path."

It took her a couple of hours to get to the orc-occupied village. She missed it by just a mile. There was little interest here.

She noted for herself that the guys were getting on well - they'd converted the lean fence into something that looked more or less like a wall, put a couple of towers and patrol posts in the trees up in the distance, within sight. The wall was covered with tents for most of the free space inside, and the shaman's canopy on the outside of the wall could be recognized by the stench it emitted.

Not far away was dug a solid size pit for burning garbage and remains. The natives who had been driven out of the Tob forest often stumbled upon this village. The orcs were happy, but there was no place to bury so many bodies. Previously all the bodies were sent to Marius, but after the large-scale conquest, there were so many that even the Archilich began to "overfeed".

Now only the intact remains and the occasional survivor were sent to him.

There was no point in lingering, and after checking the direction with the local elf overseer, she moved on.

* * *

"Sir Nigun, our target will arrive in half a day at the most. What are your orders?"

Sir Nigun stroked the scar on his face habitually. A decision had to be made.

The plan went like clockwork. A few villages, a few words in the right ears. Gazef, as expected, spared no effort, chasing the mercenary mercenaries. They did not even know who they serve - they were recruited in the Empire, paid with Imperial coin. Nor did they know their end goal. And they did not care. They were doing what they loved for decent pay, and in this profession, it is not customary to ask questions. Perfect performers. Of course, they would all die, it was inevitable. Not even little knowing witnesses are needed.

Their role is only to draw Gazef out, make him lose his head in anger and lust for vengeance, and fall from his hand, tying up the fight for a short time. The real work falls on the people of the Church.

The operation was approaching its final phase. It could have been finished sooner, but Sir Nigun tried to delay the inevitable. Gazef Stronoff must be killed, and the thought filled Sir Nigun's heart with bitterness. A man of perfection, embodying the ideals of Theocracy. A man in whom the legacy of the ancient Heroes was fully revealed. Such a loss to the entire race, and because of what? Because of the foolishness, the ridiculous stubbornness, and devotion to the false ideals of heretics.

Oh, the holy church has tried many times to open Gazef's eyes to his purpose of serving the ideals of humanity, the Church of Heroes. To convince, to buy, to kidnap, in the end, all in vain. With the tenacity of a donkey, the bearer of the legendary gift clung to his loyalty to the country that wiped its feet on him. With no reasonable solution in sight, the supreme council even reached an unprecedented compromise. The theocrats were willing to pay Gazef fabulous sums for the simple impregnation of selected women.

But the stubborn idiot just laughed at the suggestion. It is against his morals in general and against his opinion of Theocracy in particular, he said.

He simply left the holy church no choice. The kingdom has no right to possess such a man and his descendants. No one has the right, except the true bulwark of human ideals. And since Gazef is unable to understand or at least accept his role, so the tragedy is inevitable.

Sir Nigun understood perfectly well what the Council of Six had in mind when enforcing this plan. But that didn't make it any easier.

"Sir Nigun?"

Sir Nigun sighed heavily.

"Send in the mercenaries. Tell them there's no hurry now. When Stronoff shows up, disperse the cordon of summoners. You may go." Nigun waved his hand wearily.

He had to prepare himself, too. No matter how well planned the operation was, Stronoff was still the second most dangerous man in the world. It was foolish to think the battle would be easy.

* * *

In the vicinity of E-Rantel, Draga was forced to move along the trails. It was no longer desirable to run the usual way through the forest - there was a risk of being seen.

The sense of smell that had returned to her stirred her. From somewhere in front came a subtle but distinct scent. It beckoned, bewitching every cell in her body.

The smell of terror. It was the strongest, clearest scent she had ever encountered. The monsters she hunted didn't smell like that. A creature incapable of death awareness is incapable of real fear. The adventurers she beat weren't afraid of her, either. There was something similar except in the orcish village, but there the smell was old and almost weathered.

She was glad she was going the same way and spurred the nightmare on.

Less than a minute later, she first heard and then saw a man running desperately toward her. A woman, in tattered clothes, with bloody legs. She was running with the last of her breath, stumbling and wheezing. She was running from something, but she was totally oblivious to what was going on around her. The smell was coming from her.

Draga gave the nightmare a slight shove to the side and, as the woman ran past, deftly grabbed her by the scruff of the neck and lifted her up. The victim gave a short shriek and froze, curled up. Draga effortlessly lifted the light body and brought it close to her face. She inhaled with pleasure. The scent of wild terror stupefied her head, and the pounding of her heart pounded her ears. The desire to tear this lump of flesh became unbearable.

At that moment, the victim opened her eyes, and the smell of fear was joined by other notes that could not yet be understood.

"Lady Knight, please help!"

A lady knight? Ah yes... Draga's sanity broke through the veil of desire to kill. She ought to be a hero. She let go of the girl's collar with regret.

"What's up?"

"Soldiers are chasing me, they want to kill me. I beg you to help me!"

"What kind of soldiers?"

"I don't know!" The girl burst into sobs. "They came to our village and started killing everyone! We didn't do anything to them!"

How funny, Draga thought. Heroes kind of protect the weak, don't they? Could this be the case?

Her brief contemplation was interrupted by the crackling of bushes and a metallic rustle as two panting men in light armor, with the lion symbol engraved at the heart, appeared on the path on the same side from which the girl had fled. Both held swords in their hands. When they saw the rider on the horse, black as blindness, they stopped and looked at each other.

The girl screamed in rage and tried to hide behind the horse. Nightmare tried to kick the cheeky girl but was yanked back by the reins. One of the men, sheathing his sword and spreading his arms, approached Draga and spoke, choosing the words carefully.

"I beg your pardon for this... ugly scene, madam. Will you let us take the criminal and get out of your way?"

"I am not a criminal! It was you who attacked our village!" The girl screamed desperately.

"You're so brave right away, bitch. Wait a minute." The man snarled at her and then turned back to Draga, who was contemplating the scene with equanimity. "Again, I apologize for my rudeness. There has been a riot, and she is the one who must be punished. You needn't waste your attention on this incident, really."

Draga hummed.

"What's the emblem on your chest? The King's warriors I've seen have a different one."

"Oh, that's..." The man shook his head sadly. "I wish I had meant it nicely. Joy!"

With that last word, he quickly drew his sword and stabbed the nightmare in the neck from below, while the other soldier moved jerkily around the other side.

The sword blow did not reach its target. With incomprehensible grace, the black horse turned, and the rider slightly bent from the saddle, lazily swung her sword. And when did she have time to snatch? - thought the warrior aloof, barely able to see the broad, straight blade cut off his arm above the elbow without a sign of resistance. The detachment vanished the moment he lost his balance and fell, putting his arm out in front of him. There was a cry of pain and fear.

The second soldier, not seeing what had happened to his partner, rushed toward the horse, also intending to hit it. Almost there, he heard screams and hesitated, just for a moment.

Something was wrong. He didn't have time to think about what. Draga turned in her saddle and cracked his head with the second swing of her sword.

Draga felt a sensation akin to an orgasm. It was nothing compared to killing monsters. With a flick of her sword, she shook off the blood and brains and pointed the nightmare toward the wounded man, who wheezed, frantically trying to clench his arm. Her mind fluttered with the scent of terror and a desperate unwillingness to die.

A divine sensation, it could even compare to the one she felt from the praise of her Lord. The nightmare crushed the victim's head with its heavy hoof, and once again feelings of freshness, strength, and dizzying happiness pierced Draga's body for a brief moment. She inhaled and exhaled with pleasure, and stared into the girl, who was looking at the massacre with fear and a hint of hope.

"You said there were a lot of them. Where are they?"

The girl pointed to the path with her hand.

"T-there..."

Draga grinned predatorily, and, barely restraining herself from becoming disembodied, drove her steed in the direction indicated.

It didn't take her more than a minute to reach the village. The nightmare, sensing her mistress' fierce thirst, rushed like the wind. Beyond the edge of the forest began the gentle hills, with a few columns of smoke rising between them.

The three-meter-high paling that surrounded three dozen houses and barns must have been good protection against wolves and other predators. Now it had become a death cage for those who sought its protection. The nightmare, snorting contemptuously, swung across it at full gallop.

The massacre of the inhabitants was in full progress. The dead and dying of all ages were everywhere in sight.

A teenager, about ten years old, bent in an unnatural pose, lay at the entrance to one of the houses, in a pool of freezing blood. An old woman with a chopped face, in a carefully cultivated garden. A large man mutilated beyond recognition, still not letting go of his pitchfork. Right against the wall, a woman with an arrow in her back. She was still bleeding. The doors of almost every house had been kicked in, and the stench of death and despair was everywhere.

Draga glanced briefly at the scene and moved toward the center, where the wave of fear was so strong that she felt a little dizzy.

In the center, in a sort of square by the well, there were quite a few people - a few dozen survivors on their knees, packed into a tight crowd. Their hands were all tied. Three dozen more, wearing the same type of armor Draga had already seen, surrounded them. There was wailing, lamentation, pleading by one and scornful banter by another.

Not far away, under the canopy, three half-naked men, laughing and growling, were satisfying their lust. The girls beneath them were no longer even crying, not even reacting to the resounding slaps and bites.

The largest house in the settlement, the only one with two stories. The square was, in fact, its courtyard. It was tightly locked. The doors and shutters were propped up with wooden bars, and two more soldiers were jokingly fencing with lighted torches nearby. Draga sensed a multitude of people inside, and these people clearly did not yet know what was in store for them, but they did not expect anything good. The screams of the infants were intermingled with the howls and pleas of the women,

She could barely keep from bursting into laughter with the anticipation that overwhelmed her. The thirst for blood and death and suffering filled every muscle with a pleasant itch. She used to want to kill the poor fugitive and taste her death, and she thought that would be the best thing she could get out of this world. But now she tasted something else. A taste of the suffering and death of someone who thought she was the ruler of the situation. That moment when certainty turned to confusion, disbelief, terror, and hope that it was all just a bad dream.

By the time her appearance was noticed, she had already jumped from her saddle, right onto one of the swordsmen. When the others were just trying to comprehend the new circumstance, she was already on her feet, tearing the victim's head from his body. The next moment, the body, lavishing blood all around, smashed against the wall with a juicy pop, pushing the logs of the log cabin inward.

Holding a head with a piece of the spine in her left hand by its hair, she drew her sword. Dozens of people froze, trying to comprehend what was happening. The incipient panic made it feel like something exploded sweetly in her groin. Without giving anyone a second thought, without making a decision, she hurled the severed head at the one who looked to be in charge, and with all her might she sliced the nearest enemy across, from the bottom to the top. The sword sliced through the metal of the armor and the body with barely perceptible resistance. Inertia tore through the flesh, practically exploding it. Droplets of blood rushed out, forming a ball of purple fog for a moment.

Death.

Time almost stopped. In the thick, unyielding air, she lunged for the next victim, reading the slowly growing terror in her eyes with pleasure. An oblique blow from her shoulder and another cloud of red dust graced the square.

Death.

The sword gliding toward the next victim left a beautiful slash in the bloody haze. Red droplets smashed against the polished steel and glided gently across it.

Death.

A few of the warriors seemed to start reacting. Slowly, awkwardly, they began to move - in the course of each of their movements, Draga would have had time to chop each one into small pieces. But she wanted to stretch out the pleasure. She stopped, swinging her sword in the air with a heavy thud. The settling bloody dust caressed her face.

The soldiers hastily pulled away, leaving the bound villagers behind, hastily forming a semblance of a formation. A strained, disruptive voice was heard:

"What the hell are you?!"

She grinned happily.

"I am a Hero."

She couldn't contain herself, so she lunged into the middle of the line, chopping up two of them in one fell swoop. Their remains, scattered in different directions, knocked down those standing beside them. There was a panicked shriek from somewhere on the other side of the line:

"I didn't agree to this!"

One of the soldiers dropped his useless weapon and took off running. Another swing of the sword, another corpse, and the rest followed suit. Draga laughed heartily as she watched them go.

Yes. Yes! YES!

For the next few minutes, she was having a lot of fun catching up with and killing people. It moved chaotically, without consistency, giving hope to those who thought they had been spared, and taking it away a moment later.

Last came the rapists' turn.

One hid in the darkness of the empty house, huddled under a bench in the corner. Draga could feel, literally see through the wall, his soul blazing with terror. She went into the house, sniffing the air noisily, pretended not to hear the strangled wheezing and teeth clattering, and went out. She walked around the house, and, piercing the log wall with her hand, grabbed her face and slowly crushed it against the inside of the wall.

The other covered himself on top of his murdered comrade and feigned death. Draga walked past, and, after waiting for the scent of hope, turned back to him. Sobs could be heard in the rhythm of her slow steps.

"No... No... Please..."

"No? Why?" She raised an eyebrow, peering into the trembling, swollen face.

"Please don't! I'll do anything you want, don't!"

"I want you to die."

A blow with two fingers to the eyes pierced the eye sockets, and he granted her wish. Slowly.

The third was more boring. He was waiting for her, huddled in a corner of the house, his sword drawn forward. Its tip shook, but the spirit was resolute and strong. As she approached, he lunged, trying to strike her.

"Die, monster!"

"No."

She easily intercepted the attack, grabbed the base of the blade with her palm, and squeezed. The weapon cracked with a thud. The shards that remained in her hand, Drega hammered into his mouth, breaking his jaw and neck, and left him for dead.

It had been a wonderful day. It could have been better, only if she could have completed what those soldiers had started. But she was supposed to be a hero, and heroes don't do that.

When she returned to the square, the faint hope of continuing the fun by killing the arsonists had melted away. The nightmare had already torn them apart and was now feasting on their guts through the torn cuirass of one of them. Draga looked anxiously at the captives, but all as one lowered their heads low to the ground. She shooed sternly at her steed and wagged her finger at it, and it displeasingly ceased its meal.

The bloodlust was fading, leaving a pleasant weariness in her body.

She walked over to the man she had first thrown her severed head at. He was alive, and already regaining consciousness. Draga saddled up, leaning over to face him, fixing the blood-stained curls. She patted his cheek:

"Hello."

Looking silently into her eyes, the man grayed before her eyes.

"Do yourself a favor and lie still for a while. Okay?"

The man nodded finely. Draga patted his stubble again, got up, and walked toward the twisted, bound men.

"Hey, you. Who's in charge here?"

* * *

The frantic galloping of the last hours was a success. As they approached the village of Karn, Gazef saw no pillars of smoke. One of two things - either they made it in time, or the Imperials were not here at all. Both were good enough, though in the second case the chase would continue.

As he rode up to the gate with his weapon at the ready, Gazef knew at once that the Imperials were definitely here. Open gates, broken doors of houses, and bloody puddles testified to that for sure. But there were no fires in sight, which meant that there was a chance of saving someone.

"Quick, to the center!"

The squad galloped to the village square, but just before the square, the road was blocked by a fine female figure in black armor, sword is drawn. Unusual weapon - the blade is of normal length, and the hilt as a two-handed, and without a guard. The unusual weapons, the unusual armor, and the complete lack of awe in front of the whole troop immediately alerted him.

Gazef knew what talented people are capable of, regardless of gender. He raised his hand signaling his squad to stop and prepare for battle. At the same moment, he glanced around the square.

The picture was shocking. Apart from this woman, not a single living thing was visible. On one side of the square lay two small rows of filthy sackcloth-covered bodies. Fewer than there should be inhabitants here.

On the other side... A wild mishmash of limbs, torsos, and who knows what else. And everywhere, everywhere was blood. In stale puddles and rivulets on the ground, in blots on the walls of houses. Gazef had seen enough in his life, but the sight of it made him sick to his stomach.

Tears welled up in his eyes at the thought that they hadn't made it after all. But the muffled cries of a child and the anxious hissing from one of the houses gave him hope. And most importantly, there was no fire.

Struggling with his growing anger and hoping for the best, he turned to the woman, moving a few steps closer.

"I am Gazef Stronoff, captain of the King's personal guard. Who are you and what happened here?"

The woman defiantly hid the sword in its sheath at her waist.

"I am Draga, also called Dark Maiden, an adventurer. On my way to E-Rantel, I found out that the soldiers of another country were rampaging here, and I intervened to protect the people. Can you confirm that you serve the King?"

Gazef was surprised.

"I am well known in our kingdom, and I am known by sight to almost half of it. But I can also show you the royal warrant."

He pulled a thick scroll with a magic seal from his saddlebag. The woman nodded, and Gazef continued.

"Did the residents survive?"

"Not all of them. There, under the burlap, are those who were unlucky. And over there are the ones who attacked. Four dozen."

"Their commander I let live, for now."

Gazef sighed in relief. It didn't sound like she was lying about survivors.

"I am grateful for your intervention. You saved many good citizens of the kingdom from a terrible fate. Let me get this straight: did you do it alone, or do you have a group?"

"I don't need a group."

"Excuse me, but what is your rank?"

As an answer, she pulled a chain from under her armor, with an iron badge.

"Iron Rank? Lady, I'm sorry, but I find it hard to believe that you could handle so many professional soldiers on your own."

"I don't care what you believe. All I can tell you is that I'm new in the Guild."

"That explains a lot." Gazef took another look around the square. "Where are the rest of the villagers?"

"When they heard that a new armed unit was approaching, they hid and asking me for protection again."

Gazef dismounted.

"I see. I apologize, but I'd like to talk to the headman, or whoever is in his place if the headman is dead. In your presence, to confirm your version of events. Is that all right for you?"

"Actually, I've already spent more time here than I planned. But if you insist, it's ok."

"Thank you for understanding."

* * *

"Sir Nigun, Gazef's squad has reached the village."

Nigun sighed and clenched his fist with a crunch.

"Let's start."

RiP · Oct 29, 2021

Chapter 15

"Why do we have to deal with this crap?"

When the commander go to talk with the strange knight and the village chief, he did not forget to give orders to his men as well. There were a lot of dead bodies on the small square in the center of the village. Something had to be done with them. With the bodies of the villagers everything is clear - tomorrow they will be reprieved according to all the rules and buried like honest people in the local cemetery. The farewell before the burial should take place in the square, it is a tradition.

That was not the case with the Imperials. They came to a foreign land and ran rampant like bandits. There was no one to say goodbye to them. Decent burial was out of the question. Of course, they too would be purged before burial, the influence of the cursed plains cannot be discounted. Who would want to wait for a visit of the undead? But they will be buried to the ground, in a common pit, away from the village walls. The peasants have already dug the pit and should be done by midnight.

Gazef instructed his men to haul the mutilated corpses to a future mass grave. And for the second hour, the brave warriors worked hard, throwing the remains of the fallen imperials into the cart. There were a total of two carts in the village suitable for such work. While one load, the second takes the grim load behind the walls, to the pit, and so on in a circle. The work would not be very hard if they were ordinary bodies. Forty-something people, three or four moves. But with the massacre, the stranger swordswoman left behind...

Gazef's warriors were not particularly impressed. Their commander had done something similar before during raids on bandit rookeries. The peasants, who used to haul it all down to the center at the swordswoman's behest, were another matter. Not surprisingly, everyone capable of labor volunteered to dig, away from the ghastly reminder of what had happened.

"Quit your whining, you bore me," replied Vatus irritably to his companion, Irius, rinsing his bloody hands in the bucket by the wall. Something was sticking to them, and it was interfering with his work. "Years of blood and shit, and you still whine like a kid."

"Fuck off, buddy." Vatas took hold of the arm sticking out of the pile and pulled the corpse, which was already beginning to ossify. "I'd understand if there was no one else, but there's a village full of peasants. And we're at the end of the line again."

A throw and a third of the human torso slammed into the cart.

"Yeah, yeah. The world is a terrible place."

"But seriously, the peasants could have been used!"

"And who's going to dig? And you know, those poor souls went through a lot. First, the Imperials did a real massacre here, and then that chick made them pick up the pieces of bodies all over the village. We've seen worse, but what's it like for them?"

"I don't give a fuck. I'm imagining myself in a bathhouse with a cute little peasant girl. And you know what? It looks like I can only dream about it today."

"There's a lot of quiet places here, you can dream later. Don't worry, after this round, we'll have to go to the guard... Wait a minute."

A warning whistle sounded in the distance. The two warriors abandoned their activities and hurried to the street leading to the gate.

A crowd of local survivors with shovels quickly entered the half-opened gate. The workers quickly scattered to their homes. Following them, the warriors who had guarded the work came through the gate. They were focused and anxious.

"I just knew it," Igo grumbled angrily, and went back to the water barrel.

"Yeah," Vatas answered vaguely, adjusting his weapon belt, and headed toward the sentries. "Something serious, and they left the horse and cart outside."

The rest of the warriors were already gathering in the square, having abandoned their assignments.

* * *

The headman's house was cozy, even though a few hours ago the place had been crowded. The only damage was to the crockery, and the half-empty shelves were conspicuous. But by the time Gazef, accompanied by the swordswoman and the headman himself, got in, the house was cleaned up. The floor had been swept and wiped with a damp cloth, the furniture had been set up, and pots of soup and boiling water for herbal concoction were bubbling on the heated stove.

Throughout the conversation, the headman did not sit down, and stood near the table, half bowed. His wife only served plates and cups silently, trying not to be seen at all.

Gazef himself came from a peasant family. Even after his rise to prominence as His Majesty's private man, he had not forgotten his roots. Whenever he had a few free days, he visited houses like this all over the kingdom. Sometimes on duty as well. Listening to the common people, when they are not afraid to speak, and relaying their words to their suzerain is also an important part of serving the crown.

And such behavior, as the headman showed, would have been understandable if the lord feudal lord had come here. But Gazef was not a feudal lord, but a well-known hero who, if not personally known, was certainly heard of. He was not accustomed to being feared by the common people.

As he asked the headman about the events, he noticed the way he looked at his guest. Sneakily, immediately averts his eyes, bowing at every opportunity. The headman, answering his questions, chose his words very carefully and often clenched his hands so that he could not see them trembling. He was obviously very afraid of this woman.

And she didn't care about anything. With the polite, weary indulgence, she sprawled back in her chair, picking at the soup with a wooden spoon without appetite. She paid no attention at all to what was going on around her, thinking about something of her own. Gazef couldn't help but notice that the woman who called herself Draga was surprisingly good-looking. A fine, sturdy figure, without any unhealthy thinness or excessive muscles. Agile, smooth, precise movements. Face, very pretty even without makeup. Not the first youth, but young, not even 25.

He even remembered for some reason that at almost forty he was not yet married.

Perhaps this is a case where women are asked out on a date? She's not one of those elegant ladies His Majesty has asked me to marry. She's sure of herself, knows the beauty of the sword and the ugliness of death, and doesn't turn her nose up at poverty, though she's obviously rich. Only how to approach such a case...

With some effort, he pulled himself away from irrelevant thoughts. The first thing to do was to get a better understanding of who she really was. Yes, she has the badge of an adventurer, but there was no way an adventurer of such power could remain unknown until now.

The headman confirmed her version of what had happened. The imperial scum were already about to set fire to the house. full of women and children, and then execute the men cursing their helplessness. And at the last moment, a rider on a stallion as black as night appeared. Without engaging in pointless negotiations, she simply killed all the imperial mercenaries who were in the square. And then methodically slaughtered everyone lucky enough not to be in the center. Although, how to say lucky. Those who were assigned the role of executioners died quickly.

The mercenary commander, the only survivor among them, was of little use. Gazef interrogated him right after the headman. The older, gray-haired man, kneeling with his hands tied, answered all his questions briefly and at once, staring dumbly at the floor. But he didn't know as much as Gazef wanted him to know. A mercenary, a landless knight from the Baharut Empire. Hired by an unknown person for a quick punitive raid on villages near E-Rantel. He did not know who the hirer was, only the money was important.

Listening to the mercenary, Gazef really wanted to strangle the bastard with his own hands right there. The only thing that kept him from doing that was to leave it to the executioner. An experienced master torturer would surely be able to squeeze out something more important. And the execution would have to be public, so people would know that retribution had taken place. There was also something else that troubled him.

Something was wrong. Someone had provided the imperials with a detailed road map and the exact route. And also - the mercenary knew exactly in this village they had to linger. How he was so sure - the mercenary did not remember, and a cup of embers behind the chest did not help to remember. From his experience, Gazef knew that problems with the memory of the doers always pointed to problems with those who paid. And those who were paying had not yet shown themselves in any way.

His thinking was interrupted by a rude, quick knock on the door and a lieutenant who immediately burst in

"My Captain, the village is surrounded by an unknown enemy!"

* * *

"Sir Nigun, the summoners of the Solar Scriptures are in position, the phantoms are summoned!"

Sir Nigun gave a brief nod to his assistant.

"Have you been spotted?"

"Yes, sir. The alarm is sounded and the enemy is on alert."

"Very good. Tell the summoners, the first wave of phantoms into battle. The goal is maximum damage, do not take care of yourself. Have them ready to summon the second wave at once."

"Yes!" the assistant spurred his horse, galloping off to carry out the order.

Sir Nigun once more checked his equipment. He was very proud of the fact that the Council had entrusted him with the ancient relics of the Church. They had once belonged to the same deified Heroes who founded the state that would later become the Theocracy.

Artifacts of unimaginable power that left the Arsenal only for great deeds. The Aegis of Justice, the Chainmail of the Celestial Guardian, the Diadem of Iron Will, and, finally, the absolute weapon, which was only to be used in exceptional cases. A crystal with a sealed summoning spell of a High Angel. And something else, too, which Sir Nygan tried not to think about. The latter was to be used only if the operation had failed.

Each of these items had a rich, glorious history and endowed the bearer with great power. This operation was bound to succeed. The Council of Six put in not only ancient artifacts but many other relics that could only be used once. It is impossible to replenish their supply. Scrolls [of concealment], for example, no more than a dozen remain. The Otherworld Potions that the ancient heroes brought with them are slightly more. The crystal, carefully guarded by Nigun, was the only one of its type.

Sir Nigun prayed briefly, broke the seal of the crystal vial, and drank its contents, carefully memorizing every moment, every nuance of taste. Not in every generation would there be one to whom such an honor would be bestowed. His body swiftly poured with a heavy and confident power beyond the reach of mere mortals.

He stepped forward, leaving the undergrowth. The [concealment] spell had just begun to fade. Now another scroll.

* * *

Gazef kicked open the second-floor balcony door, jumped out, and glanced around.

The village was indeed surrounded. In a sparse chain, at twice the distance of an arrow, stood men in chainmail, cloaks unmarked and helmets concealed. Worst of all, looming over them were tall figures of angels in fancy armor, with spears and shields. Their snow-white wings fluttered in the wind.

"Here's the answer to the memory lapse. Bloody magic!" Gazef growled in anger.

Watching the angels drifting slowly toward the palisade, he quickly calculated his battle options. The phantoms floated through the air in an evenly compressed ring. Fences are no barrier to them. Their armament is for close-quarters combat, so they can't attack from the air. The most advantageous tactic is to impose combat in conditions where their mobility becomes irrelevant.

"Lieutenant!"

"Yes, Captain?" Lieutenant appeared from the door.

"Are the residents in shelters?"

"Yes, Captain. Hiding in basements."

"Very good. Tell the boys to get the crossbows ready. The bolts are cast iron, not silver by any means. Avoid close combat, lure between houses where there's no space. Shoot no matter where they are phantoms, they are tough to hit, but no real armor on them. If it comes to melee, take in the spears. Execute"

"Yes!" The lieutenant dashed away.

It is already obvious that this is a trap prepared just for him. The strongest warrior in the kingdom, perhaps in the world. His Majesty's greatest weapon. One of the main factors keeping Emperor Baharut from the real war. Gazef had no false modesty in assessing his importance to the country.

A village and not even any city are worth such an attack. So its goal was obvious.

Whoever prepared this attack couldn't have been unaware that Gazef couldn't be defeated by phantoms. If there were a hundred of them in an open field, they would still have options, but not in this situation. So the angels are here more as a deterrent than the mainstay of the attack. They can be handled by the guys. It'll be hard, but they should be able to handle it.

The phantoms reached the palisade, and, to Gazef's surprise, did not fly over it, but began to tear it down, wielding their spears like crowbars.

"Why are they doing that...? Maybe the palisade will interfere with the next attack. No riders in sight. Hm"

One of the angels, breaking through a gap in the fence, received a blast from five crossbows at once and melted into thin air, along with its weapon. The others paid no attention to the loss of their fellow man. Two more volleys, one figure melted, and the other just fell to the ground, pierced by crossbow arrows.

I told them cast iron, why the fuck would they use steel bolts. Okay.

He was about to go into battle in person when a well-set baritone rolled through the village as if coming from the sky.

"Gazef Stronoff, warrior-captain of the kingdom of Re-Estise. I am Nigan, chosen knight of the Sunlight Scriptures. One way or another, you will die today. You can accept death by crouching like a cowardly rat, and I will burn this village to the ground. Along with you will die the innocents you want to protect. Or you can fall with honor, in battle, as befits a great warrior. Go out into the field, and I swear by my faith that I will not touch anyone else who does not want to fight. Show the white flag as consent, and I will call off the angels."

Gazef frowned. The last thing he wanted to do was to hurt innocent people. He didn't mind taking the fight under any circumstances. Only he had no trust in whoever challenged him. Not after everything that had happened before.

On the other hand, this Nigun can probably really burn down the whole village if he doesn't have only these phantoms. Maybe not, but in that case, the cost of the test would be the lives of the common people. Gazef could not allow such a thing to happen. It would be against everything he served the kingdom for.

He glanced around the village once more. The angels had already made their way over the fence and his men were engaged in combat. In front of him, one of the phantoms dived toward Vatas, caught his wings on the roof ridge of an apartment building, and lost his balance for a moment. Vatas took advantage of the moment, put a bolt right in the angel's armpit, and ducked around the corner. The phantom roared muffled, unhooked from the jib, and came down heavily, wings spread wide. Ormik jerked out from around the corner of the house and planted a bolt right between his shoulder blades. The phantom turned, searching for a new target, and Vatas, reappearing from around the corner, jabbed him in the side with his spear. The phantom vanished.

Elsewhere, things were going similarly, and the guys were doing great. But there were too many phantoms. And in the distance, where the bloody summoning sorcerers were visible, the silhouettes of the new semi-material winged warriors were slowly appearing...

There was no choice. Gazef returned to the house.

"Headman!"

"Yes, sir?" The deathly frightened old man appeared at once.

"I need a white sheet or something like that."

"Sir, do you really believe these people?"

"I don't believe them, but there's a chance to save your lives, and I'm going to take it."

"I am eternally grateful to you, sir," the headman murmured, rushing to one of the chests and retrieving a whitewashed tablecloth.

He took the tablecloth and was about to return to the balcony when he noticed that the mysterious swordswoman was still sitting with the same boring look as if the event had nothing to do with her. He heard a muffled cry from outside - one of the men had failed.

"Headman, hang out that tablecloth from the balcony."

The old man bowed and grabbed the cloth and raced upstairs. Gazef turned to the swordswoman:

"Lady Draga, you have shown amazing skill in battle before. Would you care to join me in a new deed?"

"Nah," she answered boredly. "That Chatterbox has a score to settle with you, not me."

"Right. However, this is a state matter, and you can't stay out of it."

"I can." She smiled.

"What if I use my right to conscript you, given to me by law?"

"You can try," Draga smiled even wider.

A wicked smile. He involuntarily remembered what the bodies and armor of those she had killed were like. He didn't want to quarrel, and he didn't want to quarrel under such circumstances even more.

"I don't want to push you, it would be undignified. Do me the favor of telling me how I can get you interested in joining?"

"Hmm. I'm an adventurer. You can hire me."

"Whatever you say. How much?"

"Standard gold rank fee. One hundred gold coins."

"Deal. You'll get your payment from the treasury when you arrive at E-Rantel. We'll sign the contract there after the fact."

Draga stood up from her chair with a fluid motion and took hold of the hilt of her sword. The wicked smile remained on her face.

"Okay, I'm in. Whom do you want to kill?"

Gazef listened. There had been no sound of fighting outside for a minute, but there were some quick conversations. It looked like the phantoms had indeed been recalled.

"I am challenged to a fight by a certain Nigun, I think you've heard. I will accept the challenge, and you make sure that no other enemy leaves alive."

"We-e-ell, that's boring. How about I cut off the head of the main asshole and you chase the rats?"

"You're pretty sure of yourself," Gazef smiled.

"I have a reason for that. So?"

"Have it your way. You take Nigun, and my boys and I will break through and destroy the encirclement. If you can, take him alive."

"We'll see. Where to look for him?"

Gazef estimated the direction.

"Northeast, over there," he pointed.

Draga nodded and went outside. There her stallion was already hoofing. Gazef had spotted him when they first met, and he admired his rare coloring and power.

With a graceful movement, Draga jumped into the saddle and raced off in the direction indicated.

Even if she doesn't overpower the leader, she will distract him, and it's a great chance for us to ruin his plan.

It didn't bother him that he sent a woman into battle so easily. In this world, talent could manifest itself in anyone, male or female. He had given up the perception of women as weak beings long ago when he met Lucky. The leader of the adamantine team of adventurers truly impressed him. As a one-on-one opponent, she wasn't much of an adversary for Gazef. But compared to ordinary humans or even other adventurers, she could single-handedly replace a wedge of two dozen knights. Or an entire team of mithril rank.

And Draga, by implication, is not much inferior to her. In any case, whoever takes up arms must be prepared to die. Except, it would be a pity to lose the opportunity to get to know her better. But duty is heavier than a mountain.

In the square, in front of the entrance, his men were already gathered. Four of the two dozen were wounded, blood oozing sluggishly through their pierced armor.

"Guys, we're going for a breakthrough. The maiden in black, an excellent fighter, will divert the attention of the enemy commander, we will strike in the other direction. We break through the encirclement, go into the woods and strike again from there. We go as a spear, I'm on the tip. Mount up!"

* * *

Draga was satisfied. Gazef left a generally pleasant impression on her. Rather, not so much pleasant. He didn't inspire the contempt she had for her like the other men she'd met. There was something about him that the rest of the adventurers, the guards, the men she'd killed, didn't have. Some inner dignity, a core of spirit and pride. He was sincerely true to his ideals and knew his worth, and in that way, he reminded her of herself.

It was this sympathy that made her accept the offer and stay in this worthless village. She became curious. She wanted to take a closer look at Gazef. A man not in the service of the Lords, but worthy of them. He must be what the Prophet had in mind when he spoke of the 'powerful of this world'. That girl Tia certainly didn't deserve the title.

She was too lazy to deal with those who attacked the settlement again. It was too much trouble to kill without revealing her nature. Seeing the phantoms made her despondent at all. Such trifles were worthy of an orc's axe, not her active attention. Killing such inanimate beings would give her no pleasure. Draga considered taking care of the summoned creature masters after

Gazef and all his warriors had been slaughtered. And send his corpse to Dawn City, for further study of body and spirit. The Prophet might even praise her for her initiative.

It's a good thing he gave up the idea of "conscripting" her. Such an insult would not have been tolerated by Draga. If he had insisted on the delusional idea of betraying her Lord by serving someone else, she would have killed him. Quickly and painfully. He's only strong by the standards of this world.

It didn't have to be done, Gazef came to his senses. And Draga came up with a good idea at just the right time. She was annoyed by the adventurer's guild and the rules and obligations associated with it. But the Prophet's orders are absolute, and by obeying the rules one can get the best of it. High-ranking order is a big step on the road to glory.

So, all in all, the situation turned out in the best possible way.

Lightly pushing the nightmare in the sides, Draga raced toward her indicated target. As she swung over the wall, she saw a chain of men with staffs, wearing chain mail and hard helmets in the distance. They stood a few dozen paces apart, the silhouettes of new phantoms hovering above them. When they saw her cross the wall and approach, the men hustled. The outlines of the summoned minions began to take on density.

Draga paid almost no attention to them. Her gaze was fixed on the man who stood out from the crowd. Everything about him said he was the commander. As she moved swiftly closer, she noticed more and more details. The posture of one accustomed to power. The armor and shield of a quality she had not yet seen from outside the Dawn City.

An enemy who thinks he is strong. To break his spirit. Enjoy his despair.

KILL. MAIM. BURN.

* * *

Nigun was glad that Gazef listened to reason and accepted the terms. It made the task much easier. Of course, he had no intention of leaving the unfortunate peasants alive. Their deaths would not serve his whim. He took no pleasure in human deaths, even if they were heretics. One simply could not leave witnesses behind. And according to his oath, he would not touch them - his men would do everything.

A white rag was hung from the balcony of the largest house, and Nigun told the summoners to scatter the phantoms. But contrary to expectation, it wasn't Gazef who appeared from behind the wall.

Nice horse," Nigun noted to himself. It's worth taking after all.

As the rider approached, however, Nigun's anger began to overtake him.

Woman.

How pathetic would you have to be to send a woman to her death? How disrespectful would you have to be to do such a thing?

Nigun gritted his teeth. Well, it would do him some good, too. His soldiers had long been in foreign lands, without their usual comforts. And using heretic villagers for pleasure would be too risky. The slightest misstep, the slightest trace is fraught with exposure, and that would not be good for the plan.

The rider was approaching quickly, and Nigan could see the armor. His resentment subsided. Certainly, trophies like this armor and horse were worth forgetting the insult.

When the rider was a few dozen paces away, he commanded his retinue:

"Knock her off the horse. If you even scratch the honorable animal, you will regret that you were born."

The bodyguards synchronously moved to cross the rider.

And then something happened that Sir Nygan had never expected. Under the influence of the ancient potion, his senses sharpened to unbelievable limits. It was only thanks to them that he noticed the two sword thrusts. Both bodyguards made their last step, already dead.

The rider didn't even slow down, and Sir Nigun realized he'd been wrong about her. It's certainly not a bad substitute for Gazef.

So rare fortune. Extremely powerful talent...

Nigun had enough combat experience to know what kind of blows a rider could deliver. It was enough to notice the first movement of the corpus to defend against an attack. Especially with a sacred relic like the Aegis. He stepped aside, letting the rushing horse pass, and shielded himself from the slashing blow.

The impact was so hard that, despite the power of the Aegis, the armor, and the effects of the ancient potion, his knees crunched and his boots went ankle-deep into the ground. His shoulder also felt slightly numb, promising serious trouble in the future.

But the rider also paid the price for her arrogance - the blow, reflected with the same force as it had been delivered, knocked her out of the saddle.

Nigun, seeing that she was easily jumping to her feet, despite her rather heavy armor, barked:

"Everyone, stand back!"

There was nothing for the rest of his men to do in the fight of such level. They understood that, and, following orders, they ran away.

Nigun, shield at the ready, drew his sword and examined his opponent's weapon. The blade was one and a half meters wide and made of light polished metal. There were finely engraved runes all along its length. A long hilt, which would be more appropriate for a two-handed sword, no hilt.

You shouldn't expect skillful tricks and deceptive feints from such a weapon. And it is difficult to defend oneself without a guard, either. So she'd have to rely on a frenzied attack with simple slashing blows. Or stabbing, if she changed her grip.

This monstrous power, is it from the equipment? I'm sure it is. It all belongs in the Arsenal and her place in the maternity ward. Mankind needs that kind of heredity!

Focusing on the rider, he almost missed the hoof strike from her stallion. Only at the last moment did he have time to retreat and cover himself with his shield. The horse was thrown back several paces by the force of his blow and roared indignantly.

Without taking her bottomless black eyes off Nigan, the rider snapped her fingers and pointed to his men at a distance. The stallion snorted and galloped toward them. Nigun was chilled; his men had no such protection, and such a blow would end in fractures at best. Then they would have to defend themselves as best they could. The animal would suffer.

So sad.

The rider, meanwhile, swung her sword in the air with an eerie thud and struck again with an oblique blow. It was hard to keep track of that speed, despite all the boosts. Only intuition saved him from another, from the other side.

Each blocked blow made bones and joints crack. The swordswoman was supposed to take the same damage, but he couldn't tell that she was feeling anything.

Another blow. And another. A bunch of three strikes.

The heartbeat began to accelerate inexorably. Tension beyond human capabilities spared not even a boosted body. Counterattacks were out of the question. Nigun measured his capabilities soberly. All he could do at the moment was to rely on Aegis and wait for the enemy to mutilate herself.

A crushing blow from above. For a moment it felt like a mountain had fallen on him. His shoulder went numb, and a piercing shock ran down his spine. His knees couldn't hold him and he fell to the ground. A ringing in his head.

What is going on, holy Heroes, how is this possible?

There was no pain. One of the gifts of the ancient relics allowed him to sense the damage, but not to feel it. He jumped to his feet, ignoring the damage, and stood at the ready. A fraction of a second was enough time to realize that finally, his opponent felt the power of the Aegis. She stared at the splintered sword with squeamish surprise. The blade had split a third of its length, closer to the hilt. Viscous trickles of blood slowly oozed from her nose and down her temple.

Nigun turned to her victoriously:

"I don't know who you are, but I'm amazed. Such power, such a rare gift! This is your defeat. I want to offer you something, and I'll let you live if you agree."

"А?" She turned to him in surprise, as if she had just noticed Nigun.

Seeing that she could not believe her luck, Nigun continued.

"You have no reason to continue serving the one who sent you here. Embrace the true faith! You will be one of the pillars of humanity in its struggle against inferior races and heretics. You will have everything you desire!"

Something was wrong. Instead of understanding and humility, there was the rage in her eyes. The hoop on Nigun's head felt warm.

"What. You. Said. Worm."

With these words, she threw the fragment of her sword to the side and walked frighteningly unhurriedly toward him.

"I said you are free to choose whether to serve the true faith willingly or against it. I'm giving you a chance to change your life. To dedicate it to a truly great idea. Do it willingly, and I won't mutilate your body. If not... Well, your womb alone will be enough."

"You. Will. Pity. About. These. Words. All. Remaining. Full. Suffering. Life."

Nigun still didn't understand how she ended up with another sword in her hands. A completely different level. Not just a powerful artifact, but a real relic, like the weapons of the ancient Heroes. A broad two-handed sword with a powerful handguard. The frosty gray steel of the blade seemed to glow from within, and alternating patterns of sickly scarlet flickered across the

blade. As it moved, the blade left a ghostly trail in the air.

Nigun blocked the blow and was horrified to realize that the whole previous fight had been just a warm-up. He was thrown far to the side, knocking his back into a thick tree. The swordswoman hissed blood angrily, and, hissing through her teeth, stalked quickly toward him.

He couldn't feel his left arm and leg. A quick glance showed that the fight was virtually over. His shoulder was twisted at an unnatural angle, and blood stains were beginning to spread across the gleaming chainmail. And death was coming right at him.

The stupid heretic was much stronger than he could have imagined. It was clear from the blood-stained, hate-filled face that there was no point in talking. Neither was it possible to continue the battle. Yes, the council had foreseen the possibility of such a situation. It was a shame to go to extremes for the wrong reasons. But there was no choice.

With his healthy hand, Nigun nervously removed the crystal from his belt. His fingers were unsteady, and he nearly dropped the relic. When she was only a few steps away, he squeezed the crystal.

The gem's seemingly indestructible surface cracked with a crunch, and the bright light blinded Nigun for a moment. At the same moment, the celestial's cry of pain made his heart clench painfully. The mighty Supreme Archangel, freed by the last artifact of its type, protects him with his body.

What horrible weapon could so wound an entity like this? How did it turn out this way?

He was mesmerized as he watched the celestial, with deceptive slowness, raising his hands in a gesture of prayer. A flawless, perfect body, wrapped in robes woven from the light itself, powerful wings that seemed to cover this whole wicked world.

A show that no mortal will ever have the privilege of seeing again. Never.

At the moment when the sword of the evil one was about to strike the angel, a torrent of blinding light fell from his hands upon the enemy. It was as if the light washed all the evil, all the darkness out of the world, and for a moment it drowned the woman in the black armor.

The next moment everything was drowned out in a nightmarish, monstrous roar that made his heart freeze. The hoop on his head heated to the point that it began to fry beneath him. Out of this stream of pure light burst a clot of absolute darkness and literally pierced the celestial creature through.

Looking at the slowly settling shards of pure light whose messenger had been here only moments before, Nigun was filled with despair. Through the shimmering waterfall, the Evil One was walking slowly, limping. Charcoal-black smoke oozed from the armor. Her face was streaked with bloody burns. Her hair, burnt to the roots. The blade throbbed with a sickly cold.

Mad, pure hatred in her eyes.

The woman reached out and grabbed his face, her hand in her black smoke gauntlet. Even with all his pain defenses, Nigun felt so much pain from the burns that he could barely contain the scream.

"It was painful."

Nothing human in the voice. That's how the flames sound.

He was not afraid of death or torture. But to die here and now he could not afford it, not in any way. After all, it would mean that the sacred relics would fall into enemy hands. It would be an unqualified failure of the mission.

With one last effort, he reached into his secret pocket and broke the little clay figurine. In an instant, his barely alive, shattered body fell to the cold, polished marble of the Cathedral of Heroes.

The last thing he saw was the light of the blessed stained glass windows of the great temple and the attendants in white robes running toward him.

He made it.

RiP · May 11, 2022

Chapter 16

* * *

The rider in black disappeared around the corner of one of the houses. Meanwhile, Gazef's men put on their helmets and climbed on their horses. They looked rather grim. A frantic gallop, hard, dirty work, and instead of rest, another battle lay ahead. No one complained. They all knew what war was all about.

Gazef, looking at the rapid preparations, gave instructions to the wounded. They would be of little use in a mounted battle now. A wounded fighter is a liability to a mobile group. Their reaction time is slow, their attention is distracted, and their body is less effective.

"You four stay in the village as cover. This is our rear, you'll cover it in case of an enemy attack. You sit here, on the second floor, and keep your eyes open."

"Yes, Commander," grinned one of the remaining fighters merrily, as he readjusted his shoulder-high cuirass. "You'll get all the glory again."

"And you've got all the booze and girls hungry for wounded heroes, so it's all fair."

With approving chuckles, the remaining men took their pouches of bolts, crossbows, and other weapons and went into the house. The rest of the men lined up behind Gazef and trotted toward the gate. He habitually glanced around, noting the tightly locked shutters and the deserted streets. While there was no sign of the enemy, he was, as always, shaken by anticipatory trepidation.

Talent is talent, but death is only one and can come from anywhere. No talent can save you from an unexpected blow. A sword strike from the dark, a crossbow bolt from a window, poison dust from a trap, a tricky spell. There are many ways to die when you cannot see your enemy.

They stopped briefly at the gate. The two at the head of the column dismounted and unlocked the gate, opening it inward. Through the passage, they could see the same spellcasters in helmets and staffs. He could see them bustling about as the gates began to open. They were making some sort of hand gesture that left a blurry, smoky trail in the air.

Gazef waved his hand and spurred his horse. The chain of riders behind him, one by one, also galloped forward. Those who opened the gate were the last to jump out.

Distance is always a decisive factor in any skirmish. The longer the distance, the better for all sides of the skirmish. The longer the approach time, the better one can assess the situation and prepare for it.

The riders at full gallop rearranged themselves into a wedge. It was a formation Gazef usually used in mounted engagements, a sure method of crushing cavalry ranks and engaging the enemy. Against the enemy on foot, he always drew a line to strike with as many men as possible at the same time.

Spellcasters have always been the most problematic enemy. Against such a thin formation, one man at twenty or twenty-five feet, it is generally undesirable to march in a tight formation, regardless of formation. Any spellcaster, without thinking twice, would launch something massive at the crowd, and he'd be completely right. This is the most rational approach. And even if the attack is successful, a tight formation will knock over two or three people at most.

The spellcasters seemed to see the situation that way. While the Gazef riders covered a quarter of the distance and regrouped, the sorcerers had finished summoning the new phantoms. The new phantoms also resembled angels, but not in armor, but robes. Only the one standing directly in the path of the cavalry summoned a warrior phantom.

It's good when the enemy is predictable, Gazef noted as he saw the phantoms fold their arms and flame appeared between them. Moments later, the angel-like figures sent fireballs at the warriors. One of the most popular spells among wizards of any skill. Six buzzing clots of flame, leaving a blurred trail in the air, rushed toward the riders.

Gazef quickly assessed the trajectory. It was a preemptive shot. This was both bad and good. The bad thing was that the speed and the endpoint had been calculated very well, and without a major dump, it would not have been possible to stop and avoid the impact. Nor would it have been possible to accelerate sufficiently. The good thing... The good thing was that everything went like clockwork.

"Split!" Gazef shouted, unhooking his bow from his saddle and pulling a few arrows from his pouch without looking.

The warriors behind him immediately split into two lines, each riding in a different direction, at an angle from their previous course. Gazef turned the horse sharply to the side a moment later. The horse roared, nearly falling over on its side, lumps of earth flying from under his hooves. Gazeа raised on his stirrups, drew his bow, and fired an arrow. Without looking at the result, he fired another. Barely had the arrow fallen from its bowstring, the fireballs ahead finally collided. There was a cascade of powerful pops, and a wave of heat pummeled the warrior.

Gazef, grow a beard, they said. Your usual stubble doesn't look decent, they said. Fucking bastards! Gazef swore to himself, brushing his burnt hair off his face.

A glance at the battlefield showed that everything was going as planned. The left and right wings were almost on target. A volley of crossbows didn't seem to find their targets, which was no surprise. It's hard to hit a target at full gallop. That was to be expected. But the spellcasters, who hadn't expected such a maneuver, were baffled. Which in combat almost always means death.

The left wing's fighters buried the faltering caster under their hooves, and his phantom melted into thin air. It was a little worse on the right side. A fighter who'd almost struck with his spear was thrown back by a brutal blow from some cunning spell. The other two crashed into the phantom, which had started a new fireball moments before.

The caster distracted himself by turning to his phantom, and immediately a well-aimed spear was plunged into his back. The air around the warlock shimmered, and the spear slowed sensibly at the last moment. The armor was not pierced, but the caster lost his balance. A moment more, and the other rider was beside him. The warrior stood for a moment on the stirrups and brought his sword down powerfully on the sorcerer's neck. The head did not roll away, magic weakened this blow as well, but even so, the damage to the neck was fatal. Another phantom fluttered away.

Everything happened in a few moments. After taking out two opponents, the fighters dived at full gallop into the woods. Gazef stayed alone in the enemy's field of vision.

The other spellcasters had refocused. More fireballs flew toward Gazef, but the phantoms that had launched them were already dispersing. The melee fighters began to appear in their place.

Just what I need.

Gazef was not very fond of ranged weapons, preferring good old-fashioned hand-to-hand combat. He especially disliked crossbows. It wasn't even that these weapons were slightly dishonorable. Death in combat is always fair. The problem with the crossbow is that while it has excellent piercing power, it is a very inaccurate weapon. It's impossible to understand, impossible to feel the weapon when you're operating it just by pulling the trigger. What to say about range - a crossbow arrow, while penetrating a warrior in armor in ten paces, will get stuck in a sheaf of wheat in forty.

