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

00loner · May 22, 2022

RiP said:
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.

The commas are missing .
Are they called invited comma or something else ?

00loner · May 23, 2022

RiP said:
[T. N. Why Talik feel so uneasy with Draga and Illadriya

]
***Talik***

Talik was sitting at his desk, looking at the map Illadrya had unfolded. The elfess herself was standing

at

Can't see the photo or image .

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."

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RiP · May 23, 2022

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*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."

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*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."
+ + +

M0rtimer · Jun 1, 2022

It's a wonderful story. I enjoyed it in the original and quite enjoy it now, in your pleasant translation.

But I'm wondering, up to which chapter do you have the text? Considering that the original was deleted.

RiP · Jun 1, 2022

M0rtimer said:
But I'm wondering, up to which chapter do you have the text? Considering that the original was deleted.

Internets remember everything.

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."

* * *

RiP · Dec 5, 2022

* * *

*Talik*

"Now it's just a matter of time. Take it."

Talik handed Draga a scroll-wrapped letter with a gilded seal. She accepted it with a deep bow and put it in her inventory.

"Do you remember what to do?"

"Absolutely, Prophet. I will deliver it to the E-Rantel guild, and while I wait for an answer, I will meet with Gazeph Stronoff and establish friendly relations with him. If a Bone Dragon appears, destroy it with as few outside casualties as possible. Whoever summoned it, capture it at all costs, preferably alive."

Talik nodded.

"I hope for you. It's important."

Draga bowed deeply again and left.

[message]

"Marius?"

"Yes, Your Holiness. My time has come?"

"Yes. Just meet me at my temple."

"As you wish."

It took only a few minutes to get to his private quarters. Marius was already waiting at the entrance. The grotesque figure of the lich provided a wild contrast to the majestic archway of the entrance. In his hands, the lich held several thick, dark-colored folders with silver edging. At Talik's appearance, the lich bowed deeply.

"Are these folders of your research?"

"Yes, Master. The most important thing of all that has been studied."

Talik took the stack outstretched. It was rather heavy for its size. He beckoned the lich to follow him, opened the first of the folders, and glanced through them as he went. He frowned, flipped through the second, the third... He felt some sort of unnatural irritation. It was as if something flickered in his lateral vision. Something familiar and important, and at the same time forgotten and elusive.

As he entered his office, he irritably nailed this stack to his desk and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"Your Holiness, have I made you angry?" The cautious baritone of the lychee sounded.

Talik slowly exhaled.

"You not. It's just that I was expecting something a little different."

"What is my mistake?"

"This one," Talik waved his palm at the stack of folders. "It's not science or research. "Necrotic energies," "soul substances," etc. Bullshit, to put it simply."

He collapsed into a chair. Marius hovered mournfully over the table.

"Marius, I do not doubt that you put a lot of effort into observing and categorizing. That part is very well done. But here are the conclusions, it's... Can you explain to me, for example, what "necrotic energy" is?"

"It is the energy coming from the world of death through every being that has lost life. Depending on the lifetime power of the deceased being..."

"That's enough. Okay, let's say the energy coming from the otherworld. How did you even determine that it existed, and even more so in this form? What metrics did you use when generating it, and with what? With your senses? Here," Talik shook one of the folders in his hand. "is a detailed description of the act of killing a living being. Knowing what the creature did when it was alive, I am willing to set aside the moral side of the question. And so, at the end of this act, "life energy" was expelled, after which "necrotic" energy began to be released. The question is, what was your measure of these energies? What was the measure of their quantity and properties? What are they, and how do they spread and accumulate?"

"I thought these things were obvious, and now I realize I was mistaken. I cannot answer the questions asked, Your Holiness. I am grateful for this criticism and regret that I wasted your time. "

"It's not that it's wasted at all. You have made many useful observations. These charts, at least. Great comparative analysis and classification of power patterns. Really well done and brings up a lot of thoughts. There's really a lot to work with here. As an engineer, I can already see some interesting things. But other than observations... You just don't have the education to do real scientific work. Yeah."

"I regret my uselessness, Your Holiness."

"And you, too. As if there's any use in having regrets. The problem is your education, or rather the lack thereof. Until we fix it, at least in the basics, there will be no work."

"Do you wish to teach me? I can't tell you how happy I would be about this opportunity."

Why shouldn't I be? I'm not much of a teacher, of course... On the other hand, if this supercomputer really wants to learn, there shouldn't be much of a problem. Unless there's a "machine uprising", but... It already happened, and I can't leave things as they are.

"It's not that I want it so much... It's okay to try. But first, let's finish the other business. About Lias. He said a lot of nice things about you as a teacher. And, by all appearances, not for nothing."

Talik flipped through the thick journal containing everything about the boy once more. Including a comparative analysis of power gain, the literature used, and the process of adapting it for "mere mortals". Through trial and error, Marius soon found his way to Lias. Among other things he literally " pumped" the guy, forcing him to exterminate the low-level undead of his own making.

"I do my best."

"Does this effort include the fact that he moved to live in the city of the living?"

"Absolutely. It's one of the strongest motivations for him to do his best in his studies."

"And at the same time, you gave an outsider access to the guild without asking me. It is not a bad thing for an outsider to see the guild from within. It's even good to learn from him how the city will be seen by outsiders. The bad thing is that I will know that the outsider is integrating into an isolated system by the fact."

"This is my miscalculation, Your Holiness. It will not happen again."

"I really hope so. Okay, what's next..."