A bow is another matter. It takes a long time to learn, but a good archer will give any head start to a good crossbowman. Faced with this fact, Gazef took a very thorough approach to the gap in his skills. Several dozen elves were bought through an intermediary. Among them was a seasoned hunter, skilled even by the standards of his people. Gazef promised to grant him and the rest of his compatriots their freedom, in exchange for training in the art of archery.

The old elf really wanted freedom. And he knew his craft very well.

Gazef habitually yanked the horse by the bridle, putting down the animal that had begun to frighten. He took up his bow again. The closest opponent, unfortunately, no longer exposed himself to the arrows, trying to keep the phantom on the line of fire. But he slightly overestimated the reliability of his protector. One by one, three arrows shot into the summoned creature's belly, piercing the joints of its armor. As the phantom began to melt, a fourth ricocheted off the warlock's helmet. He, realizing it was no good, tried to get down on the ground, and didn't have time. The fifth arrow pierced his chain mail and sank into his belly. The sorcerer howled thinly and curled up on the ground.

The rate of fire, the second arrow coming off the bowstring as soon as the first one had traveled thirty paces, was making the arms very tired. When he had put the warlock down, Gazeph threw the bow aside - far away, so as not to break it under his hooves in the fight - and took the sword from its back sheath.

It was a mistake to think that the phantoms moved slowly. In fact, they weren't. While Gazef was busy firing, he was already surrounded by winged lancers. It was hard to count how many.

Gazef swung his two-handed blade.

"Are you after me? What are you waiting for?!"

The phantoms seemed to be waiting for it - they swooped down from all sides.

Gazef smiled grimly - close combat was his true element. The deceptively slow swing of the sword culminated in his famous move - [quadruple strike]. The sword instantly drew four figure-eights around him. The pinnacle of his skill, a move that another man would have torn every tendon in the arm.

The spears that rushed toward his body shattered, and the two phantoms lost their arms. Without distracting himself with an assessment of the results, Gazef spun on his stirrups and stabbed the nearest phantom in the shoulder. The winged creature lost its balance and swam sideways, knocking its comrade off course. Turned, jerked, hit again, and then another. The next phantom lost a wing, and then a head.

The muscles hummed pleasantly, and the handle of the two-handed weapon was as obedient as a woman in love.

Strike at the tip, parry, turn in the saddle, strike from above, dodge, strike from below. The phantoms weren't that good, especially in such a heap. They fell and melted down one by one.

But more came to replace the fallen. One, at last, guessed to kill a horse - the faithful horse wheezed with a spear pierced his neck and, twitching, began to fall. Gazef deftly stepped out of the saddle, preventing himself from being crushed by the carcass.

Oh, there are so many of them, where are my assholes?

The armor was already damaged in many places, and slowly but steadily, the weary Gazef stopped parrying the least dangerous attacks to conserve his strength. The long-worn armor was sticking to his body from sweat and biting unpleasantly.

Another [quadruple strike] gave a moment's respite - the phantoms recoiled.

Got it quick, too bad, Gazef thought, and made a deterrent feint, winning a few more seconds of rest. "Hard... But not quite what I was expecting. Where's their trump card, they couldn't be relying on that scum alone, could they? Or did that lady in black really get them?"

As soon as he thought about it, he was blinded by an incredibly bright flash. Although there was a fenced-off village between the source of the light and Gazef, he was unable to see for a few moments.

What was that...? Gazef missed a nasty blow to the side. The phantom who delivered it immediately received an answer.

The next moment there was a terrifying roar from the side of the flash.

A couple of years ago, foreign artists came to the royal capital to perform. They put on amazing shows, and also exhibited strange things and unseen animals. Gazef remembers very well one animal, the "desert lion". It looked something like a short-haired yellow cat, but it was monstrous in size, the size of a bull, perhaps. Calm, relaxed, and frightening at the same time. Once this beast growled at the food handler. His ears rang for the rest of the evening.

The roar he heard could have been that of the beast. If you make it angry.

What kind of monster did they bring? It was foolish to agree and send her there.

The phantoms came at him with renewed vigor, and Gazef quickly became unconcerned with the events. The battle dragged on, becoming more and more exhausting. One or two blows were no longer always enough to defeat the enemy. More and more dents appeared on the armor, and a couple of deep scratches appeared on his head. His eyes, still reeling from the flash, were drenched with blood from his forehead; he was fighting almost blindly. His body ached more and more, no longer an obedient instrument. At the last [quadruple strike], the sword almost flew out of his numb hands.

What an irony. With this balance of power, they have all the chances.

With a circular swing of the sword, the blade gnawed into the armor and stuck. Sharp pain in the thigh, something hot ran down the leg. Gazef jerked the blade free, and in the same motion shook whoever had wounded him. A lucky blow - the winged foe's arm, up to his elbow, detached from his body. He swung again in a circular motion, and the phantoms recoiled.

It's a lot of swings. It takes more energy than usual, but it gives rest for a few seconds. Which isn't enough. Where are you guys stuck in there?!

The situation was indeed disturbing. The number of phantoms showed that the warlocks who had summoned them were alive and could use magic. So his fighters hadn't gotten to them. To assume that they had abandoned him, after all these years shoulder to shoulder. So something prevented them from following orders. Most likely, enemy reinforcements.

And these theocrats were better prepared than one might have thought...

There was no point in wasting energy on destroying an opponent with no finite number. Gasef went completely on the defensive. It was a losing move; one who defends himself would never win. But there was nowhere to go. The simplest miscalculation of strength showed that he would last longer than he would by fighting fully.

* * *

To say that Draga was furious would be to remain silent. This insolent worm had abused everything that was the raison d'être of her existence with just a few words. At the service of her lord. The dignity of a warrior. Her unquestioned superiority.

What is this shield that inexplicably always appears in the path of her sword? The wretched man's reaction speed was as fast as that of the Lords. What is the vile quality of returning blows to whoever inflicts them? She broke the weapon she'd been given, it seemed, against herself.

The minion he summoned hurt Draga terribly. To break through that barrier, she had to pour out all her accumulated souls at once. She had to use a REAL attack, which HE told her not to do in front of witnesses without a serious need. What was the result?

After all, instead of payback, he ran away. Draga realized this too late, and in her momentarily clenched fingers, there was only a piece of skin torn from his face.

She stared unblinkingly at the bloody flap in her hand. What would Prophet say when he learned of her failure? That an enemy who had seen her real power had walked away alive.

The thought made her howl with anger and despair.

Would he let her die so she wouldn't have to suffer this shame? Or will he imprison her alone with mad grief, like Malikriss?

The thought of concealing this failure flashed in the flaming mind. To summon the watcher, before he could report to the golden-haired bitch, and kill him. Blame it on the defeated minion. Kill ALL the witnesses.

No. It is heretical and unforgivable to even think that anything could be withheld from Him, much less deceive Him.

She was roused from her feverish stupor by a movement nearby. She turned around, a phantom hovering beside her, striking.

A slow, worthless, not even a living truly summoned minion. Draga studied the spearhead approaching her face. When it became obscenely close, she recoiled and swung it into oblivion. The sight of it melting into thin air brought her back to reality. Her instincts kicked in. "Combat algorithms," as the Lords called them.

Instantly, a chain of reactions and interactions flashed by.

Received significant damage, the stock of souls spent. Number of hostiles more than three, threat level does not exceed 10% of defense potential.

Engage defensive skills with a gradual expenditure of rage.

Attack hostile targets, with equal reach preference for weak ones.

The priority type of attack is not AOE, not consuming Rage.

The primary priority for targets with the highest HP rate is to inflict wounds.

The primary priority for targets with less vitality is killing and soul absorption.

Targets without life reserves - to ignore in the presence of the previously mentioned.

Draga closed her eyes and concentrated on finding her targets. The medium-order souls - sentient, mortal beings - felt quite clear. Twenty scattered, converging at one point not far from the village. The distance between them is still long - the nightmare can handle it. Thirty-two more hostile and twenty-two more neutral are in the woods, fairly clustered.

Instincts demanded simple actions, and all thoughts and worries lost importance, for a while. Something of the order she could still carry out. It got a little easier.

Draga growled muffled. Draga went out on a killing spree.

* * *

Gasef's men, having slipped through the thin cordon almost without loss, entered the woods. Here, out of direct view of the enemy, they could regroup and strike again while the commander diverted attention to himself. The usual tactic.

They were ambushed.

A few dozen paces deeper into the woods, barely united, they came upon camouflaged stakes. The stakes were long, under two meters, firmly embedded. There weren't many of them, spaced apart. But it was enough to lose three horses and one rider all at once.

Such a ridiculous end for a warrior, the lieutenant thought in a glimpse.

The decision on what to do came quickly. Fighting in the woods on horseback, not knowing which bush had another sharpened stake hidden behind it, was not a good idea.

"Into the circle and dismount! Shield and sword, claws at hand!"

The fighters were not used to thinking during a fight - they quickly and silently obeyed the order. Shoulder to shoulder they formed a ring of shields.

The moments stretched like gooey treacle. The tired, dirty warriors were angry. Somewhere out there in the field, their legendary commander was fighting, waiting for them to reappear. And here they were, waiting for who knows what.

After waiting a minute, the lieutenant commanded: "Hold the line, let's go to the field!"

And then the enemy made himself known. One fighter reacted to the movement in the thicket and shielded himself. At eye level, a crossbow arrow struck a padded iron tree, and a second ricocheted off. The lieutenant instantly aimed his crossbow and pulled the trigger. There was a muffled curse. His first impulse was to point the men in that direction, but it made no sense. There was no telling where the enemy was, and chasing them in a forest full of traps was foolish. As he wound the roll of his crossbow, he commanded:

"Watch the sides and keep going!"

The enemies were the first to lose their nerve. Or maybe their reinforcements had only now reached the place - it was unclear. Three dozen warriors in chain mail and helmets, also with swords and shields at the ready, appeared from behind the trees on both sides. The circle split into two lines. The boys were not anxious to fight without orders, and the newcomers did not seem bold enough to attack the well-coordinated ranks. The lieutenant loaded his crossbow and defused the situation by shooting at the tallest enemy. He managed to shield himself, but the bolt pierced through his arm, a furious shout that signaled the attack.

A fight ensued.

Gazef's men experienced with formation combat, and the enemy's first onslaught shattered the two rows of shields. One of the attackers shrieked as he was struck in the face with the edge of his sword. The other sighed and sank to the ground. A peck protruded through his helmet to the hilt.

The enemies became more cautious. It was obvious that although they were not as experienced in the formation, their training was not inferior. The second onslaught was more of a close encounter; they fought cautiously, catching Gazef's men on the counterattack, trying to disperse the formation. They wore down the king's more heavily equipped warriors, stalling for time.

Lieutenant discarded the crossbow, which had become useless, and stood in line.

Within a few minutes of the fight, the Gazef's fighters began to run out of breath. The casualties were uneven - only two of the attackers were wounded. One was clawed through the shield, into the bone, and the other had his shoulder smashed through his chainmail with a sword. Otherwise, the wounds were minor. Gazef's squad lost six men.

The situation was frankly losing. The enemy was gaining an increasing advantage in numbers.

As he shielded himself from another blow, the lieutenant noticed a black silhouette behind his opponent's back that flashed in his field of vision for a moment. The next moment a splash of blood made him squeeze his eyes shut. Something heavy came over his shield, and without thinking, he stabbed his sword in the groin area. The sword came up against a soft but strong resistance - the assholes had great chainmail. Shrugging the body off with his shield, he shook his head, trying to figure out what had happened.

A blurred movement to the left, accompanied by a soft pop of air, and a head flew from the shoulders of the enemy who had ventured to look back. Another clap - another enemy fell.

It was impossible to keep track of what was happening. A blurred shadow, which the eye could not catch, killed all the enemies on that side in a few moments. When the last one fell, the men behind the lieutenant's back didn't even know what was happening yet.

The shadow stopped. It was a lady knight, with her face covered in stale blood. There wasn't a single drop on her armor. Or maybe he just didn't see any blood on the blackness. The sword in her hand was frankly frightening, the gray steel with its bloody pattern reeking of pain and a grave cold.

The woman's eyes swept over the warriors, only her eyes clear of blood. Her gaze, with a smoldering rage beneath it, was piercing to the bone. After assessing something for herself, she barked loudly:

"Get out of my way."

Lieutenant instantly knew what to do. Judging by the way she'd dealt with her enemies, there was no chance of confronting her. She would kill if she wanted to, and quickly. If she wants to kill him, she'll do it, and quickly. And if she hasn't killed him, she's obviously not an enemy. He shook his head:

"Let her go."

The shields parted, and the woman ducked through the ranks. The lieutenant turned around and saw her snarl and snarl as she grabbed the warrior behind her, lightly tossing him aside like a puppy and clearing the way. No one on the other side had time to understand what was happening. As she burst into the line of enemies, she finished off the rest just as quickly.

Lieutenant saw pieces of bodies in the village. He saw chopped-up armor. He thought he had an idea of how things were going.

Now he realized he hadn't imagined it. It was the first time he'd seen how quickly, how easily people were cut to pieces, along with their chain mail, shields, and helmets. Without the slightest chance to resist. It was over in a matter of moments. Silence reigned.

The woman, standing with her back to the dazed soldiers, noisily sucked in air. The sword had disappeared from her hand, where would such a large two-handed arm could go. There was and no more. She slowly turned her head toward the fighters.

"That's it now. Pity."

The gaze of the eerie, deceptively calm eyes seemed to be searching for a reason to continue the carnage. Estimating.

Lieutenant commanded: "Soldiers, at ease!"

The men, keeping their eyes on the woman, lowered their shields a little. Lieutenant turned to her: "I thank you for your intervention, mistress."

She, as if coming to her senses, brushed it off.

"Nevermind."

* * *

At some point, Gazef realized that the phantoms were ending. He could see almost nothing by this point, but he could hear the rustle of armor, the flapping of wings. It was by these that he oriented himself, determining the next attack. And those sounds told him that there were fewer and fewer enemies.

A fierce roar was heard in the distance, and the last two phantoms seemed to turn toward their masters. With their backs to Gazef.

He was tired as hell, but not so tired that he would miss such an opportunity. A swift onslaught of the last of his strength, and one phantom fell under the blows of his sword. Gazef didn't wait for it to dissipate, nor did he waste time and energy on ripping the sword from its body. He went for the other with his bare hands. The phantom wasn't trained to act in such a situation and lost a few precious seconds. Gazef had just enough time to catch his neck in a wrestling grip. The steel of the ghostly armor cooled his tired fingers pleasantly. The phantom scrambled to free himself, but it was too late. The spine crunched, and the flesh that had just seemed so alive became as soft as melting snow and turned to nothing.

Gazef finally rubbed his eyes. His left eye was still flickering with flare, but overall it was better than he'd expected.

Damn phantoms. Fought an entire regiment and got nothing but scars. That's not fair.

The sword lay where the penultimate enemy had fallen. Gazef quickly picked it up and looked around. There was not a single person in sight. But someone had slaughtered the summoning sorcerers, hadn't they? He glanced toward the village - the headman's balcony was visible from here - and there was no one there either.

He shook off the nonexistent blood from his sword and put it into its scabbard. He looked regretfully at the cracked signal horn on his neck. It was small but very loud, indispensable for signaling. Picked up the bow he had discarded earlier, removed the quiver of arrows from his fallen horse, and headed for the village. There were no men on patrol, which meant the enemy had decided to go on a raid. He must make sure everything is all right, or help if it is not.

* * *

With a touch of indifference, Draga remembered the broken sword that she had thrown away. It was no longer good for work, but was it worth looking for, as one of the evidence of how the battle had been fought?

She decided to delay the moment when she would tell the Prophet what had happened until the customary evening 'prayer'. And now she simply did not know what to do with that time. To rush to E-Rantel? In principle, she could get there in time, but there was no point in rushing anymore. If she got the order to go back to the City of Dawn, it would be nearer. And it would be easier to disappear unnoticed if she used the portals of Illadria or Marius.

Draga glanced again at the wary warriors. They reeked of apprehension, but not terror. The apprehension didn't stir her nerves as much, and it was easier to keep her temper in check. It was a bit unfortunate that they were "neutral" according to her instincts. On the other hand, there was no particular need to kill - she'd already replenished her reserve of life force from the ones she'd killed.

In fact, it was very easy and comfortable to be guided by instincts without a clear order. Aggression, hostility, negativity, neutrality, positivity, friendliness, and alliance. Seven states in all, each with its place in priorities and behaviors. Too bad you can't rely on your instincts for everything.

She sighed, called out to Nightmare, and strode through the forest to meet him. It was worth it, after all, to find the sword's shards.

A dozen and a half pairs of eyes followed the silent departure of the woman in black. Then exhales were heard.

"I don't know about you guys, but I have a brick stuck in my pants"

The tension was defused by unexpected laughter.

"I understand you, brother."

"Let's go shake it out, I have a couple too."

"Who knows where this beauty lives? Which city to avoid?"

The soldiers joked, calming their nerves. The lieutenant let them relax for a minute before he told them to get busy. The wounded needed help, they needed to get their horses back - there was always something urgent to do after a battle. Unfortunately, there was no time to search the bodies. It was urgent to return to the commander since the maneuver had failed.

The lieutenant split up the squad, put some of the men to work, and with the rest headed out of the woods.

* * *

All was quiet in the village. A few phantoms did sneak in, but the boys treated them well. The two dead sorcerers confirmed the veracity of what the rest of the sentries had said. They seemed to have taken advantage of the situation and tried to ambush them.

Kicking the dead body with two bolts in its chest, Gazeph grumbled grudgingly:

"What was it he said, swears by his faith? Son of a bitch, your faith isn't worth much."

While he and the others were checking all the yards for lurking foes, the rest of his men returned. Not all of them.

"Lieutenant, what happened out there? Where are the others?" Gazef looked intently into his eyes, squeezing the warrior's shoulder tightly.

"We were ambushed. The bastards were well prepared, better than expected. Five of us are dead. The rest are rounding up the horses, helping the wounded, and picking up the fallen. I took those able to fight and rushed to you as soon as it was over."

Gazef frowned. It's a good thing those ten men aren't all that's left alive. The bad thing is that they lost people altogether. That hadn't happened in a long time, a couple of years for sure. There was a heavy stone on his heart. Sure, he'd make sure their families were well compensated. But that didn't make the loss any less bitter.

"It's over, you say. Did you win? Or did the enemy retreat?"

"No and no, commander. We were pinned down very competently, if not for the unexpected backup, no one would have got away."

"What's the backup?"

"The adventuress you hired. She showed up, rabid, covered in blood, and killed them all. Then she gave us this look that made me think we were next. I thanked her, she just brushed it off."

"Where is she now?"

"I can't know. She said something about a broken sword and left."

"Okay, we'll clear that up later. Put people in an empty house and rest until the others arrive. Stay awake - who knows what else the Theocrats might do."

"Yes, Captain!"

The lieutenant waved to the men and all went to the headman's house. Gazef was left alone with his thoughts. He had no reason to doubt the words of his old comrade-in-arms, but it all looked strange. Sudden appearances of heroes are a matter of songs and tales. What of the broken sword, how did it go with Nigan? How strong is this adventurer? He'd seen the bodies, and now he compared it to what he'd heard. It appeared that she was not particularly inferior to him if she was inferior at all.

A fighter with these skills that no one had heard of before that day? That's amazing. And beautiful. The kingdom could use strong friends.

As someone who was constantly present at private meetings with the king, he knew greatly about what was going on at home and abroad. The annual "war" with the empire was only one of the problems threatening the country. The eldest and youngest princes were already clearly not going to resolve the issue of the crown's inheritance in peace. The only one who cared about possible turmoil and civil war was Renner. There was considerable power behind the princess, too, and she was loved by the people. But it was not the kind of power that could solve anything quickly.

The theocrats steadily increased their influence through the Church, pouring into the ears of the commoners the tales the people were so eager to hear. There had not yet been mutinies and riots, but it was only a matter of time, and that time would surely come in the fall. When the sons of peasants will once again be taken from the fields to raise an army against the empire. When another poor harvest because of this will produce another famine. When the nobles, wished to secure their wealth, raise taxes to maintain more guards.

There was no unified idea, no consolidated, reliable ruler, no confidence in the future, and no good neighbors. The fragile balance of power promised to break in the very near future, and the country would plunge into discord and chaos.

A hero is needed. Someone who will be feared by the enemies of the state. On whose strength the shaken crown can lean. Someone in whom the good citizens and loyal soldiers will believe.

Gazef himself could hardly cope with this role. Yes, he was a household name among the people. He was feared - and hated - by the nobility, and perhaps that was the only reason the king hadn't gotten poison in his glass yet.

But he is only a warrior. He is alone, he is mortal, and he is getting old. He doesn't have the intelligence, strength, or influence to do anything to save the country. He tried to share his idea with Lucky and her crew. The Blue Rose, the adamantine team, and some of the most skilled thugs in the world, could have strengthened the crown considerably. But Lucky politely hinted every time that she didn't care. She was only interested in money, personal power, and independence. Money could still be an issue, though Lucky had some serious demands. But the rest Gazef could not give. Nobles would never accept a title for a commoner, much less an adventurer. And a king would never give complete freedom. Reasoning soberly, it was obvious that joining the Bloody Emperor would have been more profitable had she been interested in serving the rulers. The good thing was at least that Lucky's personal friendship with Princess Renner and some personal animosity toward the Baharut Emperor allowed Blue Rose not to become enemies of the kingdom.

And now, having met an unknown adventuress, young, enormously talented, greedy only for money and personal fame, he felt hope. Maybe she could be attracted to his side. Maybe she would become a second shoulder, on which the slowly dying country could lean, and survive. Maybe...

* * *

Talik and the adventurers were, after all, forced to enter the Plains of Kaz.

The adventurers crossed the rocky hills that served as the natural boundary of the plains. The view was bleak. The lowlands were covered in gray mist, from which bare cliffs occasionally emerged. Not a sign of life, not a single blade of grass. The soil was only gravelly sand and ash. The fog made it impossible to see how far the dead earth stretched.

They went down to the lowlands early in the morning. Daimon didn't want to waste a single hour of daylight. Talik noticed that the fog slowly swirled and moved, confusingly, when there was no wind at all. Keeping direction in such conditions was becoming a great challenge.

Bryce claimed this was the most convenient place to descend into the plains for miles around. If the necromancer had fled into the plains, it was somewhere in this area. Now that the troop had reached the relatively soft ground, he surveyed the surroundings for any sign of him. The others waited at the ready. Daimon told me that even on the very fringes of the plains there was a good chance of running into the undead. Rising human and animal skeletons wouldn't be much of a problem, though.

Talik squatted down and sifted the soil through his fingers. Something here felt familiar, he just had to remember what it was. The dry mist seemed to penetrate his clothes as if sticking to his skin and soaking into it. There was no noticeable harm from it, just a nasty feeling. It was impossible to wash properly during the trek, and it hadn't bothered Talik much before. His embodied avatar's body didn't sweat or get a bad odor. It was impossible to say that about the others; they had begun to stink a lot these days.

Now, as he descended into the plains, he could literally feel the decay and filth with all his skin.

Sand and ash, disorienting fog, spontaneously rising weak undead, ghosts. Yes, this is definitely it.

[Desolation]. Spell of the 8th rank of Death magic. One of the most ambiguous in its class. For example, he didn't add this spell to Marius.

AOE spell that draws health and mana from everything living within its range and transfers it to the caster. Inflicts a fixed amount of damage, divided between all targets hit by it. If one target is in the area of effect, it takes 100% damage. If a hundred targets, each gets one percent. Any creature that died in the area of effect became undead and went under the caster's control. Also, the activation speed and effectiveness of all Death magic increased under the influence of [Desolation].

However, the mana cost, both when activated and when supported, is enormous. Only the player could improve the spell, making it more profitable. No matter how cleverly Marius was made, he was still only an NPC, and would "dry up" in less than a minute if supported the Desolation. Not to mention that the eighth-rank spellbook upgrade for him cost nearly half a billion gold.

And the fucking Friendly Fire, of course. It couldn't be avoided at all. Deathwonkers poured petitions to the developers, and flooded the forums with tears, begging to remove this point. But the developers, as usual, when it came to their principled position, politely sent everyone fuck out with politely copy past. Of course, Death Magic is already considered one of the two most imbalanced, along with the Mind Magic.

Although some particularly clever guilds have learned to use even the FF to their advantage.

Talik squatted down and ran his hand thoughtfully over the dry ground. The spell was more or less clear. Most likely, closer to the center of the area under the influence of some others as well. How to fight [devastation], even locally, he knew. He had countermeasures. But there wasn't much point - there was virtually no damage. Given the area of the Plains, and the fact that even in their territory some peoples manage to live, the damage is divided to the homeopathic minimum.

He was more worried about something else. The area of this spell in the game had a theoretical maximum, above which it was impossible to jump at will. A hundred paces in diameter. The Plains of Kaz is not a hundred paces; it's not like it's a hundred kilometers. Even assuming it's the aggregate of several affected areas, it's still kind of... It's frankly too much. Especially considering that this land has been cursed for centuries. An inconceivably long time.

If you analyze from the point of view of game mechanics - the only way to cheat the game was Worlds Artifacts. And assuming that whoever triggered this cast was doing it through this thing, anything is indeed possible. So there's either a Worlds Artifact that exists here, and it has to be found. Or, someone was able to overcome the game restriction by applying the laws of the magic of this world.

And one last thing - where, in fact, does the stolen life force and mana go? The question is not urgent (it's been dangling for centuries), but it's critical. Eighth-rank spells are no joke. The presence of such spells indicates a caster of at least level 80 who was able to modify a standard spell.

Is it possible that he is still alive (or un-alive)? There is no reason to reject that possibility. Can we be sure that we will be able to find common ground with him? That's not a fact.

It was a good idea for Talik to get out of here, and he was well aware of that. And he would have done so already, right now. But using teleportation is always a risk. Especially in potential enemy territory. You can never be sure your portal data isn't available to the enemy.

The only thing left to do was to leave on foot. But it would be quite difficult to explain it to the guys. Leaving them alone would be a bit of a jerk move. It's one thing to play a game where death is just an unpleasant circumstance. It's another thing is the real world.

What can one do to make them leave on their own without arousing unnecessary suspicion?

Talik looked around. Daimon and Era were squatting by a rock, talking about something. It was clear from the half-whispered conversations that they didn't like it here, either, though it wasn't the first time they'd been to the Plains. Bryce was nowhere to be seen.

Talik withdrew behind a rock. As he left the line of sight, he whispered:

"Spy."

A cloak of camouflage appeared near the stone. The elf beneath it silently knelt.

"You're aware of everything. Can you figure out where our target is?"

"I'll do my best, you..."

"Shh. Find and evaluate the possibilities. The sooner the better. And report back at once."

"I'll do it."

"Do it."

The elf vanished into the mist. Talik was uncomfortably aware that Spy, the only one he could rely on right now, wouldn't have his back for a while. Without his usual equipment, in foreign territory.

I really hope I don't have to regret it.

A little later Bryce returned. He found some indication that someone had passed through here recently and figured out the general direction. Daimon looked in the direction indicated.

"If I'm not wrong, there are old ruins near that rock over there. I was there a few years ago. There's not much left, just the remains of the walls sticking out of the ground. Only the chapel was relatively intact, but I don't know how it is now. There's nowhere else to look in that direction. We'll decide what to do on the spot."

Bryce and Era nodded silently, and Talik, after some hesitation, agreed as well. He didn't like the idea of going without real reconnaissance. Going in the wrong direction was the least of his problems.

On the other hand, these are outskirts that are more years old than it has been since the Euro-Asian war. If there was something really dangerous here, people wouldn't live nearby

The path was unrememberable. Step by step through the dead, smoky desert, with nothing to catch the eye. He couldn't even see the sky. Talik was at the head of the column of four. The others turned to him periodically to make sure everything was all right.

Era looked back, too. Simply, without any subtext.

Talik began to understand why he was so "crushed" on her at first, and now he cooled down. There was something unknown about her. She was good-looking, a lot, but that came second. First was the intriguing abilities. Like, real magic. Who would have thought she could exist outside of the game. A supernatural mystery beckoned.

Then, he saw her using this magic. The usual newbie spells. The activation time, the effects - all familiar and boring. The mystery had evaporated somewhere, all that was left was a serious, pretty, and fairly predictable girl. And why was he worried, why was he trying to pick her up, what was he thinking? Especially knowing what she had been going through recently. It was awkward.

Spy still wasn't coming back, and Talik was getting more and more worried. The uncomfortable feeling of "naked ass" was becoming more and more intrusive.

After another turn among the lifeless hills, the ruins we were looking for appeared.

That's not what Talik had expected from the word "ruins". Some ominous, massive ruin that was easy to get lost in, or a temple with broken windows and swirling shadows. Something along those lines.

But here - the bases of the walls protruded from the ash-brown soil in several places, knee-deep, waist-deep at most. It was hard to guess what those walls had been before. Just beyond them was what Daimon probably called a "chapel". Six splintered columns rose from a mound of earth, four meters high. They were crowned by a sagging hemispherical roof.

"Here we are," said Dimon.

"Yeah. Where are the ruins?" Bryce asked skeptically.

"Everything was stolen long before us. Go looking for the sorcerer."

Bryce grunted in frustration and went around the ruins. Inwardly Talik was glad that he wasn't the only one who thought the ruins were so miserable.

"I will not deviate from the principles of the genre. I'll go see what's in the chapel."

"Don't disappear and scream at the slightest sign of trouble, Thaler," Daimon replied seriously. "The easiest places to die are in such ''non-threatening'' places."

"You can escort me if you're so worried."

"That's a good idea. Era, come with us."

On the way to the chapel, Talik asked Daimon:

"How long ago have people lived here?"

"It's hard to say," Daimon said thoughtfully. "There are many such abandoned settlements on the plains, and some in much better condition. It depends on how it's built... Old fortresses and there's even a legend that somewhere in the plains there's a lost city, inhabited by the undead. Tales, of course, but there's some good sense in it. Kaz wasn't always this big. A hundred years ago, it was even possible to live here."

"So these plains expand over time? Doesn't it bother anyone?"

"There are some who are concerned. Well, they don't run through the streets and yell about the end of the world. You'd be better off talking to older people, from science. Academics somewhere in the capital. These guys know a lot of stories from the past, even though they have no idea what really happened."

"Do you?"

"How could I? I wasn't living at the time. Era, by the way," Daimon turned to the Sorceress. "What do you know about it? You like useless books, so tell me something."

"You yourself are useless. If there is no history, there is no future, I have told you many times."

"Don't be mad."

"Fool. Okay. What do I know about the plains... Not much. They're supposed to date back to the time of the Kings of Greed, but I don't think that's true. Those mythical kings are blamed for all sorts of nonsense. This and that because of them. There are a lot of completely ridiculous stories about their evil deeds, but very few of them have anything to back them up. For instance, Kaz," Era said as she carried on with her story, gesturing to the rest of her speech.

"Everywhere people say that the Kings cursed this land in retaliation for the fact that its ruler refused to sacrifice his child. This is utter nonsense. First of all, there's no evidence that there ever was a state here. Independent cities were, and constantly at war with each other. Secondly, the rebellion against the Kings was raised under the banners of a belief in the god of justice, Sagator. And Sagator, whose sects are now being exterminated wherever they are found, is the alias of the word Saador. And Saador is the Book of Life, the basic religious teaching of those times. The Church of Saador was persecuted by the Kings and their supporters. And just so you understand, it was according to the dogma of Saador that the first baby born in the year was sacrificed to the heavens to send a warm spring. And if no warmth came within ten days, the next one was sacrificed, and so on. It was an immutable law, for "every city that has a wall."

I don't see the logic in Kings eradicating religion to execute someone for not wanting to follow its rules. Especially in such a way as to massively destroy everything and everyone. But that's not even the point. According to the memoirs of Edmund Baharoth, the distant forefather of the founder of the present-day Baharut Empire, he vacationed twice in the outskirts of Atamarr, quote, "which is southeast of Azerlis". Azerlis - need I clarify, what do the Azerlisian mountains have in common? Edmund Bacharot is a descendant of the Bacharot surname, leading from one of the leaders of the rebellion that overthrew the Kings. That is to say, a man born much later than those events was squandering his ancestor's inheritance in what is now the cursed land. The Plains of Kaz did not exist in his time-and still less in the time of the Kings.

She raised her hand and exhaled.

"It was my second-year seminary graduation presentation. I never got to read it out to the professors."

Talik nodded thoughtfully.

"Thank you very much. This is very... Unexpected and helpful. Seriously. Thank you for the story."

"You're welcome. At least someone is interested in how our world developed. With the way history is written, finding any truth is very hard and ungrateful work."

"I'm sure there will be people who will be able to fully appreciate this work. I will take care of it."

"Sounds daring for an adventurer."

"Maybe. But I'm... Quite the influencer where I come from. We'll come back to that later."

"It's a deal," Era finally smiled for real.

They approached the chapel, and Daimon made an inviting gesture. Talik walked between the pillars, looking around.

The crumbled trim, on which faded patterns could hardly be made out through a network of cracks. Light poured reluctantly through the gap in the roof. The circular floor, which barely protruded above the ground, was a little better preserved. Talik squatted down to examine the pattern. Unbelieving his eyes, he began to sweep the floor with his sleeve.

"Hey, what happened?" Daimon's voice sounded wary.

"Nothing. It's okay. I... I just had a thought."

In fact, it didn't seem so. In the patterns decorating the floor, the Latin alphabet was visible in some places. He was unable to connect the individual letters, intertwined with the local alphabet, in any way.

That doesn't make sense. Or did the locals think the Latin is a pattern or something?

He thought of calling on Era to see if her erudition might yield a few more surprises. But then an idea occurred to him. He tried to read the Latin symbols in the order they were written, in a whisper. The meaningless set of sounds came off his lips, turning into meaningful speech.

Blessed is the way of the power-givers, those who have passed through hell and oblivion, men and beasts who have fallen in the name and for the good of the present world, may the gods be satiated with their souls.

Local religious propaganda. Expected for a chapel. But where did the Latin alphabet come from?

Era approached.

"Can you read these symbols?" She seemed surprised.

"Ah... It's not that I know it," Talik began to explain. "I just saw something like that once. On an expedition."

"I would also like to go on such an expedition..."

"Do you know what this is?"

"This is the language of the Heroes. It appears to be a copy of the lines of the Legacy, the holy book of the Church of Heroes. It is one of the most common elements, almost always inscribed on the stone at the prayer altar. This language is used exclusively in the upper circles of the church. If a commoner desecrates it by attempting to learn it, much less speak it, he faces a rather painful execution. For commoners there are writings in a common language, here they are."

"Ahem... Could you read it?"

Era looked at him oddly but complied with the request.

"The gaze of the immortal is eternally directed to the righteous. Can't you read?"

"I... I haven't learned the language well enough yet. Only speaking."

"Don't take me for a fool, please."

"Sorry. Let's talk about it when we get back, okay?"

"Okay. I'm sorry to bother you, but you're very strange. It's hard to trust someone who's constantly understating and lying ineptly, you know?"

"I understand. I'm sorry again. I'll tell you all about it later."

"Era looked at him unhappily, but left him alone."

Talik found himself too lazy to get up. For once he was tired. He just wanted to sit and do nothing. Or better yet, lie down.

He only realized that something was wrong when, lying there, his eyes closing, he saw Daimon looking worriedly at him, moving his lips silently. But there was neither the strength nor the will to do anything.

The body didn't obey and felt almost nothing, and it was hard to breathe, not enough air. There was an intrusive noise that prevented him from falling asleep. He listened discontentedly.

"Overlord, hear me. I need your help. I underestimated their cunning, I... Disappear."

Marius, it seems.

What do you want, back off...

"Overlord, don't leave me. Please. I still do not comprehend your plan ... Overlord, please let me understand."

The lich's voice grew quieter and weaker, and Talik was relieved by this.

"Malikriss was right. Such a beautiful tragedy..."

The lich's voice became barely audible, and he muttered and muttered, and finally fell silent. And Talik had a majestic, incredibly detailed dream. It consisted of separate, unconnected fragments.

The square of E-Rantel, is surrounded by crumbling houses. On it, Draga is fighting a huge bone dragon. Crowds of dead spread out through the streets of the city.

Burning villages.

Fortresses were full of murdered men. Stars are reflected in puddles of blood.

A rapidly decaying woods, a dragon pouring flames on a mountain peak.

A huge army with lion flags moves through the desolate necropolis. Ladders, trebuchets, brutal chopping on the walls. Talik recognized the distinctive outline of his guild's wall with withering surprise.

Draga, like a helicopter, crashes into the ranks of the city guards, wreaking havoc and death everywhere. Why? Why are you doing this?

Instead of an answer - the reproachful look of a stern old lady nearby. The lady is protected by a ring of heavily armored knights. The flames of the nearby rooftops play whimsically on her white dress.

Illadria, with her throat slit, is stuck in the rocks of the mountain river. There was surprise and resentment in her wide-open eyes.

Wilhelm, smashing the altar in the center of the temple with a war hammer. Here he overturned a heavy pedestal, opening a portal. Here he is in the treasury, crying out to the motionless Titan.

A ball of unbearably bright blue flame strokes a glowing furrow through the buildings, turning both stone and living creatures to ash with equal ease. Wilhelm's head in the treasury smiles victoriously.

Men in white robes broadcast to the raging crowd, while behind them unrecognizable silhouettes squirm in flames.

These and similar images were succeeding one another. The only things that didn't change were death and the blackened sky.

What is this? What's going on?

There was no answer, only a black veil in the sky as if it were drying him up, draining his strength and memory. Talik felt himself becoming smaller and smaller, and at the same time, the black veil completely engulfed the sky. He stopped recognizing those he saw. He didn't care, and all he wanted to do was sleep.

Sharp pain in his momentarily numb cheek brought him out of his delirium. He jerked to consciousness. What he saw seemed to burst a dam in his soul, filling his mind with horror and disgust.

What the hell was that?!

His head was dizzy and his lungs were bursting from lack of air. He inhaled with a whistling breath. A hand was jerked onto his shoulder, and Talik, without hesitation, lunged forward, grabbed the cloudy silhouette by the scruff of the neck and smacked his forehead. There was a resounding slap, and Talik tossed the body aside, shaking his head.

The pinched, dry eyes cleared.

He was still in the same chapel. Not far away, Daimon and Era were lying on the ground. Right in front of him was Spy on one knee. The rag mask was rapidly soaking in blood.

"Are you all right, Your Holiness?"

Talik took a breath, looking apprehensively at the elf.

"What happened?"

"I was watching you, waiting for the right moment to report. You went into the place, talked to the woman, and lay down on the floor. Then you began to convulse. I stunned your companions and tried to revive you. When the potions I had didn't work, I slapped you on the cheek. When you woke up, you punched me in the face. There is no excuse for my disrespect."

"Forget it. It's okay. You did the right thing. You did well. What the fuck was that?"

"I would dare to suggest that you have comprehended visions of futures."

"It's not a good fucking future," Talik almost yelled. "Fuck such a future. Fuck. No, no, no, no."

"I can't know what you've seen."

"That's fucked up. It's a good thing he missed it. Okay..." He tried to pull himself together. It was better than half a minute ago. "Okay. Now."

[message]

The magic didn't work. Talik was about to have another panic attack-all spells had worked flawlessly up to that moment. He listened to what he felt inside.

Aha. That's how an empty tank feels.

[flesh to mind]

I felt an unpleasant sensation of weakness, and my nose dripped blood. At the same time, there was a clear certainty that the mana was there now.

[message]

The magic worked, but it didn't reach its destination. Talik's hands shook. Marius didn't answer.

[message]

Illadria didn't answer.

[message] came one after another, but there was no response. Talik, holding back cold fear, sent a spell to Spy.

It didn't work either. The hope remained that the cursed earth was to blame. It didn't have that feature in the game, but that was the game.

The sixth sense picked up some strange echo. Not a sound, but something else. Anxiety began to grow in the soul.

With what I have on me, I'm not really ready for a fight.

"Spy, hide but be extra vigilant. That's it, all right? We're leaving this place."

The elf nodded and merged into his surroundings. Talik emerged from the chapel and approached his unconscious comrades. Bryce also was, it seemed, the elf had brought him here.

stun, huh?

[vigorous call]

The guys opened their eyes. Bryce instantly darted off somewhere behind the rubble of the wall, and Daimon sprang to his feet with a menacing scream. Era hid behind him in confusion.

Talik said in an intransigent tone:

"Let's get out of here, quick! Questions later!"

* * *

RiP · May 21, 2022

Chapter 17

* * *

*Era*

Thaler continued to surprise Era throughout the journey. He was frankly strange. The fact that he was a stranger explained a lot, but not everything.

Most of the time he was perfectly normal, only occasionally asking questions about such mundane matters that one wonders how he survived, traveling alone in the woods and mountains. And he found things perfectly obvious, the mere knowledge of whose existence was illogical to a commoner.

At the same time, he obviously knew a lot more than he was trying to show. In the days-long search for the necromancer's trail, it was as if he knew exactly what they would see when they came to the next place. And also - she felt a strong contrast between this journey and all the previous ones.

No one wore their feet out, no colds came up, and they were practically free of insects. After half a day's trekking through gullies, deadwoods, and hills, the group was barely tired. On their previous treks, every day of the trip had been so exhausting that they barely had time to pitch a tent by nightfall. Now it seemed that with a little rest, they could walk at the same pace all night.

It could be considered good luck, or an unexpectedly increased skill. That's what she thought at first. The opinion changed after the unforgettable battle.

The magic used by this man was unbelievable. It was simply unreal. Once upon a time, as a seminary student, Era had read through all the available literature. It was hard to remember if she had ever seen anything like it. But she remembered.

Lannius the Inspirer, a descendant of the first Heroes who lived centuries ago, used something similar during the war with the elves. Warriors under his command gained unprecedented strength and skill in battle. Except that Lannius had to beg the blessing of the Celestials for almost twenty-four hours, and it did not always work. But Thaler clapped his hands, and there he was. And it is one thing to read a legend of dubious veracity, and another to experience what it is.

She was terribly tempted to jump at Thaler with questions, to ask him to use that magic again. And she wasn't the only one. Even the poker-faced Bryce could barely bring himself not to extort this blessing for training. But Thaler had given up on those attempts back then, saying that this spell was costing him too much.

And that wasn't the only unique spell he'd used in the time they'd known each other. The way he healed Daimon's body with just a whisper or two was also amazing. No long prayers, no complicated spells, no lights, nothing typical of healing magic.

Era was sure that, if he wasn't lying, there was something he wasn't telling her. And the further they went, the stronger she became of this conviction.

Thaler clearly learned something about the Plains when they first descended into the deadlands. Something important. It was obvious - the way he moved his fingers over the ground, the way he pursed his lips, indicated an understanding. And he was obviously nervous after they'd entered the Deadlands - though he'd been a model of confidence and composure before the Plains.

Then it turned out that he knew the writing of the Heroes. Of course, he denied it, but Era was not blind. Thaler could read heroic writings, and the Church had gone to great lengths to make that knowledge a privilege of the chosen few.

Incredible magic, impenetrable calm, indifference to any hierarchy, knowledge of the Heroes' speech. And at the same time - unskilful secrecy and even some kind of timidity in communication did not fit in the head.

Ere never understood what had happened in that chapel. She saw Thaler just lying down on the stone floor, as if very tired, and the next moment she felt very dizzy and completely confused.

When she came to her senses, she knew from the behavior of the other guys that this had happened to all of them. Daimon, sword and shield at the ready, looked around fiercely, searching for the cause of the problem. Bryce, as usual, had ducked behind the first obstacle he saw.

And Thaler... Surprised her again.

He had lost weight and dried out as if he had spent a couple of years in the penitentiary. The luxurious robe hung on him like a mop on a rag. Deep shadows were visible around his eyes, and his whites were streaked with red. A dried-up crimson streak under his nose completed the oppressive picture.

After waiting a few moments, this normally quiet and polite guy ordered in a harsh commanding tone:

"Get out here, now! Questions later."

Era took what he said seriously. Generally speaking, when a healer tells you to run, you should run without talking. Especially when the healer is as powerful as their companion.

To her surprise, Daimon hesitated.

"Thaler, I..."

What he meant to say, Era did not know. Thaler extended his arm sharply in his direction, saying only:

"Sleep."

And Daimon, without finishing his sentence, closed his eyes and settled to the ground.

Era was frightened. The strangeness of their companion instantly ceased to seem like mere strangeness. And considering that he had rendered the practically indestructible Daimon unconscious with a single word... Unusually tense and collected, Thaler walked swiftly toward the body - Era retreated at the same time, figuring out what she could defend herself with. Something she could do faster than she was told to sleep.

"Era, I'm sorry, there's no time. We have to get out of these plains before dark, it's very important. Trust me, please."

He leaned over a little, grabbed Daimon by the edge of his steel breastplate with his skinny hand, and threw the big man onto his shoulder with no apparent effort.

"Bryce!"

No one responded to his call. Thaler, barely noticing the weight on his shoulder, looked back at the bleak landscape.

"Bryce, I know you're there and you can hear me. I know how this looks, but... To hell with it. If you're looking for death, keep hiding. Era, are you coming?"

After a moment's hesitation, Era nodded. Thaler narrowed his eyes, stared off into the distance, and pursed his lips. Then he grimaced, shook his head, and walked briskly toward the edge of the plains.

Era could barely keep up, occasionally jogging as Thaler, once again become an intimidating stranger, was unusually quick for his physique. After a moment's intense movement among the hills, Bryce appeared. He looked grim and almost aggressive. Thaler merely nodded, noting his presence without slowing his pace.

They walked in silence for a couple of hours, and Era was beginning to exhaust herself. The fact that Bryce took her bag of equipment did not help much. Thaler, frail and haggard-looking, meanwhile, showed no signs of fatigue at all. Even Daimon, no small man in heavy armor, whom Thaler carried on his shoulders, didn't seem to be bothering the healer much.

What an absurd situation. He should have broken as soon as he tried to lift the leader. What's going on?

Era glanced over at Bryce. The sullen boy, plowing through both his and her bags, pointed a glance at the dagger on his belt. Era shook her head, /Don't even think about it.

Thaler, though he was acting rather strangely now, was still a very advanced healer. Much more advanced and knowledgeable than he obviously wanted to appear. And if such a man saw a serious danger, it was better not to argue. Relationships could be clarified a little later.

Although, they will have to say goodbye anyway.

+ + +

*Talik*

Talik was ashamed of the ugly scene he had made with the elf. He didn't blame himself, though. His hands were still trembling from the fear he'd felt upon awakening.

And it was not good with the guys. He'd hoped they'd listen to him right away; he'd earned some prestige during the quest. Alas, Daimon was not the sort of guy who would give up leadership right away. And with all Talik's respect for other people's privacy and opinions, it was an extreme situation, and the delay could have cost him his life.

Talik could not say with certainty that something was threatening them right now - there was no prerequisite. The creepy visions didn't include the cursed plains. But his intuition told him to expect trouble.

And he wasn't sure how his 'servants' would react to not contacting him at the proper time. Especially if they could not contact him themselves. There would be more than just a spoiled mood.

What was it that I saw?

Two simple questions were keeping me awake. Such weakness in a healthy body could not have arisen on its own. Talik saw two of the most likely explanations.

The first is a peculiarity of the avatar himself, the body he became the owner of. Some hidden event caused him to switch off and catch predictive hallucination. Talik really wanted it to be that way.

The second is outside influence. Someone attacked or influenced in such a way that the level 100 character was deprived of all desires and powers. And even though this hypothesis did not clarify the origin of the visions, it did not make the danger any less dangerous.

That's too bad if that's the case.

Talik had a pretty good grasp of the in-game magic system. An exactly in-game system, which contained detailed text descriptions and numbers. Which had visual displays and other paraphernalia. In this case, that knowledge was of little use. There were no icons, no logs - nothing, just a memory of sensation. That is, if it was magic, Talik had no idea what kind and how to resist it.

Although, based on game logic, it's more like a CC.

CC, or crowd control, is a type of debuff that takes a character out of combat for a while. Paralysis, sleep, hypnosis, or any other effect which removed when taking damage. Designed to neutralize dangerous opponents at key moments of combat. A mage going into a stupor in the middle of a cast of something particularly debilitating is a very nasty blow to any plans. A healer who falls asleep for a few seconds at a critical moment is a guaranteed failure for the whole team. Or a melee player who stops covering a rag because of such a freeze.

The CC required a mastery of the situation in any dynamic combat. A missed with something massed ally or a timed enemy would very quickly negate the effectiveness of the tactic.

And that's how I was locked in control by those assholes who came for Eye. LadyLilim knew very well how and with what I defend myself, and set up Malikriss as a torpedo specifically for me.

In the game, once in the CC, the player was simply deprived of the ability to control his avatar. At most, the image and in-game sound were turned off, but it had no effect on communication through the talker and even less on the player's consciousness at all. In these circumstances, everything could have changed, because he is not just controlling the character, but he is the character.

So, on my return, go through all the descriptions of the control spells. And go to Malikriss.

Logic demanded that he test her control spells in his new body. If something in the mentalist's arsenal had the same effect, it would become clear what had affected him. Or at least it would narrow it down.

Still, Talik was very reluctant to meet her in person. He was simply afraid of her. Much more than all the other 'servants'.

All the 'servants' he met became what they were according to the story written for them. Characters, goals, life experiences - everything matched up to the smallest detail.

This means that Malikriss is now a power-hungry, mean-spirited, cruel witch who acknowledges only power. A witch whose specialty is power over other people's minds, and who has a highly specialized but very powerful arsenal of spells and rituals.

If this witch looked into Talik's soul, what would she see? An all-powerful and all-knowing Prophet? Doubtful. More likely, she would see there an escapist loser, an impostor.

An unfamiliar irritation stirred inside.

And why on earth would I be an impostor? I've been running the guild for the last few years. I'm the author of half of the projects that have come to fruition in the guild. The world isn't a game anymore? Okay, I'm really glad. Did the guild stop being a guild? NO. And I'm still the head of it!

Talik pondered and wondered about his thoughts. He had always made a very clear distinction between game and reality, characters and people. Having a reputation in some gaming circles as a calculating, petty and vindictive asshole, and in others as a tyrannically meticulous pro, he remained himself in the real world. Part of the system was a common man for whom 'I' was the last letter in the alphabet.