Talik went through and thumbed through the folders. In fact, Archlich had compiled the notes perfectly. A table of contents and a statement of conclusions. Footnotes with page numbers detailing considerations and observations. Yellow paper with a greenish tint and strict black typeface carried a lot of really important things.

Talik was both relieved and apprehensive as he read the notes. Marius was aware of literally everything.

His minions, the lichs, recently assigned to the role of clerks in city services, provided exhaustive information about all the cases that passed through them. The information was systematized, classified, and sorted.

What, when, and where was going on, what was being talked about - and what was being withheld, what the residents were unaccustomed to. To summarize his observations, problems were brewing in the city.

Humans and elves were ceasing to respect the draconids. For the moment, it wasn't a problem, per se. But in the foreseeable future, if nothing was done, it could be.

Apparently, this was because the two races had representatives among the Elder Servants. And there was a great deal of importance attached to it. The Elder Servants, as the rest of the NPCs understood it, were someone close to the higher powers and represented the interests of the entire race. The draconids had no such representative. And somehow, it turned out that since they were not illuminated by the highest attention, they were not as important as the others.

Either Wilhelm missed this point or simply ignored it. Or maybe he deliberately neglected it based on the same logic. One way or another, any disputes between draconids and representatives of other races were resolved not in favor of the former.

Talik had a very good idea of how relations between nations of different "sorts" might develop. The history of the Earth had quite illustrative examples.

It was good that orcs and undead didn't bother with anything at all. Both of them didn't give a damn about the other races.

Although Talik did not want to rely entirely on this data. They were collected only in the "human" part of the city. Though it was inhabited in one way or another by representatives of all the races of the guild, humans had a serious majority.

"Yes, it's more like the real world," Talik leaned back in his chair, studying the stained glass ceiling. "It's better this way, though. A clear problem is always better than the unknown."

"What do you mean?"

"Don't bother yet. Is this an inventory of your household?"

"Yes, I suppose that's a good definition."

"Okay, I was just about to ask... Oh, I take it you made your own pudge?"

"Yes, Your Holiness. Not unlike the works of Lord Cassius, but useful."

"Kashchey yes, his build was really good... Hmm, I wonder how he would behave if he were here too."

"Is such a possibility not excluded?" Cautiously asked the archilich

"Well..." Talik thoughtfully stretched out, flipping through the pages. "I don't think you can expect any of us here at all, but you never know. Only about Kashchey, that's for sure."

"May I know why this is so?"

"He's... Hmm. He's dead. For real. A year ago... That's eight years for you."

"This is hard for me to comprehend, Your Holiness. I always thought death had no authority over the Lords. And Lord Cassius himself ruled over it... Moreover, I had the good fortune to see Lord Cassius later than the time you mentioned."

Leach was a little downcast.

Well, how to explain to him what a character on the bot is?

"It's hard to explain, Marius. In the universe, as you know it, we're really incapable of dying for good. At least, not without our will. But in our... Homeworld, we can die."

"That's how... Could I... Get the details?"

"It's a sad story, Marius. Maybe I'll tell it you someday. There are more important things right now. Is the undead you created stable?"

"To my shame, not really. At least the one based on flesh. The supposed lifespan of the Pudges is less than a month. The hounds are even less. Perhaps the problem is that they are assembled from dead bodies..."

"And you'd like to try to assemble them from the living? Forget about such things. In any case, it is highly unlikely that the result will be different."

"And what do you see as a problem?"

"Hell, it's the fact that a living body cut into pieces becomes dead and begins to decompose. If you were a muscular surgeon with the proper training and tools, this could have been avoided. Or use dead water. But if it can be found in this world, it certainly won't go into making pudges. In any case, it's enough for current needs."

"Current needs?"

"Yes. In those plains where I found trouble. There was quite a show there, and I suppose it has to do with the way you and Illadria spammed the portal interceptor. More likely, there's an outpost or fortress or something like that. Whoever is the master there has shown himself to be the enemy. Decency demands a courtesy visit, and common sense demands a study of their technology. We will not strike into the unknown with our main forces. But we must try and provoke them to show us what they can do."

"That's a delightful thought. That way we can try out my crafts. Yes."

"You made three pudges and send two of them there. Let one stay in reserve for now. Send a dozen death knights with the pudges. They're not too shabby and relatively hard to kill. And they'll need a commanding officer. There's no point in sending a Wraith. We need someone more serious..."

"I would send a vampire, Your Holiness. They are intelligent and disciplined enough not to do anything foolish. Their lineage and ambition..."

Talik was quiet, taking stock. Vampires were pretty formidable fighters for their levels. Not without their weaknesses, of course. And it would be interesting to give an NPC the initiative and see what came of it.

On the plus side, it was much easier to resurrect a vampire than a living or named unit. Even Marius himself could do it without losing any levels.

On the other hand, it's a vampire, after all...

"In theory, a vampire could lose control and create a hotbed of infection. A lot of problems, to put it simply."

"This will not happen in practice, Your Holiness. My direct authority is sufficient to prevent such a thing from happening. And if for some reason, it is not enough, I will personally destroy it. Along with the problems."

"All right. Let's do that. When will they be ready?"

"Now."

"Then, here's your task. Find the place over there where those sparks are in the sky and examine it thoroughly. If there's a fortification or something like that, grab it. If we're lucky, we'll play big fish."

"I don't fully understand the term..."

"Provoke an attack, estimate forces, add reinforcements. If the enemy adds more, we'll add more, and so on, until the limits of one side's resources are clear. In fact, the group with the vampire will act as biting bait. A small fish to which a bigger fish can bite, on which we drop an even bigger fish, and so on. All more or less serious mash-ups start with this. Well, we'll see what the results will be. Either we take the bridgehead, or we loot everything there and destroy what's left."

"I get the idea. I'll do my best."

"You may proceed."

Marius bowed out and left the office. The irritation and uneasiness did not let up.

Maybe I should cancel this "expedition. I have a bad feeling about this. On the other hand, there is no way to leave such a raid unanswered. What I don't like about it, I don't understand. Vampire? Well, in theory, he could do a lot of damage. In practice, if Marius was watching him, he wouldn't make it, even if he tried. He wouldn't be a threat to the Guild, even if he were to mutiny or get out of control. One seventy... Or maybe we shouldn't trust Marius. But even with his recognition knocked down, he's still stuck up for me. Who should I trust, anyway? Maybe there's something else at work here.

The characteristic melodic chime of "message" sounded in the head. Talik exhaled and accepted the message.

"What's the matter?"

"Your Holiness, stalker cf17. A scout reports that the orcs from the edge of the forest were attacked. The attack was repulsed, there are casualties and prisoners."

"Where were they attacked, by what forces?"

"Orc-occupied local village, first in line. The leader is Jay-Gul. An armed formation attacked. Humans, a preliminary estimate of about a hundred and sixty units."

"Locals?"

"All the signs say so."

"How far away are the next two stalkers and what are they doing?"

"Me and cf23, terrain control, forty minutes of rapid marching."

"Try a very quick march. Head straight there, and find out the details on the spot. Get all the details from the prisoners about where they came from and why they attacked."

"Roger."

Is that mean, that the other side checking me on too? My friends, you shouldn't do that. Of course, I understand everything, but for such things, I repay hard in the game. I don't want to be the perpetrator of massacres, but just watching savages from feudal society attacking MY Guild, I want even less. Want to know what a guild war is? I'll show you.

The anxiety and irritation receded, and instead came an outburst of indignation, and outrage. The feeling was so strong that it made me dizzy for a second. The first thing I wanted to do was to rip off all the available "units" and send them to destroy all life on the side from which the attackers had come. It was worth a tangible effort of will to hold on.

Bastards. Kashchey, give me strength. Like you said... To slap a girl, to send the manager to hell, to insult a friend - it may seem appropriate, only while you are angry. This is a different level, but the principle is the same. Taking revenge for a single attack with genocide is not something really worth doing. It's in the game that there is no real death, and the culprit is always unambiguous. Moreover, there is the possibility that it is a provocation to lure you out and hit you. Okay, consider it lured out. But first, calm down and figure it out... At least until details emerge. Too bad the message doesn't work with small units.

He threw his legs up on the table, interlocked his fingers, and scowled.

The first village is the eastern part of the forest, and it can be considered the border with this "empire" that Akuro and Era spoke of. Robbery can be ruled out. A hundred and fifty men, that's not a unit that can be fed by plundering. Anything is possible, but... Unlikely, in general. Then it turns out to be soldiers, and soldiers usually attack under orders. Find out who gave the order and give them a couple of flaps, and at the same time make sure it doesn't happen again. Based on the fact that they were waved off by a gang of orcs, not the most powerful formation, to put it bluntly...

[message]

"Warboss, how was your war in the woods?"

"It is no longer war, Creator. Hunting. The boyz are having fun."

"I need some of them to have fun in a different place. Come over to my place and we'll discuss the details."

* * *

RiP · Dec 10, 2022

* * *

Dawn City

*Talik*

Talik was sitting in his "office," sorting through a pile of documentation and his notes. Unlike his last attempt, he didn't want to sweep them all off the table and fall asleep on the heavy polished desk. On the contrary, he wants to dig in, to get to the bottom of it, to consider, predict, and plan. Even though Marius's debuffs were still very noticeable, no details fell out of his head; on the contrary, the logical chains were sharper than ever. And this helped a lot because a lot of what he was doing now was alien to him in "real" life. For example, questions about logistics. It would seem that what could be easier than just delivering goods from point A to point B? But the tasks presented here had little to do with the "spherical horse in a vacuum". The cargo itself will not appear at point A, it must somehow be delivered there and have a transportable condition, format, and so on.

For example, a wood from the Tob Forest - in order to be transformed from piled wood into building material, this wood had to be processed - branches, limbs, roots, and crowns had to be cut down. Already in this form, it had to be delivered to the very point A, which could be reached by a hauling transport, which would send the resource to point B. There was more than one point B.

The ravine, the road from which was already paved almost to the middle of the forest - there was a need for storage infrastructure, and, given the manners of the natives - even a fortress, and not only there. Swamps, in which it was necessary to build many dams, dikes, fortifications for crumbling banks, and other things. To an orcish camp in the valley, where serious upgrading of livestock plots was needed. To the quarries and mines founded by William. Just because it worked mostly undead didn't mean the tunnels and adits didn't need to be fortified. Wood was needed almost everywhere except, thank God, in the Dawn City itself. And then, there was no telling how long it would remain immaculate. Repair for those same carts had almost become a problem. They were beginning to break down.

And the delivery of wood from numerous points A to numerous points B had to be organized so that nobody tripped over anyone so that the work did not stall because the material was not delivered on time, and so that the material did not lie idle for weeks. And the wood is only a part and not the biggest.

Not that Talik really needed to do that. The whole thing was already very well organized, but now, looking at the reports of what was happening, he was horrified to think that if the NPCs didn't have real intelligence and experience, there would be chaos here already. Complex systems theory at its most vivid. Now, he could feel the meticulousness returning to him, the meticulousness with which he had always approached anything in the real world. And in the game for the last couple of years, too.