Having accepted the new reality, he perceived it as a philistine, wary of the gift of power. And now a demanding voice of the gamer rose in his soul.

If she gives me problems, I'll delete her.

The feeling of rightness and power was fresh and new.

Can I get used to it? And do I have to? I want to be really cool, but is it worth it to stop being me?

The other question, what he saw while he was out, required no less scrutiny. Preferably in peace and without the nagging sixth sense stubbornly promising trouble.

+ + +

*Diterios*

Deep in the cursed lands, where the deadening mists reached even into the clouds, a high mountain pierced the sky. In the old days, when the Valley of a Thousand Wars was not yet called the 'cursed plains,' this lone granite block of unimaginable height was called the Broken Spear. It was indeed shaped like the fractured tip of a Falk spear. First a natural landmark, then a place of worship, and later a giant altar, the Broken Spear was like moss, overgrown by several settlements and later by an entire temple city.

When the Falks fell under the onslaught of the elven armies, they began to call the mountain simply Black Mountain. The elves scorched everything that could burn near this mountain. Even marble was devoured by the sorcerer's flames. The cinders of the greatest conflagration in history rose for almost a year, giving Broken Spear a new name.

Later, the Sovereign came here. The name seemed so symbolic to him that he did not give it another. His numerous followers, acolytes, and disciples also saw a certain poetic meaning in it. The mountain remained Black, as long as there was someone to pronounce the name.

For the last couple of centuries, there hadn't been anyone for whom the name mattered -there weren't any living here. Or rather, there was only one creature who cared. The mountain had become a citadel - the indefatigable undead, at the behest of their masters, had cut through the solid granite, turning the mountain into a veritable fortress. Thicker stone held barracks, workshops, warehouses, and laboratories. Countless passageways united them.

Diterios Kadari, one of the Sovereign's most loyal servants, sometimes wondered about the fate of this citadel, his brainchild. He felt a little sorry that such labor would not be appreciated by those capable of realizing its true greatness. No admiration, no horror, no glory.

The Sovereign himself, who had crossed the next step to the coveted power two hundred years ago, had also lost interest in such things. He became rational and indifferent. Practically stopped appearing anywhere in the flesh. Diterios secretly thought that his lord had not benefited at all from death. But, of course, he kept his opinion to himself.

The Sovereign possessed such knowledge and power that little things like life and death served only as tools for him. And it is not for Diterios, who was born a mortal, to judge the choice of an absolute being.

Now Diterios stood on a terrace, skillfully carved at the very top of the cliff. The arch behind him led to the observation halls. In scale and beauty, they resembled a temple complex, though they had a different purpose. And, of course, there was no room for gods. From these halls, Diterios would oversee the rituals that had long ago begun, oversee the work of the servants, and the development of new sorcery practices. From here, too, the armies would be commanded when the Sovereign decided it was time.

The clouds below seemed like an anxious white sea. They, along with the mists, completely obscured the citadel from view. Both the regular and the wizard's eyes were obscured by an impenetrable veil.

Diterios, contemplating this sea, pondered intensely. He was faced with a difficult choice.

When the dark lords summoned the Sovereign and reported on the strange occurrences, the darkest left general but quite clear instructions. The responsibility of Diterios he had fully fulfilled. The cultists of Zuranon had received the long-promised knowledge and resources. Very soon they would expectedly manifest themselves. Pestilence, doom, and otherworldly breakthroughs will occupy the full attention of the powers that be, and in the meantime, other phases of the Plan will be in motion.

The Sovereign wants the souls of the new Kings. This is what it's all about. And if you present him with Kings, you can expect a generous reward. The Master of Darkness has never been stingy in rewarding loyal service - Diterios received everything he asked for and much more during his apprenticeship. Great power, immortality, knowledge, resources. Revenge. Everything a heretic once dreamed of.

And now was the ghostly chance to fulfill the wish of the Sovereign.

The agents kept him informed of changes in the balance of world power. Though the speed of information exchange was far from ideal, Diterios was aware of the emergence of people 'out of nowhere'. Very strong - though not as strong as one would expect from the words of a lord. Dieterios believed that the Kings had sent their servants to infiltrate society.

Smart move.

And this move gave Diterios a chance to prove himself. A chance to capture and interrogate a servant of Kings, giving his master a source of valuable information. No other adept could afford such a thing. Strangers could wield the magic of communication. Capturing one was fraught with detection, and if the Kings really were that powerful... There would be serious problems. And Diterios could afford it - the Plains of Kaz suppressed any known communication magic.

All that remained was to make sure that the servant of Kings went into the plains himself. There was no problem with that. Diterios's agents had set it up as a regular mercenary assignment, and the servant took the bait without a second thought. A little inspection showed that his choice of target was unmistakable. The undead he sent were strong enough to tear apart the frontier manor and slaughter all the living. And yet, the undead creatures were wiped out, virtually unscathed.

To lure an outsider into the plains territory was already a matter of routine. The trails, properly arranged by a loyal assistant, led the target to the cursed land. The trap, disguised as a holy place, worked perfectly. Though the Kings possess divine power, power alone will not protect them from everything. Especially against the sorcery of the Sovereign himself, created just against such creatures. The foolish servant did not realize his mistake until the end.

Diterios knew at once when the mighty spell struck an unseen blow. At that moment, the soul of the servant of Kings should have begun to reject the body, plunging the target into unconsciousness on the brink of death. It was now possible to take it with bare hands. Diterios sent some Wraiths there.

Soon, however, the plan began to hint at failure. The shroud of the curse that suppressed the magic of the mind stirred, struggling to hold back the flow of power. Someone very powerful was trying to contact the world beyond the Plains. The Servant of Kings was clearly conscious and capable of magic.

Diterios immediately initiated a search ritual, and made sure that the servant of Kings was alive and sober.

Diterios looked out at the rebellious white sea and was torn in doubts. Should he let the servant go and his chance to distinguish himself, or risk capturing him?

The Wraiths, frozen halfway through, awaited orders.

+ + +

*Nigun*

"The Council is waiting for you, Sir Nigun."

The temple guard nonchalantly opened the high arched door in front of Nigun. Nigun inwardly gathered himself as if he were about to jump into cold water.

The highest authority in the state wanted to hear about what had happened. From the speed with which they gathered, it was clear that the case was viewed as critical. Less than a couple of hours had passed since Nygun's appearance at the cathedral.

No wonder thought Nigun. It's not every day that a full squad of Scripture is lost.

He was healed and disarmed almost immediately. At least it wasn't in reverse order. The cathedral's armory was well worthy of temporary storage of relics. After handing them over and requesting an immediate audience with the Council, Nygun retired to the chapel and there carefully reconstructed the course of events in his mind.

The Holiest do not like confused speech and confusion of details.

It didn't take long to get the call, and here he was.

The round hall, flooded with light, greeted him with coolness and tranquility. Near the edge of the room, the floor rose a large staircase. On this elevation were six large, stiff armchairs, on which sat older, bearded men in white robes.

The most powerful men in the country, each one denied his name, kinship, and manhood by accepting the ministry. The mind of the man in charge of the state must be pure of worldly vanity.

After his failure, Nigun could not look into the eyes of these men who had sacrificed everything for society. He felt no right to do so. He sank to one knee, waiting to be allowed to speak.

For half a minute they just studied him with glances, and Nigun could feel the testing eyes on him. Finally, the Scribbler, head of all the Scripture squads, spoke up.

"Sir Nigun, the Council is sure that you know what this is about and that you are ready to answer. So let's get right to the point. Sir Nigun, you and your squad have been entrusted with an important mission. Significant resources have been allocated to guarantee its success."

Scribner's soft, deep voice was briefly silenced. Nigun was grateful for the respite - each word literally pressed him to the floor with a weight of guilt.

"Your return is far from a triumphant march of victory. You were transported to the cathedral crippled, on the verge of death, and you do not have your squad with you. The Council believes you have not succeeded, is that so?"

"Yes, it is."

"And what didn't go according to plan?"

"In the final phase of the operation, when I provoked Gazef Stronoff into a duel, he sent another warrior instead. It was unfortunate, even though the plan called for it. This warrior was... disproportionately stronger than one could imagine."

"Sir Nigun, the Council believed that the relics entrusted to you would enable you to deal with any possible adversary. Was the Council mistaken?"

Nigun took a deep breath. For the first time in his life, he was about to contradict the holy ones. His heart was relentlessly picking up the pace. A thousand needles pierced his head. The damned heretic had literally torn his face off at the last moment. No healer's efforts could bring it back to normal, only partially replenishing the missing flesh. Such skin could not sweat, and the body's attempts to respond in its usual manner caused suffering.

"Sinless Council... You were mistaken."

He froze, expecting anything. That lightning would come down from the ceiling and incinerate him on the spot. That another squad of Scribes would burst in and drag him to the pyre.

Nothing happened. The Scribner's soft voice only put more pressure on him.

"Go on, Sir Nigun."

"It was... An adversary who surpassed the power of the relics. I know how it sounds, and I am ready to suffer any punishment. But I swear with all my being, it is the truth. I was under the influence of all the prescribed potions and scrolls, and could not fully keep track of the enemy's movements. My most trusted men fell faster than they could realize their doom. I was struck with such force that even the Aegis could not contain it. It was pure defeat without a chance. The Aegis should have returned the damage a hundredfold of what was inflicted on me, but the enemy only came to rage at it, while my bones were broken. I believe this enemy possesses relics of similar power. He... Broke a beautifully crafted sword during the fight. And then, out of nowhere, he pulled out another of incredible workmanship. And with one blow of that sword, through the Aegis, turned me into what I was when I found myself in the cathedral."

"Out of nowhere? Can you be a little more specific?"

"Sure. The opponent made a pass with his hand in the air, away from himself. That's the gesture of removing a weapon from a rack. And in the next moment, there was a two-handed sword in his hand."

"So..."

Nigun knew he was telling the truth. But with every word he spoke, he literally felt the absurdity of the words coming out of his mouth. It was excruciatingly embarrassing. The Council continued its questioning.

"Sir Nigun, you did not mention your actions during the fight. You are a great swordsman. Couldn't you reach the enemy?"

"It was impossible. My arm would be cut off if I tried to attack back. The only chance I had of winning was for my opponent to mutilate himself."

"The Council wants to know the fate of the Mithrael crystal."

Nigun's heart skipped a beat. The question was inevitable. And the answer was not the one he wanted to give.

"The crystal of Mithrael... I used it when I couldn't fight. Angel, Mithrael... Has fallen. He cried out to the heavens to incinerate the heretic. I heard a terrible scream, and then... This monster in human form killed Mithrael. In one blow."

There was silence. You could probably hear the nails growing. Nigun pulled himself together and continued.

"After this terrible murder, the enemy was still on his feet and able to fight. I should have died there. But I fled the battlefield to save the relics and report back."

There was silence again. After a while, the Scribner asked:

"What about your squad?"

"The mercenaries are most likely killed. Even if not, they know nothing of value. As for my men, they will fight to the death. If they are captured, they will kill themselves before they get to the executioner."

"Sir Nigun, the Council needs time to consider what you have said. You will be escorted to the quarters. There you will state what happened in as much detail as possible, on record. A decision on your fate will be made later."

"I obey."

Nigun bowed and left the hall with his back to the front.

As the door closed behind him, a golden streak of silent charms ran through it.

The Scripter turned to the others, who were frozen in thoughtful poses.

"It all sounded unbelievable. And yet, I believe what was said to be true. I did not sense a lie, and the circumstances are in the speaker's favor."

"The kingdom has a new rabid dog? I'm surprised we haven't heard of him before," the Archivist grumbled hoarsely.

This man was in charge of absolutely every piece of information that ever came into the Theocracy's possession. From spy information to scientific treatises of the known world.

The Censor, legislator and supreme judge, continued: "We will have to reconsider many plans. The expansion of our influence in the kingdom involved the absence of Gazef."

The others nodded. The Censor continued: "We cannot plan for the future without knowing the present. Archivist, do you have any idea what we are up against?"

The Archivist replied: "I have a hunch, but I can't be sure of its truth." He stroked his beard. "Almost exactly two hundred years ago, the borders of the states took the form they have now. The invasion of foreign hordes contributed to this in no small measure... I'm sure you're aware of that, and of the strangeness that accompanied it, and its results. And two hundred years before that, there was the invasion of the demonic gods. Two hundred years before that, our ancestors, the Heroes, appeared. And two hundred years before them, the Kings of Greed. I can't be sure, but something tells me the bicentennial interval and what Sir Nygan says are somehow connected. I'll find out all I can. To summarize - I believe that the coming collision of historic proportions is bound to happen. In the very near future."

The others nodded. The Censor continued: "Scriptor, if an invasion of the invaders becomes a reality, do you have anything to answer with?"

The Сonsul turned to the head of the armed forces.

"It will be possible, but I will pray to the Heroes that such a thing will not happen soon. The issue of the elves is still unresolved. A large part of our forces are guarding the borders, if we pull them away from there, we will lose at least three cities within a couple of months. The castles haven't been built there yet. Knowing the attitude of the lesser races toward us, nothing good awaits the people left unprotected in such a case. It's not a good idea to count on Scripture squads alone. For them to stand alone against an enemy on the level of Heroes or Kings of Greed, it would require the unsealing of almost every Reliquary. In this case, the loss of each fighter would greatly weaken us and strengthen the enemy. If Nigun had fallen and left relics to the enemy... You don't need to explain the magnitude of the disaster. And losses of this level would be inevitable if we fight exclusively with the elite."

"I see," summed up the Consul. "Then we'll need troops. We'll have to make concessions for the boy emperor to get them."

"If my guess is correct," replied the Archivist. "Then we don't have much choice. We will have to use all available resources. Greed can cost far more than generosity."

"Praetor, then you do the propaganda. On the eve of a possible war with unknown forces, people must be united and their spirits firm. Let the people see in the looker the guilt of the heretics of the kingdom."

"The task is clear. What will we do if the Archivist is wrong? Significant resources will be involved..."

"If the Archivist is wrong, we will all breathe a sigh of relief. We'll redirect the effort in a different direction. Finally, let's fight the Empire and the Kingdom for real."

+ + +

*Talik*

The group of adventurers climbed another hill. Talik's heart ached uncomfortably. He had hoped so much that the view of the rocky rise would be revealed. Every time he climbed another hill, he hoped the edge of the plains would be revealed. And each time he was disappointed to see the same dreary hills.

Daimon was still hanging on his shoulder like an unconscious puppet.

A game avatar in a real-life setting is awesome.

In this involuntary marathon, Talik discovered many interesting qualities about himself. For example, he was not physically tired at all. The 'fatigue' parameter in the game only mattered in combat conditions and when overloaded. Considering that the carrying capacity of a level 100 character even without putting points into it was about a quarter of a ton, including the inventory, there was no problem with dragging a large man in armor on his shoulder. Except that it wasn't very comfortable.

He was tired, except mentally. For several hours there was nothing to catch his eye. The grayish-red succession of hills with occasional fragments of bones of unknown creatures stretched on endlessly.

Talik turned back. Era and Bryce were climbing the slope, breathing heavily.

It was a much more difficult march for them. Bryce held on, but Era, though accustomed to the hiking life, was not ready for such a march. She didn't complain and tried to keep up the pace, but she was the first to stumble, and she even fell on one of the hills, stumbling at one point.

Talik had to use his arsenal of low-level spells. Once every half hour he used [good walk]. This spell raised the group's payload in the game and was almost entirely useless. Now its usefulness was impossible to overestimate. His companions became fatigued much more slowly.

Bryce climbed the crest of the hill and silently cursed.

"Thaler, are you sure we're going in the right direction? I'm hinting that it might be a good idea to...Thaler, are you sure we're going in the right direction? I'm hinting that it might be a good idea to... Wake up Daimon, he knows his way around here."

Watching Bryce help Era by pulling her to the top Talik sighed heavily and looked down at the big man on his shoulders.

"I don't want to waste my time trying to figure things out. We'll get to a safe place, and then I'll wake him up."

"The healer is dragging our guide and the main fighting force, so we don't have to waste time bickering. This world has gone mad," Bryce scratched his dusty neck.

Era said nothing, glancing indifferently at the two guys.

"That way," Talik waved toward one of the hills farther away and moved forward.

Talik wasn't even sure if they were headed in the right direction anymore. He only trusted that Spy wasn't wrong. Talik always climbed the hill first, and Spy would show him the next waypoint.

A whining irritation on the edge of perception kept him uneasy. He had felt something like that before, at the 'customer's' manor. At that time, the source of the irritation had been the undead. Talik then concluded that this is how his 'light side', defines the enemy within perception.

This time the irritation was much stronger and spoiled the already unhappy mood. Either there were more of them, or they were higher up. And by all accounts, it looked like they were being overtaken. Though Talik couldn't even estimate the distance.

The clash was very much to be avoided. The specifics of his class made the game uncomfortable when there were no resources. For example, he could not normally restore magic power with potions and amulets. Their effectiveness tended to be little different from zero.

I wish the interface were here now. Well, let's put it this way. Woke up with a conditional zero, two overflows it's a total of +200 mana. Messages, 14 each, Hundreds plus Spy, that's 98. [Good walk], ten casts, that's another hundred. Regen, with the stats I have now, is about 11 per hour. Total is about 57 mana, and how much HP I have at the moment, no idea. How many overflows will be enough, and whether even one will be enough, it is also unclear. Only one mid-ambusher to back me up. Just right for a fight with who knows who.

Talik was already tired of berating himself for his mindless journey. He was very fond of this kind of adventure in the game. Only where is the game and where is he now. There, at worst, you'll resurrect in a safe zone with the loss of several levels in a random class. A couple or three days of grind high-end zones and all is restored.

Except that was the game. Even there, death was a very unpleasant thing, and I don't even want to think about what will happen here. And it's also a big question whether I'll come back to live here after this...

Talik longed to be in the Dawn City again. To feel that blissful comfort and incredible cleanliness again, to see the sun-drenched, tidy streets and the Great Tree of the Elven Quarter. Even the crowd of madmen who lived there ceased to seem a significant inconvenience.

I'm going back there and I'm not going over the walls again. No way. There are plenty of things to do, even just sitting there. Exploring the physics of the world, inventing, eating everything, diving into debauchery, after all. And it's all for free. I can do everything I never dreamed I could do, so why the fuck am I here?

Thoughts of what he had seen in his delirium crept unpleasantly into his inner monologue. Talik chased them away, figuring there was no point in spoiling his mood any further.

As he climbed to the top of another hill, he lifted his dusty face to the whitewashed sky. It was darker than the last time, and the worm of anxiety was even more active under his heart. Talik didn't want to be stuck here until dark, and something told him that if he didn't check in at the usual time, there would be trouble.

This hill was higher than the previous ones, with a large, relatively flat top, and the view was quite far. Far ahead, a long-awaited rocky rise was visible through the fog. He looked back at his climbing companions.

"It's almost out, guys."

Era and Bryce stood up and stretched out at the top of the hill, exhausted. Bryce mumbled something unintelligible. Talik pondered whether to let them rest or cast the spell again and continue on their way.

The sooner they leave this place, the better, that's an undeniable fact. But a new spell means a new mana expenditure, and that's a catastrophic shortage. He listened doubtfully to his senses - the feeling of the enemy was still there, though it hadn't changed in intensity. Talik looked toward the edge of the plains again. It wasn't long to go, a couple of passages ought to do it. Though they probably wouldn't make it before dark anyway.

If I leave the guys behind, I'll get there a lot faster. But who would I be after that... If I leave Spy as a guard, that's not much of an option. If it's an ambush, I'll be empty and without cover.

He looked at his exhausted companions and decided to give them a little rest. As gently as he could, he laid Daimon down and said:

"We have a quarter of an hour, would you like to rest?"

Bryce raised his palm sluggishly, not even turning over, and Era silently pulled her hood tighter. Taking this as a sign of agreement, Talik left them, and, glancing in that direction, headed to the other side of the hill. Making sure the boys weren't following him, he snapped his fingers silently. An unsightly boulder nearby changed shape, and a figure in a dusty cloak bowed to Talik.

"Spy, how long will it take you to run up to the hill and back?"

He squinted and assessed the distance and terrain.

"About ten minutes, Your Holiness."

"Okay. Go there and contact Illadria, tell her I can get in touch a little later than usual. Tell her to tell the others. And come straight back. Go on."

Spy nodded and disappeared into the thickening fog. Talik went back to the others.

Era appeared to have fallen asleep. Bryce was just taking a sitting position. When he saw Thaler approaching, he struggled to get up and walked toward him.

"Thaler, I don't mind resting, but are you sure you shouldn't push it? We should go out and rest. With your magic..."

Talik thought about it himself but dismissed the idea. He didn't want to get lost - it would be too easy to go astray without Spy. The direction was quite clear from here, but what would happen when they came down, and even more so in the dark.

"We'll have to wait, Bryce. My 'magic'... Has its limitations."

Bryce looked at Talik doubtfully but didn't object. He nodded, turned back to Era and began to shake the dust out of his clothes and shoes.

Talik watched with wistful tension as the sky faded before his eyes. Spy still didn't appear, though Talik was sure that ten minutes had passed. A thought flashed through his mind as to whether the NPC might have abandoned him, and Talik immediately dismissed it. If the elf had intended to leave him, he could have done so much sooner. Though, Talik allowed the possibility that something had changed.

/Maybe he got some new data. Or got in trouble. I wonder what's worse - the possibility that the NPCs might betray me, or that someone was able to cause trouble for the Seventy with the emphasis on invisibility?

Talik felt a great deal of anxiety and irritation, and did not immediately realize that these feelings had more to do with the absence of Spy.

Son of a... How did I miss this?!

The feeling of the undead became so strong that it caused physical discomfort. As he worried about the absence of his faithful guard, he stopped giving importance to this peculiar radar, and now realized that it was very much in vain.

A sense of an ominous presence now approached from all sides of the hill. He could literally feel it with his skin; it was comparable to the intense stench his brain would have felt, not his nose.

We rested, fuck.

He stood up and looked around quickly. Bryce caught the movement and came up, gripping the hilt of his dagger.

"What's wrong?"

"I'm not sure yet, but either way, there's a problem. Wake up the others."

"Daimon?"

"Give a good slap, or prick your finger. Any kind of damage, basically."

The fog in the twilight was even thicker than before. Talik out of the corner of his eye noted how Bryce was bringing the other companions to consciousness, and concentrated.

He had a rather impressive arsenal of spells, designed to confront all levels of the undead. And there was critically little mana to implement it. Something level one or three wouldn't be a problem. But from level four and above, there would be one thing to choose from.

Talik wickedly began to calculate the cost of the magic he was used to. He refused at once to give up the idea of relying on luck.

I have no options, I need to burn my HP for overflow. The belt is supposed to protect me from going to minus. I used to go to such extremes a couple of times... The only thing left to do is not get hit. Great Random, let me squeeze out at least a thousand of mana.

+ + +

*Era*

Era was more exhausted by the road than she had ever been before. She'd been dragging her feet for the last couple of hours, not even hoping it would ever end. Walking at this pace without rest was new to her, and Thaler surprised her once again. One light wave of the arm and her body stopped crumbling to pieces from exhaustion. Not that fatigue was gone at all. It was just that walking became much easier, the body became obedient and very light. When that lightness was gone, Thaler made another pass with his hand, and they continued on their way.

She looked with wonder and envy at Thaler's deceptively frail figure. Looking at him, silently and easily carrying the big man in armor, along with his backpack and weapons, it was doubtful that such a man was capable of fatigue at all.

And is he even human?

As she walked, she had plenty of time to think. She tried to determine for herself how to perceive their strange companion.

At the beginning of the journey, he had aroused her dislike for his inept lies and intrusive sympathy. She thought that faced with the harsh realities of adventuring, he would break, just as Lias had done before him. Only Daimon's authority kept her from simply telling Thaler to go to hell in the first place.

Now she judged him completely differently. She realized that a wizard of enormous power was traveling with them. His spells broke all of Era's ideas about magic. They had unobvious, but enormous power. And the way Thaler used them was very different from Era's usual methodology. No elaborate gestures, no visible innovative components - just gestures and whispers.

She hadn't forgotten how frightened she had been at the ruined chapel, realizing the difference in strength. And yet, it did not prove to be an enemy. This opened up interesting possibilities.

Era was anxious to find out where he was from and where he had learned what he could do. Such knowledge and skills could change her whole life. In this short, skinny man of absolutely indefinable age, Era began to see the chance to become something more than a simple adventurer.

She liked her life - if you compare it to the one she had before. As an adventurer, she had learned what real freedom was like. She had never dreamed of such a thing when she was a seminarian, and Era was always grateful for the chance to escape, to see the world as it really was, and not through the lens of the Religious Dictatorship of Slane's Theocracy. Which turned out to be a monster itself, no better than those against whom she fought so fiercely.

But freedom was not all that Era sought. To maintain that freedom, she had to risk her life and health every day. To kill without the slightest doubt or pity. Her dream of learning the secrets of the world, of exploring its peoples, of developing herself as a mage came to a cruel ceiling: money and the only way she could get it. To kill people and monsters at the behest of other people. Who are sometimes no better than monsters.

In time, Era realized that the adventurer was not as free and independent as she first thought. You are free as long as you have money. And you have money as long as you do the work of the Guild.

Surely, it is better than being given to marry whoever the Circle of Inheritance chooses when she reaches the peak of her talent. It is better than the fate of a mother-producer living in a golden cage under the watchful eye of the priests.

Era was almost resigned to a life like this. The life of a talented underclass mercenary.

And now... Now the old dream was awakening in her again. About libraries, about scientific disputes, about laboratories, about comprehending new frontiers of being. She saw in Thaler the key to this, and despite all his oddities, she was determined to hold on to him with all her might.

Era understood that Thaler was a man. He could demand a lot from her. She decided for herself that she would give him anything he wanted. And she would make every effort to make sure that he opened the way for her to the world from which he had come. She was not afraid of a theocratic order in this world, or this country. Thaler's attitude toward people and social phenomena spoke directly to this.

The only thing left to do was to get out of the cursed plains.

After the incident in the chapel, Era tried not to annoy Thaler. He didn't want to be asked - she kept quiet. He didn't want to waste time stopping to rest - she, gritting her teeth, followed him as long as she had strength. Thankfully, Thaler provided plenty of that strength.

As she climbed the high hill, or rather the plateau, Era felt overwhelming fatigue build-up. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed that the magic that kept her strength was gone. She was relieved to see the edge of the cursed plains, and then she passed out.

Waking up was hard. It was as if sand had been poured into her head, and her body felt completely alien - docile, but somehow heavy, slowed down. She really wanted to stay down and do nothing. A drained, twitchy Bryce was leaning over her, covering the blackened sky that had already turned blue.

"How much sleep did I get?" Era asked, massaging her face with her palms.

"Not long, an hour. Can you do magic?"

Era habitually ran a spark of power from her heart to her palms. She was not happy with the result.

"Barely."

She tried to get up. It was a little harder than she thought. Every cell in her body howled with the tugging burning sensation that usually occurs when the body is exhausted.

"Ow..."

On the other side, Daimon knelt beside her. He hardly looked tired at all.

"Daimon, you're awake... I was worried about you." She tried to hug him and almost lost her balance.

Daimon gently supported her and helped her up.

"Bryce briefed me on the case. I..."

"It's fine."

He wanted to tell her something, but interrupted, glancing to the side. A soft, golden glow fell across his face. Era turned there, too, and saw Thaler.

The guy stood with his hands folded in a gesture of prayer and his head slightly bowed. That golden glow emanated from him. It was as if he had turned into a statue of white and gold marble that had been struck by a ray of sunlight. A stark contrast to the surrounding darkness.

He lifted his head, and Era was horrified. Thaler's eyes, nose, and ears were bleeding in thin streams. Bright, clear, so pure it looked like jewels - as if it glowed with a light of its own that shaded everything else. Thaler looked like a statue of some saint who had no place in these godforsaken hills.

He raised his hand warningly.

"I didn't want you to see this. Come closer to me, please. Now we're going to have to deal with some guys I didn't want to meet... It can be pretty complicated, and I wouldn't want you to get hurt by them."

Era was the first to step toward him. She decided for herself that she would trust this... creature, anyway. Daimon, with an unreadable expression on his face, followed her example and took up a defensive stance, covering Thaler. Bryce habitually disappeared from sight.

"Waiting for who, from where?" Daimon asked muffled, clanking his visor.

"I don't know yet, we'll see soon."

With an act of will, Era shook off her weakness, summoning her strength. The spark inside her reluctantly responded.

"Thaler, will you give us strength, like that time?" She looked cautiously at the healer

"Maybe. But I ask you one thing: don't try to attack. Defend yourself in every way possible. Avoid getting hit in any way you can."

"You have such a low opinion of us?" Daimon muttered from beneath his helmet.

"No. I am sober about your capabilities. Don't take it as an insult, please... Yeah."

Several silhouettes appeared at the edge of the hill. Era's soul went cold.

Tall, black-cloaked figures emerged, revealing the semblance of armor and dirty yellow bones. In place of their faces were horrible masks of rusted iron. Elbow-deep in the same rusty gauntlets, their braids oozed a pale, glowing bluish smoke. There were five of them. They weren't pacing, but rather floating through the air toward the Thaler-lit space from all sides.

Wraiths.

The monsters of the mournful legend of Ibenral. Five Messengers of Death came to this city at moonrise and left at sunset. Within an hour in a city of ten thousand people, not a single living soul remained. The Academy of the Gifted, the main Cathedral, and the School of Magical Arts - as well as all the teachers and students - were unable to counteract the attack.

The fallen gained non-life, and Ibenral, from the center of science and art in those days, became a breeding ground for nightmarish monsters, a terrible plague on the body of the country. A plague that only the legendary Luther Paradin uprooted when he was young. He unleashed a blaze of sunlight upon the city that flattened the once glorious city in seven days.

And here they are...

Era shook her head in disbelief. For all the notoriety of the Kaz Plains, what would such monsters do on their outskirts?

The wraiths didn't disappear. Era looked back at Thaler in hysterics. She knew Thaler was an amazing wizard, but such an enemy... It became clear to her who he was running from. And bitter that he hadn't.

Thaler, meanwhile, showed no sign of fear, only a concentrated frown.

Does he even know how to fear?

The wraiths came within striking distance of the knife and froze as if stumbling against a wall. One of them, in a less rusty mask, reached forward with its gauntleted hand. There was a hissing crack, and the dead thing yanked its hand away with a muffled grunt. Thaler grinned crookedly, spoiling the association with the ancient statue of a saint.

"They know how to think. It's a little unusual."

"Thaler, I'd like to apologize for any time I may have offended you. You're the strongest wizard I've ever heard of," Era exhaled, watching as the legendary monster grunted, trying to shake something off his burnt hand. "Did you put up some kind of barrier?"

"Sort of..." Thaler stared behind the wraith's back.

"You... How long can you hold on to it?"

"I can't say for sure, it doesn't make much sense anyway."

Era smiled bitterly. Of course. What kind of barrier would keep critters like that in place for long? She understood what Thaler meant when he said to avoid the blow with all her might. If someone fell at the hand of a wraith, he would become undead - what could be worse than that?

"Thaler, I have a favor to ask of you," Daimon said dryly. "Do you have any spells that can kill? If I get hurt... Kill me. I don't want to be undead. I know it's selfish."

"Kill? Well, no." The healer's voice was full of bewilderment. "If you really want to do it, you can do it when we're done."

"You're either a bastard or an idiot," Daimon snapped. "I believe you can do it quickly and without pain. Do you really believe we'll get out of here alive? Or do you want to keep your hands clean and let us become... This?"

"Daimon, shut up and let me think. Or I'll put you back to sleep."

Daimon fell silent. Era wasn't happy about the prospect of becoming undead either, but she didn't want to bicker in vain.

Thaler certainly won't kill anyone, it's useless to ask. And he won't let anyone else either.

The wraiths were hesitant to cross the invisible border, and the adventurers were careful not to make any unnecessary moves to avoid provoking them.

The silence was broken by Thaler a few minutes later.

"Era, I take it you know about this kind of undead?"

"Not very much," answered Era, staring intensely into the sluggishly moving figures. "Legends and generalized testimonies of those who knew something. I'd be happy to share what I know."

"I used to think of them as solitary creatures. They only band together under the guidance of someone... Or something far superior to them. Do you know anything about that?"

Era pondered, going over the details in her mind.

"It is believed that they are messengers of Death itself. Where they appeared, there was nothing left alive for dozens of miles around. The appearance of Death is always seen as a metaphor. I cannot confirm or deny the idea that they are subject to any particular creature."

"Are you sure?" Thaler gave her a serious look. Her teary, translucent bloodshot eyes gave her the creeps. "If the boss is out there, it's going to cause a lot of problems."

"I'm not sure, I'm sorry. Are you sure we're not in a lot of trouble right now?"

"Now? You... Oh, I get it. I'm sorry." Thaler grinned distantly.

Eira restrained herself from telling Thaler about his arrogance. She wondered if he would surprise her this time...

Just as she thought about it, a wave of nerve-racking power spread from the healer, so strong it took her breath away. Thaler raised one hand to the sky and pointed the other toward the ground.

"Ichten Frann!!!"

The healer's loud scream hit my ears and echoed onward. The wraiths recoiled.

And at the same moment, a blindingly bright beam of light cut through the sky, turning night into day. The fog was blown like a hurricane far away from the hill. Cracks in the ground beneath his feet began to form in the bright light. And a moment later, a ring of white energy was spreading out from Thaler in all directions.

Era felt as if she'd breathed in fresh, mountain air after sitting in a dirty basement for a year. All her senses sang, and she was dizzy with lightness and euphoria.

The ground beneath was shredded as in an explosion, the dusty, dead earth scattered under the pressure of Thaler's energy. The ground beneath the feet was normal, clean, literally ringing with life force.

Wraiths vanished in a wave of energy, shrieking and screaming, turning to ashes at once.

Era looked around and couldn't believe her eyes. The daylight was fading, giving way to the night. All around her, as far as the eye could see, the earth was alive, as if it had shaken off its ashy plaque. Before her eyes, the shy sprouts of grass were sprouting out of it. In the deep, clear sky, the last rays of the setting sun were fading and the moon was rising.

And only miles away, miles away from that hill, a ghastly whitish fog lingered and continued to slowly melt. It was as if a vicious, cowardly creature was threatening revenge from a safe distance.

Era glanced over at Daimon and Bryce, who had manifested himself. She was speechless, and she could see the shock in Daimon's eyes through his visor, the confusion on Bryce's face as he crouched on the ground.

Thaler, on the other hand, headed toward the remains of the wraiths, as if nothing had happened. Somehow Era could sense that the creatures would not rise again. Three pairs of eyes stared intently at the slowly fading figure.

Thaler walked over to one rusty mask on top of a small pile of ash, wiggled it with his foot. Then to a second, sat down, and laughed softly.

"Guys, come here, please."

The adventurers hesitantly approached. Thaler moved aside, revealing to them the sword that had been left in the ash heap. The long, jagged, scraped blade, with its spiked guard and skull-clawed tip, was fearsome on its face. As a spider waited in its lair for prey, so this sword waited for someone to take it in his hands.

Thaler looked up.

"Do the legends say anything about such a weapon?"

Daimon knelt down next to him and reached out his hand, immediately pulling it away.

"That's... I've heard of it. A great warrior became undead and was slain in a terrible battle. One of the heroes who defeated him took this warrior's sword, exactly as described. This hero became the greatest knight of his time, but just a couple of years later he himself turned into the undead and carried out a massacre during the tournament, and there died for good. No one wanted the sword, and it seems that they had to force a slave to carry it. The poor fellow died in terrible agony a few days later. So through the slaves the sword was carried to the ship, carried out into the distant sea, and sunk along with the ship. I never thought I would see such a weapon in person."

"So," Thaler shook his head. "So it works here, too..."

"What works?" Era asked vividly.

"Item class initialization. It's a lot of explaining, I'll tell you later. Right now we have to get out of here after all. If this company had an owner, he must be mad as hell. And I still don't know who it is, so it's better to be safe than sorry."

He moved his hand over the sword, and the weapon disappeared. Era was tired of being surprised, and took it for granted. The energy from the explosion of light energy began to wear off, and the inexorable, leaden fatigue began to set in again.

Thaler glanced again at the dramatically changed terrain, nodded to something of his own, and whispered a spell to ease the way. It was time to move out. Only Bryce shook his head sadly:

"And no bastard would know we were here. No one will believe that we saw everything with our own eyes."

"I think it's for the best, for now," Era replied. "If Thaler's right and we've pissed off the master of the wraiths, I'd rather not be recognized."

As she continued on her way, Era enjoyed the fresh air and the smell of spring earth. Her thoughts were brightest. She hadn't felt such elation since she had fled from the seminary. She stared at the healer's back and was strengthened in her decision to go to his homeland at any cost. Even if it took many years, after all, he was clearly from afar. She had a new dream.

Let them call her stupid, or naive, it doesn't matter. Impossible things have happened before her eyes, and she would spit in the face of anyone who said her dream was impossible.

They reached the steep rocky ascent, encouraged, and reached it in less than an hour. Thaler listened periodically, but apparently saw no cause for alarm.

When they got uphill, they were in for a surprise.

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RiP · May 22, 2022

Chapter 18.1
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*Spy*

Spy rushed off to do his master's bidding. He was very proud of the honor of accompanying the Perfect Being, and he always tried to follow his orders exactly. Sometimes it was difficult, and Spy didn't always grasp their real meaning. He just silently accepted his role - the eyes, ears, and dagger of His Holiness.

From the beginning of this strange journey, he felt himself between two fires.

The Lady of the Storms questioned him about literally every move they made, and His Holiness was clearly unwilling to waste time explaining anything. When Illadria asked what the Overlord wanted to achieve by a particular order or action, he had nothing to say. And Spy considered it sacrilegious to pester His Holiness with questions, distracting him from his lofty thoughts. The Lady of the Storms had hinted softly that Spy would be in for a very sad fate if he didn't do as she commanded. To which Spy replied bluntly that in choosing whom to anger, he would certainly not choose His Holiness.

He wouldn't tell Illadria about the disrespect the locals had for his lord. The lord had not mentioned his thoughts on the matter, and Spy himself, on some reflection, had decided not to mention it until he was asked about it substantively. It wasn't as if His Holiness was seeking to incur the wrath of the senior vassals against the natives, and that would inevitably happen if they knew what had happened on the lord's journey.

If he still had to make a different decision, he was ready to suffer the punishment he deserved.

This time the order was quite clear, even to him. Spy was generally familiar with the situation in the Dawn City. The senior vassals were all confused, for the first time without direct guidance from the Lords. They needed guidance from His Holiness, confirmation that something they were doing was right.

Overlord left the city, leaving them without the highest presence. It was a heavy blow. And if he left them without his attention, even by long-distance communication, without explaining anything, they would fall into despair.

His Holiness decided not to let this happen while he was fiddling with his new pets, and Spy was well aware of the significance and importance of the mission entrusted to him.

As he climbed the steep slope of the edge of the plains, he was inwardly glad that the abominable fog did not overwhelm his senses. Smells, sounds, and tones flooded his perception again. Spy quickly 'clung' to one of the boulders and retrieved a scroll [message] from his pouch.

"Lady Illadria, this is Stalker Spy."

"I was expecting the report earlier, what's the delay?! Where is the Prophet?!"

"His Holiness told me to tell you to inform the other vassals that he will contact you later than usual."

"Where is he now?"

"His Holiness is exploring the cursed territory as planned. Lady Illadria, I was under orders to report the situation to you and return to His Holiness immediately. Permission to interrupt?"

"Go."

The Lady of the Storms was clearly far from pleased. But to keep Spy out of touch, to delay him and thereby disrupt His Holiness's plans, she did not dare.

The elf breathed a sigh of relief. He feared the lady would not let him go so soon. As he was about to head back, Spy sensed an extraneous presence. He couldn't tell what the creature was or where. That circumstance alone said a lot.

Spy froze, contemplating what to do. Apparently, the unknown man could not determine his position either, and a kind of parity was maintained.

Spy could stay in an ambush for many days without moving, without sacrificing his fighting potential. Still, he couldn't afford it now - his Holiness was waiting for his servant's return. And a report of the probable threat should have been made as well. Delay was inexcusable. Spy was anxious to call for reinforcements or to report his situation to the Lady of the Storms. But there was no way he could have used the communicating scroll without being noticed.

Spy hesitated for a while and then decided to risk raising the alarm to the lady. To use the scroll and whisper a word once overheard from the Lords that had an unambiguous interpretation. 'Shuher' - that sound combination had always entailed active action by the entire Guild.

Still, he didn't make it in time. As soon as Spy moved his fingers to retrieve the scroll from his pouch, he felt slight dizziness. It passed quickly, but his intuition told him he wouldn't be able to contact anyone anytime soon. Spy, discarding caution, jumped aside, hoping to get out of range of the effect, and drew his curved daggers.

Woe to him who underestimates the stalkers of the Dawn by their unsightly appearance... He saw the stranger at once. The man had stopped hiding, too. He was a short, elderly man, wrapped in a cloak that was a little too big for him. He had a neatly trimmed beard and short, well-combed hair with noble graying. Attentive, lively eyes in his wrinkled face were not at all suited to the circumstances of the meeting.

The stranger studied Spy closely for a few seconds, and then he spoke: "You're good. You're really good. I'd like to ask you a few questions if you don't mind."

"I don't have any business with you."

"Good answer, but wrong. I'm sorry, I can't let you go like this. For too long I had hoped there would be no such encounters. Answer my questions, and maybe we'll go our separate ways. Or even be friends."

Spy pondered tensely what to do. He had no orders for this kind of thing. Ignore, attack, or make contact?

There is no way to ignore it. This man has the ability to hide in such a way that Spy, as one of Dawn's intelligence elite, could not determine his position before he stopped hiding. So he is at least as well trained as Spy himself. Turning his back on something like that without finishing the conversation was a bad idea. Spy had a pretty good idea of what a backhanded stab meant. He was a big expert on the subject.

Attack? There's no guarantee as to how it would end. It is likely that one of them will be severely injured or killed, perhaps both of them. There is a possibility of not returning to His Holiness, an unacceptable development.

Make contact? It's a waste of precious time, and besides, he's not facing an ally, and therefore a likely enemy.

Spy chose the lesser of two evils.

"Ask."

"Are you the master, or the puppet?"

"I don't understand the question."

"And with that, you answered unequivocally," the stranger tilted his head slightly to the side. "But let me get this straight. Do you have a master?"

"I have overlords."

"So a puppet. Well, that's good and bad all at once. What's the name of your guild?"

"There will be no answer."

"As expected. I had hoped otherwise, of course. One last question - your master, I mean, the real master, the all-powerful absolute being, and so on. Is he one or are there several?"

"There will be no answer."

Damn, I forgot how stubborn puppets can be. You know, the thing is, I'd like to... To be friends with your master. We can be enemies too, but it would be a disadvantage for everyone. Tell him what I said. I'm sure he'll find a way to contact another... player if he knows he's not here alone. And tell him he'll be here for a long time. Forever, from what I know. That's all.

The stranger turned away for a split second, and Spy immediately lunged at him. He hesitated just until the man said he was ready to be Dawn's enemy, and then he just waited for the right moment to attack.

The attitude of the Lords of the Dawn toward their enemies has always been unequivocal. Destroy them without a shadow of a doubt, every chance you got.

Spy realized almost immediately that he had overestimated himself. The man had been too attentive-or just expecting something like this. One curved blade only grazed the stranger's arm, piercing through the surprisingly strong cloak and leather lining. The other pierced just air.

The next moment Spy felt sharp, cold steel penetrate his stomach, followed immediately by a crushing blow to the jaw. He fell on his back and wanted to jump to his feet, and realized, with wicked surprise, that his body was disobeying him. A chill spread throughout his body from the wound in his abdomen, chilling him to the core.

The stranger, kneading his wounded arm and wrinkling, leaned over him, looking into frozen eyes.

"Your master will bring you back to life, I know. Then tell him so. As a gesture of goodwill, I am willing to forget his puppet's first mistake."

With these last words, the man stabbed a short dagger into Spy's throat without a swing.

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T.N. What about another format? Smaller pieces but more often.

RiP · May 23, 2022

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*Emperia Baharut*

Among the nobility of the Baharut Empire, an invitation to the highest audience of His Imperial Majesty was considered a very bad sign. The emperor was renowned as an extremely shrewd, very far-sighted, and utterly ruthless ruler. In his office, very modest by the standards of the former rulers of the empire, the fate of the one who attracted the crown's attention could lay a very, very steep turn.

In the year of the twelve-year-old boy's ascension to the throne, a great many Noble Houses placed their bets on the intelligent and very understanding young man. The heads of houses had no idea what kind of monster they were putting on the throne. And when they did, it was too late.

The blond-haired boy with clear eyes seemed like an angel but turned out to be a devil in the flesh.

Zirkniff el Nix seemed to know everything about everyone. There wasn't a single secret he didn't know about. There was no one he could not read like an open book. Skillfully playing on people's heartstrings, he fractured the upper classes of the nobility. And while the noble families intrigued and sorted out the relationship between them, the young emperor united the fragmented knightly orders into a united army.

Few people paid any attention to the young 'puppet' emperor's fascination with knights. It was normal for a boy his age to admire armor and weapons, so everyone thought.

And then came the Red Year.

Not a day passed without an execution in the main square of the Capital. The scaffold welcomed everyone - commoners and nobles. Not a week passed without news of another massacre on a private estate. The nobility tried to unite and fight back, but the moment was hopelessly lost. The Emperor executed strictly according to the law of right and duty. Any conspiracy failed - no one knows how the Bloody Emperor knew about it almost before it was committed. The nobility stopped trusting anyone, even within their own families. And the knighthood was rapidly consolidating, lavishly gifted with confiscated lands and castles.

There was a time when the masters of the United Orders also tried to pressure the Emperor, wanting more power and wealth. It was then, too, that they learned what it was to oppose the Bloody Emperor. Some died suddenly of sudden illness, some were mauled by a bear while hunting, and some were slaughtered drunk in a brothel by a nameless vagabond. And some met the scaffold. For the same conspiracy and treason, in strict accordance with ancient law. There was no way to nail the Emperor quietly.

And to do it through rebellion... For the Emperor stood Luther Paradin. The strongest wizard in the Empire and the world. No one knew exactly what the boy had bought the completely indifferent to the mortal world wizard. The fact was that the most destructive force known in the world had taken on the role of a chain dog to the throne.

And at the same time the cunning, shrewd and cruel ruler proved to be fair. Having given his word, he did not break it. He implemented order everywhere, which he himself also followed. In general, the order was very simple to understand - work for the good of the country, obey the law, and do not intend evil. And over time, the rules of the game were accepted by all.

Zirkneef el Nix watched out of the corner of his eye as the visitor disappeared through one of the doors, wiped his handsome face with a slightly damp silk napkin, and glanced at the to-do list. Not that he needed such a list. The Emperor by nature had a great memory, which, in addition, he trained very carefully. He planned to take stock of such to-do lists in the distant future.

Yes, and there was something pleasant about celebrating a job done.

His office was extremely modest by the standards of the former rulers of this country. No statues, no lavish chandeliers, no candlesticks that cost an entire city. A wide desk with no excessive decorations, sturdy shelves with numerous books and scrolls, and a dark red carpet. A large, extremely detailed map of the empire adorned the wall opposite the table.

At the high window leading to one of the inner courtyards stood the second man visibly present. A short, slightly slouching old man with a sad face and a large nose. He had a thick pale gray beard down to his waist, a large robe, in the depths of which were hidden dry hands with tenacious fingers. The old man stared out the window with an absent look.

The Emperor put the list on the table and clapped his hands. The door to the study opened and two beautiful girls dressed as palace servants walked in. One was carrying a tray with a small teapot and two cups, the other was carrying a thinly sliced cake.

The Emperor leaned back in his chair. One girl stood behind him and began to massage his shoulders, the other ducked under the table. She knelt, took off Zirkniff's slippers, and began to massage his feet. The Emperor exhaled contentedly. The old man at the window was still unconcerned.

"Paradin, what's the matter?" Zirkniff asked with a note of dissatisfaction. "You haven't said a word in an hour."

The old man, without turning around, covered his eyes and bowed his head.

"Your Majesty, I have repeatedly expressed my disapproval of this venture with the elves. I neither understand nor approve of the fact that you do business with them," came an unexpectedly strong, low, and husky voice.

"Because they cannot be trusted and will betray at any moment. I know."

"Since you know, why should I waste words."

"Paradin, you of all people should understand the meaning of long-term investments."

"It makes sense to invest in something that won't fall apart in a decade or two. And you are investing quite a lot of resources in support of a people who have been and will remain hostile to you and humans in general."

"Don't you still understand why I'm doing this?"

The old man was quiet, and then he answered.

"I get the point. You support this nation financially to eliminate the possibility that Theocracy will take over. But don't you realize that no one will be grateful to you? No one but their leaders knows your role. You are hated and despised as much as any other people."

"So what? The important thing is that the theocrats can't pull their troops off the borders when I start invading Re-Estis. Supporting the Elves in their war against the Theocrats costs me far less than if I were to fight the Theocrats myself if they were to intercede for the Kingdom."

"And you don't care about the consequences if the secret gets out? The supply chain is too complicated and vulnerable to be a true secret. I'm sure the head of the Guild has known what the game is for a long time."

"So what of it? The Guild has been around for more than a hundred years and has never gotten involved in politics. I don't see any reason why it should happen now. And even if the secret of the elves' endless resources is revealed, I don't see why it would happen now. A diplomatic scandal in which I would deny all accusations. Oh, so awful."

"If the elves can win..."

"Elves? Defeat the Theocrats?" The Emperor chuckled. "How do you imagine that? Even if there were a miracle, and they started pushing those fanatics around, I'd just hold back the supplies, and the Eared Ones would have nothing to fight with."

The old man was quiet, and then he said.

"Your Majesty, you are a talented ruler, but you are only twenty. You are too young to understand how long-lived people see the world. It will pass."

"Oh, here we go. Let's have some tea."

The girl, who was kneading Zirknif's shoulders, broke away from her task and poured the fragrant hot drink into cups. Afterward, the emperor waved his fingers lazily. The two girls bowed and quickly left the room.

The old man reclined in the easy chair by the window and beckoned the cup to him with his finger. It rose above the tray and floated into the old wizard's hand.