It was a great idea to sleep, after all,

This thought did not immediately occur to him yesterday, and not even on its own. During another of Talik's attempts to get his overworked brain to work and his frayed nerves, Draga began massaging his shoulders. And that massage mysteriously ended in debauchery on the big, comfortable bed. Beautiful, flexible, compliant, and resolutely ready for anything woman left nothing but the desire to possess her in his mind. And then there was sleep. And in the morning, waking up to light, freshness, and the very woman in his arms, Talik felt like a completely different person. A little later (an hour or two later), while dressing, he came to the conclusion that even though his body did not need sleep, his psyche was not adapted to its absence. In real life, he would not have lasted so long (more than two weeks) without normal sleep; he would have passed out on the third day at most. But here, his body was doing its job while his mind was giving up on him.

And now, taking advantage of the clarity of his mind, he sought to make up for the lost time.

And the lack of pressure from the outside must also be taken into account. When working with paper, everything is much easier than when you come into contact with people.

Rummaging through his notes was a separate hassle. "Got to do" "got to go" "got to see" "got to know," and so on - and there were plenty of them. Not that they were meaningless, on the contrary, they did a very good job of reminding him of critically important things. But when and what exactly to do, so as not to get lost and not to jump from one thing to another, was a big question. One of the most uncomfortable thorns in his heel was the promise he had made to Marius to teach him. What could he teach an archlich who, with his awesome personal power, knew nothing about the world order? Especially considering the fact that the laws of the universe can be very different from what we are used to. He had to make a program, preferably in such a way that the obscenely intuitive undead would not realize that Talik was not the omniscient idol they imagined him to be.

The second biggest sticking point was the inventory. It promised to be a separate task of epic proportions. Though he immediately corrected himself, it was the third biggest. The second, quite competing with the first, was the relationship with the outside world. And the second was only because Marius was much, much closer and more dangerous than everything else.

A mysterious enemy who almost killed Talik without even appearing on the scene in person. Who he was, and how dangerous he could really be, was still not clear. The "expedition" sent by Marius was only supposed to reach the edge of the Plains in three days at best. The visions of the possible future faded a little, but they were not less depressing. And Talik certainly didn't want the part about his Guild to come true.

The massacre in the local town, not so far away, might well have served as one of the stages by which this web of events could have been spun that might have led to disaster. Apart from the fact that he didn't want to sit idly by, knowing that outright genocide was going on somewhere nearby. Yesterday he'd considered that as a possibility, too, and now he wasn't prepared for such a weight on his conscience. And of course, clearing up a possible relationship with the local Adventurer's Guild was still very important.

The aggression on the part of the natives, which had enraged him to the core, also demanded more thoughtful attention than simply "go and smash" in retaliation. It would have been the same genocide, only this time through his own fault. Also, he needed to be more sensitive to his own orders. The elves, who had been sent to the scene, had quarreled with the orcs over who was in charge. It almost came to a stabbing, the end of which would have been very predictable. As opposed to the possible consequences.

Warboss, upon learning of the welcome Talik had received upon his return "home," was enraged, and he was not immediately pacified. And some of his entourage were caught in the crossfire, and now the orcs had one less Nob to deal with. And the lore, which Talik had personally prescribed for the orcish horde, said in black and green that fallen leaders could not be raised unless it was absolutely necessary. Whoever proved himself most worthy of the position would become the new Nob. That's minus one level 80 fighter. There was no certainty that the new Nob would suddenly get level 80 and not stay in his 30-40 range. And what would have started if the elves had slaughtered the band of orcs after that, with the Warboss clearly not having warm feelings for Illadria and the elves in general from the start, Talik didn't even want to think about it. Though it might have been worth pondering.

It's a good thing the stalkers were smart enough to contact their superiors and report the "green savages who think too much of themselves" before they entered the active phase of the dispute. Talik, bracing himself, told them to smooth out the conflict and get the hell out of there on recon, and sent the other two instead. With appropriate instructions. The general picture of events was already clear, orcs were flocking to the affected village, but the picture had to be restored as fully as possible. To start military action without a clear understanding of who and what they wanted to achieve, was seen as a bad idea.

He sighed, looking out the high window. The lush colors of greenery, flowers, and ornamental fauna beckoned him to drop everything and go enjoy life. Talik shoved that nasty feeling away, sucking him into a very doubtful comfort zone. He had nothing against comfort, really, and he was going to plunge into the joys of his new life a little later. Just as he had no illusions that he would be able to absorb everything that was going on in one morning. But there were things he absolutely wanted to do before he relaxed. And what he would do afterward.

There was a knock at the door. Draga, still careful not to leave Talik's side, went to the door and opened it. The temple attendant bent almost to the floor, reported:

"Your Holiness, the person you want is here."

"Let her come in."

The attendant disappeared, and a tall, unrealistically thin figure in a pale cassock appeared in the doorway. Talik did not go into detail, just subconsciously assuming that the Abbess was human or elf. And now he was slightly surprised to see a draconian woman. In these creatures, sexual dimorphism was much more pronounced than in most other intelligent races. In contrast to the massive, shoulder-length male lizards, the draconids were of a much more delicate build. The woman who entered could only be mistaken for a human from a distance. Her slender frame seemed to be hugged with just her fingers, and the only exposed parts of her body were her long scaly fingers with neat claws, and her snake head, dark gray in color with golden patterns of scales. The guest moved with the grace expected of a snake. She also bent in a bow and stood still on the threshold.

"Come in," Talik gestured for her to come in.

Draconid scooted forward without straightening up. Talik sighed.

"I don't feel comfortable talking to you when you're in that position." He made an inviting gesture toward one of the chairs nearby.

The guest hesitantly sat up and straightened, folding her hands in her lap. It was impossible to read anything on the serpent's face. Generally speaking, the fact that the enterprising Abbess turned out to be draconian was very convenient and allowed him to bring to fruition an idea he hadn't known how to approach before.

"As I understand it, you are Abbess Nitia."

"Yes, Your Holiness. I dared not hope that you would know my name."

Talik gave an inward chuckle. In fact, he was supposed to know all the church congregation personally. But there was a handicap here, too. Also, the guest, though she had a dry, raspy voice, she didn't hiss as much as Talik had expected.

"As you can see, I know very well about you. I wanted to talk to you about the stranger you took in."

The guest's scales went from dark gray to unhealthily light.

"Was... Was that a mistake?"

"No, calm down. On the contrary, it was a very good initiative. You did a very good thing, and I approve of that. Nevertheless, I have a few questions for you. First, tell me, why didn't you chase him away like the others?"

I... At first I was curious. When he showed up at my abode, he looked so lost that it didn't seem right for me to kick him out. I talked to him, and after hearing his story, I felt pity for him. He was so afraid that the Gatekeeper would take him back if he couldn't get a job, that I decided to try. There's no such thing as inhibitions, so I decided to give him a chance and explore more closely.

"Explore?"

"Yes, Your Holiness. He comes from a new world, from the outside, and he may not be the only one. I wanted to know what kind of world it was, what kind of creatures inhabited it, and what could be expected of them."

"And what is your impression?"

"He is a wild ignoramus, Your Holiness. He is shockingly ill-mannered. Perhaps it is because he is very young. And he tries to be helpful, though it sometimes makes him do foolish things."

"And what conclusions did you draw about the outside world by dealing with this man?"

"I concluded that this is a cruel, unjust world in which the suffering of the innocent and the triumph of the unrighteous are commonplace. Perhaps I am wrong..."

"No, you got it right. And I think that needs to change. I want you to be the one to help me do that."

"I shall be happy to serve your purpose, Your Holiness!"

Talik could hardly keep from wincing.

"One of the ways we will influence this world will be through our faith. And there's a bit of a catch... We have ideals, rules, and orders based on what we understand to be right and wrong. And when you interact with another citizen of the Dawn, whether draconid, orc, human, or elf, you can be sure that you will be understood correctly. It doesn't work that way with locals. They have no common understandings upon which to base what we believe. So, our words will be too vague and incomprehensible for them. So we're going to need a set of rules about why we should do things this way and that way. Simply put, we will need our own rule book so that we can share our culture with those who want it. And, warning your possible question - I don't want to do this personally. It's a big job that can't be done by anyone alone. And I want to entrust this work to those who will directly carry our word to the masses."

What I'm getting at... I plan to call all the rectors of the Dawn to a big meeting. In which to raise this, and some other questions. As well as answering questions from others. I myself have no time to run and warn and coordinate all this among 177 sentient beings, so I'll need someone to do it on my behalf. Someone proactive, curious, and able to do more than just blindly follow the usual rules.

"So..."

"Yes. I want you to do it. Do you think you can do it?"

"I will certainly live up to your trust, Your Holiness."

"I'm sure you'll do well. Come back tomorrow morning and tell me about your progress. Of course, I don't expect you to do everything in one day, so you don't have to be too hard on yourself trying to get everything done in one day. That's it for now, you're good to go."

Draconid, vowing to justify his trust, backed out of the office. Talik buried himself in his papers again, in time to absorb what he had planned before lunch. There was still much to do before he went to the "prison".

* * *
*Era*

Era stood in front of the door of the Guild's branch head and hesitated. An invitation to this branch office was not something out of the ordinary, and yet, it almost always meant that something in the adventurer's life would change.

All the more so, given the events that had preceded it. The fact that the whole group was not told to report immediately upon arrival was a good sign. Though, of course, the loss of Taler promised to be a murky and indelible stain on the group's reputation. Two healers had gone on a mission with them, and both were missing... It was practically a cross for the group. But a cross for the group in terms of reputation did not mean that they would be formally expelled.

Yesterday she and Daimon and Bryce had honestly tried to get the guys who had helped them get into town drunk. Not just as a thank you, of course. All three of them were eager to get Wall to talk. Who he was, where he came from, and what the symbols were on his armor. And as it later turned out, tattoos, too.

In a normal situation, wine at someone else's expense and a little flattery would loosen the tongue of any adventurer. Daimon and his friends, too, and there was nothing strange about it. Who would refuse to drink at someone else's expense when all you have to do is brag?

This time it didn't work out. Well, in other words, the main goal was not achieved. Daimon's resistance to alcohol was negligible before the Wall. The stern and taciturn warrior was truly indestructible. It was a matter of principle, and the wine - not the worst of the guild - flowed like a river. The enigmatic Wall drank like a champion - for five, without a snack, and don't give a damn. His group fell under the table after the seventh keg. After the ninth, Bryce joined them. The eleventh finished off Daimon, too. The emptied jar rolled off the table, and another took its place. Daimon sighed, wagged his finger at someone, and dropped his face into the plate of bread, leaving Era alone with the heavily intoxicated but still thinking Wall.

Era herself drank only symbolically, which is why she caught the finale.

"It was a good time," hiccuped Wall, cracking open the keg.

"Yeah," Era agreed, glancing skeptically at the bodies on the floor.

There was no need to worry about the "fallen"; the servants would later put them in their rooms.