"Paradin, I realize that you may not like the things I find useful. You didn't like it when I poisoned my father and slaughtered my brother, you didn't approve of the purge I've set up in all estates. And look now which of us was right. The country is prospering. My power is unshakeable, my coffers are full of gold, and everyone is equal before the law. The nobles are terrified before me, working hard for the good of the country. The common people pray to me, they have ceased to starve and fear for their lives. The army will jump into the fire at my command. Organized crime has ceased to exist. Your Academy is at its peak. Do you think the end did not justify the means?"

"Perhaps you are right. Perhaps. I was wrong about you at the time, that's why I didn't approve. I did not and do not care about blood and death. I only feared that it might degrade you as a person, make you a bloodthirsty fool. I admit that I was wrong about you, and yet I don't think you are as blameless as you think you are."

"That is why you are my most valuable advisor. From now on, please, Paradin, don't make me beg you to give me your opinion."

"Very well, Your Majesty. I'll do my best."

"I hope so."

The Emperor picked up a stack of papers from the table and flipped through them, then gently pushed the carved silver bell on the table. The door opened, and a respectfully bowed elderly man peered through it.

"Is Sir Pallon here yet?" Without looking at the servant, the Emperor inquired.

"Yes, Your Imperial Majesty. Shall I invite him in?"

"Do it."

A moment later, a man dressed in ornate armor entered the office with a chiseled stride. The Emperor stared at him for a moment. He knew that his cold sapphire eyes made people nervous. The black-haired, slightly swarthy man with a slanted scar across his face showed no outward signs of excitement. Though Zirkniff could see perfectly well what was going on in the man's soul.

Baron feverishly went over the list of his sins in his mind and wondered about the reasons for the invitation to an audience. He pored over the list of possible questions and answers, wondered where the thugs of the imperial guard were hidden and were glad that he had not been asked to surrender his weapons. It was a good sign.

"Baron Pallon." Zirkniff leaned back in his chair and, with a cool smile, pointed to a chair nearby. "Will you sit down?"

"Your Imperial Majesty, I would prefer not to violate etiquette. It is bad form to sit in the presence of the Emperor."

"As you wish. I have invited you, Baron, for the following reason..."

A slight panic flashed through the Baron's mind. His father, Orem Pallon, had been one of those who had been purged in the Red Year, and for good reason. His son had understood even more than where the wind was blowing and had stood up to his father, who was leading his family to extermination. Thanks to this he retained his title and privileges, although he lost his lands.

"As I'm sure you know," the Emperor went on as if nothing had happened, "our eastern borders have been a source of much anxiety lately. There's an invasion of creatures like ogres, goblins, and other monsters coming from the Forest of Tob into the Empire. This could be a problem, and I want it handled by men who have proven their loyalty to their country. Men like you, Baron. I want you to take command of a small army, march to the Frontiers, and beat the greenskins into thinking that the Empire can be disturbed with impunity. Succeed, and you will take possession of the conquered land. As the owner of that land, you'll get a government loan for improvements, building a fortress, hiring laborers, and so on."

"I will succeed, Your Imperial Majesty."

"I have no doubt. I will order you to have a hundred knights and squires who wish to show their valor. They will have everything they need. Any further questions or requests?"

"I dare to clarify, Your Imperial Majesty. May I enlist the Academy's mages in the campaign? I would like to be able to confront the green-skinned shamans without suffering unnecessary losses."

"Paradin?" The Emperor turned to the old man, who was already standing by the window again, his back to the Emperor.

"It won't be a problem to equip a few interns. Although it can be quite costly..."

"Oh, don't worry," the Emperor smiled. "The treasury will reimburse the costs. And the Baron, who possesses promising land, will be able to return everything in time, I'm sure of it."

"Absolutely." Pallon bowed.

"In that case, Baron, tomorrow you will be given an army and a document allowing you, on behalf of the Emperor, to quarter in any castle from the Capital to the eastern borders. Once you have them, go immediately to the Fortress of Arrang, it is the closest to one of the problematic sections of the border. Subdue the greenlings and prove your loyalty to the Empire."

"I will do everything, Your Imperial Majesty."

"Off you go, Baron. The Empire is counting on you."

The baron bowed deeply and walked out, his back to the front. The Emperor could see that the man was enthusiastic and inspired, having received an assignment with a tempting prospect instead of a trial.

Silence reigned.

"Paradin, pick interns from among the least promising."

There was no reply; the old man was still standing at the window, staring into the unknown distance.

"Paradin?" The Emperor turned grudgingly to the old mage.

The magician seemed like a frozen statue. The lug of the cup slipped from his finger, near his lips, and the dear little thing shattered with a melodious clink on the polished granite of the floor.

"Paradin!"

Zirkniff had never seen the old wizard like that. He jumped up from his chair, walked quickly over to Paradin, and turned his face toward himself.

The old man's lips twitched slightly, his faded blue eyes were wide open and his pupils dilated.

Poison! A terrible thought flashed through the Emperor's mind. Who dared, how?!

Massage girls are excluded. Zirkniff would have known that. He always knew what people in his presence were thinking.

"Hey, Grandpa," Zirkniff shook the mage again. He was moving his lips, clearly unaware of what was going on around him. "Guards!"

As soon as the 'u' sounded, the room exploded. The stacks burst open, and warriors in shimmering magical armor, with large armor shields and swords at their ready, poured out from behind them. A dozen or so warriors instantly surrounded the Emperor and the mage in a ring, bristling with sharp blades. A moment later, the front door swung open, and Baziwood Lightning flew into the room.

The mighty warrior, holding a broad two-handed sword with one hand like a reed, looked around at what was going on.

"Medic, quick! It looks like poison!" The Emperor roared, laying the wizard gently on the carpet.

Baziwood moved a little to the side, and an older stooped man with an imposing leather bag ran into the room.

Baziwood's voice sounded like the roar of a waterfall.

"Seal off all entrances and exits to the Palace! All guards to arms! All guests and servants stay where they are!"

The doctor was let through the ring of shields, and the old man hastily examined Paradin.

"It is not poison, Your Majesty."

"Then what?!"

"I know for a fact that it's not poison and it's not a disease. Master Paradin is healthy, it's just a shock. It will pass soon."

"You'd better not be wrong," Zirkniff rumbled."

"I've been at court for four decades," the physician answered grudgingly. "Master Paradin must be placed in a chair and allowed to rest."

Zirkniff could hear the roll call throughout the Palace, the slamming of doors, the ringing of armor steel, and the barking of dogs. Attempts on the Emperor's life had not long ago been commonplace, occurring almost every few days. Even now, the guards worked like a well-oiled machine. Quickly, efficiently, and without the slightest doubt.

Paradin closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The Emperor, watching him closely, slowly began to calm down.

"Paradin, are you all right?" Zirkniff asked with alarm in his voice.

"Yes... Yeah. Sorry about thatn. I... I need some privacy."

Zirkniff waved his palm, and the guards retreated to their recesses behind the shelving doors. It was impossible to imagine the commotion that had raged there just a moment ago. The physician, having received silent permission, departed as well.

"What's happened? Grandpa, you scared me."

"Magic. I felt magic. A magic so strong I'd never felt before. Zirknff, boy, you know how I feel about it. I need to get over there now. I need to see it for myself."

"I don't like it when you call me a boy in the office, Paradine. Where do you want to go?"

"I have to get ready to go. It's somewhere on the other side of the Kaz Plains."

The Emperor hesitated for a few moments. Was it worth letting the old wizard go into the unknown? On the other hand, it was impossible to keep him anyway. The old man was compliant in things he didn't care about, but when it came to magic, he was as unstoppable as a wild buffalo and as stubborn as a donkey. Which, given his power, could have been disastrous if anyone had interfered with his goal.

The Emperor stepped back, letting Paradin get up.

"All right, Paradin. Do as you please. But when you come back, don't shut yourself away in your tower for weeks at a time, and tell me everything you've seen and heard first."

+ + +

RiP · May 23, 2022

+ + +

*Dawn City*

"Lady Illadria."

The junior wizard bowed and held out his hands. Illaldria, barely noticing his presence, held out her staff and cloak. The junior sorcerer accepted them, bowed again, and departed. Illaldria was left alone.

After the 'event,' Illadria had taken to this place as her personal quarters. Two rooms occupy the penultimate floor of the tower, and a large hall crowns it.

The bright, spacious hall, with its vaulted ceiling and walls of stained-glass windows, was at the top of the tallest tower in her groves. It is not known why the Lords erected this tower. It had been empty for as long as the elfess remembered this city. There were several such structures in the city. When the Lords created these structures, they visited them only once or twice.

The sorceress hesitated for some time, not knowing whether to occupy the tower without a direct order. Then temptation overcame fear. The place reeked of ancient and serene power, and Illadria was drawn to it as if by a whirlpool. She risked asking the Prophet's permission to practice there, and he allowed it, without even going into the substance of her prepared petition.

What tower? Oh, that one... No problem, take it.

Remembering that conversation, the elfess walked up the marble staircase to the top. She still wasn't used to the place, and it was breathtaking every time. Illadria walked over to the stained glass window and ran her fingers over the carved surface. Rays of sunlight shone through the intricate patterns of the glass, reflecting off the rings and bracelets. Illadria smiled at the play of small sunbeams and pressed the two symmetrical pieces of the pattern in the center of the stained glass. It split in two and opened like a door, revealing an exit to an ivory balcony.

This way you could open and close all the windows in the room. The view was breathtaking. On one side was a city of people. The palace, the central lake, the temples, the aqueducts, and the dwellings. On the other side were her groves of towers and great trees. From here you could also see the trees, in the crowns of which she had set up a nursery for griffins. In the distance, beyond the groves, the top of the city wall was partially visible, and beyond it, the mountains.

Although the beautiful view was only an adjunct to the main feature of the hall. Prophet told her of its properties, which she was not slow to try out the same day. From within it was impossible to damage by any kind of magic. Its walls and glass were immune to either direct or indirect magic. Whatever magic was going on here, the world outside wouldn't even know about it.

Illadria closed the glass wall, went down to the living rooms, and opened the door to the impressive closet, scrutinizing its contents.

She was going to visit Wilhelm. She herself did not fully understand why they saw each other every night. Wilhelm was harsh, rude, narcissistic, and stubborn as a jackass. During their conversations, he always stressed his superiority and irritated her with his strange ambitions.

And yet every time she came to visit, she listened to him. Behind his bravado and braggadocio, she saw more than a man of great power. She saw the character, inflexible backbone, and a confident adherence to his intended course. After the Prophet left for the outside world, the perfect life in the city began to falter. Problems began to emerge that no one had even considered before. From complicated pregnancies to clogged sewers, from quarrels among the inhabitants to disrupted logistics.

Wilhelm almost drowned in a flood of complaints and requests. Nevertheless, he managed to organize all the processes in such a way that he also had time to deal with the construction of the new road.

In his presence, Illadria noticed that her heart began to beat faster.

Whenever he mentioned his vision of her role in the future, she felt a little bit bitter. No, she did not think it was a bad thing to become the Prophet's wife; on the contrary, she rather dreamed of it. It rather hurt her that Wilhelm spoke of it so easily. It was as if he felt nothing at all. And now it was a matter of honor to make him interested in her as a woman.

Stupid jackass. When are you going to notice that I'm not just a comrade-in-arms...

She was distracted from these thoughts by the signal of [message]. Illadria was in constant contact with her scouts, and it was not unusual.

"Talk."

"Lady Illadria, this is the observer on the west side of the valley. I detected a group of unknown creatures, 89 units. Some kind of beastmen, their levels against the rest of the creatures are impressive, 20-25. You can see the city walls from their position. What are your instructions?"

"How could they get here?"

"I couldn't know. I would have guessed from one of the tunnels we found earlier if I hadn't known they were all blocked up."

"What are they doing, where are they going?"

"They seem to be hunting. They're chasing a short humanoid. They're heading for the edge of the valley, and if nothing changes, they'll run into Necropolis."

"Leave it as it is for now. If they try to leave the valley, prevent it. If there is no other way, capture the leader, kill the rest."

Illadria interrupted [the message] and tried to contact the Prophet. The spell did not find an addressee, and the elfess became worried. She tried to contact the bodyguard assigned to the Prophet and failed again.

The enchantress' heart skipped a beat. The Prophet's ways and plans are a mystery behind the unbreakable seal, but for a bodyguard not to answer is out of the question.

Illadria hesitated about what to do. She was tormented by the anxiety that Wilhelm had planted in her soul. If they lost the last of the Lords... Despair and fear weighed heavily on her heart just thinking about it. Illadria estimated the time of the Prophet's usual contact. Still, there was time yet.

Should we leave it as it is? The invaders will fall into the clutches of Marius, and no one will ever hear about them again. On the other hand, if they have communication magic, they can pass on information about what they saw to others, which would not be good. Or if they catch their victim before they reach the Necropolis, where will they go next? Maybe just capture them and then deal with it? But the Prophet prescribed aggression only in retaliation, and these creatures have done us nothing wrong yet. Is it worth risking a decision on our own? I'd hate to disrupt the Prophet's plans. Wish I knew them... I understand Marius now.

Illadria hesitated for almost a minute, and then made up her mind.

"Observer, you say they are chasing a humanoid. How soon will they catch him?"

"It's hard to tell. Both the creatures and their target don't seem to navigate well in daylight. I give it half a day. They will reach Necropolis sooner."

"I will send a junior sorcerer, he will make a snowstorm. Use this to kidnap the beastmen's target. Disorient it and deliver it to the chambers of the royal palace. Another scout will lead the pursuers on a false trail, let them wander in the mountains for now."

"It will be done."

+ + +

*Akuro*

It was noisy around the fighting pit, as usual. Akuro was used to it and paid little attention to the snarls and laughter of the monsters who acted as spectators. It was ironic - in a normal world, monsters fought for the amusement of humans, not the other way around.

Although the world has long been upside down.

Akuro made a stabbing lunge and then leaped backward in catlike strides to escape from the falling stick from above.

The monsters, or as they called themselves, 'orcs,' despised his way of fighting. He had learned them well in the days he'd spent in the pit as a gladiator. Their ethos was one of the swift and desperate onslaught. And Akuro took advantage of that, fighting battle after battle, looking for opportunities to counterattack. Just like now.

The orc growled, tapping his club nervously on the tilled ground. Akuro counted down the seconds, with the same catlike stride, circling him. Exactly four seconds between unnaturally fast spurts.

Akuro's timing was correct. After the expected time, the orc darted toward him, simultaneously uttering a terrifying roar and swinging his cudgel.

If you don't get out of the way in time, that roar stuns, throws you off, and disorients you. And after a blow with a club, there's only half a bone left in the body, if not less. Akuro had felt it firsthand. Many times. And that's considering that the creatures had never really tried to kill him.

Unlike him.

Akuro ducked under the blow with a U-turn. It was a very risky maneuver, a fraction of a second wrong, and either the shoulder would turn into mincemeat or the orc would have time to make another one that would be impossible to dodge.

The cudgel slammed into the wall, and Akuro's sword slashed the orc beneath his knee. There was a shriek of rage, and Akuro barely had time to jump back. Where he'd been a moment ago, a club hit the ground. If the monster's injured leg hadn't failed, it would have been over.

Akuro immediately staggered forward, and, literally feeling his tendons creak, put all of himself into a new lunge. The blade pierced the orc's arm at the elbow. The blade reluctantly ripped through wood-hard skin and muscle.

He knew for a fact that the orcs could not be exhausted. Their wounds healed with supernatural speed, and they seemed to know no fatigue at all. Every advantage had to be built on, without giving them the slightest respite.

The orc tried to swing his club again and dropped it. Akuro calculated his blow very precisely. The severed tendons at the elbow robbed the green monster of its right arm for some time. Akuro used the momentary lull while the creature was trying to get its bearings as best he could. He made a false chopping lunge, diverting the monster's attention to the oblique swing of his sword, and lunged straight for the orc. The monster still got his bearings and slammed his left fist into Akuro's head.

And yet Akuro made it.

Many days had passed since he had been questioned by the mysterious faceless man. All Akuro knew is that it has been more than a week and less than a month. Fighting day after day for the amusement of the monsters, he lost track of time.

In normal life, such fights don't happen every day or even every month. But Akuro fought to the death from dawn to dawn. For the first few days, he suffered defeat after defeat. At first, he fought teenagers, creatures of quite human proportions. They proved to be formidable fighters nonetheless and to begin with they beat him within seconds. The savage strength and incredible speed were astonishing.

Every time he fell to the ground with broken bones, severed limbs, an open chest, and a split face, he expected the end. And each time, the creatures gave him a disgusting salty potion to drink. When he was unable to drink, they simply doused him. And the worst wounds would heal in less than a minute, leaving only pale scars. And he had to fight again. Without respite, without stopping, hour after hour, day after day.

The pain of wounds and injuries became his constant companion. It drove him mad and drowned his mind in despair and fear. At one point, he nearly broke down. And then it came.

Sober rage. It consumed his mind and heart, easily displacing fear, thoughtless anger, and self-pity. He accepted his world as he saw it. He stopped hoping it would ever end. There is him, there is the enemy, and there is the fight. Everything else has lost its meaning.

The instant calculation was added to his hard-wired reflexes and the hereditary gift of Heroes. The speed of monster combat no longer seemed so unbelievable to him. He began to notice details. Instantly analyzing the direction and timing of a strike. His body stopped following his self-defense instincts, completely giving control to his mind.

That day was the first time he'd ever defeated his opponent. He didn't have time to kill them, they were too hardy after all, and the fact that Akuro was stronger didn't make them weaker. He was no longer put up against teenagers. Now he fought adult orcs.

He now realized quite clearly that if that orc in the woods had wished him dead, he would have easily been killed on the spot.

Again and again, he was turned into a bloody cutlet. But now Akuro wasn't just fighting, he was learning. His body was becoming more responsive and obedient. His mind grew sharper, his reflexes more refined. Each new day made the battles longer, and orcs no longer beat him with impunity. Victories were costly to them.

Yesterday he got a draw. Both he and his opponent were unable to continue. And today - today will be his triumph.

The orc's cast-iron fist slammed into Akuro's skull, crushing and crumpling his brow. The eye burst, splattering to the side. And Akuro's blade plunged straight into the orc's mouth, penetrating the inside of his skull, slicing through the soft brain.

Akuro flew aside, crashing into the wall of the pit. And the orc swayed and fell to the ground. The sword stuck in the bone, leaning to the ground, slowly tilted its head to the side, and a look of lost rage and life fell on Akuro.

Through the throbbing rumble in his head, Akuro felt satisfaction. He had made it. Defeated the monster. Even if only one of the countless horde. But he, Akuro, had confirmed the human's ability to defeat any inferior creature.

Fading consciousness noted the flickering in the pit. The onlookers jumped into the pit and did something to the body and himself. The numb spot of the blow suddenly became sensitive - the same potion had been poured on it. His head cleared up, and his lost eye with its signature itching was restored. Blinking, Akuro saw the face of another orc right in front of his face. He was standing right in front of him.

"You killed Bar-Tos. It is not good to kill in the Pit. The Creator said so. Why did you kill him?"

"I just wish I could," Akuro gritted through his teeth.

"You have broken the will of the Creator. You will regret it," growled the orc.

Akuro spat in his face instead of answering. He would have hit him if he could have, but his body still didn't listen well after hitting the wall.

The orc grinned widely.

"That's a good attitude. I respect that. You killed a common boyz. Try killing a Nob."

He waved his hand somewhere to the side, and a bottle of the abominable potion fell in front of Akuro. He broke the seal without taking his eyes off the orc in front of him and slowly drank. The salty nastiness slipped habitually into his stomach and was absorbed into his bloodstream. The muscles were quickly gaining sensitivity, and the fatigue was gone. The pit was already empty, except for this orc and Akuro himself.

The man got to his feet and stretched his shoulders. Nearby, a sword fell from above and plunged to the ground. Akuro drew it at a brisk pace and did a warm-up figure-eight. The orc, still with the axe on his belt, stared at him with his hands at his sides.

"Come on, hero. Show your strength. Show you're worthy to spit in the face of a Nob."

And Akuro learned a whole new dimension. The orc didn't even take up arms.

This time he was not given a potion to continue the fight. The broken body was thrown into the 'living' pit and left like that.

For the first time since he'd been here, he desperately wanted to die.

+ + +

RiP · May 28, 2022

* * *
*Dawn City*

A short conversation with the stalker dispelled Illadria's anxiety a little. Just a little. Something was clearly going wrong.

[message]

"Stalkers 4, 8, 9, A, D, F. Immediately head for the point... Stalker Spy's last known location. Find the bastard at all costs. Report every little detail."

The elfess even accepted treachery on the part of her subordinate. She dared not directly violate the order not to interfere. But she directed the elite of intelligence so that they were a stone's throw from the Prophet's route. Just in case. And it seemed that the occasion had come.

The vassals, except Marius, took the information given by Illadria hard. They wanted to hear the Prophet in person, as they had done before. Especially Draga. The elfess had the feeling that in a fit of rage the demoness would have attacked her if she had been around. Warboss promised to 'put an eye on her ass' if anything went wrong. Marius simply said he accepted the information and cut the connection.

It was difficult to translate words that did not convince even her. It was painful to hear Wilhelm, literally in a frenzy. The King of Men yelled, cursing himself for letting the Prophet go.

"His place is here! Here and nowhere else! Where is he? Where did you get the message? I will go there immediately and bring the Prophet home!"

The heavy marble table, leaving a plume of sheets of paper, crashed into the wall.

"You're not going anywhere! This is against a direct order!"

Illadria closed the front door, determined not to let the furious King out to do something foolish.

"An order that was not voiced by Him! I don't believe it!"

William, already dressed in his black and blue armor, was approaching her.

"You will make a very big mistake with this willfulness! I will not let you go! Not me, not Marius!"

"We'll see how you hold me and my troops back!"

"Wilhelm, come to your senses. Are you willing to start a war within the Guild to disobey orders?"

The King froze and exhaled noisily.

"If I have to, I will do everything I can to get the Lord back where he belongs. I cannot rely on an order passed through two mouths. Think for yourself. Just imagine a world without our God in it!"

"I believe in the Prophet, Wilhelm. Do you?"

"I will prepare for the campaign. My faith requires action, not waiting. If there is no news by morning, I will leave the city with my army and sift through this world with a fine sieve, but I will find Him. And you..." The King almost touches her with his index finger. "You decide for yourself. Are you ready... To betray us all by your inaction."

"All right, Wilhelm."

Illadria walked out, closing the doors. She leaned back against them and exhaled with her eyes closed.

The angry stubborn man frightened her. She had never seen him like that before. Even in desperate combat, he'd always been calm, focused, and sure of himself. And now... Now he looked like an uncontrollable madman. For a moment, Illadria thought he might actually attack her to get out of the office. He was beginning to remind Draga of his obsession.

Prophet, please come back. Make it stop. Let things go back to the way they were before.

* * *

*Talik*

Talik was the first to climb the high ground that bordered the cursed plains. Bordering the cursed plains before - now there was little in the verdant lowlands that resembled the aftermath of a terrible necromancer spell.

He climbed up and froze.

Near a large boulder nearby lay a dead body. The moon peeked out from behind the clouds, as if by order, and illuminated the face.

It was Spy in a pool of scruffy blood.

"Fuck."

Talik didn't hesitate to buff it into defense. The universal set of spells, tried and tested in the fiercest battles, was servilely invoked in the memory.

The air around me shimmered, humming and ringing. A shimmering thread swirled around him, braiding his clothes. Pale green runes glowed in the air, on the ground, and above his head, and his skin turned white, the color and hardness of meteorite metal. Hundreds of bright little lights rose in the air around him and swirled like a whirlwind.

Daimon, who immediately followed, recoiled, stunned by the sight, and clutched his sword.

"What is this?"

Bryce shook his head and patted him on the shoulder.

Whatever it was, it all pales in comparison to the way the wraiths were blown away.

Era, was the last to come up. Thaler was already bent over Spy's corpse. The adventurers approached the literally glowing healer.

"Is that an elf? But from where?" Era was surprised to see the dead one's ears and distinctive slit of the eyes. "Whose is he? And why with a weapon?"

Talik turned around and threw back dryly:

"Mine. Don't distract me, please."

[command channel]

"Illadria, this is Thallarius. Spy is dead, I need reinforcements. Right now... Very good, you did well. You stay where you are and don't leave the City."

"Wilhelm, check the combat readiness of the army. For the time being only check, do nothing."

"Warboss, go back to the camp near the City now and wait."

"Draga, can you sense where I am right now? Come to me now."

"Marius, can you open a portal at my coordinates? That's fine. Make a double-crossing, from the necropolis to the outer forests, from the outer forests to me. Don't go through it yourself, send something as survivable as possible. Yeah, a pudge will do. Yeah, that's what I thought... Wait till I get back."

The adventurers watched the Talik speaking to the void intently.

I guess I look a little weird from the outside... Whatever.

"Guys, I promised to explain everything when the adventure is over."

Everybody nodded.

"Well, it's not over yet. But it will be soon. Please don't be surprised by anything."

* * *

RiP · May 31, 2022

Chapter 18.5
+ + +
*Gazef*
There was a knock at the door. Gazef pushed the drowsiness away with an effort and opened his eyes a little.

"Captain?" A voice was heard from behind the door.

"Come in."

The door opened and a lieutenant entered the half-darkened room. Gazef noted in passing that his armor was off and his wounds were bandaged. He didn't even try to get out of bed, just lifted his arm.

"Report."

"The boys reported that they had collected everything of value. The theocrats had great boots, I'll tell you that, and great amulets. The armor was worse; almost everything had to be repaired. There are no survivors among the enemy. So says the lady adventurer, and the corpses confirm it. Many corpses, captain. I've seen them, and I don't even want to know what she did with them. The messenger should be on his way to E-Rantel by now."

"What's the bad news?"

"Siban and Vatas... That's it. The wounds are too grievous."

"Altogether, that makes nine good guys. The Slaine bastards... That's it?"

"For now, yes. I'll let you know as soon as I have any news. Shall I change your bandage?"

Gazef moved his head with an effort, assessing the condition of the bandage. His entire body was neatly wrapped in strips of fabric. Most of it was scarlet brown, but overall the wounds didn't seem to bleed anymore.

"It's not necessary yet. It won't get any worse. Better make sure we don't lose anyone else."

"It will be done, Captain," the lieutenant bowed. "It just bothers me to think that... We might have lost you."

"Come on. We've had worse on the Wild Fjords."

"Yes, and we were much younger then. Now your wounds don't heal in a day. I don't recall you ever laying down after a battle like that back then."

"No one's getting younger," Gazef snorted and then grimaced painfully. "By the way, you were relaying the words of that woman, the adventurer. Is she here yet? I asked that she be sent to me at once."

"Uh..." the lieutenant hesitated. "She's here, but... In a terrible mood. She told me not to disturb her and locked herself in the common house. Captain, if you insist, of course, we can..." The lieutenant paused for a moment of uncertainty.

Gazef wondered. He needed to know how the fight with the instigator of all this carnage had ended. Draga was clearly the kind of person who wasn't shy about declaring her successes. And since the boys said she was in a bad mood and wanted privacy, it hadn't gone well.

"Is she injured?"

"I wouldn't say that. If I hadn't seen the aftermath and heard what the guys were saying, I wouldn't have believed she was fighting anyone at all."

"Leave her alone for now. There's no need to piss off so gifted person. Have you searched the place where the ringleader was?"

"With all thoroughness, Captain. There... There's no certainty as to what happened there. It was like a hurricane through the woods. We found remains there, lots of them. But there's no way to identify them."

The more I hear, the more I want to cross swords with her. There were no worthy partners in arms after I defeated Unglas. What could have gone so wrong there that this arrogant lady was unwilling to boast of victory? Worst of all, if that damn Nigun managed to get away with it

"Make sure all the dead are buried. The priest of E-Rantel will chant them a little later."

"Maybe just leave them in the woods?" hopefully clarified the lieutenant. "The beasts can do the job just as well as the priests."

"No need for beasts and monsters to get used to the taste of human meat. Go on, get on with your work, I'm tired."

The lieutenant bowed briefly and walked out, leaving Gazef alone. The warrior-captain of the kingdom tried to think for a while longer, and yet surrendered to drowsiness.

He woke up in the evening. The short rest had done him a lot of good - his wounds were already beginning to heal. Gazef moved his shoulders to check it. The skin tugged the pain receded becoming merely an unpleasant background. The next few days weren't going to be good for straining his body in the way he was used to, but otherwise, he was fine.

At twenty, I would have been fresh and full of energy. Although at twenty, I probably wouldn't have survived it.

He tweaked the improvised bandages with his finger. The fabric was already crusty, which meant it hadn't been changed.

That's a good thing. It would be unpleasant to know that I might not wake up during the bandaging

He went out of the room into a large room. The headman's house was small in comparison to Gazef's, but it was adequate for a headquarters. Two of his boys were sitting at the table by the door, and there was a look of obvious relief on their faces when their captain appeared in the doorway.

"Get the lieutenant. How long was I asleep?"

One of the guys rushed to the exit, and the other one answered:

"Not long, Captain. A few hours. The lieutenant said not to disturb you."

+ + +
*Draga*

Draga sat on her knees right on the floor. Her hands were interlocked. She rested her forehead on the cursed steel of her knuckles. She did not remove her armor, seeing any need to do so. On her way back to the village, she saw many of the fighters taking them off, and she didn't understand why to do it. Even if their armor was frankly pathetic, Draga knew she could easily tear that metal apart with her bare hands. But after all, their bodies are even less sturdy.

Miserable worms.

In the woods, when she ran into her tentative allies, she could hardly keep from outbidding them all without sorting out who was who. She saw everyone as the same. Weak, fragile pieces of meat, the only difference between them being an iron wrapper. If she hadn't regenerated her body at that point, at the expense of those she'd killed earlier, she might not have been able to hold on.

I have to be a hero. I should be. But I... I don't understand. Who are heroes, how do they become heroes? Do they kill villains? I've killed villains. But I feel no gratitude. The villagers say thank you to me, trembling with fear. The soldiers show me respect by holding their hands to their weapons. As if it would help them... There is fear all around.

She could feel the beating of hearts for dozens of paces around her. She knew how each of the people outside that dark room felt. Everyone felt fear of her. It wasn't unpleasant in itself but rather the opposite. Draga would have had great fun if she had her hands free. She banished from her mind the sweet images of the massacre she was so eager to stage.

Heroes don't do things like that. What do they do? How do I do Your order? Is this a test? I'm on the verge of failing... It turns out that just killing villains isn't enough. What else must I do? The Prophet gave me a task and gave me the freedom to do it without instructions. Does that mean I have to figure it out on my own?

Muffled irritation was slowly turning into anger. Draga knew the result she had to achieve, and she saw no way to do it. On the one hand, she felt an acute desire to kill. On the other, she knew that she couldn't do it just now.

I also missed the enemy.

At the thought of this, she clenched her hands so tightly that the metal of her gloves rattled.

I'm going to find you and kill you, you bastard. I will tear little pieces of meat from you until you are dead. Then I'll bring you back to life and do it again, and again. I remember your smell, I remember the taste of your flesh. You can't escape.

Draga could no longer succumb to mad rage at the thought of it. At least not to show it in any active way. Only, against her will, there was a hateful grin on her face.

Anyway, it's a failure. I hope the Prophet doesn't turn his back on me because of this...

Time dragged on slowly. The fear of the Prophet's possible censure for her mistake and the hope that He would forgive her and show her the way to make things right were fighting within Draga. The uncertainty literally tugged at her nerves, growing stronger by the minute.

At some moment an alien mind touched her consciousness, and Draga flinched.

"Prophet?!"

"No, it's Illadria," a melodious voice rang in her head.

"What do you want?" Draga almost hissed out loud.

"The Prophet told me to tell you he would delay his message."

"You... You insolent bitch, do you mean to tell me that... The Prophet gave YOU permission to speak on His behalf?"

"I understand how that sounds. The state of affairs is this - the Prophet has told me to inform all the elder vassals that he will contact us later than usual."

"Illadria, there is a limit to everything. There is a limit to my patience and there must be a limit to your impudence. I don't know what you're up to, what you're talking this nonsense for. I give you one last chance to save your worthless life - stop this ridiculous lie."

"I am not afraid of your threats, Demon. In any case, the words of the Prophet I conveyed to you. I'm done."

Illadria's voice was gone. Draga felt devastated. It was as if her heart had fallen into a bottomless abyss.

If she's not lying... Is this punishment? Does he no longer wish to speak to me personally because of my failure? Not again... Although, the elf was talking about having to deliver this message to everyone, couldn't everyone but her have screwed up... Or could they?

Her torment was interrupted by a change in the environment outside the room. The fear and anxiety of the people in the village began to subside. Draga turned her head slightly, listening.

Yes, that's definitely that man.

Gazef Stronof. A man with a weird name, the only man Draga had ever met in this world who she did not despise. She never understood why that was. He evoked mixed feelings. Respect for someone who, being born a wimp in a world of wimps, was able to rise up and not lose himself. Fearless, yet cautious and judicious. Unconditionally loyal to his ideals, yet not a fanatic.

His footsteps and heartbeat indicated that he was heading for her room. Draga was kind of glad to have someone to distract her from her distressing thoughts. She outwardly relaxed, and when the man was about to knock on her room, she said:

"Come in."

The door behind her opened ajar.

"Thank you for the invitation. How are you?"

"Better than you."

"That does you credit. You dealt with the main enemy, while I was nearly overpowered by his subordinates."

Gasef went into the room and stopped, unsure of how to position himself. Draga was sitting on the floor, and to sit on a stool might have seemed impolite. He hesitated and remained standing behind her.

"I wanted to talk to you about that. One cannot say that you have failed, and one cannot say that you have succeeded."

Draga gritted her teeth.

"I killed everyone but their leader. At the last moment, he managed to escape. I held him with this hand, and he just disappeared."

"I would be glad of details, Lady Draga. We have an agreement, and I need to know how it went."

Draga wondered for a moment what to tell him and what not to tell him. She wanted to brush it off, but then she remembered the deal. The order would have to go through the damned Guild. Somehow, something had to be said, or the whole promotion thing would be a waste of time.

Details? Hmm... I rode to where they were waiting for me. I took out two of the bodyguards. Their leader, Nigun, drove the others out of the way. He had some kind of shield... It wasn't easy to penetrate his defenses. He summoned some sort of magical creature, like those angels, and I was hit with magic, but that was all. By the time I had my enemy by the throat, he was gone. I'll find him later, it's personal... Then I fished out the others. That was all.

"You are a very skilled warrior. I am glad we are on the same side."

Don't be deceived, Draga thought, but didn't say anything. And then a fresh thought occurred to her.

"It looks like you're the only one who's happy. Gazef, tell me. Are you a hero?"

"Huh, at least I'm considered a hero in my homeland. To the theocrats and imperials, I am very much a villain."

"I don't understand. You're a hero and a villain at the same time? How is that?"

"It's obvious. You can't be good for everyone. You can only be a hero to those you protect. You can never be a hero to those you fight with. Why do you ask?"

Draga saw a certain sense in this. And for whom should I be a hero then? It's obvious, though. Since the Prophet sent me here, it means for those who live here.

"My god told me to be a hero, and I want to figure out how to do it. I can't do it yet. Can you teach me how to be a hero?"

Gasef was confused for a moment.

"It's a bit of a surprise, I'm flattered. I've never thought of such a thing. Well, I'll do my best to support you along the way."

Draga's spirits brightened. Until now she had acted on instinct and a general understanding of the matter. Now she would have someone who could explain why she was surrounded by fear rather than reverence. Teach her to distinguish properly between this wretched meat into enemies and allies.

"I appreciate it. When do we start?"

"Well... Right now we're in a godforsaken village, not a good place to be. I suggest we postpone this conversation until we arrive in E-Rantel. I have a house there with a training ground and everything we need."

"I think you misunderstood me. I'm not looking for training."

"The first lesson, Lady Draga. A hero is a role model, someone to whom thousands look up. Thinking you are superior, stopping to test and develop your body and spirit, degrades you. This is a bad example for those who look up to you."

"...Maybe. I hadn't thought of it that way. Good. When I'm done with my business in E-Rantel, I'll find you, and we'll get back to it. What do you want in return?"

"The benefit to my homeland from your deeds will be a worthy payment. Well, I'll stay here with my unit for a few days. After that, we'll move on to E-Rantel. Then I'll place the order as we discussed. Wait for us, or find me in town, it won't be hard. If nothing happens, I'll stay there for a couple of months."

"It's a deal. Now I want to be alone."

"Gasef exhaled contentedly and walked out. Drega went back to her own thoughts."

Is this the right thing to do? I don't know, it's disgusting to have to deal with all this... Prophet, give me a sign, am I on the right path?

As soon as she thought about it, a hurricane burst into her head. Other feelings, emotions, and... His voice.

"Draga, can you sense where I am?"

How could she not feel it? The first sound of his voice was enough for Draga to pinpoint its source more accurately than any compass.

"As my life, Prophet."

"That's great. Get over here now."

"I will rush faster than any wind."

The Prophet spoke to the rest of the vassals as well; Draga didn't care about anyone else. She stormed out of the room like an arrow. The nightmare was already waiting at the entrance to the house, and Draga jumped on his back. The two soldiers at the front door barely ducked before they were struck by the galloping stallion's hooves.

+ + +
*Diterios*

In the domed hall, with its walls riddled with runes of power, Diterios prostrated himself in front of a small podium in the center. Sovereign was designed to listen to his account of what had happened.

Waiting for the great Necrarch to arrive, Diterios shivered nervously. As a living man, the Sovereign knew no mercy or pity, punishing anyone who violated his plans. In death, he became even crueler. Except that he was more rational and fair, and as a result, his decisions were not always predictable... Diterios did not know what to expect.

I took a risk to please him, and I bet wrong. Truly, the power of Kings is far beyond anything I could have imagined.

The runes on the walls glowed a pale green light. But the darkness only grew more intense. For a moment the blackness was impenetrable, and then it gathered in a thick cloud on the dais. There was a brief faint flash, and a fuzzy, blood-curdling ghost descended from the dais. Through the translucent body, wrapped in shimmering, shaky clothes, I could sometimes see the cracked bones.

"Happy to see you, my Sovereign," Diterios said obsequiously, not taking his forehead off the floor.

"You know why I'm here," came a raspy, dry voice in response. "I'm going to look at the storage. You can tell me what happened on the way."

Sovereign sailed through the air toward one of the corridors, and Diterios followed. The necromancer gathered his courage and began to explain in a dry manner pleasing to the Sovereign.

Believing one of the Kings to be merely a servant, I lured him to the plains and led him to the trap prepared for you. The trap worked, and I sent the Wraiths to capture the intruder. I had no idea of his strength. Based on my experience fighting Demon Lords two centuries ago, I underestimated him. At the moment, the Wraiths are disembodied, and the curse on the edge of the Plains has been substantially damaged.

"Well, that's how." The Sovereign commented.

The corridor led them to a room that the Sovereign had called a storeroom. It was the same rune-lettered hall as the last, only in the center of it was a gaping hole fifty paces in diameter. A cylindrical shaft, with perfectly smooth walls that reached down to an immense depth, gleamed with silent purple lightning. Somewhere deep down there was a shard of the god's heart. One of the artifacts known to Dieterios absorbed the life force stolen by the plains.

The Sovereign moved his hand in the air, and the signs on the walls glowed brighter. Hundreds of thousands of invisible threads, woven into a complex web, obediently vibrated, transmitting to the Sovereign the necessary information.

"The damage is not that significant. I expected worse." The spirit swam toward the next corridor. "How many power surges were there?"

"Only one."

"One spell broke the fabric of the curse and disembodied the Wraiths. Interesting. Something general-purpose, and, judging by the effect, of a high order. An irrational approach. Later, you'll have to examine the place in person and take an energy print, and it's best not to wait too long. Surely that sly wreck of a Paradine is in a hurry to get there, too. I have a hunch about what it could be, and I want to be sure. This is important."

"Yes, my Sovereign," Diterios bowed as he followed his lord.

They entered the ritual rooms. The temple of a long-forgotten faith, desecrated by a Sovereign in times immemorial. There were still echoes of the fury of the fallen deity.

A long rectangular room with a crumbling entrance arch framed the inner row of columns. Chained to each one were the ever-decaying remains. There was an indistinct echo of screams and groans of souls doomed to rot with their bodies indefinitely.

Diterios inwardly grimaced. Somewhere in here, his predecessor had fed his misery to the Sovereign's insatiable magic.

Sovereign floated up to the half-destroyed altar. Diterios stopped behind him.

"You never did like this place, did you?" Sovereign inquired in a sly voice.

"I cannot deny it, Sovereign," Diterios bowed deeply.

"I see. The previous supervisor still isn't used to it either, and that's for... Remind me again, how long have you served me?"

"Three hundred and four years, my Sovereign," the necromancer answered in a low voice.

"In three hundred and four years, right. Oh, whatever."

Sovereign took a pause, and Diterios fought the trembling in his hands.

I knew he brought me here for a reason. But... After all, he told me to look at the place where the wraiths had been slaughtered. It can't end like this.

Diterios, you are a diligent student. The most diligence I have ever had. You have always pleased me with your ability to learn, to develop skills. Reasonable initiative. I expected so much from you, especially now that so much is at stake. What happened to your ability to think before you do?

"I have no excuses, my Sovereign. This is entirely my fault. Let me fix everything..."

"Fix everything? It's not going to be easy. You probably don't realize what you've done, do you? Let me enlighten you. A new King of Greed has come into the world. Slaves and children of another world, who have traded shackles and canes for limitless power, the limits of which they cannot see, even when they are above all. They are all-powerful, uncontrollable, and virtually invulnerable. They are served by invincible, fanatically devoted creatures. It is impossible to share the same world with them - and I do not wish to do so."

"However, they can still be defeated. They are foolish and naive, and their power makes them careless. Therein lies their weakness. To defeat them, you must convince them that they have no equal in this world. Learn their characters, their abilities, and their secret desires. Yes, even in conditions of absolute superiority, some desires may remain hidden... And then, sow distrust and enmity between them and finish off those who survive."

"And now we come to the most interesting part. Diterios, do you know how many Kings have arrived? Do you know their characters and abilities? Do you know what artifacts they possess? You don't know? That's unfortunate. After all, I don't have the exact data either. What I do know is that they'll be on their guard. A king under the curse is doomed. If they lose one of their own, they'll know they have recourse, too. They will use all their considerable powers to find and eliminate the threat. So, with an unacceptable probability, the initial plan has gone to waste. Now, my apprentice, tell me. How would you fix it?"

"I... I would fake the source of the curse. Create a fake enemy capable of doing such damage, and divert attention to it, then lay low and cover my tracks."

"Hmm. I guess your predecessor will be bored for a while without decent company. Come, I prepared something for you."

Diterios stepped closer with a wooden step. Sovereign moved his hand over the altar, and the book was left lying on the scratched stone.

Diterios swooned. The book, in its worn leather binding, had no patterns or inscriptions on the cover. Nevertheless, it was unmistakable. It reeked of the nerve-racking, painful energy of death.

This is your punishment and your reward, Diterios. I know you are stubbornly trying to keep your useless life. We've talked about this before, and your desires mattered until this failure. Now it is obvious that your mortal nature makes you unreliable, and I am no longer willing to put up with it. It's time to give up that burden and move on to the next step. This book will make you truly perfect.

"...As you command, my Sovereign. May I... wait with this?"

"Do you reject my gift?"

"...No, not at all. Earlier, you told me to go to the place where the King used his magic and study the traces of the spell. I suppose that's best done while I'm... Alive. This spell is most likely of a light nature. I can't be sure what effect this magic will have on me after... Read it. Especially since you mentioned that it's worth hurrying to get ahead of Paradin."

"Sounds reasonable and balanced. If I trusted you less, though, I would have thought it was like trying to escape. And I'd certainly be wrong, wouldn't I?"

"Yes, Sovereign. It would be foolish to try to run away from you, and I see no reason to run away from power. It may not be exactly what I wanted, but I don't think many creatures in the world have been blessed with such knowledge. I will yield it to no one."

"Good answer. Go on, don't hesitate. I'll be here until you return. The Kings are building a portal, an opportunity not to be missed."

Diterios bowed deeply and quickly left the dilapidated hall. Heading to his rooms, he knew exactly what he was going to do. At the same time, he did not allow a single fully formed thought in his head.

He was not sure that the Sovereign could not read other people's minds. He could not allow the Sovereign to understand the real depths of his discontent.

Diterios had long assumed that the Sovereign would, one way or another, force him to turn undead. There was no point in protesting - the conversation was clearly taking place there for a reason, where there was a clear example of how arguments with the Sovereign ended.

Diterios had long assumed that the Sovereign would, one way or another, force him to turn undead. There was no point in protesting - the conversation was clearly taking place there for a reason, where there was a clear example of how arguments with the Sovereign ended.

He entered his personal chambers. Restrained luxury, perfect order. Racks of books and laboratory diaries, half of which he had written. From inside, at the entrance, a personal servant was on constant duty, bowing deeply at the appearance of his master.

Diterios stared at the bent figure of the dead man.

No desires, no aspirations. There are only goals laid down from the outside in an obedient mind. Am I going to be like that...?

With an effort, he tore his gaze away from the lich and headed for his bedrooms. The dead man stopped bowing and followed. As he approached the mirrored closet doors, Diterios stared into his reflection.

It is so symbolic. Life and death. The present and the future.

The reflection looked at him, a lean, wiry elf in a gray and gold robe. A hooked nose, thin features. The tips of his ears peeked out from behind the soft ashy hair slicked neatly back. Women had liked him a lot when he was young, and there were many fond memories of that time. Which Diterios was eager to add to with new experiences someday.

And slightly behind him, wearing almost the same robe, stood a skeleton covered in shriveled skin. There were gaps in the nose and eyes, a mouthless grin. There was no skin on the hairless head, and there was bone.

What is the point of such power? Power without purpose or meaning. I wished to possess the power of magic for the sake of having the goods of life. For the pleasure of learning new things, of wealth and influence. Books, women, comfort, and fine food. And in the end, what? Though the Sovereign is happy with everything and has kept his will... Maybe there's something in it. We'll have to find something in that.

Obeying the gesture of his hand, the lich opened the doors of the closet. Diterios saw a considerable number of clothes. Some of them had been presented to him by the Sovereign, some were "inherited," and some he had sewn himself. He lazily glanced over the variety and sluggishly pointed to the lich's leather-embroidered hiking pants, high boots, jacket, and cloak. The dead man fidgeted as he changed his master's clothes.

Diterios almost deliberately procrastinated. He double-checked that everything fit tightly and comfortably, and took a long time to choose a bag, writing utensils, and tools for energy measurements. Carefully chosen amulets and rings. After thinking about it, he took one of the staff from the weapons rack. He twisted it with his wrist - the heavy carved wood obediently rattled the air he was dissecting.

At last, the possibilities for even such a slight delay were over, and it was time to leave Black Rock.

The surrounding area looks much different from below. Those were beautiful places.

At the gap leading into the bowels of the mountain, picturesque ruins spread out. Temples, aqueducts, dwellings and houses of various assemblies, the ruins of statues and fountains. Even the passage of time had not erased the traces of the fires.

[Phantom Creation - Phantom Stallion]

The image of the spell in the memory triggered a chain of reflexive mental efforts. The otherworldly force obediently took the necessary form and merged with the material world. The spirit of the fallen horse became embedded in the sand and air, and a translucent stallion appeared before Diterios. All unnecessary memory had long ago been erased - all that remained was what made the horse a transport.

As the necromancer climbed up the saddle, he felt the enchantments of the shackles inside the mountain stirring. Something very strong was trying to get out of the enclosure.

The Sovereign seems to have succeeded in intercepting the spatial keys.

He listened. The shackles were under increasing strain, and at one point they were at nearly a third of their maximum capacity before the captive essence began to fade. /I wonder what the Overlord caught, Dieterios thought as he spurred his steed.

He wanted to think about many things, preferably away from the Sovereign.

+ + +
*Talik*
Talik sat on one knee over the dead body and did not know what to do. There was a very real corpse in front of him. The corpse of the guy he'd spoken to just a few hours before. He was already used to being surrounded by the real world. And he wasn't used to real corpses yet. It wasn't like that in the game.

Tension hardened on Spy's face. The blood from the terrible wound on his neck had curdled, accentuating the cut edges unsightly. Talik tried not to look there - it made him sick to his stomach to look at the open wound.

It's too much... Too much. What can I do? he touched the dead man's cold cheek. I could try to resurrect him. Or rather, I would certainly try. Absurd in terms of my usual reality, but it might work. Except there's no mana. And it doesn't feel like it's recovering. It's so easy to get killed here. That village in the early days. The manor guard. Even the guys were really ready to find and kill a man without trial.

Although, when to think about it, how am I better than that? I gave people who had done nothing to me personally to be torn apart by a psycho-vivisector. I sent a horde of murderers to war. Even though I didn't do it myself, I killed a lot of people, and worst of all, I don't feel any guilt. How many villages like this have come about because of me... And I don't know if I could have done otherwise. The local greenskins mutilated and almost killed one of the men who thought I was their patron. If I had not fought back, how many more victims would there have been on "my" side?

I don't want people to die because of me. It doesn't matter what they look like, what their ears are, their skin color, their height. But how to avoid it... I don't know. To lock myself in the City and keep my head down, to isolate myself from the world, so that it doesn't harm me and those I am responsible for now? As if there would be less death and suffering. Yes, I won't be responsible for them. I'll just be the dude who does nothing, looking at the shit that's going on.

It's even worse than... Being guilty of murder. I guess so. And when they get me out of there, it's still only a matter of time. I'm not counting the fact that I have no HP and no mana, and I have a dead bodyguard in front of me.

Daimon came up from behind.

"Thaler, I don't know what's going on or what this dead elf has to do with you. I know for a fact that it's time to get out of here; you insisted on it yourself recently. What are we waiting for?"

Talik reluctantly turned around.

"My reinforcements will be here soon. For someone I might have stepped on the tail the distance we manage to travel before then means nothing. It's like hiding under a blanket. Moreover, now I have at least to some extent secured the area around."

"You mean those fireflies? How can they help? I've seen what you can do, but this isn't impressive."

"They won't allow the *real* enemy to approach unnoticed. I don't think that will comfort you, but I guarantee that I won't let you get hurt while I'm around. You'll just have to wait"

"Okay, I'll believe you. I'll pretend, at least."

"Don't make a favor out of it, man," Talik said. "When I met you, you seemed like a pretty fucking sane dude. And now that sane dude is gone, and instead, I see a fuckhead who starts pumping authority in a very dangerous situation. On these fucking ruins you started arguing and I dragged you on my hump all the way, saving your life. And now you're back with your very important opinion. You know what? Fuck you."