"You take care of yourself, you drink carefully, don't you?" Wall sniggered as he poured the red drink into a mug. "Do you want a refill?"

"There's more," Era pointedly shook her mug, which was still half full of wine.

Wall nodded and poured one for himself with a slightly trembling hand.

"There's more for me. It's not much wine, though," he said as he took another few sips. "I'm not even drunk, and I'm tired of drinking."

"The wine is fine," Era countered. "That's you unbreakable."

"Ha, there are no others in the Dawn Guard!" Wall spread his hands smugly. "Fortitude, the first virtue... Hmm."

Wall became silent and shook his head.

"Something I... I think it got me."

"Come on," Era began to tease. "Whatever you used to be, you're an adventurer now. Did you use to be a guardian? What's so secret about that?"

"You understand a lot. I... I can't talk about it. I'm not allowed to."

Era leaned on the table, moving closer.

"Only two people can tell you what to do now, you and the Head of the Guild. One thing I can say for the other is that he doesn't care. Come on, spill it, it's interesting. What kind of guards do they only take such impenetrable people into?"

"Impenetrable?"

Wall, with a strange expression on his face, also leaned on the table, bringing his face closer to Era.

"Just because you can't beat someone doesn't mean they're invincible." The warrior jabbed an admonishing finger at Era. "It just means you don't have the strength. That's all. It was my duty to keep my city safe from monsters you wouldn't see in any nightmare."

Wall wrinkled, hiccupped and leaned back.

"Enough about that. Now I'm just a novice adventurer. I was told I could keep my past to myself." He took a straw stare at the bodies under the table. "The booze sucks, but there's plenty more where that came from. Let's drink it."

There was nothing else she could pull from Wall. He simply brushed off questions about himself. During the two kegs, Era shared some tricks for dealing with the ghoul and told a couple of funny stories about the adventures of their group. The "fallen ones" were unobtrusively dispersed to their rooms. And then morning came.

Era drank, even if little, but she drank nonetheless. The sleepless night in addition to the wine did not add to her vigor at all. There was no way to get some sleep before the appointed time. In order not to lose face in front of the head of the branch, had to sacrifice not very cheap tonic potion.

Era exhaled, knocked on the heavy carved door, and pushed it open.

In the simply and tastefully furnished office were three men. The director of the department, a lean, elderly, unflappable man in a worn camisole and monocle, sat in a chair opposite the priest.

The priest in the white and gold cassock looked as if he'd been up all night with Era for company, only he hadn't taken any life-giving elixirs. A pale face with fine lines flashed in dark circles under his flushed eyes. There was a palpable odor of dissatisfaction and irritation about him.

And by the window stood the chief wizard of the Branch, and of the city as well. He was a short, plump, smiling good-looking man with a fleshy face and a robe that looked more like a bathrobe.

Ere was personally acquainted with him. The impression of a gentleman and sybarite was not deceptive - the mage did not limit himself to the available comforts and pleasures. And he did not take to heart other people's points of view on the matter. There was that his colleagues and clergy chided him, saying that it is not appropriate for a respectable man to behave so intemperately. To which he replied, "Why should I have wealth and power if I limit myself in the benefits they bring? Better drink with me this fine wine, taste these delicacies, and tell an interesting story!"

At the same time, he was a great specialist with an immense reservoir of knowledge about all kinds of things.

"Oh, Era, you're right on time." The mage smiled.

He moved his fingers, and the door closed softly behind Era. For a moment afterward, there was an unnatural, oppressive silence in the room.

"We've just run out of topics to discuss. Have a seat. Don't be surprised by the Prelate's presence, this worthy husband is not here by mistake."

Through the soft and friendly voice, Eira could feel the poisonous sarcasm against her skin. He didn't seem pleased by the priest's presence, though the churchman himself clearly took what he said at face value.

Era bowed briefly to the Head of the Branch and sat down on the edge of her chair.

"I am ready to answer any questions."

"Fine. Where's the gifted one you lured into your dubious gang?" The priest immediately jumped up.

Era wanted to answer, and rather sharply. However, she simply ignored the question, continuing to stare at the mage and the Head of the Branch.

"Answer me!" The priest boiled up, seeing that he was being ignored.

As he stared at Era, he wasn't even paying attention to the way the head of the branch's mask of equanimity was letting loose. Even the mage, known for his positive attitude toward everything, pursed his lips.

"Era, I apologize to you for the tone of our guest. The circumstances are rather complicated, and he can be understood... Honorable Abacus, try to control yourself. We have already discussed this."

"There's no time for flattery now, Director, you know that very well. So, where is the gifted one?"

The director rubbed the bridge of his nose tiredly and turned to Era.

"This is a really important question, Era. It's obvious from your report on your return that he left you of his own accord. But there are no details. What happened?"

Era hesitated to answer.

"Returning from the Kaz Plains, we made the decision to hurry to E-Rantel, and he disagreed. He wanted to take a different route. It would have taken an unknown amount of time and was too dangerous for our group. In the end, he decided to go without us."

"You say it was too dangerous for your group, and yet you decided to split up and let him go alone? Given your very recent loss, you should know how that sounds."

Era lowered her head.

"Yes, I understand."

The priest inhaled sharply, jumping up from his seat, and, meeting the cold stare of the Head of the Branch, sat back down with a strained sniffle.

The magician sadly pressed his lips, shook his head hopefully, and asked: "Gentlemen, perhaps we do not fully understand the circumstances. Era, the light of my day, gives us a reason to calm down. Explain why you let this young man, Taler, go alone."

Era exhaled.

"And we couldn't restrain him. No one could."