Talik took a breath and wanted to continue, but changed his mind. Daimon silently played with his cheeks and left for the rest of the group.

Maybe I shouldn't have been so rude, but I really got it. A noob with a claim...

His thoughts were interrupted by a startled cry and the sound of a falling body. Talik jumped up, turning around.

All three adventurers were face down on the ground. Above each was a stalker. The elves pressed the guys to the ground with their knees, holding their hair and putting knives to their throats. Daimon and Bryce watched tensely, watching the blades. Era turned white as snow. Her lips were trembling finely.

Three more stalkers took a knee right in front of Talik.

"Hey," Talik said cautiously, confused by the scene. "What's the problem?"

"They have angered you, Your Holiness. What would you have me do?"

"Let them go."

The stalkers stepped away from the adventurers. Daimon helped the panicked Era up, and Bryce spread his arms wide, showing that they were unarmed.

"Hey, guys, take it easy. We didn't mean to hurt anybody. Can we just get out of here?"

The stalkers stood silently at a distance of the blade lunge.

Yeah thought Talik. And I thought I couldn't ruin the relationship anymore.

[message]

"Prophet? I'm sorry to interrupt, but I'm sure you'll find it interesting. The Pudge I sent to you has, in some unknown way gone to a completely different place. I can't control him, or even trace his location."

"I see. Keep an eye on his condition. If, or rather when, he "dies," let me know. Also, contact me in half an hour anyway. Tell Illadria to contact me now."

"It will be done, Prophet."

Talik cut the connection. /They did intercept. Well, let's see how fast they cut up the fatty. I still have plenty of Pudgs. I've never saved mana on [messages] before.

[message]

"Prophet, you wished to hear me?"

"Yes. Illadria, how many stalkers did you send to help me, and with what subclasses?"

"A dozen. Equal numbers of Assassins and Rangers. The Rangers are camouflaged in the woods near you. The rest are still on their way, so can I use the portal to transport them?"

Absolutely not. Leave one ranger, send the rest to find out who killed Spy. I don't care how they do it, I want to know who it was. If they're discovered, let them run away. Only engage in combat when there's no way out. As soon as you get results, let me know right away.

"It will be done. They will begin the search immediately. What more can I do for you?"

"For now, just keep me informed of the results."

Talik broke the connection, collected his thoughts, and approached the wary "companions". Era shrank into a lump as he approached, Daimon covering her.

"Guys, I apologize to you. Especially you, Daimon. I shouldn't have said all that. I was just so nervous. I... I really don't want to hurt you. I know how it sounds now, and I'll understand if you don't believe me. There's somebody else coming soon, and we're going to head out toward E-Rantel. If you come with me, I swear there won't be any more misunderstandings."

"You mean we can really go the other way?" Bryce clarified. "And your friends won't cut us into belts?"

"That's right. I would prefer that we go together, just because I can protect you from trouble along the way. But I won't force you to do whatever you want."

"We'll go our own way, Thaler," Daimon said slowly. "We're not good company for each other. And Era doesn't really trust elves."

"As you wish. Shame we didn't get to be friends. If there's anything you need, just say the word. I don't want to leave on a bad note."

"Honestly, we could use some gold," Bryce interjected, dodging Daimon's hand. "Nothing helps a good memory like spending money with gusto."

Talik smirked, reached behind the lapels of his clothes, and pulled out several bars from his "inventory," like the ones he'd given Bryce the last time.

"Take it. I don't have a lot of coins, so I'll keep them. Is that not a problem?"

"Of course not. And I've always wished I had a knife as your boys," Bryce said curtly, shoving the gold into his pockets and ignoring the boiling Daimon.

"You're such a bugger," Talik grinned.

"Insolence is second happiness."

Talik held out his hand to the side. The closest stalker silently unclipped the dagger scabbard and put it in his palm. Talik, in turn, handed the weapon to Bryce.

"Take it. They don't make such here."

"And your word is worth something," said Bryce incredulously, accepting the dagger.

He took it on three fingers out of its sheath, gazed into the blade, and shook his head.

"I just had a hard time fighting the urge to give it back. My life is much cheaper than that blade."

"It's a gift. You can sell it later if you want."

"I'd rather kill myself. Thank you, Thaler. We're going to step aside for a while, okay? In case whoever you're waiting for isn't in the mood either."

Talik just waves his hands. All that was left was to wait for Draga.

With a tank like her, there's nothing to worry about.

The adventurers were quietly conferring about something on the sidelines. From the occasional remarks, Bryce urged the others not to split up with Talik. Daimon disagreed, and Era, now almost recovered, did not participate in the discussion.

In the distance, Talik noticed some movement. He looked more closely.

There she seems to be.

The moonlight was enough to see the rider galloping at full speed. In less than a few minutes, the massive stallion stopped in front of Talik, blasting the ground with its hooves. Draga slid off the saddle and dropped to one knee in front of him.

"I'm here. Give me an order."

"I want you to guard me on the way out. We'll have to walk part of the way, and it might be dangerous, even for me."

"Those who have become your enemies will greatly regret it."

"Also, it looks like we're going to have company. These three, too, will have to be protected."

Draga looked back at Daimon and his remaining companions as they approached. Her gaze lingered on Era a little longer than the others, and she squinted unkindly for a moment.

"As you wish."

She got to her feet, straightened up, and was about to say something else when she suddenly froze, staring at Talik. Her gaze was one of surprise, disbelief, and something else.

"What happened?" Talik asked.

The illusion in her eyes immediately dissipated.

"I'm sorry. It's nothing. Let me take care of you."
+ + +

RiP · Jun 4, 2022

Chapter 19
* * *
*Marius*

Marius hovered thoughtfully above the floor in one of his crypts. Tentacles woven of translucent shadow hung lazily around him as if caressing a marble crypt. Opposite him, on one knee, was Lias.

This scene reeks of annoying imperfection, the lich remarked to himself. Something is missing...

Marius glanced around the crypt. Massive patterned columns, between which there were marble tables for the dead, were crowned by a ceiling reaching far upward. There were no windows; all the illumination came from magic torches on the walls.

Everything is perfect. Strange feeling.

Lich deigned to turn his attention to the "apprentice". He had mastered this trick of divided thinking yesterday. One part of his mind was fixating on what was going on around him, and the other part was thinking. When something atypical happened and it was necessary to react somehow to it, the second part of the consciousness stepped in.

Marius instantly reviewed everything the student said.

"So you claim to have mastered the first part of the White Flame. I didn't tell you to do that, so I'm guessing it has to do with the last practice session? That's interesting. I had no idea that *you* could master it at all, at least not in your lifetime. Well," he waggled his palm. "Show it to me."

Lias got to his feet, concentrated, pointed his open palm at the lich, and began reciting the incantation. Marius, noting to himself the mistakes in the vocalizations - and there were surprisingly few - waited.

Lias finished, almost shouting the last words. Nothing happened.

"I'm not impressed. "The lich remarked snidely.

"Excuse me, Master..." Lias began frantically rummaging through his bag for notebooks. He found one and with a trembling hand quickly flipped through the pages to find the right one.

"But I did everything right, didn't I? Why...?"

"Because you just memorized the text. It's not enough to master the spell. I know it's not obvious - not to you, anyway. And I remind you that I've already opened your eyes to this nuance. Twice."

"But the book gives absolutely precise instructions on how to activate..." Lias was confused.

"Exactly. Activate. Saying a spell doesn't construct it. When a spell already exists in you, when it's already part of you, your soul, and your source of power, the invocative component triggers it. Casting a spell is just one way to start the process you've prepared. You, on the other hand, know the White Flame only in a descriptive way. It's not a part of you. So when you cast that spell, you're just shaking the air."

"How do I... Construct it, teacher? There are thousands of books in the city library, which ones do I need to read to understand it?"

Interesting. Lias came to the same question as I did, and almost as quickly. I have a power infinite compared to a mere mortal, and I am just as far from understanding the fundamentals.

"Tens of thousands of books," the lich corrected, raising his finger admonishingly. "And that's what we're going to do now."

Marius stroked his chin, stopped hovering, and paced leisurely from side to side.

"Once here, you had the confidence to cast four spells. Three of them had a slight effect on living vertebrates, restoring their functionality at the expense of your personal spiritual powers. Another one affected the residual emanations of souls, making them fearful and unwilling to interact with the small area around you. You told me how you trained in these spells, and from your words and my attempts to teach you something new, I drew the following conclusions."

"The first is that you don't have enough intelligence and energy to master a spell ranked higher than a beginner from a scroll, or by mastering written material."

"The second is that you are capable of mastering new forms of spirit manifestation. Not spells in my usual sense, but very similar."

"Third, you can comprehend forms of spirit manifestation that are new to you in at least one way. Namely, by being under stressful conditions. How exactly this happens, I can't tell you yet; we'll find out and document it in the foreseeable future."

"I simulated various stressful conditions for you after I made these conclusions. At this point, the method that was tested yesterday and confirmed this morning can be considered the most - and the only - effective one."

"You forced me to fight the undead you raised, Master. At the most desperate moment, I... It was just the knowledge that came to me. If it hadn't, I would have died," Lias replied with a touch of resentment.

"Not the preferred outcome, I agree. Still, some breakthrough has been made. You have given your spiritual power a form that can be seen as a means of inflicting direct damage."

"I was desperate and did the only thing I could do!"

"That's the point. Notice that it took you not years, but literally days to learn a new magic skill. It's all in the approach, I think... Anyway, your mastering of a new skill can be attributed to one of the types of "constructing" magic. Do you remember in detail how you do it?"

Lias thought for a while.

"It is difficult, and I cannot describe the whole process in detail. I imagine what I want to do, and something inside responds to my desire. Only it's very long and it's easy to lose focus."

This is it, noted the lich with satisfaction. Some progress.

Marius himself had been trying to find the keys to his powers for quite some time. To figure out exactly what happens when he activates his magical power. From day one until now, nothing worked. Lich had infinite diligence and the same patience. He was willing to spend any amount of time and effort to get to the bottom of it. The only problem was that he had no idea exactly how to approach the case to achieve the desired result.

And now his accidental apprentice made it possible at least to observe the development and formation of something new, from the very beginning. Even though Marius was a stranger to light magic, there was still the possibility that the principles could be generalized and used in research.

"Of course, the performance will still have to be worked on." Lich brushed aside Liase's attempt to say something. "If you can reproduce this "spell" in a state of relative peace, you won't need to trigger a life-threatening condition just yet. That will be your task for the next class. If you succeed, we'll explore the subject of invocative and symbolic activation in more detail next."

"I'll do my best, Master," Lias bowed obediently. "I still have questions..."

"That's good," the lich nodded graciously. "Ask."

"Master, you're saying that casting a spell is just a way to trigger an existing form, right?"

"Exactly."

"What about spell casters who simply memorize words and gestures? After all, they can do it, and I've read of people with no magical gift at all sometimes using magic?"

"That's a good question. Ask me more of those, and I'll despise you less. You see," the lich paced from side to side again. "Pure invocation is like a condition for a reflex. It is intended to induce your mind and spirit to unconsciously perform a series of predetermined actions. We'll talk about this, as I promised, in the next session. And you asked about a method that involves not only the voice, but also gestures and, as a rule, various objects and symbols. It's a way of forcing the environment, or the ether, so to speak, to perform preset actions on your behalf. It is a rather risky practice. In this case, the caster usually does not fully understand what forces and how exactly will be involved. There may be side effects, or, if you make a mistake, something may happen that does not correspond to expectations at all."

"What if I want to try? I'm sure that with your guidance I will succeed! Besides, as far as I know, that's what most magicians do..."

"Sad is the fate of a world populated by idiots. In general, I think it's a waste of time. But you can try it if you can find a suitable manual and let me read it beforehand. I'd be very surprised if you could find something like that in the city libraries. Also, you should remember that my direct assignments are a higher priority."

"I got it. I also wanted to ask... Is it possible for me to move to the city?"

Marius thought for a moment.

Logical. The desire for comfort is obviously more attainable in an environment optimal for its species. If given such an opportunity in the form of a bargain, perhaps performance would increase... One might try it.

"In theory, yes. Justify your wish."

Here, in Necropolis, there is no way to live normally. There is no water and food, they have to be brought here, especially for me, and I have never seen any offerings to the dead. There is no place to sleep, the sarcophagi are very cold, and in general, there are no living quarters, only reception rooms and crypts... I won't try to escape, I swear. Let me live where... Where I can live a normal life. I think I can afford a corner, I've still got the money you gave me the first time. At the very least, I'll find a job, as a clerk, or in a temple, there's a lot of them here, I'll be able to get a job somewhere.

I hadn't even thought about offerings. I need to learn more about the traditions involved.

"So you're seriously considering settling down here. Hmm. You do realize you're a stranger in the city, don't you?"

Lias scratched the back of his head thoughtfully.

"Well, that's true. The strange thing is, the city is huge, and yet everyone I meet knows that I'm not from here. The guards on every corner shake when I get out. Although all know and respect you here, and I'm your apprentice. So they don't like me, but they don't chase me away."

"Hmm. You gave me an interesting idea. Well," Marius said thoughtfully. "I'll let you live in the city. You choose where you want to settle down, and I'll arrange everything. Here are my terms. First, you'll naturally stay in my training, with all the consequences that entail. If you don't do well, I'll revoke your permit. The second is that you really should become a servant in the temple or a library. If you can't do either within a week, let me know."

Lias nodded eagerly.

"And three. Selena Rangeso will live with you. She'll keep an eye on you so you don't do anything stupid or skip studying."

Lias took on a depressed look.

"Whatever you say, teacher. Аh... Is it necessary, Lady Rangeso?"

"Is there a problem? I thought you were getting along pretty well."

"Oh, no, there's no problem, of course. We get along. Well, at least she doesn't try to eat me, tells me lots of interesting things and all that. She just makes fun of me all the time and... I'm afraid of her, anyway."

"It's insignificant," the lich brushed off. "The living are quick to adapt to conditions they can't change. I'll bring her up to date. I have other tasks to perform, and you can go."

Lias bowed and headed for the exit. Marius hovered above the floor again-maintaining the weightlessness spell required less attention than supporting himself in any other way.

Lord Cassius, in a conversation with Lord Katsuba, once mentioned that it takes twenty-one days to develop a steady habit in a human being, the lich pondered, seeing the boy off. In twenty-one days I will find out if this fact applies to a man of this world. And if he can get used to the vampire's constant presence around him, perhaps he will begin to appreciate her as a person and not as an otherworldly being. In that case, the crossbreeding experience will be easier to accomplish.

Marius had been pondering the idea of increasing the vampire population since the first days after the "event". There were only two species of relatively intelligent undead under his command - lichs and vampires. However, only the latter possessed a personal, relatively independent self-consciousness, and unlike the liches, Marius could not create them at his will. The blood curse bestowed on the noble families by Lord Cassius went far beyond what Marius could do.

Without self-awareness, self-determination, without a full-fledged self, there can be no development. Without development comes stagnation, the accumulation of experience and resources becomes meaningless, and eventually decay sets in. Of course, self-awareness is not the only necessary factor for development, and yet it is what makes progress possible. In the example of Lias, I see this very clearly.

The probable problem was that the number of vampires was fixed, and it had never changed positively in the history Marius knew. And it was, from his point of view, completely insufficient.

Just in theory vampires could transmit this curse to living humanoid beings. All that was required was mutual consent. Without the consent of the one being turned, he became not a vampire, but a mindless ghoul, an undead creature of much lower rank. Obedient and rather quickly incapacitated.

Marius thought about the possibility of expanding the population in this way but dismissed the idea. The citizens of Dawn City would not voluntarily do such a thing. And even if they could persuade someone, William would be a problem. Marius was sure that the king would never allow such a thing, and if pressed, he would snitch on the Prophet.

How the Prophet would react to such an initiative, Marius did not know and did not really want to find out.

Considering any of the natives as candidates for conversion was an even more dubious idea. Archlich was not sure that the aboriginal mentality would allow them to assimilate with the dark factions of the Dawn without a whole bunch of problems. Both on his part and that of the noble families, who were pious about tradition and did not regard any outsiders as equals. It was also worth considering the likelihood of the convert's flight and the subsequent uncontrolled spread of the gift of cursed blood.

This could lead to chaos, which was not Marius' intention. So, all that was left was to try to increase the population the "natural" way.

The ability of vampires to reproduce classically was very much in question. Vampires of both sexes were capable of copulation, though they had no interest in it at all. Except that the males did not produce semen. At all. Marius planned to deal with that, but much later. For now, he wanted to see how a live male would handle fertilization.

It's annoying to have to go around and create so many influences for the sake of one alive person. I hope the result will be worth it. We'll see in twenty-one days.

He returned to his previously interrupted musings.

Illadria relayed the Prophet's words that he would contact everyone later. This is so unusual that Marius hesitated for a moment before he believed her. At that moment, he ran through every possible motive for the elf to lie, and he saw none that was likely. A parsing of her intonation betrayed sincere confusion and even a certain timidity.

Something was going on, and Marius felt the physical pain of not being able to put the pieces of the puzzle together.

The Prophet left us alone. This is a great stress for each vassal. At the same time, each was given an ambiguous task.

Wilhelm... He was assigned to perform the old duties under the new conditions. I suppose the pitfall was that the administrative apparatus was not designed to work under such loads. And yet the King still managed to overcome this obstacle and guessed to ask for help from me. The younger Leeches turned out to be exemplary bureaucrats.

Illadria was entrusted with nothing at all. That might seem strange if you don't dig deeper. She's indecisive, shaky. Obviously, the idea was to encourage her to take the initiative on her own. Find out if she's capable of doing something on her own. It looks like she is.

Warboss wanted war and he got it. I suppose the question was whether he was capable of waging it as a general or just fighting in person. And the kind of enemy with whom screwing up is not scary.

Draga, a demon in human form, assimilates into society. She is of little use if she is incapable of it.

It's not clear about Malikriss. Obviously, she has a subtle effect on significant people, creating social tension. This, on the one hand, is bad. But on the other hand, she emphasizes the weaknesses of the organization without destroying it. Except that with Wilhelm, she seems to have gone a little overboard. Or was it meant to be? It is not clear.

I, on the other hand, was assigned an apprentice. And despite the seeming irony, this apprentice helps me to comprehend new things - improvisation, multivariate. A new perspective on my research. Such a useful gift, I have so many plans connected to it. And at first, I was going to turn him into the undead...

Stress in such a case is a powerful engine of thought. With no rigid framework other than their fear of screwing up, everyone puts in as much effort as they would not in a normal situation.

If you see it as a test, it seems elegant at first glance. And yet... It's not everything. It can't be all. Too obvious, too simple for the Lords. There is something else here, something important. And the news from Illadria confirms it directly.

Correlating Malikriss' actions and Wilhelm's willingness to do the irreparable... Something must happen. If He does not intervene right now, tragedy will ensue. She is hardly the goal. Doesn't fit the Prophet's chosen pattern of behavior...

At the same moment, Marius's mind was unceremoniously invaded. Marius, receiving his instructions, felt a profound satisfaction at being right.

Something very interesting was brewing.
* * *

RiP · Jun 5, 2022

+ + +
*Talik*

Talik rode a horse for the first time in his life. Draga sat him down in front of her as they rode out, firmly declaring that it was unbecoming of him to walk on foot over mud and bumps.

In the game, he used riding mounts all the time. That experience was nothing compared to what he was experiencing now. In the game, it was more like moving on a mobile platform. Just mentally controlled movement in one direction or another. The sensation was starkly different now. The movement of the demon racehorse's knobby muscles felt like you could feel it through the saddle. His own body, moving in time with the horse's footsteps, experienced a whole range of unaccustomed sensations. For the first couple of minutes, Talik feared that he could not keep his balance and fall. Then he realized that even in this case he was in absolutely no danger, and continued to enjoy the new experience.

Although they wouldn't let him fall anyway. He was sitting almost on Draga's lap, and the demoness was practically hugging him, holding the reins.

Interestingly, I did not pay attention to the fact that she is almost a head taller than me. I've never seen her before, but practically every Dawn unit is taller than me if you look at it that way. It's designed to make it harder to pick me out in a crowd. That's why I changed my first skin. I liked it better than this one though.

He leaned back carefully, leaning against Draga. She did not expectantly object. The relief of the armor felt strange through his clothes. The smooth sway of the ride made him sleepy.

He decided not to wait for the return of the rangers who had been sent to find the murderer, or at least his tracks. Daimon's desire to leave this place as quickly as possible was quite reasonable. Talik decided that there was no practical reason to wait for news by sitting still. The adventurers decided to go with him after all, and that was a good thing. If they'd decided to separate from him and go their way, they'd have to think of something to cover for them. And looking back on a dead Spy, stalkers weren't a panacea.

Their life is all about risk, and they act like it's normal. That's someone with balls of steel. I envy them a little bit. It'd be great to get them to come to City with me. It just doesn't seem like they'd go, and to force them... I don't want to.

He turned to look at the adventurers. The three walked in a chain behind the horse, at their usual marching pace. Daimon had a detached, somber expression on his face, and Bryce, at the back of the procession, had his hand on the hilt of his gift, listening intensely to something. Every now and then a flicker of fire flashed through Era's hair from beneath the hood. I couldn't see the girl's face.

The stalkers were checking the woods ahead and to the sides, but they didn't show their faces. Talik couldn't understand why Era was so tense in their presence. Before Draga spoke to her on the sidelines before they left, and after Era became less tense. Though she was even more distant than when she first met her.

It's a pity, of course. On the other hand, I'm sure we'll meet again later. She knows a lot of the things I need, and I can at least hire her. Even if not as a friend.

Half an hour after he left, as agreed, he was contacted by Marius. Talik could not determine exactly how much time had passed, but he relied on the extremely pedantic and meticulous undead.

"Prophet, the time has come."

"All right, open the portal."

Talik wanted to see if the malfunctions of the portals were tied to a specific location, or to something else. He looked around carefully. A portal funnel, though black, would be hard to miss even at night.

The plains stretched on, covered with sparse vegetation and sparse groves. The moon was shining bright enough to see even the individual leaves on the nearby trees. There was no portal.

"Send a skeleton."

"Done." Archlich paused briefly. "I've lost control of the skeleton, and right now I'm witnessing its destruction."

About three kilometers. The boundary can be considered the area where the connection begins to fail, it is quite clear, a couple of steps only. Okay, looks like they got the keys. Okay, guys, I respect that, that was smart. Let's take a look at your processing power.

"Marius, how many portals can you open at once, did you find out?"

"Yes, Prophet. At this moment I can support the work of two global or nine small ones."

"Yeah, that's not great. But okay. It takes you about one and three seconds to open a small portal, right?"

"One and three? A second and a third, if I understand correctly. Yes, exactly that long."

Is he counting in fractions? Yeah. I mean, how could he... Okay. Shit, and I'm the only one who can open the com channel, and there's no mana.

"Marius, I want you to do the following. Equip a gang of skeletons and Pudge. Engage Illadria on my behalf, and create portals from Necropolis to me. The point is to constantly create new portals from different locations. The distance need not be great, but always different. One step, three, two, two and a half, five, that sort of thing. When closing portals that have already been created, choose a random one and don't repeat the order number. Make sure that portals are not created simultaneously. Each of the existing portals must go to at least one object, no matter what kind. A skeleton there, or a stone, it's a different weight and the fact of the transfer that counts. Keep in mind that we are likely to lose this object, so don't send anything of value. At some point, the portal will open, but the object will not move. Then let the skeletons burst, with all their might. After making sure that the skeletons get to their destination, throw in the Pudge, in the same way. Do not attack anyone on the spot without my direct command."

"It will be done," Marius's voice suggested that the archlich was smiling predatorily.

Talik interrupted the message and exhaled. Soft, irresistible fatigue came over him in waves, and he wanted to close his eyes and relax. The feeling of inner emptiness, indicative of a completely depleted mana supply, lulled him to sleep. He shook his head, pushing the feeling away. It was too soon to relax.

Talik looked around, waiting for the portals to come into view.

It was an old trick to fight interceptions. The cunning Yggdrassil thugs, having intercepted the keys, more often than not did not have enough resources to calculate a particular crossing. So by default, everything within a single transport line was intercepted. And if there was too much diverse data on a single thread, the processing center - most often a specialized NPC or a chip connected through a mod - froze up dead. To stop the interception before the calculator "jammed", one had either to know exactly what was going to happen and in what order, or to have great experience and good intuition.

The method of fighting was very expensive, not everyone could afford so much mana. And it always worked.

Nothing happened for half a minute, then Bryce's anxious voice was heard.

"Hey, guys, look around!"

Everyone turned around.

"What is it?" Era asked in fascination.

Very far away, over the Plains of Kaz, the northern lights were slowly breaking out. A bright-line appeared high in the sky and slowly turned into a deep crack. It grew wider and wider, and then another one appeared, and another.

After a couple of minutes, the light from this phenomenon became brighter than the moonlight, and everything around it was colored in soft blue-green tones.

"Thaler?" Daimon said tensely. "Would you be so kind as to clarify?"

"We just stand and wait. It will all be over soon."

In fact, Talik had never seen such an effect. Before, everything happened without the visual component.

Well, that's a good thing. At least I remembered the direction. Wait for a visit, faggots.

The shimmer of light in the night sky let his guard down, and Talik blacked out for a moment. Terrible crushing pain in his shoulder brought him to his senses. His head was dizzy, his ears were ringing, and his body was slow to listen. He jerked, trying to get out of the grip, but it was in vain.

"What the..."

He was finally able to focus his naughty eyes. A black, gauntlet-clad heel dug into his shoulder. A strong jerk turned him around to the rider sitting behind him.

Draga, with a kind of alien, evil expression, studied his face with eerie black eyes. There was no shadow of the familiar adoration in them. This was no fanatical bodyguard, but a beastly demon.

"...heck?!" Talik finished the question.

Or rather, he thought he had finished. He realized that he hadn't actually made a sound, just moved his lips. Talik tried to scream, and the air only hissed out of his lungs.

Draga snarled, and Talik jerked as hard as he could, trying to pull away. Something inside of him predicted that he was about to have his throat literally torn out.

And he woke up - the difference between the dream and the reality was quite palpable.

He turned back quickly to see Draga pulling his hand to his shoulder in surprise and confusion. He brushed it away nervously with the back of his hand. There was a look of hurt and something akin to fear on the demoness' face.

What the hell is going on? thought Talik tensely, searching Draga's face for signs of the madness he'd seen in his nightmare. There were none, though it was faintly comforting.

After that chapel, this is the second time I've had a breakdown. Well, the main thing is to get "home," and then we'll see.

"What... What is it...?" Draga's voice was confused and uncertain.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you. Don't mind me."

"But I..."

"It doesn't matter. We need to go home first. Just protect me, please."

"As you command."

The adventurers paid no attention to this situation - their attention was undividedly occupied by the light show in the distant sky. The cracks and splits in the sky were no longer pulsating but shining steadily.

I wonder how the rest of the locals will take to this light show. It must be a hell of a view, Talik thought aloof.

In an instant, it was all over. The northern lights just went out, as if they hadn't existed. Talik was secretly expecting an explosion or something as the climax but it didn't.

Although who knows what happened there, on the spot. Maybe it blew up.

There was a tense crackle in the air around, and black holes of portals burst into the air all around. A moment later, decayed skeletons in dingy, dusty, and dented armor poured out in an avalanche. The Guild insignia on their breastplates, clearly visible in the moonlight, caught the eye.

There were dozens of them. Silent and determined dead men, armed with swords, ax, or halberds, surrounded Talik's company. Empty eye sockets glimmered with blue gleams. The portals closed and opened again, releasing more and more undead.

"Thaler," Daimon growled, standing at the ready and looking around frantically. "Do something, or we're all fucked! I've seen undead like this before, and we're no match for them!"

"This is going to sound strange, but no. It's for me," Talik replied as he got off the horse.

Not far away another portal opened, and a Pudge emerged from it. The carcass, four meters tall and almost as big in girth, was flaunted by a thick apron of dark stains and splotches. The entire body was mottled with sloppy, diverging stitches, bound with metal staples. Bare muscles and lumps of fat were visible from beneath them.

In his left hand, he held a butcher's cleaver as big as himself. In his right hand was an ominous-looking hook on a chain, the other end of which was fastened directly to the bones of his wrist. The face, sewn from separate scraps, sported uneven, muddy eyes. Large yellow teeth protruded from the crooked mouth, which looked more like a laceration.

The stench of decomposing meat was thick and almost physically palpable. Talik grimaced. He'd requested a Pudge based on the characteristics of this necromorph, and he'd completely disregarded the smell.

I've never encountered such a stench in Necropolis, even after shifting. And there is no mana to "cleanse". Brrr. On the whole, the news is good, the pudge got through, which means that the interception does not work. Home, home. To cleanliness, comfort, and safety.

Pudge staggered toward the group.

"Play?" A gurgling bass was heard. The huge knife whistled in his thick fingers.

Talik saw the blue sparks flickering around Era's deathly pale fingers, and Daimon about to launch a suicidal attack. Bryce, with his hand on the hilt of his dagger, looked around expectantly.

Oh guys, how different we are. I'm sorry, for God's sake.

"No, play later," replied Talik to Pudge, heading toward him.

"Later." The monster grumbled disappointedly and bowed aside.

All the undead obediently parted, giving Talik passage to the last portal. He turned around.

"I have to go, guys. I enjoyed traveling with you. It's a shame it won't happen again. If you still want to know who I am... You'll have to come with me."

"What if we don't want to know it?" Daimon asked tensely.

"Then we'll say goodbye here. I think we'll meet again in the future. All of this," he circled the dead host, "looks rather unsightly. So I understand how you feel. I wish you'd come with me. You could give me a lot, and I could give you a lot. But, as I promised, I won't force you."

"Thank you for the invitation. We have to decline it. Have a good trip, Thaler." Daimon said smoothly.

It would have been foolish to expect otherwise, Talik thought and smiled sadly.

"Thank you. Then one last little request. When you tell someone what happened, don't mention Draga." He saw three simultaneous nods. "Well, good luck with that."

He waved his hand and stepped into the portal. Like the last time, he went to the other side instantly, without the slightest delay. He was followed by Draga, who emerged from the black vortex.

Talik found himself in the main square of Necropolis, at the foot of a monument that had been destroyed by "time". He looked up at the low, gray sky with relief.

The other portals flickered at the edges of the square, and one by one the skeletons of cover arrived. My heart felt a slight tingle of anxiety, but it was relieved when a pudge appeared from one of the funnels.

At the edge of the square, a meter above the paving stones hovered Marius. Not far from the monument could be seen the figures of Illadria and Wilhelm. Both the king and the elf were "in full equip". Wilhelm in his massive armor and sword at his belt, and Illadria in the "Endless Winter" set and with the staff of the "Lord of Storms".

Weird, I thought he'd be waiting at the Palace.

Talik smiled guiltily and spread his hands.

"Well, I'm home."

The elder vassals shot him hostile glances. Wilhelm's cold voice was heard:

"Draga, whom and why did you bring to our home?"

+ + +

RiP · Jun 6, 2022

*Daimon Group*

The adventurers, tense to the breaking point, stared at the undead disappearing into the portals. When the last gap in space lingered, Era exhaled noisily and sat down on the ground. Daimon relaxed a little, too.

"Guys, I owe you an apology. I insisted on taking him with me. It was a huge mistake."

After a few seconds of silence, he was answered by Bryce's laughter, full of a kind of excitement and lightness.

"What are you talking about, Dai? Guys, this is the most epic quest of our lives! Haa! We've seen real Wraiths, we've seen the curse of the Kaz Plains dispelled, we've even seen the fuck knows what to call this horde of dead men! And yet we're still alive, and I've got tons of gold in my pockets and a blade that's worth unmeasurable! Any bard would hang himself with envy, would you?!"

Era laughed, too, sitting on the ground. The nervous tension didn't leave her until the end, but the laughter was not hysterical, but relieved.

"And you're right, Bryce. And to be honest, I even thought about following him. Who knows what I would have seen and learned... If it weren't for the elves and that crazy woman."

"What's wrong with her?" Bryce asked, sitting down next to her. "She sounds interesting enough to me. I'd like to play around with her."

"She promised to feed me to the dogs if I followed them. I didn't think she was joking. I guess Thaler doesn't know about it, so it might as well have been. Still, I'd take my chances if it weren't for the elves."

Daimon sat down heavily third.

"Refrain from going into detail, they may be nearby and hear everything. We have to hurry. Right now there's probably panic everywhere because of that light in the sky. We should get to the guild quickly and tell them what we saw. It might help restore order."

"You're right," Era looked around nervously.

Bryce nonchalantly stretched himself.

"Leader, you've ruined the mood. You're right, though. Time to hit the road."

+ + +
*Talik*

Talik looked from Wilhelm to Illadria, frozen like an ice statue, and felt a strange lightness.

He'd been terrified from day one of something like this. That the revived NPCs would see him as an impostor, a weak, insignificant man in his essence. He had no right to enjoy the privileges and power of the materialized Guild.

Now the worst thing that could have happened had happened. There was nothing to be afraid of, and it was as if a tight knot had been untied in his soul. Talik felt a previously unknown feeling - the proximity of death. And still, he smiled brightly. Because now the threat was clear. Obvious, clear, and predictable.

Draga stepped forward and said with a ring of metal in her voice: "Wilhelm, you should be torn to pieces for what you said. How can you not recognize the one who breathed life into us?"

"Demon, you have lost your mind. The creature behind you... How could it deceive you? There is nothing in it of the one whose return we await. Do you realize what a sin you are committing, passing off a stranger as the Prophet?"

Draga clenched her fist with a gnash.

"When He punishes you for those words, I will enjoy every moment of your suffering, you foolish king. Step aside. I must lead the Prophet into His temple."

"Do you really think I'm going to let you take an impudent stranger into the Sancta Sanctorum? That any citizen of the City would let him in other than over his own dead body? You really are mad! My troops are ready, waiting only for orders to go in search of the true Prophet. Kill this stranger and join us. Your knowledge of this world can be of great use to the success of this quest. In this way, you will redeem yourself, at least in part."

Draga slowly turned to Talik. Over her shoulder, she looked at him with the same aloofness that Talik had seen in his nightmare. She gave him a hard look and then turned back to Wilhelm.

"I know how you feel. And I know how wrong you are in your judgment. So I will kill you without a shadow of a doubt if you even think of harming Him."

"Then do it!" Wilhelm shouted and launched himself into the attack.

Until this very moment, Talik thought it was possible to resolve the matter peacefully. The NPCs had become sapient, and it was possible to try to negotiate with them. It was the perfect opportunity to relinquish his obligations and responsibility for the well-being of the revived Guild. Just walk away and leave the NPCs to their own devices.

He knew it was a coward's choice, and he honestly admitted to himself that he was a coward. To save his life in such a way as to flee would condemn this continent, or even the world, to chaos. There were creatures in the Guild so strong that no one would be able to fight back. And if they set their sights on conquest - and in the case of Wilhelm or Warboss, there was no doubt about it... They could easily do whatever they wanted.

The pictures I saw will come true. A sea of blood, mountains of dead bodies. Though it looks like there will be someone to confront them if everything comes true. Do I want it to? Certainly not. Would I care how it would end if I were killed?

He didn't want to die asserting the right to unnecessary power and burdensome duty. To die in earnest, for real, with agony and pain. He hesitated - and now Wilhelm had robbed him of his choice.

The two armored figures crossed swords with a clang. Draga parried the blow easily, and with a twist of her two-handed blade, she struck a powerful blow from the side. The King put up a hard block, and sparks flew apart.

Talik saw out of the corner of his eye that Illadria had begun to act

She seems to have adhered to a predetermined order of recognizing aggression. Now Wilhelm, an ally, was under attack. The enemy is identified, and now...

Illadria began to cast a "Mark of Ice" spell on Wilhelm.

This is not good, it means she will hit with AoE. It is in the presets only when there is more than one enemy. So I am also recognized as an enemy. Mark to take out the Friendly fire, launch "Ice Age", two point attacks, then a hurricane from under the glacier, bombs, and Nova. Well, well.

Talik was surprised to realize that he was assessing what was happening from the gamer's point of view. He saw what was happening through the same eyes, but the prism of perception was not the one he had come here with. Not the polite, fearful philistine. But a cold, calculating, gambling cyber-sportsman.

It's for the best. Okay, what do we have? Marius freezing, buff tank/nuker vs hybrid/heal, two on two. Burst setup against faggots, only faggots have healer dressed like shit, empty and oneshot. Okay, kids, let's see who's pro here.

He snapped his fingers in Illadria's direction, casting a sleep spell. The elfess interrupted her reading of the "mark" and almost fell down - she was immediately awakened by Wilhelm's shout.

The first invocation interrupted. Сuldown of mark 6.29 seconds, two lances, or three lightning bolts. She accelerates the ice, so there will be ice.

Draga missed the blow, not having enough time to repel the king's lunge. The sword struck the armor hard. Draga immediately counterattacked, unleashing a barrage of brutal blows on Wilhelm. Wilhelm didn't manage to block all of them - there were a few blows to the body. His armor held the blows - for now. The King was forced to retreat, one step at a time.

Talik noted that when Draga received the blow, guilt and regret stirred in his chest - and at the same time, there was a slight flow of mana.

The "Compassion" talent works, which means you guys are fucked. In 2×2, I'll make people like you even naked.

In the mind instantly appeared the scheme of the battle.

I wish Marius would stay up until we're done. Or not at all - he'll sneeze us off on his floor.

He immediately used [message].

"Draga, it's coming from Illadria. Stop and take the hit, Wilhelm will withdraw for a " dash," an "impaction" into him as soon as the distance allows. Don't let him out of Illadria's sight."

"I will," the demoness grumbled grudgingly.

Talik noticed in passing that he didn't need to spell out the entire text - Draga was instantly aware of the thought that had been formed.

It was time to retreat around the corner of the ruined monument - he couldn't be on the list of likely targets for a pinpoint spell. He took a step back, and a moment later saw an ice cone the size of a motorcycle fly into Draga's head. Draga kept her balance, only twitching her head.

"The Ice Spear" shattered into shards, revealing the aftermath. Half of Draga's body was covered in frost, and the frostbitten skin on the right side of his face was cracked and scarlet-black. The feeling of mana flowing in intensified.

The demon growled briefly, regrouped, and with a loud pop of air left her field of vision. A moment later, the ground beneath her feet trembled, and there was a rumbling, cracking, and triumphant roar. Talik waited for another sound of a shattering block of ice and peered out from behind the monument.

In one of the crypts in the corner of the square, the columns were shattered and the wall partially collapsed. There, in a cloud of dust, sparks of polished steel flickered chaotically. Draga steadily pushed Wilhelm into the open space.

Illadria began to cast the "Mark of Ice" again. Talik interrupted her with a "Penance," putting Illadria in a trance-like state. Wilhelm was distracted for a moment and barked: "Wake up!"

Illadria immediately woke up, and, against Talik's expectations, didn't use another pair of "ice spears". She scattered golden fireflies, teleporting off to the side. From the corner of his eye, Talik caught a distinctive flicker - Illadria appeared a hundred and fifty paces from the center of the square, in a wide paved street between two tall mausoleums.

That's not very good, whether she has more brains or... It doesn't matter.

He assessed the likely angle of attack. From the elf's position, it was impossible to hit either Wilhelm or Draga. But she could see Talik perfect.

Talik ducked to the corner of the monument, tumbling to land and sending Draga "regeneration" at once. It wasn't the best option, it took most of his mana but he didn't have time for anything else. He'd barely made it around the corner when the "icy breath" hit the square.

The air froze for a moment, and then, with a terrifying howl, the strongest gust of wind hit, carrying fragments of rock and razor-sharp ice. Everything around him was instantly covered with a thick layer of steamy frost. An eerie cold hit the body, chilling the limbs. Fingers, ears, and face instantly stiffened.

"Oh, fuck," Talik howled, his eyes bulging and his palms tucked under his armpits.

There was not much to counter Illadria in this situation. From the available options, Talik saw only playing through obstacles. He didn't take direct damage but he didn't like the "frostbite" debuff in the new realities at all.

Talik, from his position, could not see Draga and Wilhelm fighting. From the slow arrival of mana and the lack of sounds of landscape destruction, they were still warming up with simple chopping, without the use of skills. Draga had nowhere to draw soul shards in 1×1 combat, and Rage was building up too slowly in a simple exchange of blows. Wilhelm had practically no combat skills, only buffs.

So, they're in there for the long run. Damn, it's cold.

He heard Illadria's voice as the elfess began to chant the "ice bombs" spell. He couldn't reach her at that distance, and he didn't see any way to knock the cast off. After comparing the distance to the nearest passageway to the crypt and the time of the spell with the flying time of the bombs, he decided to take his chances.

Jumping out from around the corner, he rushed straight toward the fighting tanks. His feet were stuck in the crisp frost that spread all over the square, and the feeling of the wild cold intensified, though a moment later it didn't seem possible. Talik appreciated the magnitude of the impact - the frost was everywhere, spreading far and wide beyond the square, covering the "streets," the walls, and the roofs.

"Draga, don't let Wilhelm hurt me, keep him here until he falls off."

Draga executed the order in the best possible way. She changed her "stance" to an attacking stance and unleashed a hurricane of swift, powerful blows on Wilhelm. She couldn't afford to do such a thing under the threat of Illadria's strike - that stance greatly increased the incoming damage.

Talik skipped behind her back to the breach in the wall. As he moved, he saw crystals falling from the sky, blindingly glittering. Once he was inside the funeral hall, he commanded:

"Start an "army"!

And rushed behind the nearest sarcophagus.

It rumbled so loudly that Talik's ears seized up and his eyes snapped wide open. There was a nasty whistling sound in my head for a few moments. The floor bounced like a ship on a wave. Overhead flew granite blocks of the wall, the size of a good travel case, and the torn-off lid of a sarcophagus. Dense clouds of dust filled everything around, through which the light of a dull gray sky cut through. Frost quickly began to spread across the floor with a crunch.

It won't kill Wilhelm, but it will hurt him badly. Have you learned how to prioritize? I give you a standing ovation. Did you know that he has nothing to heal from?

He thought the latter as he made his way through the rubble to the "normal" exit of the crypt. He was a priority target for Illadria, and it was a shame not to take advantage of it. The exit to which Talik headed led to another "street." AoE spells weren't particularly effective there, lots of obstacles and cover. Playing catch-up with an inexperienced mage was a good idea.

As he flew up the stairs, he ran head-on into the elfess, who seemed to have guessed his thoughts and intercepted him.

Illadria smiled victoriously, folded her hands in a sly pass and inhaled deeply.

Good move, Talik noted, flicking his fingers to send her to sleep and catching her gently in his arms. Except it's not very forward-thinking, getting out of the sight of someone who can remove control.

He laid Illadria gently beside the marble steps. The elf's face expressed serenity and peace.

The fight was actually won. Wilhelm had no chance in a 1×1 fight with Draga, especially getting hit by "ice bombs". The most he could do was delay his defeat by a few minutes. Any damage he inflicted would easily vampire back from him, simply at the expense of the armor bonus. That's not counting the simple math of damage. He could keep Illadria asleep until tomorrow - the duration is half a minute, the rollback is nine seconds, and he has enough mana to last a very long time. He was out of sight of Draga, and "compassion" did not bring mana - and still, it was quite enough.

Though, of course, he couldn't hurt her, either, he'd wake her up. But there was no need, no... Desire.

I won, and it was easy, Talik reflected, breathing into his frozen palms. Not least at the expense of their ineptitude in tactics. All that remains is to finish Wilhelm off by keeping him out of Illadria's line of sight. It was a matter of minutes... I win. But what next? Kill? I don't want to. The way I've become a stranger to them, the way they behave... They're not really people. They're more like highly sophisticated machines. They have presets, patterns of behavior, and settings. They appear to be personalities, following the story prescribed to them, but they behave exactly like machines. Which can become human someday.

Talik sat down tiredly on the steps. His hearing began to return after the blast stunned him. The sounds of the battle between the two cells - the clanking of metal, the shouting, the clattering of stones - began to be heard.

Why kill, for what? From the point of view of their program, they are doing absolutely the right thing. It's not their fault that the program started to malfunction. I do not know how to return everything to normal. Though it's naive to think that by winning this fight I've achieved something. Marius didn't disappear, did he?

Suddenly the sounds stopped, and there was literally a ringing silence. Talik looked up in surprise to see that everything around him was frozen. The snowflakes, the dust, the falling stone crumbs - they stopped as if poured into a glass.

Marius unfreeze after all... Pity

Talik was almost indifferent to what was about to happen. He himself was surprised by this indifference, by the coldness of his own judgment - it wasn't something he was used to. Not to this extent, anyway. What he wanted most was to lie down and close his eyes.

Time Stop... The old rules just let you use up to five spells at a time, regardless of cast time. Looks like time really stops here. Not completely, though.

He took a small pebble out of the air and flicked it forward. As soon as the stone crumb left his hand, it froze in the air.

The light waves have definitely not stopped, the eyes perceive everything as usual. Interesting phenomenon, I would like to study it.

A shadow fell on Talik from above. He looked up to see Marius descending through the air. The archlich's robes fluttered slowly and smoothly, sometimes revealing the armor hidden beneath. In his right hand, Marius held a staff - a staff beautiful in its ugliness - like the spine of some creature, oozing gleaming black filth from its articulations. A heavy, graceful curved blade crowned the "shaft" instead of the skull.

"You did decide to interfere, didn't you?" Talik asked idly, leaning with his back on the crypt steps.

"I'm sorry," Marius bowed gallantly. "I do not wish to see further destruction in my domain. And the only way to stop it is to eliminate the root of the problem."

"Do you think I'm an outsider, too? Why didn't you intervene from the beginning?"

"It wasn't easy for me to overcome myself. All my senses tell me that you are an outsider. My whole being demands that you be turned to ash. It is clear to my mind that this is a mistake. You cannot be anything but a Prophet. Too many factors rule out any other option. To deceive me, an outsider would have had to replace you even before you left the City."

"That is, it is still possible to deliberately go against the settings."

"Settings? I'd be interested in learning more about it. But not right now. I feel that my mind will soon be unable to fight the temptation to blindly follow the urge to destroy you, and have taken the liberty of buying some time for... Request."

"Request?" Talik grinned. "Well, come on."

"Help me," Marius raised his head and stared at Talik with the blue lights in his eye sockets. "Not to kill you. Please. That Death Curse you brought with you is driving me mad."

Talik's lethargy and apathy were relieved.

"A Death Curse?" he clarified.

"Yes." Marius pointed his finger at Talik's chest. "It rips your soul from your flesh, distorts the perception. You cease to appear to be what you are..."

A Death Curse, eh. Holy shit. Well, it gives me options.

In Yggdrassil, Death Curses were a subspecies of high-level debuffs. They caused no direct damage, but they were a fierce detriment to stats. Each individual Curse had its own set of problems. Their main problem was that, first, they couldn't be undone except with a World Item. And secondly, they didn't disappear when the character died. When the character was resurrected, he still had the debuff on him. The only way to get rid of a Death Curse was to wait until its duration expired. And wait it out online - the timer stopped at the logout.

Well, there was also another option - to force the one who imposed it to remove it. Sometimes the injured party even paid a ransom for the removal, though it was considered a vicious practice. Revenge, from Talik's point of view, was more practical.

No more than four Death Curses could be cast on a single target otherwise, the new ones would supersede the old ones, and the curser could not cast more than one curse of the same kind.

And here's the chance to fix it.

"Then, we'll try to undo it now."

With these words, Talik removed the rings from his hands and stood in front of the Archlich, who towered over him by a head and a half.

"During a Time Stop, you can use up to five spells. Kashchey put five Death Curses in you, I remember that for sure. Use them on me."

"But... What's the point?" He tilted his head to his side.

"Just do it."

"As you wish."

* * *

RiP · Jun 8, 2022

* * *

*Nigun*

His palms, which were on the floor, trembled tensely.

Inhale.

His arms bent, lowering his upright body so that his chin touched the cold granite slabs of the floor.

Exhale.

His arms straightened, lifting his body back to its starting point. Hot droplets ran down his forehead and temple, circling the swollen veins.

Two hundred. I am so pathetic.

My muscles were literally crying from the exertion, the heart drumming in the temples. In normal times, Sir Nigun wouldn't even be tired from such a workout, but now he had to listen to the demands of a barely recovered body.

The new, unruly, capricious muscles and tendons had to be trained, and re-invested with reflexes and resilience. It was easy to damage them now if they were strained in the usual way.

Sir Nigun reluctantly got to his feet.

It was very quiet in the cell of the temple complex, which went deep into the stone depths. Thick walls, carved directly into the rock base, dampened any sounds from outside. Even a faint draft of air passages was completely silent.

The four-by-ten-foot stone room, without windows, contained only a stiff wooden couch and a small altar, lit by a single candle. A perfect place for contemplation and meditation.

And for regrets that could only be shrugged off by concentrating on training.

After the urgent report, the Inquisition investigators came to him and questioned him thoroughly about what had happened. He didn't hide or lie about anything, just left out a couple of minor details. And from that moment on he was alone and in limbo.

Against his will, the picture of his defeat reappeared before his eyes. The bitter weight of humiliation and the sense of weakness, of helplessness in the face of evil, was again upon his heart.

Sir Nigun closed his eyes, trying to drive away from the image of a hate-filled enemy who could not be defeated even by using holy relics.

Punishment for my pride, no less

His ears caught the rustle of the door being shut. Sir Nigun, inwardly twitching, turned around quietly.

The interrogator again? I shouldn't have kept it quiet... They didn't ask - a weak excuse, why did it seem so good to me before?

At first, he did not recognize the man who had entered. A moment later, he knelt and bowed his head.

A withered old man with a carved cane, dressed in cloudy white and with the same beard down to his waist, entered the cell. His age had not spared his skin, which was riddled with wrinkles and age spots. Only his snow-white hair, flowing like a waterfall down his shoulders, had stood the test of time. The old man seemed to glow, spreading around him a sense of confidence and power. His eyes were clear, bright blue, without the slightest sign of senile lividity.

The Archivist waved off the guards on the other side and closed the massive door behind him. Sir Nygan could not see, but he heard the old man walk softly past and sit down on the bed.

There was silence for several minutes. Sir Nigun went over the possible reasons for the visit of the top official.

The council is extremely busy people; they never waste time. Why did he come to me, instead of me being delivered to him?

It was impossible to guess what the Archivist was thinking, and Nigun waited patiently. Finally, a squeaky voice was heard.

"This place smelled like sweat. You're keeping your body busy to distract yourself from spiritual torment?"

"A pure soul does not tolerate idleness," Sir Nigun quoted, not taking his eyes off the floor.

"That's right, boy. But will the pure soul tolerate a lie on their lips?"

"I..."

Sir Nigun was interrupted by a palpable poke on the top of his head with a cane. It felt as if a nail had been hammered into his head.

"You ineptly tried to hide what you should have said in the first place. Why? Shame? Or something else?" The old man stood up and hovered over the man, examining him coldly with a sharp, attentive gaze.

"Shame," Nigun said.

"Have you been overpowered by a woman? You never once stated the gender of your enemy, formulating general phrases."

"Yes, Archivist. I didn't want to make my shame public."

"You should be above that," the old man exclaimed. "For someone like you, doubt and morality should mean nothing more than dust on your clothes. You serve the greater good, and you give yourself to that service with all your might. The opinion of the crowd should not concern you, no matter what you have achieved. I thought you already understood this simple truth... Well, that's not important right now."

The old man fell silent and sat back on the couch, deep in thought. Nigun waited patiently, fighting the urge to put his hand on the bruised area.

Finally, the old man continued.

"Are you sure it was the human being you were fighting with? Think hard, it's important."

"No," answered Sir Nighan after a little hesitation. "I'm not so sure about that."

"Justify your doubts."

"The smell told me it was human. In addition to blood and shit - peasant food, blasted earth, houses where other people lived. Neither inferior races nor demons smelled like that. Of the inferior races, only an elf could get in among the heretics, but it would take him many years to stop smelling like an elf. And in this case, I can't imagine any reason for creating such a masterful illusion that hides only appearances."

"A demon, if she found the self-control and the reason to join human society, could not get a guild badge. I heard that even the possessed cannot join the ranks of these mercenaries, they are immediately exposed and destroyed. All that said, that heretic is human."

The old man stroked his beard thoughtfully.

"Why the doubts?"

"A man can't use that kind of power without hurting himself. From the speed I saw, a man's hair would be torn from his head. The blows would break bones. When we warriors of the holy Scriptures go into heavy combat, we strengthen our bodies with magic and alchemy. We spend years learning not to cripple ourselves in battle. Every movement is calibrated and honed. I did not see that in her. Only unimaginable, unstoppable power. So, Archivist, I'm not sure if it was human.?"

"I see... Nigun, what do you know about the demon invasion two centuries ago?"

"Only what is written in the sacred texts. In general terms, the palace of the demons fell from the heavens, out of which came legions of unclean men and turned a now-defunct country into flames. Afterward, their emissaries enslaved the souls of the rulers of other nations. Through their mouths the demons compelled the nations to submit to evil. Those who refused were slaughtered without mercy. Only the holy church was able to put up a good fight against the evil one. Through faith and valor, demonic overlords in five years were defeated one by one, and their army defeated and exterminated."

"What about those demonic overlords?"

Nigun went pale.

"Do you mean to say..."

The old man nodded.

"Exactly. Vampires are unafraid of sunlight. Demons whose human form could deceive anyone. Monsters who single-handedly slaughtered entire armies."

"But the Holy Church exterminated them themselves and uprooted their accursed seed. Holy texts cannot lie! And a demon of such power could not have remained in obscurity for two centuries."

The old man sighed and shook his head.

"It's true that those demons were exterminated, every last one of them. And those who laid with them, and those who only wished to do so. All their offspring were consigned to the flames. The demon spawn we deal with these days is no match for those who brought so much trouble to our world."

"Then... How?"

"Isn't it obvious? New demons have appeared. There are many signs... A green-skinned invasion from the great forest, something driving entire peoples of the unclean from their territories. A rift of world matter in the sky over the cursed plains. Strong gifted ones coming from nowhere.

---People are once again facing a great war. That's bad enough, but what's worse is that not everyone realizes how terrible the threat is. You," the old man pointed a skinny finger at Nigun, "are fully aware of that, Nigun. Just imagine if there were hordes of creatures like the one you met."

"Sinless, I will sacrifice myself and whatever it takes to protect our world without the slightest doubt. Tell me, what should I do?"

"Your squad is destroyed. How quickly can you recruit new warriors to replace those who have fallen, if you are given the right to draft?"

"About two months. If I'm allowed to use the Gate, three days."

"I'll grant you permission and four days to do everything."

"I will gather the men. But, Archivist, I ask you in advance to forgive me for my doubts. I do not believe that I can gather enough forces to face such a threat."

"The ones you recruit aren't needed for the war with the demons. Most likely, they won't live to see it. A detachment under your command will take on the elves. You'll sneak across the neutral lands, enter the forests they occupy, and terrorize them. We have no reconnaissance, so rely primarily on your intuition, experience, and what you can get out of the survivors. Act as quickly and brutally as you can. That way, you'll distract a significant portion of their frontier forces."

"We will be slaughtered, and fast enough. The Praetor said there was no point in such an invasion, it would deplete our troops."

"Didn't you say you were willing to make any sacrifices? This is a bad way, Nigun. It involves great losses, which we always try to avoid. But there is no good way. It's the only way we can quickly reduce the threat on our borders, if only temporarily. Those who appear for your head will leave their patrols in neutral lands, the raiders will cease to be a threat to the border villages and fortresses. This sacrifice will give us time to regroup our forces and prepare for a much heavier war."

"I got it. I'll get it done."

"One more thing, Nigun. It is your responsibility to survive in any case. In the coming war, every warrior trained to handle the relics of the Heroes will count. We might even have to use a half-breed."

Sir Nigun gnashed his teeth.

"Zetsumey? This half-animal... How are you going to keep this creature in check?"

"That's not your concern," replied the Archivist coldly.

The old man stood up, leaning on his cane. For a moment it seemed to Sir Nigun that he was not an omnipotent demigod and indestructible pillar of the state, but a simple, tired old man.

"It might be a matter of days, Nigun. Soon the demons will settle in and show their appetites. We have to be prepared for that. Come on, I'll take you to the Gate."

* * *

*Necrarch*

The ritual hall was unrecognizable. Usually, the place was dark, dull, and lifeless. The outlines of the most complex spells were not at all visible at other times - at least to normal eyes. Sometimes, when complex and energy-intensive rituals were performed, the control lines would become oversaturated, and then they would give off a barely perceptible glow.

Sovereign has always treated magic rationally and with care.

Now the great hemispherical cave glowed in a way that Sovereign had no suitable comparison. Every outline, every line, every rune was ablaze, and the stone in which they were embedded was beginning to glow.

Flickering, tearing symbolic constructs filled the entire space between the floor and the walls. Flashes, as bright as the sun that suddenly peeked out from behind the clouds, which heralded the destruction of another circuit, flashed more and more frequently. Barely a few seconds passed between the last ones.

Sovereign worked hard, trying to fix his mistake.

Finding the keys that the Kings used to distort space wasn't that difficult. It was to be expected; the magic of the pseudo-gods was always the same, at least at first. The only difficulty was that these Kings used it surprisingly infrequently - it wasn't immediately possible to predict the "ins" and "outs" for key-finding.

A long rumbling sound came from the depths of the mountain, the floor trembled, and Sovereign felt a wave of uncontrollable power approaching swiftly. Another storage unit failed.

At first, the Necrarch considered the capture of the necroconstruct a stroke of luck. Of course, he had hoped for a much bigger fish - ideally, one of the Kings would have fallen into the trap. But their craft was a great prize, too. It was unbelievably powerful but dumb enough that it was impossible to seize control of it. It was perfect.

The value of the specimen was much higher than even other-world artifacts. The creature resisted so stubbornly, clinging to its pseudo-life. It "died" for so long that Sovereign had time to record in every detail all the subtleties of the interaction of the elements embedded in it. Some of the knowledge gained saved decades of experimentation. Some were revolutionary. What artifact can compare with the ability to produce such monsters?

A wave of pure, furious energy swept through the hall, sweeping away the pitiful remnants of the controlling circuits. The stone of the walls and floor caught fire and flowed, distorting, and destroying the etched patterns. The energy shattered everything in its path, releasing new energy. Like an avalanche, this wave amplified itself.

Sovereign abandoned his futile attempts to keep this power in check. He wasn't sure that he could even survive being caught in this raging sea of mana.

Kings have always been predictable and naïve. What has changed, in what way?

The tracking spells let him know of the new portals as the Necrarch finished preparing the captured monster. He rejoiced, believing that the aliens had underestimated the threat and simplified the task of exterminating them. And at first, he was very surprised to see the skeleton that had appeared behind the barrier. A fine specimen for its category, nothing more. Sovereign put it to rest with only one small effort. As he pondered what such a drop in "quality" might mean, another appeared, then another, and another. Nekrarch realized that he'd been outsmarted when not just any undead thing came tumbling out of another portal, but an enormous, slick granite block. Covered in dust and moss, it landed on the patterned floor, crumbling an unresponsive skeleton in armor.

The spells aimed at intercepting portal magic were very sensitive and independent. Sovereign built the whole system so that it would do its work instantly and without interference from his side. And it was impossible to stop their action just like that. It could only be done by destroying the fruits of the labor of the past hundreds of years. He didn't dare, and now the energy he was taking was gushing in an endless stream into the storage that couldn't hold it. It was like food being pushed into a mouth unable to close, despite its already bursting belly.

Nekrarch quickly surveyed the impeccably luxurious observation halls. It was the last place the tide had not yet reached - and there was still something to be done here.

Crudely, irrationally, sacrificing all his rules to speed, the Neckrarch reshaped the force lines, extinguishing some spells and creating others. By the time the wave came, everything was ready.

Although I would punish any of my adepts very severely for such work.

An irrepressible and merciless wave of pure power whipped into the hall, and, caught in the embrace of the restraining circuits, took the easiest path. Into the sky.

Such a loss... To literally hold such wealth in my hands and be forced to simply throw it away... And at the same time, to lose what I have accumulated over many decades. It's excruciating.

The tearing sky high above shone with wild flames, illuminating the mountain and the whole area for hundreds of miles around with an unprecedentedly bright green-yellow light.

Sovereign grimly counted the preliminary losses. There was much-unplanned work to be done.

* * *

RiP · Jun 19, 2022

Chapter 20
*Talik*

* * *

"As you wish," Marius rumbled and pointed a bony finger at Talik. "Flesh from the bone!"

The first one to go, Talik noted. Antitank. +25% on the chance of getting crits, +25% damage from incoming crits. How would that work in real life? Stumble and break my legs, get burned by barely warm food? Chance of dying of any kind of accident... Yeah.

Archlich raised his weapon above his head with one hand and murmured a recitative in Latin, preparing the next curse.

It sounds beautiful. I have no idea whether these verses really mean what I know about them. Language isn't completely dead just because of medicine and biology, which I'm not very good at.

The sky darkened, and a long shadow stretched from Talik's feet toward Marius. Lich drove the blade of his scythe hard into it. The metal entered the stone of the mosaic sidewalk like absorbent cotton. The shadow convulsed and melted away.

Talik's heart ached uncomfortably, and he felt a foreign object inside his chest. It didn't hurt, but it wasn't pleasant. Every sigh was a reminder that life now hung in the balance.

It feels creepy, even if I don't know what the fuck is going on in terms of the game math right now. It's like someone is holding my heart with his hand. And it's going to hang for four days if I'm scaling the time correctly. Yeah...

Marius spread his arms wide apart and sang solemnly in the same Latin. The sky darkened even more, and a crimson crack spread across it. A wave of murky-blue haze flew from the Archlich toward Talik. It felt like the fog of the Kaz Plains, only nastier, and not just on the skin, but all over the body.

It was impossible to tell which of these curses was worse than the others. They were all worse. The last one made normal resurrection impossible. He died under its effects, turning into a low-level undead, and staying that way until the curse dissipated over time. It was only by dying again, when the effect wore off, that you could be revived with the same characteristics. Given the loss of experience, of course.

Marius threw his palm forward with curled fingers. For a brief moment, a shimmering scarlet thread connected his hand and Talik. It was as if a long, thin snake had moved beneath Talik's skin. He closed his eyes pushing the obsession away. He knew the effect; the rest he hoped was just self-inflicted.

When he opened his eyes, Marius was right in front of him, at arm's length. Archlich was a third taller, and overwhelming, blocking most of his view.

This was the first time Talik had looked at him so closely. Normally he didn't pay attention to small things but now he could fully appreciate the gatekeeper's appearance.

The robe, lavishly patterned with the finest threads of precious metals, lost its impression of impeccability at close range. There were tiny tears in the worn fabric, the threads of the patterns were loose, and the seams in some places had come undone. The breastplate, visible through the half-opened hem of the garment, was dotted with tiny cracks and holes. The clothes looked hopelessly ruined. And yellow bones with sparse strands of dried flesh peeked through them.

Inwardly, Talik shuddered. He still regarded the appearance of his "servants" more like a stage image of talented actors. Now, looking at Marius' hand reaching out to him, he realized more clearly than ever the fallacy of that impression. Archlich didn't seem, he really was so... unnatural.

Scary.

Marius grabbed Talik hard by the shoulder. His body went numb in that spot, and his arm twitched involuntarily.

The clouds of dust, snow, and crumbs frozen in the air shifted. Slowly at first, barely perceptibly, they quickly accelerated their interrupted stop-and-go motion. From the sky came a deafening, bone-crushing murmur. The crack in it sparkled and melted, and the sky itself quickly brightened, taking on its usual dull gray appearance.

Marius suddenly let go of Talik's shoulder delicately. The blue fire with dots of pupils in the eye sockets almost completely faded.

"So that's how it is..." Archlich whispered barely audible.

Behind him were a crackle and a thunderous crash that tore through the wall at once. Draga burst through the crumbling stone like a black lightning bolt. Her face was no longer beautiful. A spasm of hatred and anger distorted it.

"Bastard!!!"

Before Talik had a chance to comprehend what was happening, she crashed into Marius, knocking him aside. Archlich slammed into the wall in front of him, a helpless puppet. In a blurred motion, the demon was beside him, swinging her sword over her shoulder.

"Stop!" Talik barely had time to shout. The blade was about to strike the dead man's head. "Get away from him."

"Do you want to punish him personally? At least let me be there! They betrayed You! They must be punished, all of them!"

Her eyes were filled with tears, and her voice was hysterical. But she obeyed the command: she stepped aside, though she didn't lower her weapon.

"Where is Wilhelm?" Talik asked, glancing at the sleeping elfess.

He had to carefully control his breathing and speech. The scream with which he stopped Draga caused a cramp in his lungs and spine.

Instead of answering, she scowled, looking toward the passageway to the crypt. Talik caught the quick, uneven footsteps and hurried away, beckoning Draga to him with his hand.

Wilhelm appeared on the stairs. The "King" was limping badly on one leg, one arm dangling along his body in a limp whip. Where he had stepped with his wounded leg, red stains spread on the ground. His face, with its once neat beard, was drenched in blood, oozing from a deep scar on his forehead.

Wilhelm got up and, without looking around, immediately rushed to the sleeping Illadria. He knelt heavily, leaned over her, dropped his sword, and with his healthy hand turned the elf's head, peering into her serene face. His palm left a dirty red mark on her cheek. When he was sure she was all right, Wilhelm let out a sob, touched his forehead to hers, and stepped back gently.

"What have I done..." he dropped his face into his palm. "How could this have happened...?"

Draga pulled herself up, gripping her sword more comfortably. The stone crumbled beneath her feet. Wilhelm relaxed back, not getting up from his knees or even turning toward her.

"Do what you must, demon. It's all my fault, don't ruin anyone else unless you're told to. And I no longer have the right to be."

Draga turned to Talik, looking expectant and ready.

Talik hesitated for a while, choosing his words. After Marius had cursed him he felt as if he had woken up. His indifferent, almost indifferent attitude had disappeared. At the same time, he remembered everything he had said and done and recognized it as right.

I'm starting to fear them again, and at the same time, I remember why it's stupid. I wonder if that means I've gone crazy, or something else. Whatever, I guess. It's even better with this kind of schizophrenia. At least I feel more confident.

The most important thing he felt, and what strengthened his confidence, was the recovery of his mana reserve. Slow, crippled by Marius, but there it was. Like a ray of hope in a dystopia of despair. And it was the most pleasant thing that had happened to him since he had left the City.

How do you make a man happy? Take everything away from him, and then give a little back, right?

"We are not going to sort out who is to blame for what now," Talik said at last. "You said you had an army waiting for your orders to move. No one's going anywhere just yet. No one's going anywhere for now. Then we'll all go to... my temple and figure out what's what. Marius" Talik turned to the lich "that concerns you, too."

He thought a moment and then added, turning to Archlich again:

"Open the portal to the palace, please."

If I'm wrong about them being robots, in this kind of way we can create some kind of panic. No need for that. It's a pity the temple servants don't have their names, we could try to contact them to check the portal... Although, some of the palace guards do.

* * *

*Lias*

Lias sat on the carved bench and watched the strange birds swimming in the small ornamental pond. The day was warm and sunny, with clouds crawling lazily across the bottomless, clear sky.
It was as if he were in a dream, and he didn't know if he wanted to wake up at all.

Behind him, among the lush greenery, was a small three-story white stone palace. In the shadows of one of its towers, Lias watched the wonderfully feathered creatures and the lazy crystal carp.
She'd dragged him here, and told him he wasn't going to snoop around the back alleys looking for a kennel that would suit his tastes. Lias tried to argue that he'd never pay for even a butler's greeting in a place like this. Selene only laughed condescendingly at him, as usual, and promised to arrange with the servants for Lias to have a storeroom allocated for his sleeping quarters.

"Kid, I don't come here often enough to deny myself comfort and luxury. And as for costs, didn't Master Marius say he'd arrange everything? Relax and enjoy it, you fool!"

It's hard to relax in such conditions, pondered Lias as he looked up from the pond.

From this bench, there was a view of most of this city. The graceful yet overwhelming towers of the Royal Palace could be seen on the left-hand side.

Lias was not surprised to learn that there was a King here. The city itself was the size of the entire fiefdom of E-Rantel, and how many lands belonged to it was impossible to even guess. The teacher responded to the timid interest with a lengthy "no exact information on that yet," and changed the subject. If the meticulous and pedantic incarnation of death had no answer... Lias simply accepted things as they were.

On his right miles away from there the crowns of the largest trees Lias had ever seen. There, he'd heard, lived elves, ruled by a sorceress little less powerful than Master Marius himself. That was hard to believe, after all, Lias had seen only a fraction of the power of the ancient lich. But at this point, anything could be true... If you don't count Selene and her sense of humor.

The elves in general were a separate story. Here Lias had seen quite a few elves, which was unusual in itself. But the real shock came when he saw the guard elf. Selene, in her usual manner, made the situation clear.

Here the elves were not just un-slaves. They were on the same footing as humans, and the only one who saw the oddity was Lias himself.

They ran stores, preached, cleaned the streets, owned lavish restaurants, practiced art, and watched alongside people. There were even mixed couples, and their children were not considered exotic or renegade. It was as if there was no age-old hatred.

Then Lias vowed to himself not to be surprised by anything.

Another empty vow... So it was when it turned out that everyone I met knew Selena was a vampire, and they weren't bothered by it.

He vividly remembered how terrified he'd been to see the fangs and what a middle-aged, golden-eyed beauty she was. And they didn't give a damn. So she's a vampire, so she only grimaced in the sun, so what's the big deal.

Ugum.

He felt like a savage trapped in an advanced society.

+And determined to die rather than leave it, the thought ran through his head. A place without hatred, where everyone is like family. A place with more knowledge than the rest of the world. Where no one wishes another harm, and almost the God of Death himself stands guard. From the description, it's more like heaven. If you don't know what's beyond the city gates...

A cold voice came from behind.

"Master Lias?"

Lias turned around. Behind him stood a woman from the servants of this palace, called an inn. Her pleasing form was accentuated by a garment of unusual but easily recognizable local cut.

This was the only drawback of the wonderful city. Wherever Lias found himself, he was never once shown any friendliness. Cold politeness at best, as was the case now.

"Yes?" Lias jumped up fidgetily from the bench.

"Lady Rangeso ordered me to tell you that she has to leave for Necropolis with immediate urgency."

Lias swooned.

And now I'm going to be billed for my lodging. Even if it's for half a day, I can't pay for it in my life! What are you doing, you bastard, for what?!

"And h... How much do I o... Do I owe you?"

"I don't know what you mean, master," the maid said without emotion. "You have never borrowed money from me."

Well, yes, it's the kind of place where guests don't bother to think about money, the servants do that kind of trivia...

Lias was embarrassed as he chose his words.

"Well, I was here half a day. I ate, and drank something sweet. ... How much is it worth...?"

The girl answered in the same voice looking through him: "I don't know the full cost of what you tried. I can ask the steward if you are interested."

"You see, I'm here, as it were, by mistake," Lias decided not to pull the cat by the tail. "Everything here is too expensive for me, I can't afford it, you know? I'd like to know how much I owe for all this, so that, how would it be, to find the money and pay it off, pardon me for that..."

"I understand. You need not worry about it, Master Lias. This inn is maintained by the Treasury, and all expenses are borne by King Wilhelm. It is customary for an establishment of this caliber. And since you were brought here by a noble lady, it is no mistake that you are here."

"Is that how the King pays for everything?" Lias was astonished. "So I can eat and sleep here as much as I want, and His Majesty will pay for everything?"

"Exactly. Would you like some tea or other drinks?"

Lias smiled broadly at the sudden happiness. If the bills are paid by the King himself, he obviously won't care how much he's eaten and drunk. He'd brush it off to the Treasurer and forget it.

"I'd like some wine. Red, is the best you have. And some cheese. And some fruits."

Thank you, Your Majesty. I'll be like a prince for a day. I will pray to the Heroes for your health...

The girl bowed.

"I'll get it right now."

Lias sat back on the bench and stretched out blissfully, looking at the garden around him anew.

How much money does this king have that he can afford such a thing? Come to think of it, I haven't seen a poor man around here. And every guard wears a fortune. And there are so many guards here that you could raise an army from the guards alone... I wish I'd learned to read the stars, so I could have known where the country was...

The same servant girl emerged, barely audible, deftly holding a small folding table and a tray with an elegant bottle, a tall glass, and a saucer of appetizers. In a few moments, it was all assembled into a pleasing composition. The girl deftly unsealed the wax seal on the bottleneck and poured the dark scarlet liquid into the glass.

"Enjoy our hospitality, master. Let me know if you need anything. I'll be here."

Lias took a sip of wine and closed his eyes, dissolving into an ocean of flavor.

"I enjoy it from the bottom of my heart," Lias reported.

The wine hit his head softly at once. There was an amazing lightness in his body, a sense of coolness in his thoughts, and for some reason complete clarity. He took another sip and noticed that the girl had not gone anywhere but was still standing behind him with her head slightly bowed and her hands folded on her apron.

"Do you have a name?"

"Mariam."

"Can I ask you something?" Lias took another sip of wine and decided to take advantage of the situation. "You say to enjoy your hospitality, but I don't see any cordiality in your words. I can understand your dislike. I am a worthless beggar, brought here and put on your neck. You must be used to high-born guests, and here I am... That's perfectly understandable. But I'm treated that way everywhere. It's like I'm a thief who hasn't stolen anything yet. Why is that?"

The girl raised her head, looking ahead of her. She didn't answer right away.

"I wish I didn't have to answer that question, master. The answer might upset you."

"And I insist. May I insist?"

"You are a stranger. Your presence here is not approved by the Lords. You cannot be trusted, and you could turn enemy at any moment."

"There are so many people here, so many people, how will everyone know that I'm a stranger? Here... how do you, Mariam, know that I am not a local peasant or a poor man from the suburbs?"

The girl turned to him and ran her eyes blankly from head to toe.

"It's obvious. Any citizen will always know if is a friend or a stranger in front of them. I don't know how to explain it. It's just a feeling."

"Yeah... How long do you think I'd have to live here before I'd be considered one of my own?"

She thought for a moment.

"I don't know. I don't think time will change anything unless one of the Lords approves you."

"But, for example, the teacher... Master Marius, is there no way he could pass for a lord?"

"Master Marius is only a servant of the Lords. His word means a lot but he can't change the order of things."

"And the King? Can he?"

"King Wilhelm is also a servant of the Lords. He cannot change the fundamental law."

The wine gave courage and blurred boundaries.

"And the faceless gentleman, is he a lord? I've been in contact with him, and he sent me to learn magic from Master Marius, you know."

Again the girl did not answer at once, and her voice was more hostile than cold.

"You are talking about the Prophet. I ask you to be respectful when you mention him."

Also a fanatic. Kind of like the theocrats. Normal, as long as it doesn't involve their celestials.

"I didn't mean to say anything bad. I'm sorry."

A strange sound, like a battle horn, was heard in the distance. The maid stretched and squinted, staring off into the distance.

"What is that sound?" Lias asked.

"His Majesty is a call to arms. You had better not leave the hotel grounds, Master Lias. Forgive the inconvenience."

Lias tried to sober up. One time the town he studied in was under siege. He didn't like it very much. Three months of starvation, then street fighting, firefighting, and a lot of wounded who couldn't be saved.

On the other hand, it might have been a chance to draw attention to himself. He stood up from the bench, watching his balance.

"Where can I go to get a volunteer here? I know a thing or two about light magic!"

"Master Lias, you had better not leave the grounds of the inn," the maid said with pressure, blocking the way. "Lady Rangeso insisted. Please wait for her to return."

Lias slumped. The heroic fervor in him faded as quickly as it had appeared.

The rest of the evening he drank grudgingly on the "royal" wine. It didn't take long - his body, weakened by constant fear for his life, quickly gave in to the strong drink. Mariam readily poured a refill whenever the glass showed the bottom.

Lias, already poorly oriented in the alcoholic fog, tried to make her talk. But all his eloquence was shattered by polite indifference. Sometime later, as she was carrying him into the bedrooms he suddenly noticed that she was pretty as hell, and he didn't hesitate to let her know it.

"You know, Mari... Eek!... am, you're the prettiest girl I've ever seen in my life," he said, hanging on her shoulder. "There's nothing but beauties around here, but you... Eek... The prettiest of them all. Honestly... Ouch! Ouch, ouch, ouch!"

A hand, as if by chance, rested on the girl's chest, as if caught in a vise.

"I'm sorry, Master Lias. I was careless."

Lias collapsed onto the luxurious bed, kneading his numb wrist. Mariam knelt to remove his shoes. He looked up at the gesture, and almost dare try to grope her again but he caught the same cold look in his eyes, showing no remorse for the near-broken limb.

"Why are you so strong, eh," he noted regretfully, stretching out on the bed and studying the velvet canopy.

He put his wrist to his eyes and struggled to focus. The wrist promised to have the perfect bruise by morning. Mariam didn't answer. She deftly pulled off his shirt and pants and covered him with a soft, cool blanket.

"If you need anything ring this bell. I'll come right over."

"And if I needed warmth and cuddling, what would I do?" Lias grumbled resentfully, wrapping himself in a blanket.

Mariam ignored the statement, bowed, blew out the candle, and left the bedroom, closing the door delicately. Lias fell fast asleep.

During the night he was awakened by a foreign presence under the blanket. He was not fully awake but very quickly groped the chest.

"Mariam, you came after all... You're cold even... Eek!... to the touch."

There was nothing more he could say. The woman occupied his mouth with a kiss.

[message]

"Master Marius, let me speak."

"Selena? Speak."

"I obeyed your command and seduced a man. You demanded to be informed at once if anything important or unusual happened."

"How interesting. You are way ahead of schedule."

"Master, I..."

"Oh, don't be worrying in vain. The only bad thing here is that I missed something important that could affect the calculations so much. Now I really want to know what I missed. Did you take him by force?"

"No, you ordered not to hurt him under any circumstances."

"Then how did it happen?"

"When I answered your call to arms yesterday... An unsupervised boy got ugly drunk on wine and harassed the maid. I saw an opportunity and used it."

"Alcohol? That's all... Amazing. I'm pleased with you, Selena. Is there anything you want? You deserve a reward."

"I want to drink this stray dog."

"Out of the question. But I might consider letting you hunt outside of town and not restraining you for a while... When you get pregnant."

"What if it doesn't work?"

"Then you will cease to be an important part of my plans and lose my good graces."

"I understand, Master Marius. I will do my best to live up to your expectations."

"I'm glad you're getting the gist of it, Selena."

* * *

RiP · Jun 20, 2022

* * *

*Talik*

Talik sat in his temple office with his hands and head on the table. A warm ray of sunlight streaming through the stained-glass window gently tickled his face. A cold-like sensation with a bad hangover, though it did not let me relax but did not bother me so much. The temple was consistently applying a permanent effect that reduced the power of negative influences.

It's a good thing Kashchey didn't appreciate humor below the belt. There was a curse of diarrhea in the game too, and the effect, even mathematically there was just terrible I wouldn't sit still like that...

He lifted his head and focused his gaze on the pile of papers on the table. Beautiful sheets with monogrammed seals and gold edging contained the fruits of Wilhelm's labors during the time the "Prophet" had been absent. Talik had gone through them during the night while he was debriefing.

He had not expected such administrative acumen from an NPC. Wilhelm quickly and ingeniously resolved many situations and issues that Talik had never even considered. Logistics, the organization of hunting farms, ore and mineral exploration near the nearby mountains, property troubles (yes, that too appeared). And this is only a small part and precedents.

Wilhelm simply passed the routine work, such as consultations, private disputes, and minor organizational hassles, onto the undead. He went to Marius, discussed the idea, and now the roles of judges, warehouse administrators, and petty officials were filled by low-ranked lichs. Possessing infinite patience, and perfect memory, the attentive undead needed neither food nor rest and were ideally suited for the job.

I knew it. I knew the bureaucrats were hiding some secret, some skeleton in the closet.

The townsfolk saw no problem with the presence of the undead. Talik, when he heard about the idea, feared trouble was brewing. Nothing of the sort - the undead fit into society like a piece of furniture in a large room. Useful in times of need and out of the way the rest of the time.

Like computers with AI-Bots. That's a great idea. And if there are any specific problems, they can be solved separately.

Talik stretched out his hand, took the first sheet of paper he could find, and held it up to his eyes. On the amber-colored paper was a map with lots of symbols. It showed the outlines of a valley that Talik had seen before on maps of Illadria. He read the beads of text that covered the space between the drawing and the map.

And the road is already paved through the entire canyon connecting this valley to the forests outside. And what shall I do with you, your majesty, hmm?

Talik put his head back on his hands and covered his head with this very sheet.

Dealing with High-Level NPCs quickly turned into real torture for him. They were in the most horrible throes of remorse. Talik had never imagined that anyone would be so heartbroken.

As ridiculous as it sounds, watching a big man cry... Illadria isn't far behind but at least she's a girl.

Of the three, Marius was the only one who perceived reality adequately. He lagged like an overheated computer but at least he answered substantially. Talik sent him back to Necropolis after the blitz interrogation.

And Illadria and Wilhelm to "prison". To the very unused rooms of the palace. According to the project, there were supposed to be additional bedrooms for characters with a fear of the sun and an arsenal. But in the end, it never came to them. The only Vampire in the guild was switched into Angel, and instead of the hassle with a lot of arsenals strained and donated to the expanded inventory for all the combat NPCs.

That's where Malikriss was shut down, and now two others.

And all three of them don't belong there at all. I can't imagine who to replace Wilhelm with. By the way, it's interesting that he was far more concerned about the elf's fate than one might think. Are they dating? There was not a word about that at all. It's personal, though, so it's probably best not to pry, Talik thought as he rummaged through the piles of papers on his desk.

Illadria has taken up ecology, and it's not so simple either. Griffins are great, but Warboss has got his hands on huge territories, and there is eighty percent of it - forests and swamps, fit for nothing. Even flying over that kind of deadwood would break your neck.

He had seen the plans for clearing the forests and detoxifying the swamps drawn up by the elfess. Who would do all this, coordinating spellcasters, rangers, and workers while she sat in isolation?

And sending them to "prison" was not his initiative. Both of them literally demanded to be punished for the "crime" they had committed. Talik himself saw nothing wrong with following instructions. It wasn't their fault he got such an intricate curse. They were simply doing what they had to do.

And he had to deal with the thorn in the form of the mentalist. Talik was not sure that Wilhelm's aggression had nothing to do with outside influences. The King had said that he was constantly haunted by anxiety, having bad dreams in which misfortunes were happening to members of the Guild.

I have to at least understand what kind of person she has become. Whether it's even possible to deal with her... If it really is her influence, remembering how easily she got into Draga's head. She's dangerous, to say the least. She's either a problem or a valuable asset, and I keep procrastinating to find out.

He leaned back in his chair and smiled as he thought.

I'm just like a Big Boss. Well, when looked at that way, I am the Big Boss, aren't I? It turns out to be so easy to get used to. Although let's not forget how I almost got killed.

He looked toward the window. The sun and the leaves of the fruit tree peeked out behind him. Everything literally breathed with tranquility, cleanliness, and comfort. The contrast with the environment of the trip to the "outside world" was stark. I just wanted to relax and do nothing, just wait for the curses to subside.

Yeah. To forget everything and just do nothing. Trying not to think about how much trouble I was in. Typical me.

Talik sighed and turned to Draga, who was silently present.

"Let's go check on the inmates."

* * *

On the way to Malikriss' cell, Talik thought intensely and intensely, stroking the protective amulet on his chest. He had prepared for his visit to the "prisoners" quite thoroughly, having prepared countermeasures in case things went badly. Protective amulets, disposable but powerful. Draga, in gear that gave her almost total immunity to mind attacks, had a few scrolls to counteract any negative effects. Just in case.

In the old world, that would have been enough to overpower any mentalist by a wide margin. In the new one, Talik wasn't sure.

Quite a lot depended on this meeting. Aside from the fact that the revived dark elven witch seemed to be quite confident in reading and suggesting thoughts, there was another point that Talik found quite important.

All of the characters that came to life took the story they were written about as a factual reality. They literally remembered these stories as part of their lives. Of course, you can't cram your entire life into a dozen pages of text, but the unknown force that brought the City to this world took care of that, too. When the NPSs began to analyze their life, little facts, amusing incidents, instructive events, and other little things that formed the memory of life emerged somehow by themselves. They did not contradict, but, on the contrary, fitted very harmoniously into the main line.

For example, Wilhelm remembered the names of his soldiers, their habits, and characters from the campaigns he had made up. He even remembered his first love, in great detail. Although of all this, only the fact that his beloved had once been brutally murdered by the tyrannical ruler of his country in his youth was written.

Not knowing the nature of this phenomenon, Talik was not sure he could fully trust this "memory". Who knows what an NPC with a fate is written in a fit of resentment would "remember". Take, for example, the witch of the dark elf nation, disappointed in the goddess of her people and betraying her home. A sea of blood, mountains of corpses for a dream that ended up not coming true anyway, through her own fault. Then she betrayed an apostle of her new faith by deception. Everything, as it should be in dark fantasy.

Who knows what kind of bugs are running around in such a person's head. By and large, it would have been wise to destroy her altogether and not take any chances. But Talik didn't want to do that, and the moral aspect didn't come first.

First, if Malikriss turns out to be as devoted to the Guild and him personally like all the other characters, she can be an exceptionally valuable ally. The ability to read and compel thought, in theory even to change a target's mindset, is not a talent that can simply be taken and buried just out of fear. Talik was already figuring out in his head what assignment to give her, to begin with.

Second, even if he can't find a common ground with her, it will be no less valuable. There will be a confirmed fact that not all guild members are unconditionally loyal to the player. Taking into account the "warm" welcome in Necropolis made no sense. The influence of an unknown enemy had played a role there. And now, it would be considered a pure experiment. If Malikriss turns out to be the enemy, it will mean that the character's history has a much greater influence on the motives and actions than he has seen so far.

Besides, he would finally have a critic. This was sorely missed.

If Katsuba hadn't ended up in the hospital, it would have been so much easier. Eh...

And third, even the preparation itself for this encounter made him think about things he would otherwise have avoided. Malikriss is a telepath with undetermined limits, a cunning and very ambitious woman. Just showing up and saying, "Hi, I don't want to kill you, let's be friends," is not the best way to start a relationship with someone like her. At least, a relationship beneficial not only to her.

He had to ask himself a few uncomfortable questions and answer them. And the most important of them was, what did he want from his new life in the first place?

The question was simple only on the surface. If he had decided only for himself, there would have been no problem at all. But whether he likes it or not, he is responsible for so many creatures who trust him unconditionally. Both for themselves and their actions.

With all these thoughts in mind, he descended into the uninhabited wing of the castle. Draga, in her slightly fluorescent white and gold armor, accompanied him steadily.

A set with a bonus to defense against Mind magic was a miracle to find. Talik, before the end of the game, sold everything that could have any value at all. But that mostly affected the treasury. He didn't "strip" the Royal Guard, it didn't make sense. Would not have made much money on it, and the guards in just panties (and bras, for that matter), did not fit with the image, which he did not want to spoil the final filming, but also very poor protection in case of a goodbye attack.

And among the rest of the equipment was this very questionable in terms of playability, but very nice set. Which turned out to be an extremely fortunate find in this situation.

Well and creates a very interesting image. If imagine that this is a professional cosplayer... Man, it really lifts my spirits. I'll be sure to elaborate tonight. Even if it sucks like last time, I should at least try it.

To avoid awkwardness, Talik forced himself to be distracted by the monotonous gray granite of the surroundings.

The architecture in the uninhabited wing was the same as the rest of the palace. Tall thin columns in the corridors, wide twisted staircases, arches, and halls, everything was the same, technically. In reality, however, it spoiled the mood with its dull basic coloring. When it became clear that no one would make a permanent dwelling here, this part of the palace was simply ignored. Why paint a picture that nobody is looking at? It's expensive and useless. Even the ankle-high pile rugs were monochrome gray.

It's also where the dust starts to accumulate, Talik noted, tracing a finger across the relief pattern of one of the columns. Makes sense, in principle, the wing is closed, and no routes for domestic personnel are prescribed here, either.

Finally, Talik and Draga stepped into a large, empty hall. The corridor ended there, and there were only a few doors at regular intervals leading out of the hall.

In theory, there should have been a fountain... Man, you've got to get it right, it's like a pebble in my shoe. In fact, the wing needs to be finished. But how?

The door to the chambers where Wilhelm and Illadria had been left to "sit" was closer, and Talik decided to go in first. The four-foot-tall, double-winged, austere door opened easily at the literal touch of a hand. Talik glanced around the vast and absolute room and saw the "inmates" at once.

I guess my timing is bad.

Wilhelm held the bewildered Illadria's thin palm in his hands and whispered something heatedly. She was obviously uncomfortable, but she didn't pull away. They noticed him too, and all three stared at each other in silence for a few seconds. Finally, Talik made up his mind and interrupted the distressing scene.

. . .

"I'll come back later," he said as he closed the door.

So they are dating. It's kind of enviable. That's what "out from under the nose" means, isn't it? Well, whoever had the time, ate it. It's my own fault.

Draga snorted arrogantly at the closing door. She was literally showing superiority and a kind of inner contentment, the nature of which Talik did not understand.

Well, at least she's not mad, and that's good... Well, Malikriss, I see that there's no way to avoid meeting you.

Before the next door, though, he lingered a bit. His inner resolve began to melt away, and Talik counted to ten as he closed his eyes. He couldn't lose his confidence and his clarity of thought.

The heavy-looking sashes came apart easily from the touch.

It was very bright inside, though there was no light source as such. The huge square room, just like the previous one, was just as dull gray. The tenants were supposed to paint, or at least just design the walls and furnishings to their liking. But as it was, there was nothing to catch the eye.

Everything is by default, all from a series of "we'll finish later", such lazy bastards. At least they could do it by the template, it's not so expensive. The impression is oppressive... Where, exactly...? Yeah.

In the far corner, there was the character he was looking for.

A gray-skinned girl in a shabby, simple turban and blindfold sat on her knees in the far corner. Her knees were drawn together, her back slightly bent, her head tilted, and her hands resting on her hips.

She is still there, as she was planted in that unfortunate year. Isn't it all numb in there?

Talik well remembered arguing with Kaschei at this place. The elderly nerd insisted on removing Malikriss to free up the resource, and Talik pedantically spelled out why it wasn't profitable and how many resources would be wasted because of the unprofitable conversion during the redesign.

Talik wanted to remove it himself, for personal reasons. Then the greed took over. The Mentalist had been created half on his dime. And then... The readjustment was delayed, delayed, and then switched to more interesting methods of warfare. Malikriss was left as the contents of a closet. Pity to throw it away, but no use for it.

There was an angry hiss through his teeth behind his shoulder. Talik turned around. Draga looked something like a dog that had seen a cat it hated long ago. She squinted her eyes and scowled a little, her grin showing through her pursed lips.

He put his hand on her shoulder.

"Relax."

Draga obediently bowed and stopped resembling a kettle about to explode. Talik knew, with her temper that it wouldn't last long. It was useless to explain to her that she had no real reason to hate Malikriss, he tried. But at least she kept her temper in check.

Talik walked to the back of the empty hall and stopped in front of Malikriss. She showed no sign of life and appeared to be an elaborate puppet. He noticed a loose strand in her hair and involuntarily fixed it.

The girl, in response to this movement, leaned into his hand like a sprout to the sun, raising her face and smiling.

"You came at last..."

Talik sighed, looked around, and realized belatedly that it would be stupid to look for a chair here. After a brief hesitation, thinking, +Well, who should I be embarrassed about?+ he sat down on the stone floor in front of her.

"I came. Maybe I should have done it sooner, but better late than never."

At the word "never," Malikriss flinched. Talik was silent, studying her.

Malikriss was very beautiful. You wouldn't expect otherwise from a character drawn by 4eJl. But there was something about her that no artist could lay down. Something elusive, appealing...

"Malikriss, I want you to stop."

The charm immediately went away, leaving just a very beautiful woman.

"I could expect nothing less from the omniscient Lord. Forgive my impertinence, I was only trying to lighten your mood..."

"You don't have to. In fact, don't ever do that again unless I ask you explicitly. Do we have a deal?"

"Your will is an immutable law," bowed the Drow.

Talik wasn't really sure she was trying to influence him. It was a "just in case" move, and it turned out to be quite successful.

"This is going to sound a little strange, but how do you feel here? Hunger, thirst, other natural needs? Especially the last couple of weeks."

"No, Your Holiness, these things do not make me very uncomfortable. The anguish of the soul is much greater. I would like the right to leave this place."

"That's what I came to talk to you about."

Talik sighed, looking up at the ceiling.

"Assuming that I... I'll let you out of here. What would you do?"

"I will do whatever you tell me to do," Malikriss bowed."

Talik sighed again.

"That's not an answer. If you were NP... Um... A puppet capable only of following orders, this conversation wouldn't be happening at all. But you're not a puppet. Not a puppet anymore, at least..."

He thought about it for a while and continued.

"Let's be frank. I want to understand what to do with you. And to do that, I need to understand what you are now. Who you see yourself as, now and in the future, and what you're going to strive for. Well, judging by the fact that you tried to influence me in the first place..."

Talik heard the rustle of metal behind him and a strangled growl. He turned and looked sternly at Drega, who was about to kill the witch. At his gaze, she backed away a little, and slid her sword back into its scabbard, though her eyes, fixed on the Drow, still glowed with hatred. He turned to Malikriss again and continued.

"...do you want something other than blindly following my orders? So, I would like a full and detailed answer to my question. How this conversation ends will depend on it."

Malikriss straightened her back. Her posture had changed, and now there was Malikriss, who matched her description. A strong, proud woman who did not know the words "half-measures" and "extremes".

"Marius told me that there is another world beyond the walls of the City. I want to carry your will into that world. To rise so high in it that my words on your behalf could be heard by everyone. I wished it in the past, and I stumbled... Now, I know the value of my faith, and I will destroy anyone who tries to contradict You."

Talik felt a mixture of relief and disappointment. He feared trouble, but still hoped for some sanity on the part of at least such a character.

"I hear you. Let me give you some clarity. This world... It's very vulnerable, even, rather, defenseless against our Guild. It's very easy to destroy, based on what I know of my... predecessors. And I don't want to destroy it. Change it, take some things away, make it better, from my point of view but not break it."

"And you did a great job of showing that you might not fit in with the idea. Wilhelm's obsessions are your job, right? Why? Although knowing your personality script, I can assume for the sake of discrediting him as an administrator. Over time he would start to mess up more and more, and I would replace him, isn't that the plan? Anyway, I don't really like what you're up to, on the one hand. On the other hand, your skills in this plan could be invaluable. If you use them only with my consent. And that's where the difficulties begin. I have no confidence in you or the strength of your word."

With each word, Malikriss looked more and more depressed. It was as if a heavy weight had been placed on her back.

"Kill me if you don't believe me... Kill me any time you want, any way you see fit. Give me any order, and I'll be happy to obey it. Just don't leave me here, please, give my existence some meaning!"

Her words were physically tangible hope and despair. And Talik realized that he could not sleep well if he left her here. Right now Marius's curses were keeping him awake, and then his conscience would add to them. Except the curses would go away but his conscience would not.

"All right. I'll believe you, and I really hope I don't have to regret it. Now, I need you to do something." He chewed his lips. "You know some spells designed to neutralize the enemy. Three of them you used against me that day. I want you to do them again. Each one of them, one by one."

"You say you don't believe me, and you demand to commit treason again. This is cruel!"

Tears appeared from under the blindfold.

"I swore... I..."

Talik, seeing the tears, was a little confused at first.

Oh, damn. Shit. I wasn't prepared for this at all, what am I supposed to do?

He quickly searched his memory and remembered a couple of cheesy movies. He didn't appreciate the romance genre himself but on a date, a guy's tastes didn't mean much.

Talik put his hand gently on Malikriss' shoulder. She twitched, clearly expecting the worst.

"I'm not asking you to do this just to mock you. It's really necessary. I'll explain later. For now, just do it, please."

"As... As you command..." Malikriss sobbed and raised her head.

Draga flowed smoothly behind her back, exposing her sword and placing the blade on the shoulder.

"I hope you understand," Talik said in an apologetic tone.

"Yes, Your Holiness. I... I understand."

She took off the tear-wet blindfold in a smooth motion. Actually, the blindfold was part of the character's image, and it was supposed to be impossible to remove. But Talik had begun to get used to that sort of thing long ago.

Under the blindfold were large, piercingly beautiful almond-shaped eyes. Transparent, bottomless, like space. They were like a huge height beneath, terrifying and distracting.

It looked something like the space from the space saga he was playing when he was looking for a replacement for Yggdrassil. Star Explorers. Beautiful interstellar battles, complex tactical formations, and political passions. One of the fun features of the game was that the player could fully integrate into his ship through implants. The perception was quite different from what one gets used to in a lifetime. 4eji, a great expert in the field of recreational chemistry, compared it to the most vivid adventures from some particularly poisonous drugs.

Talik smiled as he recalled his most vivid moments. When he had scrambled the enemy strike fleet to maneuver within range of the star's detonation. Triggering an explosion and dying himself, of course, but that was the plan. So, while listening to curses in his address and receiving "letters of happiness", he had already respawned on the maser and led a massive nuclear bombardment of the industrial and residential colonies of the aggressor. Somewhere there is even a record of it.

Pity, serious battles were very rare there. Losses in battles were very expensive for pampered balance lovers. And without them, the game got boring very quickly. Unlike Yggdrassil, in which this sort of thing, albeit not as pathos-filled, happened almost every day. At the time, at least.

The slight haunting that had made the memories so vivid had dissipated. He rubbed his eyes and looked at the visibly pale Drow.

"What's the matter with you?"

"N... Nothing," she lowered her head. "Your mind is... Very strong, it is difficult for me to carry out... Your order. It was [Capture of Memory]. Shall I continue?"

"Yes."

Malikriss didn't change her posture, but Talik felt a rush of extreme fatigue. His thoughts became confused, and he felt dizzy and nauseous. He brushed it off.

"That's not it. Give me the next one."

And what came next was exactly what he had hoped for. Apathy, indifference, and mild irritation at having to be distracted by something came over him in a powerful wave. The panic attack from the memories of recent events drowned in the murky water of indifference to everything.

The stupor that had almost completely enveloped him dissipated almost immediately - the amulet had worked, small, prickly shards of it scattered under his cassock.

He looked up.

"That's enough. This is it."

"[Shackles of the mind]?" Malikriss asked cautiously, looking at him with fear in her eyes. "It is... One of those three spells."

That time it was exactly the same but there was a side effect. What was the effect, how did it work, and how the hell did they combine it? Did they figure out how magic works and create something based on what they had, or did they invent it themselves? Who else can do that, what are the limitations, the costs? Oh, guys, there's so much I want to ask you.

"Yes, I can see that. Okay. The main thing I wanted, I got."

"А..." hesitantly, even timidly, Malikriss began and fell silent when Draga pressed the blade a little harder against her neck.

"And you... Draga, put the sword away, please. And you're coming with us now. There's a man who could help me in some ways but he has a nasty temper. I want to see if you can change some of his outlook on life."

He stood up and gave her a hand. Malikriss hesitantly leaned on it, standing up. She bowed, but he could see the cold, sarcastic look in her eyes as she looked at Draga. And the way the demoness' lip twitched predatorily.

That's when both are good, isn't it?

And also, you two. I know you're not in a good relationship, but keep it under control. Draga, don't pick on her for no reason. And don't make it about you, Malikriss. Otherwise, you'll both be here resting, and I won't care who started it. Deal?

* * *

RiP · Jun 21, 2022

* * *

*Inmates*

The prison was not much like what is usually called by that word. Wilhelm knew what a real prison should look like. It wasn't. No cages, no straw on the floor, no guards, nothing. Just a huge gray room, as if cut off from the rest of the world.

He had never been in this wing of the castle before the end of the world. It never even occurred to him to go to the place where the symbol of betrayal lay for eternity. After that, he had only gone in a couple of times and had never opened the door to where he thought the cells were. And he went in furtively - everything here literally screamed that there was nothing for him to do here. This place was like the beginning of madness, where reality mixed with the dream. Everything around here looked like what it was supposed to be - and it wasn't.

He realized that he was simply afraid to be here, in the colorless, an eerily quiet parody of the rest of the palace. This fear had no face; it was impossible to fight it. It seemed to him that if he stayed here long enough, it would vanish between reality and dream, disappear as if it had never existed. There was something of a child's horror story in that, but who better than one of the Older Vassals to know that Lords could be far more mysterious and dangerous than any nightmare.

William had long been the ruler of the place but he was never really the master. Even for him, there were prohibitions. He was well aware of that, and it hurt him but he had learned to hide that feeling inside - and now he understood the meaning of those prohibitions. Though the crown was light, it had been given by beings above the gods, and he, a former rebel, could not turn his nose up at it. The Lords had not given him absolute power but the one he had by their will was far stronger than any other one imaginable.