"What do you mean?" the director clarified.

"In a very direct way. I have no idea who... Ah. Taler showed himself to be an incredibly powerful wizard. He tried to appear weaker than he really was. But when the situation was really critical... I've never even heard of such spells. He... Burned six monsters, all resembling the undead, in one spell. In an instant. And when we left the plains after that, he refused to come with us. He needed to go somewhere else entirely. I don't know where exactly. And... I really can't think of any way we could have gotten him to continue with us. And we ourselves decided not to risk going into the unknown after the strongest mage who was trying to hide his capabilities. That was it."

"Shameless lie!" the priest barked, and, not paying attention to the others, jumped up from his seat. "This tale is like a child's excuse! See the holy heroes, I tried to be tolerant. You weak-minded thugs tricked a man with potentially the strongest holy gift in a generation into committing suicide! First, one promising boy goes missing, it can be written off as an accident. But you immediately ruin the second and still make up some absurd nonsense! Where is his corpse at least?! Answer me!"

At first, Era tried to ignore this tirade. She knew that the Church molded its ministers into a worldview that was not entirely consistent with reality. After all, she herself had grown up in its dogmas and rules.

She believed that greed and hubris were a tolerable disadvantage compared to the benefits of the priests.

This situation was beyond all limits. Formally, the priest was nothing to her - she was not a priest, she was not part of the parish, and she always paid (sacrificed) the full price for the services of the priests. Quite a lot of money.

With an apparent effort to pull herself together and ignore the churchman again, she asked the Head:

"Mr. Director, I have been invited to you on an urgent and important matter. It involves listening to... This?"

The Head nodded unhappily.

"Yes. I'll explain later. Reverend, calm down. We'll get to the bottom of this."

A kind of interrogation went on for at least an hour, and it was quite tense. The priest quickly regained his composure and stopped overstepping his bounds, but he still made Era nervous. For what reason he was so worried about Taler, Era could still somehow understand. One way or another, the Guild was interacting with the Church. Not on the level of formal obligations - the priests didn't want to share authority with "vagrants and anarchists.

The Guild helped the Church to solve problems that the celestials did not care about. There were often situations where the landowner did not want to spend money on hiring adventurers. So something eats the peasants, so what? Five will be lost in a year and twenty will be born. Disease and starvation will kill ten more, and still be profitable. Thanks to the princess, they can't be bought or sold now anyway. Taxes are paid, and that's all right.

In such cases, the Church could not remain silent in the face of people's troubles. And to miss an opportunity, of course. The Church's coffers paid for the hiring of Guild cutthroats, who quickly and quietly solved the problems of the common people, leaving all the laurels to the priests. The Church was a pleasure to work with - the greedy priests paid little and reluctantly, but always on time and in full. Besides, they helped with preparation before and treatment after, free of charge. Often churchmen with stronger balls helped in the field as well - and such help was hard to overestimate.

The Church also willingly trained those who had at least some connection to higher forces. It did not take money for this either but did not miss a chance to lure a promising person to its side.

All in all, everyone was happy. The people got security, the priests got influence, and the Guild got money. There were conflicts of interest, but they were resolved quickly and quietly.

But she could not recall a churchman being present at such a meeting and behaving as if he were owed anything. But she remembered how the theocratic priests behaved. And that made it hard.

She had prepared for such an interrogation, but, as it turned out, not thoroughly enough. Only the appearance of that creepy woman in black and the fact that Taler's "reinforcements" were undead were kept secret. The cool, assertive head and the mage's very keen eye for detail shook out literally everything else.

How they walked, what they did, what they talked about, what happened along the way, how this Taler acted.

And word by word, question by question, Era began to better understand how strange and powerful a person was traveling with them. Or if they were human at all. It was not human power to bestow such power on allies. It was not human power to break the curse of Kaz with a single spell, to dispel the worst Death's messengers that history has remembered.

Looking at everything from the sidelines, it was as if Taler was just out for a walk. It was as if there was no danger in the world for him. And what had happened on the Plains showed that he had every right to think so.

And as soon as it got really dangerous - and it was hard for Era to imagine what kind of enemy it could be - help showed up.

Elven cutthroats, skeletons, in Daimon's estimation, no weaker than the ones that had nearly minced them into a dungeon in the Forest of Tob. A meat giant, so monstrous in appearance that Era couldn't even remember him in detail.

And that creepy woman in black armor. And something told her that she was worth no less than everything else put together.

Why the undead had come to protect the light mage, Era did not even try to explain to herself.

And the fact that the whole absurd company left through the spatial gate, in the background of the rest was not even surprising.

As the interrogation progressed the priest, at first as if ready to attack Era with his fists, became more and more thoughtful and calm. By the end, he was fully in keeping with the image of a dignified servant of the higher powers.

"So, after your companion left, there was nothing more to remind you of his presence, am I to understand you correctly?" The priest clarified again.

"Yes," Era nodded. "We've never seen anything else or anyone else connected to him."

The priest squinted intently. Of course, Era lied, and of course, he knew it.

"Then, I found out all that I came here for. Success to your good deeds, good gentlemen. The Heroes are with us."

The rest of those present nodded, and the priest left the office.

The Head of the Branch exhaled and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"Era, I owe you an apology for meeting like that. It was humiliating, I know, and I'm sorry. It was necessary."

"Humiliating? Mr. Director, with all due respect, I remember the Guild Charter by heart. There's not a word in there about priests that shake adventurers like penitent whores. I..."

The magician intervened.