Until recently.

Everything he had, he had blown away with his own hands. The faith, honor, power, and purpose that had led him into the future vanished like steam. His life always reminded him of a castle. A castle that had gone through bad times but which had rested on an absolutely solid foundation since he had met the Prophet.

It didn't take much for me to turn it into thin ice...

There was no perception of the passage of time here. He could not tell how much time had passed since the door closed behind the Prophet who had personally brought him here. Maybe a minute, maybe a year. Wilhelm was sure he would have lost his mind if he had been here alone.

But Illadria was here, too. And she, so alive, so real, so out of place in this impersonal space, was the beacon that kept his consciousness afloat. Without her, he would have sunk long ago into the bottomless abyss of guilt, regret, and the meaninglessness of his existence.

And talking to her was like moving time forward, keeping it from freezing up.

She did not blame him for what happened. It was he who deprived her of her choice when she hesitated to act. And yet Wilhelm did not hear any reproach from her. They just talked. Not as they did on the palace terrace or in her parks - there was trust and common cause then but there was no such sincerity. They both opened to each other only that part of their souls that a comrade-in-arms is allowed to see. Now it was different.

And until some time they tried not to touch the subject of their future. Wilhelm did not want to think about it, and he was glad that Illadria did not bring it up either. They simply shared their experiences, impressions, aspirations, and dreams. And he discovered something.

The passivity, the pliability, and the certain naivety that he had assumed to be merely a weakness of character proved to be signs of youth. She was considerably older than Wilhelm, and yet she was an elf. This explained so many things, and Wilhelm was now a little ashamed of the way he had treated her before.

As he realized, 70-80 years for an elf is the same as 15-17 years for a human. He just expected too much from her. She could seem like a mature, confident woman but she really wasn't.

They sat side by side just leaning with their backs against one of the walls, and tried not to look at the door. The silence after the last words was already pressing on their souls, and Illadria finally broached the subject they had been avoiding.

"Do you think we'll be deleted? After what we did..."

"I don't think so," Wilhelm answered, putting his arm around her shoulder.

"Why?" The elf-woman looked at him cautiously.

Wilhelm wasn't really sure what he was saying. But for some reason, he wanted to reassure her not upset her.

"Because someone has already committed such a crime. You know who I mean."

"Malikriss? I've always hated her so much, and now I'm in the same position... Honestly, I'd rather die than have a fate like hers."

"Stop it. Life, no matter how awful it is, always gives you a chance. Even to someone like... To people like us."

"I'm not sure I want that kind of life, Wilhelm. It's like my soul has been taken out of me, and I'm left with an empty shell... How do you have the strength not to give up? After... And you made such plans, and all at once everything fell apart."

He squeezed her shoulder a little tighter.

"I am what I was born to be. I want to carry the law and order of our Creators and Rulers. And even though it sounds ridiculous now, I will wait for the chance to get things back on track."

Illadria smiled sadly and laid her head on his shoulder.

"Listening to you, I think it might work out. But I'm not going to be the Prophet's wife now for sure.".

Wilhelm didn't answer right away.

"Personally, I'm not upset about it."

"What?" Illadria pulled away in surprise. "I thought you were ready to marry me, even by force, if you had to? For power, for influence, for an heir?"

"Yes, that's true. But also for... For the sake of... Not to think that you could have been there for me. Not to dream of the impossible."

Illadria pulled away from him and hugged her knees.

"Have you thought about asking what I want?"

"I didn't. It didn't seem important to me. I'm sorry."

"Does it matter now?"

"It's important now. And it will continue to be important."

Illadria sighed.

"I love Him as God, as the embodiment of Power, of Wisdom. I... I'm not sure I could be happy as a woman. And this marriage that you have planned would be a great honor for me, and joy but not a family. We are not, and never will be equal to Him, you know? It seemed to me that... Nevermind."

"Hey," Wilhelm took her by the arm, turning her toward him. "I told you. It's important now. Look at me."

"Get off."

"No way. I want to hear it."

"I'll think about it."

"Damn you, woman, I'm not some kid you can mess with!"

"Yes? Well, not some kid who's about three times my age. I thought something more sincere and real might have worked out with you if you hadn't been a ram who wiped his feet on my attempts to show it!"

William embraced her palm with both of his own.

"Yes, I was a ram. I'll try not to be one from now on. Don't be angry."

"It is too late, Wilhelm. We have betrayed our Lord, so it is foolish to expect to be allowed to be happy..."

"I used to say that life always gives us a chance."

He was going to convince her, and he saw that she would argue with him. It gave some hope for the best and allowed them to forget about the position they were in, if only for a little while.

Arguing, persuading, and getting one's way was something he considered himself a master at, and with good reason. He inhaled to begin, and then the door opened and a sense of higher presence washed over him. The same one that wasn't there in Necropolis that made him lose his mind.

Prophet was standing on the doorstep. Of course, he immediately saw what was going on. Wilhelm froze, feeling Illadria's hand clench convulsively.

But no thunder or lightning struck them. Prophet with a slight raise of his eyebrow simply said:

"I'll be back later."

And went out closing the door.

"What will happen to us now?" Illadria asked with fear in her voice.

"I don't know," Wilhelm answered, hugging her tightly. "But we have been given time. Let's not waste it with doubts, regrets, and fear."

* * *

*Lias and Marius*

In the spacious tomb faintly lit by a steady yellowish light, a duel was going on. A skeleton in massive armor with a saber and a shield attacked a gaunt man in a simple monk's cassock with a staff.

The human being looked about twenty years old, no more, and was almost completely gray-haired.

At first, it might have seemed that he had no chance of surviving. But the first impression was quickly dispelled. The man simply saved his strength moved very sparingly and retreated buying the moment. And that moment came.

Lias shifted his weight from foot to foot and poked his opponent with his staff. Right in the chest, in the center of his gravity and immediately rebounded a step taking the staff aside. The heavy dull saber pierced the air where it had just been a few moments too late.

Another half-step and the heavy shaft of the staff collapsed on the steel shoulder pad of the armored skeleton. There was a crackling sound through the muffled clang of metal. The undead immediately tried to strike Lias with the saber again but the hand failed the dead man the blow was awkward and slow. Lias, building on his success, turned his staff with a thud, knocking the saber aside, and the weapon flew away with a clang.

The dead warrior, unarmed, hesitated for a moment, and Lias immediately took advantage of the pause. He still couldn't summon the Light Force instantly, and he needed some time to concentrate. He tried to buy that bit of time by knocking his opponent off-balance and crippling him.

His Mentor, a rational, ruthless bastard, thought the teaching methods Lias was accustomed to were useless and ineffective.

I see no reason to spend years on something you can master in days, said the mad god of Death. In your case, the pursuit of perfection is a far weaker incentive to learn than the desire to survive

As unfortunate as it was, master Marius was, as usual, completely right. Lias couldn't tell if the teacher really cared whether his student survived or not. But he did know that no pity or sympathy was to be expected from this monster.

Lias's palm wrapped in a golden glow touched the skeleton's breastplate. The light immediately soaked into the metal, only to sparkle a moment later inside the armor.

The armor-clad skeleton twitched and crumbled to the marble floor. Lias exhaled heavily, bent over with fatigue.

From the shadows between the columns, the master appeared smoothly. The blue lights in his empty eye sockets glowed dimmer than usual from beneath his hood.

"Master, give me a few more minutes," Lias pleaded.

"Are you tired?" Marius' voice rustled indifferently.

"Really. Can I at least catch my breath?"

"No."

The parts of the defeated skeleton came together, and the bone warrior stood again in front of the groaning Lias.

"Taking breaks increases the effectiveness of physical exercise. We have a different goal."

A skeleton in armor swung his saber, almost reaching the gray-haired man. He only parried the blow with his staff at the last moment.

"The goal of what is happening is to develop your magical powers to a level where they can be recognized as existing."

"You don't have to try to kill me for that!"

"It works better with you than any other technique, and I've already explained why," Archlich said nonchalantly. "So you're wrong."

Lias, batting away another blow with his staff, put his hand in an unfortunate position. The dead man's saber slid across the girl and sliced the boy's fingers clean off. Lias jerked his hand back with a scream, dropping the staff and recoiling. The last of it saved his life. A new slash of the sword did not split his head open but cut his cheek.

It felt like boiling water had been splashed on his face. Tears spurted almost as hard as blood.

Lias could not keep his feet and collapsed on his back. Lying curled up on the cold marble floor, clutching his mangled hand with his healthy one. He watched, mesmerized as the armored dead man took a step and raised his weapon.

Lias shrugged off the pain almost immediately, so the wounds didn't really interfere with his thinking. He noted in passing the fulfillment of a childhood dream. Listening to stories about how heroes of myths and stories overcame pain, he too wanted such willpower as they had.

Now he himself is able to detach himself from the pain. Almost ignore it. Not right away, not for long, and only when he was sober, but still.

Indeed. What is a sword stroke for someone who has been punished for negligence by the God of Death?

Lying on the floor bleeding he knew that if he did nothing he would be killed. The teacher would not interfere; he obviously believed that Lias could handle it. And since the Master is never wrong, there must be a way out.

What could he do in this situation? The same as last time but faster and better.

Lias detached himself from everything around him recalling the sensation of warmth in his chest. With the edge of his consciousness, he noted and suppressed the fear of failure and death. The warmth directed by an effort of will flowed reluctantly through his body according to a memorized pattern.

Lias knew quite a lot of ways to control his inner power. His master didn't just mock his apprentice, he really taught. He answered any questions in great detail, explained them from several points of view, helped him make diagrams and sequences, and selected literature. The latter was extremely difficult to understand it was very poor in detail, containing mostly general principles. And without his master's help, Lias would not have advanced even a hundredth of what he now knew.

Here are just the practical methods of " reinforcement of the material "...

No, it's too slow, I won't have time. How about this? It might not work but if I don't try, I'm guaranteed to die.

The saber collapsed on the lying body and Lias put his open palm out to meet it. The blade just a few inches from his hand struck an invisible barrier. The air shimmered faintly revealing the thinnest dome that covered the boy.

The skeleton swung around again and chopped at the protective dome. Not in vain as it was barely visible, it almost vanished into thin air. But Lias was finally able to concentrate.

A golden beam of light came flying out of the boy's hands changing shape randomly and slammed into the dead warrior. The skeleton instantly burst like a torch and crumbled into ash, leaving only its armor and weapons behind.

At the same time monstrous, irresistible fatigue came over Lias himself. He passed out before he could even close his eyes.

From the shadows of the pillars, Marius hovered leisurely toward the body lying by the pile of ash. He lifted his palm lazily, and a ghostly haze [stasis] wrapped around Lias's body. Then with another wave of his palm, the lich sent a wriggling ball of darkness into the skeletal remains. The pile of ash mixed with the details of the armor didn't react.

"Hmm," Archlich said with interest.

A new motion of the bone palm and the ash rose into the air in a small moving cloud. The cloud briefly took on the shape of a human bone but it remained shaky and indistinct.

"Well, yes, it makes sense," Marius tapped his finger on his chin, "some of the materials were lost in the flames."

Archlich let go of his telekinetic grip, and the ash crumbled to the floor.

"[recoil]," Marius muttered.

The remains of the burned-out skeleton seemed to be touched by the wind, lifting the ashes back into the air. A second later the bone warrior was lying on the floor, unharmed. Marius sent another blast of darkness at him but there was no reaction.

"Even so?" The archlich was surprised. "Curious... Selena."

A female vampire stepped out of the shadows and knelt down.

"Take Lias to the city and deliver him to the nearest temple to be restored. Then have this bone taken to the laboratory. Go."

"I obey, Master."

Marius stopped paying attention to her. He was... Encouraged. This impromptu Lias was not what Marius had expected but something far more significant.

Irreversible destruction. I had no idea that such an effect could exist.

Marius quickly replayed in his mind all the books he had used to teach the boy. At first glance, they contained nothing of the sort. Even assuming it was possible to assemble a spell as a mosaic from different pieces of existing ones, a spell with such an effect could not be obtained.

So he didn't just use it, he changed something. Does that mean he understood the theory of magic? Unlikely, more likely an accident again. One way or another, it seems that I have fulfilled my Lord's orders to find the talent in him. Now we must find out if it is a talent for surprise under pressure or talent for constructing spells.

Marius thought both options were equally possible. The second one would have suited him much better. In this case, even the effect of the spell, the meaning of which could get strategic. He still could not derive a fundamental theory explaining the mechanisms of the things he was accustomed to. Of course, he was not standing still and many dependencies conditions and sequences were already known to him - albeit only as theories and hypotheses. Lias's training had greatly contributed to this - the boy, though blatantly stupid, from Marius's point of view, had mastered the basics of abstract thinking and could explain what he was doing and how he was doing it.

Yet Marius was aware that he was only a user, not a designer. He strove to change that - and Lias once again showed him a piece of the road to what he wanted.

* * *

*Akuro*

Akuro, for the first time in his eventful life, wanted to die.

In the pit where his body lay in a puddle of his own filth, he could not even move to step aside. Everything below his shoulder blades felt as if through a thick layer of cloth, and that was a boon, judging by the way he could feel his hands.

The damned orc whose fanged face was constantly before his eyes ruined everything the slave-trader believed in. He simply broke Akuro, literally. And there was nothing he could do about it. The difference in strength, reflexes, and speed of reaction was as if Akuro were an elven teenager in the hands of an experienced Holy Scripture fighter.

After the battle in which he killed the adult orc, Akuro was sure that he could defeat any of them. Or defeat them - but at such a cost that the victor, if he survived his triumph, would be maimed for life. He thought he understood how they fought, how to kill them.

The orc showed him how wrong that thinking was.

Up to that point, Akuro thought it was impossible to snatch a weapon from the hands of an experienced fighter. That it was a myth from fairy tales for those who had no idea what real combat was like. Now he knew what it was like to have his sword hand caught in a ruthless pincer that turned bones into crushed mincemeat in a single motion.

He fought back as hard as he could and it only amused his opponent. Again, like that time in the forest when for the first time he felt himself in the place of the victims of his game with the sword. The crowning moment of this humiliation was when the orc urinated on the body, broken beyond recognition.

Know your place, meat, said the orc.

The world was no longer the world Akuro was used to. One in which he meant something. And in this new place, in which the monsters were so much stronger than humans he simply saw no place for himself. Even if he did not die here, even if he were cured again by the miraculous salty abomination he would always remember the heights that man could never reach.

And so he wanted it to be over for him.

Through the rumbling and whistling in his ears came words he couldn't understand. Then again. He wanted to send the voices back to the demons but all he heard was a faint croak.

Suddenly a torrent of life-giving power washed over his body. It seemed to wash over every muscle, every bone, carrying away the muddy dirt of pain, fatigue, and numbness. Breathing was suddenly as easy as before - and even the stench of filth in the air seemed clean and life-affirming. He moved his leg, then his arm - the body was perfectly docile.

So they won't let me die yet. All right, bitches. We'll see about that.

Akuro sat up with his hand on the ground and opened his eyes.

Opposite him, just beyond the edge of the puddle, were four men. Another orc and Akuro had never been able to tell them apart. A woman of striking beauty he'd seen once before. She wore striking armor in white and gold colors, and though Akuro thought a woman had no right to wear armor he involuntarily stared. There was another woman, a dark-skinned woman in a simple turban and a blindfold. She, too, was very pretty, reminiscent in some way of the slave women he had recently captured. There was something strange about her he did not immediately understand what but then he noticed. Her ears. Too small for an elf, almost the size of a human.

Akuro involuntarily wondered how much it might be worth. Was it some unknown breed, or the work of a skilled surgeon? The ears looked so cute, he wished he'd thought of cutting them off sooner.

And there was that young man with the unremembered face.

Akuro grinned crookedly, trying to shake the dried clay and shit off his hand.

"To what do I owe the honor of this visit, noble sir?"

"I wanted to talk to you."

"I would be happy to answer any questions."

In fact, more than anything in the world, Akuro would be glad to stab the bastard. Slowly, thoughtfully. It was his fault that Akuro's life was derailed

The faceless man turned to the dark-skinned slave girl.

"What do you think, Malikriss? What is he thinking about?"

"He dreams of slowly torturing you to death, Your Holiness," she replied with a deep bow.

A wave of panic rose in Akuro's soul and immediately subsided.

This scum can read minds. One might assume she reads by her facial expression but she's wearing a blindfold. Though who knows what kind of magical objects there might be. I don't care. Let her read, what can they do to me that they haven't already done.

"Not what I was hoping for, but he's got a point. Okay. It's even easier that way."

He held his hand out to the side, and the orc put Akuro's sword into it. His pride and greatest treasure. It took a great effort for Akuro not to gnash his teeth in anger. The faceless man expertly weighed the blade, removed it from its sheath, and examined the blade.

"Where did you get this?"

"A war trophy," Akuro muttered, squinting at the dark-skinned slave girl. "I took it from an adventurer's corpse years ago."

"Did you kill him? Why?"

"Because he came to take away what did not belong to him."

"Yes? And what was that? As far as I have been able to figure out adventurers don't do robberies."

"He wanted to take women from the party to sell. That is robbery."

"That's how. I get it. I have a question, and I've asked this question to another person before, and I haven't gotten a coherent answer. Tell me, how is it that some people can own other people? By what right? By right of force, or by some other right? I really can't understand it."

"Half-humans and heretics are obliged to atone for the sin of their existence by serving the descendants of the Heroes. This is the supreme law that comes from the will of the Gods. I, like any Theocrat, in my holy right to own whoever I wish."

"Yeah," the faceless man rubbed the bridge of his nose. " Well, let's get back to the sword. As I understand it, you're considered a talented swordsman. Tell me, did you become one after you took possession of that sword?"

It was a sucker punch. It really was, though Akuro tried not to bring it up. His talent for swordsmanship had manifested itself a couple of months after he'd taken possession of that sword. After his first serious skirmish on the border with the elves.

"Yes," Akuro finally squeezed out.

"And that adventurer you took it from. Was he a good fighter, in your opinion?"

"Excellent," Akuro said confidently.

This adventurer was barely defeated by the entire security team. Half of the group was slaughtered on the spot, and half of those that remained died of their wounds. Akuro wasn't sure that even now he could easily defeat that guy one-on-one.

The faceless man smiled incomprehensibly.

"Good. Very, very good. Now one more thing. You've progressed very well in... Skills, while you've been here. You killed one orc, but that was after you... Man, it's hard to find the words. After you moved on to the next level or something?"

"That's right, noble sir."

"Why these questions, noble lord? Or can't your slave girl get everything you want to know out of my head?"

Faceless nodded.

"She can. But there's a subtlety here. You have a lot of years of life in your head, and it will take much longer to find among them what I need than to just ask. All right," he turned to the slave girl. "So, Malikriss? Can you do what we talked about?"

"Yes, Your Holiness," she bowed deeply.

Akuro had a vague sense that she was scared out of her wits about the faceless man.

Does reads his thoughts, too? What does she see there? Although, knowing some nobles, one can guess.

Meanwhile, the slave girl walked toward him with an easy, graceful step, not even staining her slender legs.

"Well, animal, do me a favor, don't try to resist."

"You!" Akuro instantly burst out and tried to punch her in the face.

He was willing to endure any pain but not the humiliation of a half-man, much less a woman. Akuro had already imagined pounding her beautiful face into a bloody mess when the order came:

"Sit."

The slave's voice, actually very beautiful low with a slight huskiness whipped his consciousness with such force that his body became paralyzed. Without realizing what he was doing he obeyed sitting on his knees in front of her.

"Ignorance, stupidity, impudence all in one. You are beautiful in your ugliness, human. Why do you think you have the right to act as if the world belongs to the likes of you?"

Because I am a human being and you are dirt who is not worthy to be anything but an amusement toy.

Because I am human I am a descendant of the gods who created this world for human beings.

Because only humans fought back against any evil that sought to destroy the world while those like you lay down under it in the hope of elevating themselves.

Because...

He wasn't going to answer her. Thoughts, feelings, and memories arose on their own, fueling anger and stubbornness. And it wasn't immediately apparent to Akuro that something was going on. Every ideal engraved in his soul that he had followed all his life was strangely eroding. It was no longer inspiring such firm confidence, was becoming somehow false, silly. And from underneath what had become extraneous false truths other truths began to emerge. Real ones.

Akuro realized with cold clarity and animal terror that he was being broken. Without sermons, without torture tools. He was being CHANGED. They were making him a puppet, taking away what he valued most - his pride and his right to be human. His soul.

Hate and helplessness ripped a long cry from his chest. He could barely hear it himself, mesmerized by the flood of new knowledge rushing into his memory. And soon it was over.

"You can get up," Malikriss said.

"As you say, Mistress," Akuro nodded and stood up.

He was ashamed and a little afraid of his past judgments about her. Of course, without knowing what was what, it was really easy to mistake her for a slave. But now, knowing how cruel, vindictive, and powerful she was, he seriously feared for his fate.

In fact, anyone here could have swatted him up like a fly without even noticing. But the rest of them couldn't read him as a dark witch. So he took the first step toward trying to keep himself safe. Kneeled before the only one who could protect him.

"Your Holiness, I beg your forgiveness for my past behavior. How can I atone for my rudeness?"

"Never mind," Prophet brushed off. "Malikriss, how long would you say the effects last?"

"He's going to stay that way forever. It's a different person, though in many ways similar, and with the same memory, just as you wish."

"Okay. But in the meantime, check it every day. If there are any side effects or if he does start to change back, let me know right away."

"As you command," she bowed deeply.

Prophet held out his hand, and Warboss held up two long, straight swords in suede sheaths. For all the seeming simplicity of the weapons, Akuro's gaze was permanently fixed on them. He could tell with certainty that the quality and finesse of these poorly ornamented swords were head and shoulders above the one he had.

Prophet held out swords to Akuro.

"These are paired swords to transition to the next class. Try fighting with them now. And keep in mind, if you kill anyone else here, you'll really regret it."

"I understand, Your Holiness," Akuro bowed, and reached for his swords but stopped.

"What's the matter?" Prophet wondered.

Akuro hid his face in a bow.

"My hands are dirty and filthy, Your Holiness. I do not want to defile a noble weapon by taking it like this."

Prophet smiled.

"I understand. Warboss, can you give him a tent with all the supplies he needs?"

"We will," murmured the orc unhappily.

Prophet frowned.

"Are you unhappy about something?"

"I don't like it, Prophet. I don't understand it. First, this man was a prisoner, then he killed one of ours, and now he wants a tent?"

"What's the problem?"

"If he will live among us, let him live like us. He'll get his own hides and make his own tent. He will raise the household by himself."

"Fair enough. So be it."

Prophet and the women departed. Only Akuro and the incarnation of destruction remained in the pit.

Warboss looked at Akuro and muttered:

"What the fuck are you sitting around for? Don't you have anything to do? I'll find it. Move your ass, BOYZ."

Akuro would have been glad to tell him to go to hell, and he would have done so before. But now, he knew for sure, it only made sense to contradict the Chief if he was tired of living. Climbing out of the pit on the same ladder, he glanced at the part of the camp that was visible.

Even without the prism of racial hatred, he didn't like what he saw. He didn't want to live here, among the crude, inherently primitive creatures. Of course, the choice between the camp and the pit was obviously in favor of the former. But he certainly wasn't going to live here forever, among the constant noise, the stench, the clamor.

He was poked roughly in the back. He turned around - one of the orcs was towering over him.

"Hey, you stink. Go wash."

"Yeah. Where's the water?"

"There's a lake over there," the orc poked his beefy finger somewhere in the direction.

Akuro went where the orc had pointed. As he maneuvered between the tents, fighting off the pesky children, he repeated like a mantra: "It's not forever. It's not forever."

* * *

RiP · Jun 26, 2022

Chapter 21

* * *

*Daimons group*

The road to E-Rantel took less time than one might have expected. There was absolutely nothing to remember along the way.

Daimon and his group decided not to stop at the settlements along the way. Bryce grumbled for appearance, but he knew without a doubt that the sooner they reached the Guild and relayed the information, the better.

The light show in the sky promised to change quite a few things in the Kingdom. And perhaps not only in the Kingdom. It was too great a phenomenon to be taken for granted. Era believed that the churchmen would inevitably see it as a sign of the end of the world. And so the Church would surely try to consolidate its position under the pretext of rallying in the face of the threat.

And no one will ignore one of the most influential political forces if it starts pulling the blanket over itself.

Era was also eager to talk to the Chief Sorcerer of the E-Rantel Guild. He was by no means the strongest of the wizards, but he had a great deal of experience and knowledge in all things magical. Even the legendary Paradin himself had tried to lure him to teach at the Imperial Academy.

There was pandemonium in front of the gates of E-Rantel. It was always crowded - merchants, suppliers, mercenaries, nobles, mercenaries of all stripes. Now it looked as if the city was under siege.

"It feels like all the villagers around here are rushing into town," Daimon said as he looked for a place in the queue.

"Do you think it's because of that light in the sky?" Bryce clarified.

"It seems that way. I don't see any other reason. Although I didn't think the scale of panic would be so great. Can you imagine what will happen when those who live farther away get here?"

"I think there would be less anxiety if it weren't on the Cursed Plains," Era stretched out thoughtfully. "It would be nice to get into town at least by evening..."

Her words were prophetic. The enormous number of people wanting to get into the town stretched into a chaotic queue for miles. There were occasional arguments, fights, and on one occasion even a stabbing. Only Daimon's brutal intervention saved the bloodshed by giving the troublemaker a showy beating.

By evening, it was clear that they simply would not get into the city in the general order. The people around them were angry - it turned out that no one thought of the fact that they might not get into town on the first day. Children cried, and enterprising carters offered overnight lodging in warm hay at exorbitant fees. Finally, word spread through the crowd that no more newcomers were allowed into the town. Indignation began to boil among the people.

"It's no good," Daimon said dryly.

There was a growing clamor everywhere. Next to their company, someone was speaking to the crowd about injustice, and it resonated with the hearts of the listeners.

Era glanced furtively at the firestarter and turned away. But the ringleader noticed her gaze.

"Why do you turn away, redhead? Or don't you think we're being treated unfairly? Maybe you're one of the ones who's sure to have a warm bed and a hearty lunch there, huh?"

The orator was clearly fired up by the feeling of the crowd behind him. He clearly needed a scapegoat.

"Why don't you take us there with you?"

Daimon walked up to the voicey man and smacked his forehead on the firestarter's nose with all his might. He fell unconscious, bleeding profusely all over the place.

"Shut your mouth." He looked sternly at the crowd, who didn't know what to do without a leader. "You want a riot? There is plenty of gallows in E-Rantel, enough for everyone."

"But they won't let us in..." A voice came from somewhere in the back rows.

"Whose problem is that? Go back to your homes."

He defiantly turned away and walked back to his friends. The crowd, deprived of its source of inspiration, began to disperse into separate clusters. Campfires began to appear by the side of the road, where weary people were gathering.

"It's bad," Bryce muttered, looking dejectedly toward such an unattainable gate.

The doors were already closed, and although the drawbridge was lowered, it was blocked by a dense line of guards with halberds.

"What do you suggest?" Daimon asked.

"Well... Nothing so far. But as a last resort, I can find costly methods."

"Legal?"

"Depends how you look at it," Bryce grimaced.

"Let's do it tomorrow if the situation doesn't change."

"Ok."

Era was already looking for a place to sleep. They had the tent, and it was just a matter of finding a place with a good view of the gate. Considering that almost the entire area around the road was already littered with tents and carts, it was not going to be an easy task. But she was up to it.

When they were already stationed next door to a company of silent thugs, scaring away the simple peasants by their mere appearance, Bryce raised his head and listened with interest.

"What is it," Daimon inquired.

"I don't know yet, but someone definitely has a chance to get into town today without bloodshed. Guys, let's pack our bags, we can't miss it."

Daimon and Era looked at each other but did as he said, and made their way to the road still full of people. They didn't have to wait long, and soon there was indignant shouting and disgruntled babble. Someone was walking through the crowd like through a reed. At first, Era was surprised at how quickly the angry shouts subsided, but then she realized what was going on. First came the stifling stench, and then its source was revealed.

Through the crowd walked a warrior in heavy armor, smeared with something dark. He was armed with a spear and a shield, which he easily pushed out of his way those who did not have time to get away. And slung over his shoulder was a mesh sling with two ogre heads dangling from it. Huge, ugly, fat faces with a hideous grins discouraged any desire to quarrel with whoever had apparently separated them from their bodies. And the adventurer's steel medallion rolled lazily over the scruffy blood on his chest plate.

From beneath the raised visor of his full helmet, she could see a ragged, frowning face with eyes red from lack of sleep. She was not even aware of the line of four men marching in the warrior's wake.

"Hey, brother in business!" Bryce came out in front of him, showing him the plate.

"What?" the warrior stared at him incredulously, not slowing down. Bryce had to back away to continue the conversation.

"I see nothing in the world is going to keep you from getting behind the gate tonight, is there? Let us keep you company."

The warrior looked back. One of the four companions following him, in chainmail, with a sword and also with a steel plate, nodded and said:

"It's okay, Wall. We're all in the same business."

"Whatever you say," Wall nodded.

Daimon and company joined the little column. Bryce immediately stuck to whoever gave the "permission".

"Is Wall your leader? I've never heard of him."

"No, he's only on his second mission with us," he replied. "We're pretty fucking lucky to have a fighter like that. I hope he stays with us longer. I'm the leader here. For now, at least. I'm Ginn."

"I'm Bryce, this is Daimon, our leader, this is Era."

He nodded toward the head of the ogre swinging on Wall's back.

"Was it hard?"

"No. I was surprised myself, we were on our way to fight goblins, and then the ogres came out. I thought that would be the end of us. Wall was hit so hard it would've stuck someone else upside the head in the ground. But he didn't give a damn. He poked ogres with his spear, pissing them off so much they wouldn't even turn their backs on him. Tim and Vales had hacked the goblins off, and I was skinning the ogres' knees. The easiest victory of my life."

"The five of you beating two ogres, that's a drinking theme, I'll make up for it."

"Deal. my friend."

Over the course of the conversation, the sprawling company reached the gate. The guards, seeing the approaching procession, stood at the ready, their halberds bristling. The men behind them watched with interest, and they could be heard arguing about how it would end.

Wall walked as he walked, completely unimpressed by the weapon pointed at him. One of the guards, judging by his stripes, a sergeant, shouted:

"Halt! There's no way into the city!"

"There is," Wall said grimly, still not slowing down. "I have two marks on my chest that prove it. A badge and a monster head. Out of my way."

The confidence in his voice, and the way he was moving straight toward the line of halberds, shook the guards' confidence - the soldiers began to glance at their commander. He evidently weighed what he valued more, a quiet shift or a fight with adventurers who were also in their own right, and waved his hand wearily:

"Pass."

The line parted, giving way. The adventurers, accompanied by angry, if not disgruntled, glances, made their way to the gate and into the city.

Inside the city walls, too, it was far from quite - a lot of people had managed to get to E-Rantel, and not everyone had a place in the inns and taverns. Dog barking, cursing, drunken shouting, and foul language from the numerous guards, who were extremely harsh and even violent in their repression of any disorder, spoiled Era's mood.

Thanks again to Wall, which frightened away every person they saw, they quickly made it to the Guild House. The square in front of it was relatively quiet and sparsely populated. Era had feared it would be like the marketplace, or the cathedral square - a lot of people, angry, hungry, waiting for something bad to happen. But a few thugs with brass plates at the entrance apparently discouraged any desire for outsiders to gather here. Ginn turned to Daimon's company:

"We're going to close the quest. We'll meet in the lower hall. Bryce promised a drink, remember?"

"Holy thing, how could I," Daimon smiled. "The way you got us in, I'll get you personally drunk."

"Oh, don't promise what you don't know," Ginn laughed. "It's impossible to get Wall drunk. He's invulnerable."

"Ginn," Wall stepped closer to the talkers. "How much longer do I have to carry this shit on my back?"

"Guys, we really have to go," Ginn said a quick goodbye and headed with his company toward the back door.

On entering the Guild Hall, Bryce casually remarked:

"You noticed that too, didn't you?"

"Yes," answered Era. "You mean the armor, like on those skeletons?"

"With the same insignia," Daimon nodded. "It's all the same."

"I've got a gut feeling there's going to be a very thick mess about this insignia," said Bryce thoughtfully. "Let's keep it out of the report for now."

The rest of them nodded silently.

* * *

*Talik*

In the evening, Talik sat on the bank of the ornamental pond in the courtyard of the palace, feeding the colorful carps. The graceful, lazy fish deftly picked up breadcrumbs tossed into the water, illuminating the pond with a whimsical game of iridescent colors.

Talik was in a rather heavy mood and wanted to be alone, but getting rid of Draga without upsetting her was impossible. She was standing behind him with a tray stacked with hot bread and glowing with pride at being helpful. Talik was determined to get her into bed again tonight, except that after Spy's resurrection, he had other things on his mind.

Marius's curses slowed mana and health regeneration so badly that even a simple resurrection would only have enough for the evening. Talik thought with muffled envy and irritation that perhaps he shouldn't have taken that perk for natural regeneration. By greatly speeding up passive resource regeneration, it rendered any kind of potions and elixirs practically useless. Spending them on himself was like pouring them out and waiting for the effects of the vapors.

Drink a couple of big bottles in the morning, and you'd be as good as new. 2800 resurrector, 1500 bottle. And I'd be in a shitty mood all day, not just tonight. Yeah

Another batch of crumbs flew to the insatiable fish.

Resurrecting Spy went smoothly. In the back of his mind, Talik expected it wouldn't work. After all, he'd always considered himself a realist, and he was partly one even here. And Spy, when they put him on the altar in the temple, was starting to stink of a corpse with his throat cut open. And yet, it worked. And that was a good thing. Now there was the certainty that even if one of his "subordinates" was killed, it was not a verdict yet. Even with a noticeable loss in levels, he could bring them back to life.

But the news, which the stalker was not slow in giving, made Talik sad.

Another player, Rogue. So, if we don't find a common language, he will be a guerrilla. Catching a rogue on the foreign territory... Yeah. And also, he's been here a long time, and judging by the phrase, "hoped that such meetings will not happen again," survived at least the past guests. What were they, demons, I think. Altogether, a grown man who's lived here for at least two hundred years. Who knows what he's picked up in that time, both in terms of attitude and in terms of gears. Theocrats, for example, have surprised me. And me, with the whole City, but without any real experience, how to run it all. And the NPCs just agree with any of my decision.

He stretched out on the bench and stared at the sky.

Although, maybe it wouldn't be so bad. Maybe he knows what kind of faggot nailed me like that. And if I'm lucky, they're enemies. He didn't seem to mind talking to me, checking the ground, to understanding who he was dealing with. The only thing is how to find him now... Although, there are options here.

[message]

"Marius, are you busy now?"

"I conduct a comparative analysis of images of power circles of the same type in different publications. Nothing so important that I could not interrupt for your instructions."

"Do you remember that guy, Lias? How's he doing?"

"He is progressing. Nothing worthy of attention yet, but if you compare it to when he arrived, he has progressed noticeably."

"I need him. It would be great if he could come to the palace..." Talik glanced at Draga. "In a couple of hours. And I thought you said you'd bury me in with your research."

"Given your current height, the stack of notes would reach up to your collarbones. It's going to take me a while before I can give you a proper burial. About six and a half days."

"No. Bring the most important thing you think is there. Tomorrow morning."

"As you wish."

Talik broke the connection and turned to Drega, once again assessing the "cosplay" option, and belatedly hesitated.

Geez. I need a real secretary. Someone to remind me of such things. Okay, whatever, I'm not a character in Katsuba's favorite comic books, that kind of crap won't distract me.

* * *

RiP · Aug 17, 2022

* * *

*Talik*

"...Thus, the hero is a person who is not only the center of attention. It is also a person whose opinion is listened to, even by those who would like to get rid of him. A person who is aware of everything that will become of interest to him. An agent of influence. Understand?"

Talik, engrossed in his impromptu lecture, paced the echoing marble corridor.

He finally found an approach to Draga. Before, he had asked her. Now, he gave her the initiative - "as a reward for her faithful service," he graciously allowed her to ask the questions herself.

From there on, the conversation just sorted itself out. It wasn't even a conversation, but rather a monologue. In any case, it was at least something akin to feedback.

Carefully choosing his words, Talik shared with her plans to make contact with the "Head of the Guild " and a punitive raid into the cursed plains. Finally, Talik vaguely mentioned the bone dragon from his visions.

How easy it is to make her hate anyone. Just a hint that this bad boy is hurting me, and she would die but tear him apart.

He managed to coax out of her the reason why she'd stayed by his side in Necropolis. She told him that she, too, had a problem with her "friend-or-foe" identification and that it had begun when he had almost fallen asleep on her horse. She could feel his "true lord aura" fading and then reappearing, flickering and weakening. And when, after passing through the portal, it disappeared altogether, Draga did not lose her head but decided that it was some kind of test. And now she was sure of it for good.

The two hours flew by very quickly. With some regret, Talik interrupted the conversation and got a message from Marius. Archilich and his apprentice were already waiting in the palace.

As a place to meet with Lias, Talik chose one of the many palace chambers. Such facilities are used to provide an administrative bonus to the guild economy. Now they were mostly empty - the Lich officials didn't care where they worked, and their reception offices were set up directly in the city from day one. This trivially simplified access. And Wilhelm didn't want the townspeople to go to the palace as if it were their home on any occasion.

A moderately pompous office, with comfortable furniture - sturdy armchairs, a walnut table, massive patterned shelves for scrolls and books. Thick, soft carpets covered the floor. High, austere windows overlooked the inner circle of the palace - from here the enormity of the main temple was clearly visible.

From what Talik had seen of the world, he figured that such an environment was enough to keep his face in front of any of the locals.

And besides, there were plenty of paper and writing utensils.

While this slacker is having a date in "jail," I can't even organize a meeting. It's good to have everything ready. But I'll have to work on my image because it's getting ridiculous. I am the ruler of everything and everyone, after all. High-quality pathos can save a lot of blood, Talik grudgingly remarked, sitting down at the table more comfortably. He wanted to put his feet up on it, but he resisted the temptation. Draga stood in the corner of the table, where she could intercept a possible attack.

[message]

"Marius, can you feel where I am? Bring him in."

"Indeed, Your Holiness."

"Don't come in yet, we'll talk later."

"Do you not wish a mortal to see the extent of my obedience to the Lords?"

"Glad I don't have to explain."

The archlich's ingenuity was a little unsettling, but Talik had already seen how it could be exploited.

Half a minute later, the door opened and one of the guards at the entrance peered in.

"Your Holiness..."

"Let him in," the "prophet" waved his hand.

The guard disappeared, and Lias appeared. He looked very different from the last time I'd seen him. He was just an intimidated, battered, and unimportant boy.

And Lias, who had entered the office, looked confident, collected. He had lost a great deal of weight, and under his eyes were the dark spots that come from long stress or lack of sleep. He was also white to an unnatural whiteness - even his eyelashes and eyebrows were white.

And for some reason, Lias was wearing the robes of a younger novice. Talik felt slight displeasure at this fact. There was something of an encroachment on the personal. He could not quickly formulate for himself what it was that displeased him.

"Have a seat," Talik made an inviting gesture toward the chair in front of the table.

Lias, slouching and bowing, strolled over to the seat and sat down.

"You've changed since last time. The gray hair, is it from worry or something else? Because of Marius?"

"I cannot know, Your Holiness. Master Marius is very strict and demanding, but without a doubt the best mentor I could imagine. If that gray hair is his fault, I am the only one to blame."

"If studying is so stressful, it can be stopped. I foresaw that it would be difficult for you with Marius, but I didn't intend to wreck you."

Lias tensed up for a moment, then relaxed and lifted his head.

"Your Holiness, I would very much like to continue learning from Master Marius."

"He's not here, and he'll never know the content of this conversation unless you want him to. So answer honestly, do you really want to keep learning from him, and if so, why?"

Lias hesitated a moment, collecting his thoughts.

"Marius the teacher is extremely strict and sometimes punished me for lack of diligence, it's true. But I swear I deserved it. He never hurt me for no reason. He gave me more knowledge than I could get in a lifetime."

"So you were having trouble at first, but now you're generally okay with it, am I right?" Talik summed it up.

"So it is, Your Holiness," Lias bowed deeply.

"You say you've learned a lot, and from what Marius tells me, you're showing some promise. I'm glad to hear that, and I'd like to understand the difference between what you knew and could do before and what you have now. Can you explain it to me briefly, so that I, as an outsider, can understand it?"

Talik saw that with his words, Lias turned pale and covered in sweat.

I could understand him, he obviously wasn't expecting the semblance of an exam. I used to think that being an examiner was cool. I don't feel that way. I'm sorry, kid. But I really need to know what I asked.

Lias, meanwhile, pulled himself together.

"Before I got here, I knew three spells, two rituals, and forty prayers. I had enough power to cast a spell five times, and after that, I could use one spell again in three hours. After a day's preparation, I could perform the ritual and then not be able to use magic for about ten days. With prayers, it was a matter of luck. I didn't know how to fight well, I was afraid."

Talik nodded. He would have loved to know more, especially about rituals and prayers, how they worked, and what effect they had. But asking about such things was likely to damage the image of a mysterious and omnipotent being. Not that it was critical, given the mistakes he had already made, and the ones he would still make. Still, it was worth questioning Marius first. The meticulous and pedantic undead probably already knew everything Talik wanted to know. And if he didn't, then he could sacrifice his image.

"Now I could use up to ten of my old spells in a row, and one more every ten minutes for two hours. It took me less than an hour to get ready for the ritual, and after that, I had enough power for a couple more spells. And I figured out how to control the power without spells."

"That's really interesting," Talik wondered. "I assume Marius knows about this?"

Direct control of magic, the ability to do supernatural things without being tied to a pseudo-game system that does everything for you. It's like getting the source code. The ability to understand what and where it comes from, to discover the laws of physics of this world... How fortunate.

"Teacher Marius knows and helps me in every way to develop this gift. I learned it only because of him."

"That's very good. I thought you weren't happy with the situation, but if you're happy with it, let it go on as it is. I take it you're living at the temple now?"

" Ah... No, Your Holiness, I... I am..."

"So?"

"It just so happens that I live in a guest house. Master Marius let me live in the city of the living and told Lady Rangeso to keep an eye on me, and she dragged me there and left me there, and the teacher let me stay there..."

What the fuck are you talking about, Talik almost asked aloud. Who the fuck is Lady Rangeso anyway? I'm supposed to know, but I can only assume it's one of the vampires of Necropolis. What the fuck, he could have been eaten! Not that there'd be anything left to resurrect. Well, I'll have to ask Marius that. Somehow he is very independent, in some ways, and that's good, but why did not agree? Okay, the situation is there, so all that's left to do is make the best of it. If you look at it that way, this kid's like a beta tester. One way or another, people from the outside will show up here, and we'll learn how to behave on Lias.

The boy himself was clearly neither dead nor alive. Talik could understand the confusion. For an ordinary man of this world, a guesthouse was clearly unaffordable. Talik remembered the estate of a middle-class aristocrat where he'd stayed with the adventurers.

"Do you like it there?"

"Yes, Your Holiness..."

"Then you can stay there. As compensation for being held here."

"Let them hold me all my life, I'll be only glad!"

"It will be seen. Do you have any other requests?"

"It's nothing, Your Holiness. The guards always look at me like wolves wherever I go. If I'm not with my teacher or Lady Rangeso, they stop and inspect me at every corner. Even those who saw me an hour ago."

"Hmm. Let's see what we can do. I'd also like to know where you got those clothes?"

"It was given to me by the Reverend Nitia, the prioress of the temple where I was employed as an altar boy. She told me that my old clothes were not suitable for visiting the Palace."

"You said Nitia..."

Talik couldn't remember the name at all. Temples were just infrastructure objects with general passive morale and health bonus. When they designed the infrastructure they stuck them everywhere they could, and they ended up with 177 of them, not counting chapels and small altars. Abbots came as part of the package, and names for them were out of the question, just a level 45 buff healer.

Well, they're personalities now, too, with names and life histories. It will be interesting to know more about them. And that Nitia, whether to scold her off for giving the stuff to a stranger, or to praise her for her initiative, Lias is now formally part of her household.

Interesting precedent. And an important point came up because I am, like, the highest clergyman but I have never even spoken to the diocese. Plus the case for the piggy bank.

"Okay. Now, actually, to the main business. I need to write a letter to someone, and there's a little problem - I'm not very good at local writing. I can read it, but if I write it myself, there's a chance I'll make mistakes... That's why you have to take dictation."

Talik moved gilded writing set to Lias. He hesitated, as if afraid of damaging the precious things, and laid them out.

"Dictate, Your Holiness."

* * *
*Jay-Gul*

The shadow slid silently between the two barrels, stepping a step closer to its prey. The moment was right - the breeze stirred the crown of the tree under which the carefree target was dozing.

Another light gust of wind - and the shadow moved on, to the log wall of the barn. It snuggled against the rough wood, merging with it, and listened.

The target snoozed carelessly, snorting lightly and moving its lips.

The shadow restrained itself from rushing toward the target at once, and, in the thrill of its forthcoming success. Step by step, seizing its moments, it moved from the wall to the pile of straw, from the straw to the apple tree, under the crown of which the victim swayed in a pitifully crackling hammock.

Climbing the knotty, sprawling tree without disturbing a twig was a matter of moments. And the moment of truth came. There was a battle cry: "Aha!"

And the shadow swiftly swooped down on the belly, barely covered by a leaky linen shirt.

"Uhu." The target muttered in agreement.

The spectacular success was followed by an equally spectacular failure. The belly suddenly retracted and bulged out.

"Wee!" Annika squeaked as she flew into a heap of thorny straw. "That's not fair, you were peeking!"

"It hurts. You're sniffing so hard I'm almost deaf."

The haystack moved, revealing a disheveled and slightly out-of-breath girl.

"I'm not sniveling!"

"Yeah. I woke up to the fact that you weren't sniffling. And almost knocked the barrel over, too."

Annika climbed out of the stack, shook off the straw, and moved resolutely toward the orc lying in the hammock.

The orc was clearly a lot bulkier than I expected for the suspended bed stretched between the apple tree and the barn. But if the orc had a goal, he'd get it, one way or another. Even if it meant getting into a hammock a little bigger than his underwear.

Annika grasped the dangling, thick and knotty, acacia log-like arm with both of her own and pulled.

"What do you want?" there was a doomed grunt.

"Let's play."

"Let's play hide-and-seek, shall we?" There was a glimmer of hope in Jay-Gul's voice.

"No. You weren't even looking for me last time!"

"That's the point."

Let's go to play, pwease! Aren't you bored just lying around?"

"Nope. I'm on quiet time."

"Let's go!"

"You obnoxious monster, why are you clinging to me? Go harass someone else."

"Orcs are all busy, and adults too, grannies are boring and talk all sorts of nonsense."

"So ?;%: the other children."

"Parents won't let me near the little ones, and the others have boring games. Let's go!"

"I tired."

"You don't do anything all day, you just yell and kick everyone."

"This is the most important job of all."

The village headman, standing in the shade of the log cabins nearby, only sighed as he listened to the argument. Who could have known it would happen this way?

After the ultimatum that had been issued by the intruders, the arguments and scolding lasted all day and had not subsided even by nightfall. Under the roof of the common house, there was not enough space for the whole village, but there was certainly room for everyone whose opinion had any weight at all. Hunters, lumberjacks, the blacksmith, the medicine man, fat Liz, and the mothers of the families. There were several common points of view.

Some felt they had to leave. To the woods, or the plains, or the neighboring settlements. Anywhere was better than living under the monster's rule, risking going into soup with the whole family every day.

Others, the younger ones, thought they should gather everyone they could and give the monsters a fight. They said that one Akuro was enough for a lifetime, and no one needed new "masters" here.

Others offered to surrender. The headman himself also thought that was the best way out, and for good reason. First, the monsters were speaking, and therefore sentient. The fact that they were sentient meant little in itself, and the headman understood that.

But there was a second. The monsters were obviously stronger than humans. So much so, in fact, that they wouldn't need to talk about anything if they wanted human meat or girls. They would have come and taken it. But here they are, making an offer, however crude. And they even pretend to let those who do not agree to go. And about the maidens, Akuro's prisoners, they haven't even touched.

And third. Orcs, wild-looking creatures, had steel weapons. Very good, and made precisely for orcish hands. The headman knew a little about how steel was made. Ordinary savages would never have made such a thing.

The headman had been beaten a lot by life, and experience had told him that if the strongest came to negotiate, you had to give in.

By late afternoon, when the discussion had subsided and boiled over several times, when several fights between particularly dissenting voices had died down, and when the women's hysterics had begun and subsided, he rose from his seat and walked leisurely, demonstratively, toward the exit.

"Where are you going, headman?" voices rang out.

"Go home to bed. It's late."

"Don't you care about the fate of our settlement anymore?!" the fat woman's voice rumbled.

The headman stopped, put his hands on his belt, and shook his head.

"Why, yes, I do care. I can't speak for everyone, but I know for myself that I will stay and surrender. Monsters? So be it. But think of the humans. How did Smokey get on our necks? How's Gutless? Akuro, may his soul go astray in the underworld? Monsters, unlike humans, made an offer and gave us a choice. And I made mine. And you can yell at each other till morning since my word means nothing to you."

The headman's timing and intonation were precise. After all, he had known all these people for a long time. And when the monsters came the next day, they opened the gates without a word.

There were more of them than the last time. They were as big as they looked, arms as thick as a man's leg, lumpy with muscles and scars, and they looked at people with detached contempt. They did not, however, cause the outrages that the headman feared.

The ringleader left some of his men on the gates and walls and told the headman to gather all who could walk on the patch outside the common house.

"Is everyone here?"

The monster's throat was tin-plated, everyone could hear it.

"You've surrendered. I'm in charge now, everything's mine now. Everyone must obey me. If you don't, the first time I'll give you a ";%, the second time I'll kill you. I'm Jay-Gul, the big man, the leader of this gang. Above me is Bun Ironhead, chief of my clan. Above him is Warboss. Above all is the Creator. You're all nobodies. Those who know something useful can become something. War, hunting, craft, that's what's at stake. When we're done here, I'll look to see what's here. Stocks, tools, children, everything. Then those who don't want to be mere peons let them come to me and tell me what they can do. We'll see what good it'll do."

"Except for me, you should all know him. This is the shaman. If you got sick, lice, wolf chewed off the leg, it's for him. With a gift, of course. He'll do even worse for it, and he'll be right. And then there's this elf. He will be responsible for everything that happens in the woods around, he knows all the roads. I've said it all. Now scatter to your burrows and wait."

Then the ringleader really went through every house and barn and thoroughly searched all the poor properties of the settlers. Surprisingly, there was no looting, though there was a fight.

Though it could hardly be called a fight. One of the villagers tried to trick the orc into hiding a box of dried meat. The orc quickly found what he had hidden and, without any ado, savagely beat the head of the family, in front of the whole family. And he said that the next smart guy like him would be disemboweled.

No one else would risk it, and hearing that orcs don't take what they find, the rest of the inhabitants even made it easier for the green-skinned, shoveling all the possessions out for show.

After the search, the ringleader left people alone for two hours. He was apparently waiting for those who could actually do something to come to him. There were no fools. Or rather, it turned out that the village was full of fools.

Toward noon, the orc ordered all the men to be herded outside the fence and forced them to clear the area around it. Some of the orcs headed toward the woods, and some stayed with the men. The men were pulling out the brush and prying up the boulders that the orcs had turned out. The holes from the boulders were backfilled and trampled.

No one gave people a break, and any attempts to even just slow down for a couple of minutes were severely suppressed by heavy cuffing and scolding. Conversations were suppressed no less harshly; one of the loggers was beaten nearly to death for trying to be idle.

Green big men who seemed not to tire at all. They scoffed at the people falling off their feet by the end of the day when a muffled horn sounded from the village.

Hearing the horn, the orcs herded the men back into the village, onto the patch in front of the common house. Quiet curses toward the headman and whispers of despair did not cease for a moment. The ringleader came out of the common house to the crowd and glared at them for a long time as if he wanted to see something hidden. No one could stand the stare; everyone was looking under their feet.

Finally, the ringleader spoke.

"It was only the first day. That's how peons live their whole lives. A peon can't do anything well. Whoever doesn't want to be a peon has to be able to. Is that clear?"

A determined voice was heard from the crowd.

"I know how to make hides!"

"That's good. What's the name?" The orc perked up, beckoning a finger at the caller.

The lad, squeezed out by the crowd, trembled before the overhanging orc.

"Bunch."

Orc nodded.

"Stood to the side. Who else?"

"I'm a good woodsman!"

"Good. What's your name?"

"Ches."

"To the side. "

The "I can do it" and "I am able to do it" cries came one after another. Almost everyone in the village knew how to cut wood or fish, work with hides, or search for honey from wild bees. And the orc made it abundantly clear what awaited the inept and lazy.

No one was sure whether it would be easier to do what they called themselves skilled at. But still, there was at least some chance.

Then there was the "feeding. It was humiliating, getting food as mercy. But no one resented it.

In the morning, the ringleader assigned the men those tasks in which they said they were skilled. Under the supervision of the orcs, of course. And compared to the previous day, life began to get better. The woodcutters, for example, weren't required to do much, marking, chopping, and clearing trunks. The hardest work - chopping and stacking logs - was done by the greenhorns. And it wasn't out of piety for humans. It turned out that orcs, strong as bears and idiotically industrious, are not very good where brute force is not enough. And have a simple way of looking at things - everyone has to do what they can do well.

And if a man is good at marking where to cut, then let him do it. Where only strength is needed, the orcs can do it themselves. They picked up the basics of any new task very easily and were very slow to learn anything more complicated.

Also, the ringleader found out on the second day that fat Liz could brew tough moonshine even from reeds, and this alone raised her authority to an immeasurable height compared to the rest of the people.

The fat one, a cunning and understanding woman, quickly made friends with the thin and baleful orcish shaman. They were just like each other in character, both of them very smart, both of them greedy and heartless extortionists, and both of them keeping their secrets strictly to themselves. Some even chatted about the color of the kids' next spring. Then they stopped - their tongues swelled up so much that they couldn't close their mouths. The shaman turned out to have excellent hearing...

Within a few days, life had settled into a pattern. It made sense to clear the ground around the paling to make room for a new one. Although what the orcs were building could rather be called a full-fledged wall. Not very straight, but very strong. Thick logs were dug deeper than a man's height and reinforced with clay mixed with stones.

Then another shock came: the goblins came to the settlement. It wasn't that the villagers had a bad relationship with them - it was more of cold neutrality. The goblins didn't go where humans hunted, humans didn't go where goblins worked, and that was fine with everyone. Sometimes they even traded with goblins. The forest dwellers traded rare herbs, for which they had many uses, from preservation to banishing insects, for iron objects like knives and shovels, and grits. But trade was always conducted exclusively outside the walls, and goods, women, and children were always watched. And there was a reason for that.

Now the little savages entered the orc-occupied village as if it were their home. They came into sight, sent a messenger, and the orcs let them in quietly. Three dozen nosey and fangy short men led one, a particularly ugly one with a scorched gaunt pattern on his face. Almost all the men were outside the village, and the women were about to quit their jobs and try to hide in the houses. But the orcs didn't appreciate it and forced everyone back to business. The villagers' assurances that letting goblins into the house was a very bad idea were treated with irritated indifference.

The goblins brought with them many sacks, barrels, and crates of salt, steel nails, saws, hoes, and many other household items. Just brought them in and handed them over to the important frowning leader.

The goblins stayed in the settlement overnight, making the locals quite nervous. And the problem did happen. At night, a woman's screaming echoed through the village. Some of the forest runt fell for a local girl, dragged her into the bushes, and, receiving a serious rebuke, stabbed her.

As soon as the alarm was raised, the rapist was handled by his own men, and his belly ripped open on the spot. Jay-Gul arrived in less than a minute to find the goblins huddled together, surrounded by eager orcs. The goblin chieftain held out his rapist's head, and explained the situation in a nutshell. The orc grasped the goblin's ear firmly, lifted it into the air, and roared:

"You're their boss. You are responsible for them. Their mistake is your mistake."

The goblin only closed his eyes in agreement. Jay-Gul drew his knife, and in the balance cut off the ear by which he held the runt. The piece of flesh flopped down next to the fallen goblin.

"Eat!"

The little man silently put the severed ear into his mouth and chewed it. When the ear went to his stomach with a noisy gulp, the orc asked:

"What did you learn?"

The goblin glared at his troops.

"That the boss had mercy. Could have killed us all, his goods were touched. The boss is kind. I will remember."

"What else?"

"I'll be even better at watching who's underneath me."

Jay-Gul nodded and looked around at the crowd.

"What's going on? Let's go home now. There's a lot to do tomorrow."

The shaman healed the injured girl's wound without further ado - only a thin scar was left of the wide wound. The incident was over, and the goblins left in the morning.

After another couple of days, Jay-Gul gang grew noticeably.

Another gang of orcs, with their ringleader, came to the village, already almost completely enclosed by the new palisades. They brought with them large, vicious pigs and oxen, and in return, they took several bales of hides and linen, a dozen baskets of fish, and a barrel of sticky tree resin.

From the beginning, there was some tension between the two gangs. Those who could afford it hid. And for good reason.

The leader of the new gang, as big and stout as Jay-Gul, but trimmer than he was, slapped the boss on the belly at goodbye.

He clearly wanted to say something else, but did not have time - a ponderous fist of the ringleader of the village with a juicy rattle crashed into his face, throwing him back a few steps.

"Are you out of your fucking mind, snotlout?" Jay-Gul asked, making a broad gesture to stretch his shoulders.

"Oh, you !";% pig!" The other orc roared, shaking his head and spitting blood. "You rat, sitting on the edge here, grow up a fat! You're not even worthy to look at a warrior!"

With these words, the out-of-town ringleader pulled his axes from his belt.

Instantly both gangs gathered around. The orcs looked on unpleasantly but stayed out of the fight. The two leaders were surrounded by a ring, so there was a small live arena.

"Am I not worthy to look at a warrior? Are, are, where's the warrior? Are you the warrior, eh, brat?"

Saying this, Jay-Gul kneaded his fists. He didn't carry a weapon in the village, and he regretted it now. But he wasn't about to back down, either.

"I'll kill you!" The second orc roared, swung his ax, and rained it down on Jay-Gul.

But he was clearly counting on this course of events. With an amazing grace for such a heavy body, he jumped toward and away from the attacker. It didn't go very well - one of the blades grazed his face, so hard that for a brief moment the bone was visible. But on the whole, he achieved his goal, knocking the enemy down with his body. The orc did not falter and snapped his fangs into Jay-Gul's face. Before he knew it, Jay-Gul had dug a knife from its sheath on his back. The blade flashed rapidly several times, jabbing into the neck and ear.

Jay-Gul staggered to his feet, took the axes from the dead man, and kicked the motionless body. Then he turned his face, streaming with blood, toward the warriors.

"Well? Who else doubts my strength?! Don't be shy, girls. I'm strong enough for everyone."

Another orc came out of the circle, with a two-handed ax.

"Our boss seemed like a formidable warrior. And he was defeated by an unarmed fat man. Such a shame. I should have challenged him first. I'll have to kill you now."

Jay-Gul silently spread his arms out to his sides in an inviting gesture. The challenger exploded and leaped forward, swinging his ax. Jay-Gul threw an ax at his chest at the same moment.

The weapon was struck back immediately, at the cost of a moment's hesitation. Jay-Gul immediately took advantage of it, jumping up and dropping a second ax on the challenger's head with a jerk.

He reacted and jerked his head to the side. The blade didn't split the skull, but slid across it, removed a thick layer of fleshy skin, and stuck it in his shoulder.

The challenger roared and lunged, not even close to hitting Jay-Gul. Jay-Gul's fist smashed into his jaw, stripping him of his balance, while the ax wrenched from his shoulder and came down again. There was a crunch, and shards of bone with drops of brain and blood flew sideways.

The body fell softly to the ground. Jay-Gul dropped the other ax and turned the first one over in his hands with a hum.

"Will there be a third?"

After long moments of silence, another orc emerged from the circle.

"You called yourself Jay-Gul. I've heard of one Jay-Gul. That Jay-Gul went into battle under the Creator himself. And Warboss himself sent him on the first raid."

"Ha ha, the good old days, yes. And the good new ones. I'm that Jay-Gul."

Orc nodded.

"It would be an honor to die at the hands of such a warrior. They," the orc pointed to the corpses, "didn't realize it, but I see."

"You can die afterward, boyz. Come under me."

He shook his head.

"Rusty Hand said I would be chief under him someday. I swore an oath to him."

Jay-Gul nodded.

"And you can't go under Ironhead's boss now. That's a pity."

The challenger removed the twin axes from his belt loops and came up, stepping smoothly around the Jai-Gul. The latter, narrowing his eyes and cocking his head, watched the challenger's every move carefully.

Seeing that the challenger was giving him the initiative, Jay-Gul took a step toward him with a swing. It was a deceptive move, but the challenger didn't realize it. He tried to pull the same trick with the ax throw.

It didn't work. Jay-Gul was waiting for such an attempt, and he kicked the weapon away. The challenger neither dodged nor swung away from the falling two-handed ax. The first blow was the last.

"You wouldn't be a Boss," Jay-Gul said with a sigh, snatching the ax from the dead body. "Rusty Hand tricked you. Pity, though. An orc gets his brains a lot less often than his strength."

He stared hard at the others.

"Who else?"

The orcs silently drew their weapons, and one by one threw them at his feet. One of them did it later than the others, with obvious reluctance.

"Pick it up," Jay-Gul commanded.

"Whatever you say, "boss," he sniffed.

He stepped forward and picked up his weapon. Jay-Gul immediately swooped down on him, landing a heavy blow. He managed to evade the first one by knocking the ax aside, not the second.

"I don't want any rats!" barked Jay-Gul into the remnants of his face. "No one needs rats!"

Later other orc gangs came in. An average of every couple of days. And there were no such problems - though the tension was felt at times.

The orc, waving the clingy girl away, caught himself in a strange feeling. He told her to go away, but he didn't really want her to go away. He liked to bicker with the rebellious child. He liked being talked into it. He knew he would give in and they would play. And it was as if the child sensed it.

If anyone else had thought to interfere with his rest, the boss would have quickly dissuaded him from such foolishness.

Jay-Gul was about to grab the girl to tickle her and let her escape when he caught the change in the background noise. He turned his head, listened, and sighed.

"All right, little girl, I'll be busy right now. Go take a walk."

The girl, who understood the changed mood, pouted, putting her hands behind her back.

"Go, I said. Go, go, Uncle Jay-Gul is about to do adult things. We'll play later."

Annika stopped sulking and ran away, and an elf appeared from around the corner of the house, accompanied by one of the boyz. The boyz was carrying a severely beaten man in one hand, bound tightly at the wrists and ankles. The mouth of the bruised and blue-faced face was gagged.

The elf was carrying a tattered leather bag and three identical wide belts with daggers in their sheaths.

The orc waited silently for them to approach.

The elf did not report to him directly, he was not part of the usual orc hierarchy at all. But the chieftain said that the wretch must be here. And if the Chief said something, it had to be done.

It was not customary to ask the Chieftains the reasons for their orders, but Jay-Gul took a chance. If tradition was being broken in order, he wanted to know why. Just so he wouldn't get into trouble.

The Chieftain didn't beat him but explained. The elf supreme witch possessed a magic that allowed her to speak to her own, no matter how far away they were. And if anything important happened, she could find out about it and notify those involved much faster than the orcs themselves could.

It made a certain amount of sense. The Orcs, spilling out into the world in an avalanche, faced the problem of communication. A messenger had to be outfitted to deliver important news. And on his own, he could take days to convey what was important right now. Or there was another option: shamans, who were addicted to their powders and potions, could also whisper to each other over long distances. But the shamans had to be in approximately comparable conditions at the moment of communication. And interpreting the results of such communication was a pain in the ass.

And that's not counting the fact that the shaman after the "séance" came to his senses in a couple of hours at best.

So a direct order and an understanding of the obvious benefits forced Jay-Gul to bury his displeasure deeper. Especially since the elf had no intention of angering the boss. Upon meeting him, he pulled the orc aside and proposed an agreement whereby they would not cause each other problems. By this agreement, the elf acknowledged the orc's right to command, and the orc acknowledged nominal equality in status. The orc, after some thought, agreed. It was better than vying for authority with a subordinate of another senior vassal. More benefit and less trouble. So, though the orc did not like the constant presence of the blond lout who was not part of the usual hierarchy, he did not show his displeasure.

The elf, like the rest of his breed, was a good tracker and an expert ambusher. It was a good skill, requiring qualities that orcs could never have - patience, equanimity, and perseverance. He'd slaughtered quite a few ogres and goblins fleeing the forest, unwilling to acknowledge the authority of others, reporting on the fact. And it was strange that this time he brought someone back alive.

As they approached the boss, the orc carrying the prisoner tossed him at the chief's feet. Jay-Gul put his fingers behind his belt and kicked the body squeamishly.

"Where did you get it?"

"Four miles north of here," the elf answered with a slight nod. "There was a party, three of them. Not natives, different speech and equipment, bad though it was, it looked like a standard, they didn't do that here. I forced them to split up and tried to make contact with each of them. They did not want dialogue and in general, did not behave like guests so two I killed, one I decided to bring to you for questioning."

"That's a good decision you made, right one..."

Jay-Gul headed toward the orc house, gesturing for the others to follow.

The whole house was one large room, with only crudely assembled weapon racks and hides. At the very center of it was a vast, stone-sheathed hearth, smoldering in the thick smell of feet.

The prisoner was thrown to the ground beside the hearth. Jay-Gul pulled the gag from his mouth with a sharp movement and gave him a light slap.

"Tell me. Who you are, what you've been sniffing around. Tell me everything."

"We're just hunters," he mumbled with his split lips, frightened. "We've been tracking mon... Beasts."

"So... Just hunters," the boss hummed.

He took the leather bag from the elf and tried to untie the knots. He tweaked it a couple of times with a rough, scruffy fingernail, scowled, and just tore it open. Cloth-lined vials, strips of dried meat, carefully coiled fine rope with a metallic sheen, small pouches of loose material, and a coiled map of thin leather sprang to the tumbled earthen floor.

Jay-Gul picked up the map and turned it in his hands.

"Elf, have you seen this? What is drawn here?"

"I saw it," he nodded calmly. "A map of the area, not very accurate. The village is on it. There is a lake four miles to the west, and it's been dry for thirty years, so it's an old map. The new icons, match the routes of the loyal to Dawn goblins. This route is recent, less than a week ago. There are more signs, but their purpose is unclear to me."

"That's how it is. Wow, hunters. So much watched." Jay-Gul squatted down and hovered over the prisoner. "Could it be that they're not really hunters, but, say, enemy spies, hmm?"

"No, I swear, not spies!" He fidgeted.

"Oh, all right, then. I was beginning to think bad things about you. If you swear, it must be true. Well, it's for the best." Jay-Gul shoved the gag tightly back into the prisoner's mouth. "If you were a spy, we'd have to keep you here alive. Spies know too much, they're more used to us alive. So much hassle. You're just a hunter, you don't know anything, nobody needs you. So we'll have a nice soup for dinner, with some human flesh in it. The boyz will be happy."

He no longer paid attention to the desperate mooing man.

"Well, elf, come on, there's a lot to do," Jay-Gul beckoned the elf to the exit. "Remind me to teach the shaman how to cut the skin properly; he ruined all the fun last time."

" When you boiled the last soup, did the meat die before you put it in the boil?" He raised an eyebrow boredly.

"Yeah, yeah, that time. Remember when he fucked up the laxatives, you know, before cooking? There was shit floating in the soup, can you imagine?"

"Yours even didn't notice."

The silent boyz burst into a frenzy:

"What the %?*( are you talking about, when *?:% such "?;*!..."

He was interrupted in his speech by a heavy slap from Jay-Gul.

"Shut up."

The orc frowned and fell silent.

All three of them came out of the house. Jay-Gul coughed, leaning against the log wall. The boyz frowned uneasily.

"Boss?"

Jay-Gul barely straightened up and turned his twisted, blackened face toward him. Tears oozed from his eyes. He whispered hoarsely:

"Did you see it? Did you see his face? Shit in the soup, I can't..." Jay-Gul coughed in a twitchy cough again.

The elf and Jay-Gul returned to the prisoner after a couple of hours. This time the shaman was with them. Skinny, wiry, and hunched over, with thin hair, he looked sickly and weak compared to the other orcs. Only the look in the shaman's venomous-black eyes, intelligent, tenacious, unkind, made it clear that in his case personal physical strength was the last thing to think about.

"Is it?" The shaman was busily asking.

"It. Get to work." Nodded the boss

The shaman took out a crooked knife and in a few movements ripped open the prisoner's clothes. The way he moved resembled the movements of a spider catching a large fly.

"The skin is ruined, not fit for a drum," grumbled the shaman, pointing to the chest and belly of the prisoner. There were old scars and a tattoo of some bird's wings spread wide.

"And it's kind of skinny. I'll give him some laxative, it'll make him five pounds lighter."

The shaman plunged a knife into the ground next to the poor man's face and retrieved a crumpled wooden bottle from the depths of his robe. Then he tore the blindfold off the captive's face, holding up the gag. He immediately pushed the gag out of his mouth and screamed:

"I am a spy! Spy! A know a lot!"

"What does it say?" The shaman asked unhappily.

"I am a spy of the imperial army, you can't eat me!" The bound man yelled hoarsely.

"You swore you were just a hunter," Jay-Gul leaned over him. "And now you're pissing in my ear about some kind of army. I think you just don't want to go to the cauldron, that's why "?;%"

"It's true! I can prove it!"

"Yes? Prove it. Let's hear it."

The prisoner began to prove. He did so willingly and in great detail. From what he said, Jay-Gul understood the main thing - there was an army of almost a hundred and fifty natives, a day's march from here. Fifty men on horseback, a company of pedestrians and archers, a hundred, and two mages.

It was both good and bad. The bad thing was that there were too many of them, and there were also mages. With a mage, you never know what he'll cast. The good news was that there was finally going to be a good fight. Even if they were wimps, like the ones Jay-Gul fought last time, they were outnumbered.

The question of whether they would even risk an attack, the orc immediately dismissed. First of all, there are many more of them and for humans, this alone is a great excuse. Secondly, they'd need something to eat. Jay-Gul's men could carry ten days' worth of provisions each. They could stretch their supplies by hunting, but it's hard to feed a band of two dozen by hunting alone, and it's good if you can find a bear or a family of boars. And every orc is a hunter.

And there are a hundred and fifty people here. Everybody wants to eat. And anyway, with that many people here, how could they ever get past a fight? Jay-Gul was firmly convinced that even if they didn't want to, he would make them.

When they heard about the enemies nearby, the boyz became very excited. Jay-Gul had to cool a lot of hotheads eager to have an adventure right now.

By the end of the day, he had sent messengers to the lumberyard and fish post, and by the end of the day, the whole gang had assembled in the village. Gathering everyone on the patch in front of the common house, Jay-Gul surveyed the troops.

With the recent additions, it was nearly forty boyz It was far more than the tough guy was used to seeing under his command.

The snarling, snorting crowd was out for blood. Right now, right this second, they needed an enemy. Jay-Gul remembered himself as part of such a crowd, and he knew what to say.

"Shut up ?;%:::!"

He staggered to the front of the hushed crowd with an imposing look.

"The enemy has not yet arrived, and you are already climbing the wall. Tomorrow everything will happen. Tomorrow they will come."

"Why wait?!" an indistinct murmur was heard.

"Because I said so!!! So we don't have to run far. And that while we're there they won't burn down our village. They'll come on their own."

"And if they don't come?" There was resentment again.

"If they don't come, then we'll go after them. In the meantime, let's get ready. The guests must be welcomed with respect."

The evening passed with preparations. Jay-Gul channeled the energy of the orcs, seething with the anticipation of a fight, into a safe channel. The thatched roofs of the people's houses were dismantled. Jay-Gul had a pretty good idea of what would happen if a few flaming arrows or a wizard's fireball hit such a roof. There was no time to convert a thatched roof to a boarded one, so for the time being the frames were covered with hastily sewn soaked hides, which were plentiful.

The ditch outside the palisade was deep and carefully pinned with sharp stakes. Jay-Gul himself thought that the moat would not play a role in the coming battle. If the spy we caught wasn't lying about the number of cavalries, no one would charge against the walls. Cavalry is the main striking force, and it's not very good on the walls.

The elf was sent after the nearest goblin patrol. Small marauders hung around the edge of the great forest, catching the "infidels" fleeing the forest. Ogres and trolls, survivors of the fights, often tried to leave their old haunts on their own. Goblins, having suffered enough at the hands of both, did not pass up the chance to take revenge. The orc God did not approve of the abuse of prisoners, but was quite respectful of revenge and killing the enemy.

Orcs didn't think goblins were good fighters. They were good at stalking, ambushes, and raids, and not much else. Jay-Gul didn't have much respect for them, either. Still, even they could be useful.

After some deliberation, Jay-Gul decided to let the prisoner go. Of course, the spy himself did not know that he had been released. Annika had helped him escape, and the stupid ogres simply hadn't noticed. They didn't make the child lie about something that didn't happen. Jay-Gul didn't like the idea of teaching her to lie. He believed that if the child would hurry up and keep quiet, the man would make things up for himself.

The shaman kept grumbling about the healing potion, which he must have "forgotten" in a prominent place. Without the potion, the prisoner wouldn't have gotten far - the elf had twisted the poor man's hands and feet so badly that his hands and feet were dying off.

* * *

RiP · Dec 4, 2022

* * *

*Baron Pallon*

The marching camp of the imperial troops lived its usual evening life. Between the even rows of tents, sentries with torches passed once a minute. Each sentry had two more in sight at the same time. At the corners of the square formed by the camp were sentries, changing every two hours. At a flight of arrows, all the trees around the camp were fallen, so that it was impossible to approach unnoticed.

The scout, shabby and ragged, was spotted at once. And without going into detail they took him to Baron Pallon, the leader of the army.

The baron was not listening to the report of the scout alone. Lady Feo, commander of the imperial cavalry, was also present in the modest by the standards of the nobility commander's tent.

At the end of the story, the frowning baron rolled his jaw.

"Go eat and sleep."

The ranger saluted and rushed off to carry out the command. The Baron sighed and turned to Lady Feo.

"What do you say, Lady?"

Feo, crossing her arms across her chest, as usual, replied thoughtfully.

"I will say that I do not believe in such a successful escape, your lordship."

"Explain," the Baron raised an eyebrow.

She made a vague gesture with her hand.

"A group of experienced rangers on a combat mission were hunted down and strangled as rookies. And now there is a survivor who was able to escape from those who strangled them. And he wasn't caught after he became aware of the layout of the fortifications, the numbers. Sounds like a load of crap to me."

"It makes sense. And I suppose whoever captured him the first time would have no problem capturing him the second time."

"That's the way it is. I think they let him go. It's uncharacteristic of monsters, so I couldn't know why. It could be a hint that they don't consider us a threat. Or an invitation to a trap."

The Baron frowned.

"I'm thinking, maybe, or. That's not what I expected to hear from a professional monster hunter."

"What did you expect, your lordship?" Feo raised an eyebrow. "I have never seen, much less killed, the monsters the ranger told me about. Orcs? There are half-human half-pigs, I've encountered them. They're animal-like and barely speak human speech. If they were, I could tell you something definite, what to expect, what tactics to use, and what to be afraid of. But first, the swine-men would leave neither the settlers nor the scout alive. If they didn't devour him at once, they would break his bones and keep him in the pit until they were hungry."

"And the second?" the Baron inquired coldly.

"And secondly, coherent speech. Monsters are incapable of this at all. And half-humans rarely need to learn a human language at all. They're sentient beings, Baron. I'd try talking to them, for starters."

The baron's voice dripped with sarcasm.

"Hmm, talking to non-humans. About what? Shall we ask them to leave? Or even acknowledge their right to this land?"

"We should first understand who we're dealing with before we make any decisions," Feo answered coldly.

"I can easily tell who we're dealing with. Monsters." Cut off Pallon. "The subhumans disturbing our nation's borders. Bloodthirsty savages are coming out of that damned forest. They ravage small settlements and attack patrols. And our task, if not to end it, then at least to weaken this invasion. Coincidence, trap, or invitation, does not matter. We have found the location of the lair of non-humans, presumably cannibals. And we have a more or less exact plan of the area. We also know for sure that there are people among them. If they are there as cattle, it is our sacred duty to protect them in the name of the empire. And if they are renegades or rebels, we execute them. In the name of the Empire."

Lady Feo nodded aloofly in response.

"I have been assigned to your command, your lordship," she finally replied. "And I will carry out your orders. I can't understand why you would ask me anything if my words mean nothing to you."

"Because, Lady Feo, I was hoping to hear something practical from you. And not..."

"And not what?"

The Baron became furious at being interrupted for a moment. But then he pulled himself together. Feo continued more calmly.

"Maybe you wanted to hear a suggestion to storm the walls, even if they were wooden. With the cavalry as our main strike force? I have not seen these fortifications, and I cannot estimate what forces it would cost to take them, or what losses there might be. I have not seen the enemy. Negotiations are needed at least to understand who we are dealing with, how they build, how they think, and how they treat death. And after that plan some kind of action. Do you want a frontal attack? Give such an order, and it will be carried out. I merely remind you that we swore an oath to the Emperor, not to you. And for every man fallen in the execution of such an ingenious plan, the imperial executioner will ask you."

The baron gritted his teeth, choking on the urge to slap her. There was too great a chance of losing an arm.

Among the troops entrusted to him by his majesty's decree, Lady Feo was the only former adventurer. And she also commanded half a hundred heavy cavalrymen. As commander, she was appointed his adjutant and bodyguard.

Baron had heard much about adventurers being skilled and calculating fighters. It could not have been otherwise; a professional monster hunter cannot be a bad warrior. His Majesty was not stingy in recruiting them into the army by any means necessary. As far as the Baron knew, it was extremely expensive. Adventurers were extremely reluctant to trade their careers for service in the regular army and were tempted at least by the knight's spurs. And even so, they only went into service because the monster slaying the emperor had baffled the army. For an adventurer below the rank of platinum, there was simply no job left.

The specifics of battles with monsters led to great losses, and where a small group of adventurers managed without losses, squads of soldiers lost dozens of people killed and crippled. Ghosts, possessed, vampires, werewolves, magically altered beasts, witches, self-taught sorcerers, demon worshippers, demons themselves, and a host of other threats traditionally repelled by adventurers were not what the common soldier was prepared for.

This did not stop the Emperor. And he achieved his goal - the adventurers, left unemployed, began to leave the empire. Or, accept offers to leave the Guild.

And they were worth all the cost. For example, Feo, formerly of gold rank. Upon first meeting her, the Baron was disappointed. The friendly, indifferent woman had many scars but did not stand out for her physique or charisma. The Baron said nothing in that regard, though he began to seriously doubt the legends of invincible adventurers.

The campaign quickly proved that he was right to be silent. His first impression was wrong. Lady Feo was a tireless creature, never seeming to tire at all. She rode or stood all day, never taking off her heavy armor, never even breaking a sweat. She was physically strong enough to lift a grown man in her arms and carry him calmly for several hours without taking off her armor. In training fights, she could only be hit with a sword if three men attacked.

The baron accepted this fact and tried to show the lady respect appropriate to a knight. He even considered the possibility of marriage, at first. A woman is capable of giving birth even at thirty, so age would not be a great hindrance. After all, one could have concubines for pleasure. Yes, she was not of noble blood, but her position in the army mitigated that disadvantage.

The relationship soured very quickly.

The first unpleasant surprise was that Feo obeyed the baron as commander and nothing more. It made no difference to her whether the man in front of her was a nobleman or a common soldier. She was a commoner herself, and yet she had absolutely no respect for titled persons in general and the Baron in particular. There was a time when the Baron had hinted to her that a commoner, even with her knightly status, might well be lashed for disrespect. Feo suggested that he should try it.

Do you want to give me a reason to drown you in a bucket of shit in public? I'd appreciate it.

She was not afraid. She wasn't afraid of anyone or anything at all. And it wasn't bravado or well-mannered courage - she just didn't know how to be afraid, didn't know how to do it.

And the second unpleasant surprise was the realization that the Emperor did not, by and large, care who solved the problem on this section of the border. Whether it was to rehabilitate a tainted clan or a career advancement for a generic upstart.

The decision to get rid of the rival came as a matter of course. The problem was the lack of a way to do it. In a direct confrontation, he didn't stand a chance, he knew that. In a direct fight, Feo would simply cut him to pieces. There was no way to accuse her of anything either - the knights knew her well and respected her, and would hardly tolerate slander. Appealing to disrespect for the class would simply raise a laughing stock, at best. Knights are not just about nobility and honor. They are also very willful, experienced, and ruthless cutthroats.

And now a great idea came to the Baron's mind.

"Have it your way, Lady Feo. I admit your words are reasonable and measured. We'll try to talk to these... Orcs."

* * *

*Jay-Gul *

As soon as it began to dawn, Jay-Gul was found by an elf. The orc was sitting by the fire, next to the shaman's tent, sharpening the edge of his axe. His ears twitched now and then, responding sensitively to the voices around the camp. The warriors wanted a fight, and they had to be very alert. So they wouldn't find a fight before the guests arrived. It would have been embarrassing.

"Boss, the enemy is coming. If the pace continues, in a couple of hours they will be in sight."

The orc grinned contentedly without turning around.

"So they've taken the bait. What about the ambush?"

"Goblins are placed on the expected path of the enemies and are waiting for a command. I should note that if the enemy commander is not stupid, there is no way to attack suddenly. The terrain is too open."

"And who cares? It's not about the sudden, it's about timing. Those goblins, isn't their boss the one whose ear I cut off?"

"No, the other one. This is the one that was able to capture me in the beginning."

"Oh, I've heard of him. I don't remember his name, just that it's a stupid name. I'm surprised you let him live. I wouldn't."

The elf did not answer.

"Well, it's for the best," Jay added when he realized the elf wasn't going to answer. "Sit down and eat."

The time passed quickly. The orcs, three and a half dozen of them, had gathered at the gate. They were quarreling now and then, and if it hadn't been for Jay-Gul's vigilance to quickly break up the fighters, the fight would have been over long before the enemy arrived.

Jay-Gul saw the problem in the current size of his gang. There were too many fighters for one leader. And he didn't know how to solve it.

There were obvious ways. Let them outnumber each other to an acceptable number, for example. Or send them to slaughter as soon as the opportunity presented itself. As the boss, he had every right to do so, and yet something hinted that it wasn't a good way out.

After all, the Nobs had hundreds and thousands of warriors under their command. Both in the form of small gangs and in the form of "antags". The antags were sometimes over a hundred in one place. A hundred fighters without a leader, are equal to each other. All they needed was the voice of their leader to end any strife. Jay-Gul wanted that, too. But to have the voice of a Nob, you had to become a Nob. And to become a Nob, you had to overthrow the previous one.

Orc was well aware that by challenging the leader, he would die. He was not afraid to die; after all, when a warrior takes up arms for the first time, he accepts death as fate.

Except he didn't want to die a stupid, useless death. And if he challenged the chief just for ambition, that would be exactly what it would be.

The elf, standing on the parapet of the palisade, raised his fist. Jay-Gul felt a sense of satisfaction, all the unimportant problems receding into the background. The orcs, too, became quiet and composed all at once.

Nothing disciplines like an enemy in sight, Jay-Gul noted as he climbed up.

Soldiers were approaching the village from the west. The total number was under two hundred, more than the escaped spy had said. Jay-Gul counted by the dozen, and he counted 12*12 of infantry or so. And five more were cavalry. Even from a distance, it was clear that almost all were in armor.

The army approached slowly and stopped about half a mile from the walls the orcs had erected. They stopped and began to regroup. The infantry lined up in triple lines, facing the walls. The cavalry were in equal groups at their sides. There were a few riders behind the infantry as well. No matter how hard he squinted his eyes he couldn't see their gear. One thing was clear - they had no armor on.

The orc poked his fat finger in that direction.

"Can you hit those over there?"

The elf shook his head negatively.

"Far away. The arrow won't even reach."

"Damn."

The orc was about to wave his hand, sending the rampaging boys into battle, when the elf squinted and pointed in the direction of the enemies.

"Look."

"What's the matter?"

"Two riders separated, clearly heading this way."

The orc's face stretched.

"Just the two of them? They're pretty good."

"I don't think they're going to fight. I think it's a negotiation."

"Wut?" Jay-Gul was even more surprised. "What's there to talk about?"

The elf shrugged.

"I don't know. But that's how people do it. To talk, to get to know each other."

"This is weird. Here we are, here they are, what we have, the spy told them, what they have, the spy told us. What fucking negotiations about what? Did they bring that casino here for nothing?"

"You decide."

Jay-Gul looked again, and when he saw that two riders had indeed separated from the detachment, he grumbled irritably and came down from the wall to the gate.

"What there? WHERE?! Chop-chop. Boss when?"

"Shut up. I gonna talk with their boss. Open the gate."

He was overwhelmed with irritation and impatience. He felt the same way all the orcs felt. The more annoyed they were, the more annoyed he was. And the orcs, feeling their commander boiling over, became even more irritated.

Jay-Gul stepped out of the gate, swaying his axe, and staggered toward them. He didn't go far; he was about forty paces away, leaning on his weapon.

The riders approached. Jay-Gul wondered how heartless one had to be to load an animal with so much iron. There wasn't a single part of the human body that wasn't covered in metal. There was relatively less steel on the horses, but it was decent, too.

When the riders came within striking distance of each other, they stopped. One of them lifted his visor and assessed the orc. He appeared to be the superior of the two. And yet it seemed to the orc that the other was a far more worthy fighter.

"Identify yourself!" finally broke the silence.

"I'm Jay-Gul, I'm the boss and the owner of this village. What do you want?"

"I am Baron Pallon, appointed by the grace of the Emperor to bring order to this land. I see you're intelligent. I'll give you a chance to save your skin. Leave this place immediately, and tell those who want to live to do the same."

Jay-Gul was taken aback. He looked at the other, then back at first, and laughed. The orc laughed heartily as long as he could breathe, slapping his thigh. Then he wiped the tears from the corners of his eyes and caught his breath. And then he burst into a fit of laughter again.

"I suppose your laughter means no, monster?" The horseman rumbled.

"Oh fuck, hahaha haha... Oh, I can't... Ohhh. Anyway, I'm not gonna kill you right now. I wanted to, but I won't. Here's the thing, man. You're stupid. You're... You're stupid. Have you come to threaten an orc with death? You? Threaten an orc with death? Death? Three jokes in a row. Funny, very funny. I appreciate it. Now go to your gang. Tell them we'll kill them. Let them come here and die like warriors. Or let them run and die like fowl. I'll let you live because you're funny. You will amuse me. That's all I said. Off you go."

Jay-Gul gave one last chuckle, turned, and headed for the gate. The baron gritted his teeth and reached for his pouch. The second rider followed the movement and shouted:

"Don't you dare, you idiot!"

But there was no time to interfere. Baron pulled a small but powerful steel crossbow out of its case, already cocked, and fired a bolt into the orc's back.

Jay-Gul turned around at the shout, and a short metal arrow sliced into his shoulder. It hurt rather badly for such a small projectile. It felt like someone had driven a nail into his shoulder. My head felt a little dizzy, and my body felt heavy.

There was a thud and a dry cracking sound as the elf fired his arrow. It failed to penetrate the armor of the baron and shattered into splinters.

"Mine!" roared Jay-Gul, dashing after him.

A second rider blocked his path. The sword whistled dangerously close to his neck and split his ear. Jay-Gul had to change his aim. As much as he wanted to tear the dishonorable bastard apart, he couldn't ignore the fighter right next to him.

He swooped down on the new target with all his strength and fury. With his experience in encounters with humans and then ogres, he expected nothing from his opponent. Just because the man had a lot of steel on him couldn't make him a good fighter. The orc finished off the horse with a short swing, with a single strike of his axe. The animal had no chance of dodging with such a burden. The heavy blade smashed through the horse's skull, along with the engraved steel plate it was covered with.

The rider sprang rather gracefully from the saddle of the falling horse and stood in a fighting stance. By the short curses from under his visor, the boogeyman was finally convinced that it was a woman.

This in itself was not unusual for Jay-Gul. Orcish women did not usually fight on the front lines, but they could always enter the battlefield with bows. Fast and strong, they were inferior to elves in marksmanship and range. But where an elf had to carefully target a vulnerable spot, an orcish woman only needed to hit.

For example, an escaped leader could have been knocked off his horse by an orcish woman's arrow. If not at the first, then at the second.

Jay also knew that the city and palace guards were women, about a third of the total. The elves had at least half of them. Maybe more than that, and you couldn't tell the big-eared ones apart. Jay still wasn't sure what gender the elf in his gang was.

So there was nothing strange about the woman-warrior. And yet there was something wrong with the whole situation.

"Stupid world," grumbled the orc. "Women have balls more often than men."

The woman, meanwhile, without any distraction, swooped down on the orc, striking the orc with two swift slashes with her sword. Jay bounced back and kicked her in the shield with his foot. She closed in expectantly and lost the initiative. A brief moment was enough for a good swing with the axe.

Against expectations, the human wasn't tossed aside as a sack of shredded meat in a twisted steel wrap. The axe ricocheted off a well-placed shield. It took Jay-Gul barely a second to regain his and his weapon's balance. And human-made good use of it. A momentary lunge of the sword at the neck could well, if not end a life, then cause a serious wound.

If the opponent was another human.

Jay-Gul gently stepped aside, spun around, and brought the axe down again, not with the blade, but with the butt. There was a thud of crumpling steel and a crack. The knight's shield dented and cracked, and she jerked backward, barely able to keep her balance. Jay-Gul immediately struck again, expecting to finish her off.

The woman did not defend herself but threw herself into a clinch with all her weight in a stabbing blow. And this time successfully. Jay-Gul didn't have time to dodge completely, and the edge of the sword left a long cut on his stomach.

Orc retaliated by kicking his opponent in the groin. The steel skirt cushioned the blow, though the body was still thrown back a few paces. Jay-Gul swung his axe again, and a bolt stuck in his shoulder scratched the bone and cartilage. The blow turned out to be awkward, and the knight took it away from her head with his sword. It saved her life, though the fight was still over. The blade struck the shoulder pad with such force that it broke the bone.

Jay-Gul drove his axe into the ground and, keeping his eyes on the wobbly figure, plucked a bolt from his shoulder. The dizziness was almost gone, though there was still an unpleasant burning sensation in the wound.

"You are a good warrior, human. Why are you commanded by a dishonorable coward? You should have defied him... Hold your weapon steady. I will kill you with all respect."

The human did not reply. The orc nodded, acknowledging his reluctance to waste words, and raised his axe. And then the human fell. She didn't try to cushion her fall with her hands but collapsed to the ground.

Jay-Gul raised an eyebrow in surprise, stepped closer, and pushed the body with his foot. He leaned over, flipped the body onto its back, and tried to open the visor without waiting for a reaction. The stubborn iron was much tougher than it looked and did not open at once,

The woman was alive but unconscious. The orc had seen this before - it had happened to humans and ogres from severe but not fatal wounds.

He couldn't decide what to do. To kill her now, as it were, would be unfair. She had fought fair and deserved to die in the fight.

He was distracted by a shout from the wall. Jay glanced up to see if the elf was pointing in the direction of the enemies.

The commander had already galloped toward them. A horn sounded, and the troops moved toward the settlement.

Jay put the decision aside, threw the body on his shoulder, and walked back to the gate. Boyz was nervous. When he had barely stepped behind the walls, he was overwhelmed again by a seething rage. He leaned the motionless body against the wall.

"Elf!" Jay barked, "Call the shaman!"

Throwing everything out of his head that made no sense to think about, he stood in the middle of the open gate. His blood was boiling, his head dizzy with venom and the urge to kill. He breathed deep into his lungs and pointed his axe forward toward the oncoming warriors of the enemy.

"WAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!!!"

The ground and walls trembled in unison with the instantaneous cry. The orcs poured through the gate in one mass.

Jay-Gul himself was eager to give himself over to the rampage. To immerse himself in the chaos of blood and death without a trace of thought. Wagh beckoned, like a nap after a three-day march through the marshes. Like fresh moonshine on a festive evening. Like a beautiful woman who walked into an empty tent.

And yet something held him back. That something was fireballs, bright even in daylight. Three orbs flew into the air from behind a line of enemy infantry and flew lazily toward the village. They seemed to float slowly through the air. Jay-Gul knew the price of such slowness.

He knew what was coming. And he hesitated, torn apart by the contradiction. To surrender to the Wagh or to stay where he was and fight the fire.

Not knowing what to do, he did what he always did. He recalled the order in detail.

Boss told us to take this village, subdue it with as little damage as possible, and fortify ourselves here. And that order remains in force until Boss gives another.

What could be worse than failing a Boss's order? Only to fail an order from the Creator. And by the way, it was the Creator who told the Warboss to deal with the issue of the occupation.

If the village burns down, it cannot be called minimal damage. And there will be nothing to fortify on.

"Aaaaaaah! Goddamn, you fucking wizards! Damn you three hundred times! Aaahhhh!!! Shaman, fuck your guts, where the fuck have you been!!!"

The shaman was already waddling toward the gate, and the elf had carried out the order he'd given me a minute before. Jay ran toward him.

"What..." The shaman grumbled and then stopped talking.

Jay-Gul poked his finger behind his back, upward, without stopping. The shaman seemed to lose his temper.

"So-ka. I'll do what I can."

"Elf, signal the goblins! Let them do what they want, but the mages must be stopped!"

The elf nodded and disappeared with a blurred dash.

"Everybody in the houses, open the doors, get in the corners!" Jay yelled at the top of his tinned throat. "Fire from above! Don't lock up! When it fucking hits, count to five! If it's quiet, run out and fight the fire!"

For the most part, his cries went to waste. The villagers had stayed indoors since yesterday and didn't show their faces outside. The orcs, with their desire to spill blood, discouraged any desire to cross paths with them.

The shaman, meanwhile, took his time walking out onto the cathedral square in front of the former headman's house. He took off his heavy bone beads as he went.

"Appear."

Above the beads, there was a fluttering haze like a blistering heat wave.

"A deal is a deal, spirit. The time has come."

The haze crawled over to the shaman's arm and immediately enveloped him completely. The shaman looked up at the sky - fireballs were already falling on the settlement from a height of two hundred paces. The humming whirring of boiling fire could be heard even below.

The shaman tapped his staff on the ground and yelled:

"Ashes to ashes! Flame to flame!"

The ground shook perceptibly, and a dusty haze rose above it. And the shaman burst into flames as if he'd been bound in twigs. The roar of fire drowned out the rest of the screams. The fireballs in the air exploded into many fat smoky pieces and spilled downward.

Almost all of them reached for the shaman, who was shrieking with rage but standing still.

There was a rumbling noise. The fragments of fire exploded as they slammed into the shaman, spattering acrid, flowing flames for dozens of paces. The cathedral square was instantly a blazing inferno.

Several pieces of fire fell in other places. Two fell on a house on the outskirts, one on a barn not far from the patch, and three more somewhere on the other side of the village. Jay-Gul couldn't see where, just hoped it was on the ground and not on the buildings.

The flames roared on the patch even though the ground was burning. Whether the shaman had survived, the orc did not know and considered this question of secondary importance.

If he's dead, there's nothing to be done. If he survived, how could he be found in a fire, the heat of which made his hair crackle even at a distance?

In any case, the shaman accomplished his task. He drew back the firestorm. Mages should also notice how a spell that had already worked suddenly begins to eat up magical powers again and in much greater quantities.

Although, in the opinion of the orc, it turned out too much. Either the shaman overdid it, or the mages were strong. Though it didn't really matter at this point.

The orc ran to the house on which the fiery fragment had fallen. The hide-covered frame of the roof did its job. The piece of fire spread across it without hitting the house itself. People had already run out of it.

The father of the family, his two sons, the mother of the family, and the wife of the eldest. The older woman held two grandchildren in her arms, and the younger one held a one-year-old to her chest.

Stunned and deafened people looked around, and the baby screamed.

"What's up! Women, over there to that house, it's not hit! You, over here, you two, over there!"

There was no need for repetition. The commander's tone and direct instructions washed away the confusion. Women and children rushed to the house next door. The men began to help the orc pull the burning hide from the roof.

The hide was thrown there on the spot, only folded in half. Jay-Gul and his assistants rushed to the other side of the settlement, where the fire had also fallen.

A barn not far from the patch was crackling merrily with fire, but Jay-Gul didn't see much point in dealing with it. There weren't supposed to be people in it, and if the fire spread to a house, it wouldn't be long before it did.

The other places where the fire fell were also without casualties. In one place, it really fell on the ground. In another on the tent of the shaman. The tent had been hard-enchanted against fire, and by the time Jay-Gul and his assistants got there, the tent was already extinguished. It smelled of greasy smoke, but not even a hole appeared.

At the third crash site, the fire did hit the house. The occupants had already tried to fight it out. It was no use - the speed of drawing water from the well made it impossible to stop the fire from spreading, let alone put it out.

Jay immediately intervened in the process. The women were driven to the nearest shelter, and the men began to remove the roof. They did it quickly, though the fire had already crept over the walls and some of the roof framing.

Through the screeching and crackling of the fire came a warning cry from someone. Jay looked up into the sooty sky. Several more fireballs were approaching.

"Air! To the shelter, quickly, quickly!"

Without questioning what the air had to do with it, the men scattered. The orc himself stared at the greasy trail of lights until the last seconds, calculating where they would fall, and only then ran into the nearest house.

It was crowded and quite noisy. Someone was crying, children were yelling, someone was asking what was going on, and someone was demanding that everyone be quiet.

With this man, Jay-Gul was in complete agreement.

"Shut your "?;% mouths! Quiet!"

There was silence for a second. Then there was a rumbling sound from outside, and something rattled from above. The orc listened, counted to five, and commanded:

"Everybody outside, look around women and children where there's still no fire! Not women follow me!"

A quick check showed that at least a quarter of the houses was on fire. Some of the other houses had smoky roofs, and the roof defenses were acting up again.

People were running and screaming in a cloud of smoke. It was a mess, and the panic threatened to cause more damage. Jay, cursing himself and his short-sightedness, began to restore order.

The thunderous matting, kicking, slapping, and simple, clear instructions from Jay-Gul quickly bore fruit. The running became orderly and purposeful.

Not everyone was busy extinguishing. Orc feared that if there was another strike, the wells would show the bottom, and there would be nothing to extinguish the really important buildings, like the forge. So they left the badly burned houses to burn, taking out what was most valuable.

He took the most active part in eliminating the fire. The orc's tremendous strength and resistance to pain and burns saved many who stumbled or otherwise failed to get out of the burning houses. A new firestorm never came. Half an hour later, there were no more open flames. Jay told the survivors to gather for roll call. They gathered not far from the old patch. The ground was still greasy with smoke at the cathedral site itself.

There were not as many dead and missing as he feared. Five of the panicked men who'd missed the second blast of fire burned outside the houses. Two suffocated in the smoke, another was nailed by a log. A guy thought he heard a scream in a burning house and went to save them.

It could be worse.

Then one of the boyz who had gone into battle appeared. He was covered in blood and cuts, a sword scar across his muzzle, one eye in place, and a bloody hollow in place of the other.

"What's in there?" Jay grumbled enviously to the boyz.

He didn't look much better, covered with soot, abrasions, and bloodshot burns.

"We tore them up!" The boyz proudly announced. "They had to run. The ones on horseback were fast. A few got away. A few surrendered."

"How many of our men are dead?"

"Ten. Another five were chopped up but alive."

"Their boss? Their boss, what about him?"

"Their boss run away."

Jay-Gul could hardly suppress his rage.

"@?;%!"

"Don't be angry, boss. He won't get far, the horse will get tired. We'll catch up."

"Right. Okay, what about the wizards?"

The goblins slaughtered the mages. We got into a melee, while this and that, we couldn't get to them. And the goblins came from behind, scaring them off. The mages set them on fire, but the little guys did good, especially their boss. Burned all over, but he made it. Only died when he stuck a knife in the belly of a wizard. Cut up the mages, that's all. The guys sent me to ask what to do next.

"Bring them here. The living, the dead, the horses, the gear. Bring them all. We'll sort them."

"Yeah." The messenger glanced at the smoky fires, the pillar of smoke from the patch. "You had fun here, too, didn't you, boss? The boyz were worried you weren't going with the rest of them."

"Whoever was worried, let them ask me themselves. I will tell them very clearly why. It'll take a week to get their teeth together. Go ahead."

* * *

Does Great Power Lead to Great Responsibility? (Overlord OC AU Translation)

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