"Era, sunshine, now you're no better than that venerable priest. Maybe you should listen to someone who's never let anyone down. And then we can have a little boil afterward, can't we? Better yet, you and I can go to my favorite place, and I'll buy you whatever you want. And then we can get in a good fight. Deal?"

The fat do-gooder smiled and spread his palms out.

Era couldn't help but smile back.

"Okay. But still, what was it? Why was the Priest here, and why was he questioning me as if he had the right to do so?"

The director pursed his lips.

"The Church in E-Rantel is in trouble. A few days ago, the bishop disappeared without a trace. It's not even that he was a member of the magistrate's council. And in general, quite a lot depends on him in this city. It is precisely a matter of disappearing at a crucial moment. And in addition to him, several important persons were missing. Before the bishop's disappearance, the church had kept its problems a secret, but now it cannot."

"I see. But what does this have to do with us and Taler?"

"Somehow they had found out about Taler's talents and had far-reaching plans for him. And now, a series of mysterious disappearances and their new hope has gone somewhere, too. One to the other, and the venerable priest thought you had something to do with all these disappearances. I wanted to bring all possible clarity to the matter, so I invited him here."

Era nodded.

"I'm just a low-ranking adventurer; I can suffer humiliation just so you won't fight with the churchmen."

"I wouldn't put it that way," the older man said with a wince. "There's been some trouble, and it's going to cause a lot of trouble for everyone. For the Guild, too. Keeping order is worth a little patience... But we can talk about that later. There are more important things to do now, especially in light of what you've told us."

The Director rubbed the bridge of his nose again, gathering his thoughts.

"I am sure that Taler's departure has nothing to do with the disappearances of the priests. That certainty does not cancel out the disappearances... What worries me is this. The bishop is the one who led the rituals of burying the dead and consecrating the land. E-Rantel is not so far from the damned plains that you don't have to worry about a cemetery as big as the one in this city. In itself, it is not such a big problem, for he has deputies."

"Which..." Era frowned.

"Exactly. They disappeared somewhere, too." the Headmaster nodded. "The venerable Ernst, senior in rank at the moment, was not involved in these rituals. He is incapable of restoring proper care to the parsonage quickly, and he knows it. And he is very worried about the possible prospects if the city graveyard is left without proper care and protection. He makes every effort to get to the bottom of the reasons for these disappearances. His insistence and intemperance, which unfortunately hurt you so much, grow out of that concern. So I would appreciate it if you didn't take his behavior so personally."

Of course, asshole, I'll keep quiet. Dream on it thought Era but said something else.

"I get it. А... Is the Guild planning to do something about it?"

"Absolutely. I will not disclose the details, but I can only say that many contracts have already been drawn up, making our participation in all this quite profitable. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a lot to do. And you and Mr. Wizard must have something to discuss without me."

The chubby mage nodded.

"Come on, honey. We'll treat your nerves and talk about things that will make the esteemed head fall asleep before he reaches his desk."

The door behind the mage and the adventurer closed. The headmaster rubbed his eyes tiredly. It had been a difficult day. And there was a lot to think about and sort out.

Flashes in the sky over the cursed plains have greatly frightened people, and unhealthy rumors are spreading.

The Church dares much more than usual

Also, somehow information was leaving the Guild. Not important enough to make an investigation, but still, it was annoying.

The director returned to his office, sat down at his desk, and habitually pushed the bell with his finger. The secretary did not appear. This was unusual; for several years she had always responded promptly.

"I hope she's busy with something really important..." The Head grimaced.

A slight chuckle was heard from outside.

The Head's hand slipped subtly under the table, to the bottle of poison stashed in a small recess of the table. He smoothed the lid with his finger; if I pressed it just a little, the poisonous fumes would kill every living thing in the room in seconds, whether it was breathing or not. Except for the Head himself, of course. Only then did he turn his head at the sound. There should have been no intruders in the room; those present at the meeting had left it. And yet there was clearly an intruder - and only the way he gave himself away kept the Head from using poison at once.

The stranger, an older man of small stature, with a neat little beard and a shabby traveling suit, was leaning relaxed against the doorjamb. The thin dagger in his hand seemed to occupy all his attention - the man was carefully wiping the blade with a soft cloth.

"Commendable reflex, Director."

The man held the blade up to his eyes and examined it meticulously from all sides. Satisfied with what he saw, with a deft movement of his hand he sent the weapon into his sleeve. The Headmaster removed his hand from under the table, stood up, and bowed courteously.

"Your visit is a great honor, Sir Head. What have I done to deserve it?"

The visitor smiled easily, heading toward the table.

"You have been inattentive and forgetful, my friend."

On the table was a sheet of cheap paper, written in small handwriting. The Head knew the handwriting - it belonged to his secretary. He took the paper and read the text - it didn't make sense at first glance. It was alarming - the woman who wrote in this handwriting was characterized by a completely different way of writing.

"It looks like some kind of code..." the Director stretched out and looked up at his guest. "Since you brought it, I suppose I'll never see her again?"

"Right," the guest nodded. "It's a little strange, doing your job, Director. Was it really that hard to figure out what the person running your business was doing?"

Seeing that the Director was about to say something, the guest raised his hand.

"No need for excuses. Now, about forgetfulness."

The guest went to the window and peered out into the bustling life behind it.

"I've been here since this morning. Actually, I came for some other reason, but I got curious and decided to listen to what was going on on the ground here. Well..."

"I suppose you didn't like what you heard?" the Director hesitantly inquired.

"To put it mildly."

The guest elusively turned around and fixed an indifferent, icy gaze on the headmaster. The headmaster was visibly taller, almost half a head taller - even taking a half bow.

"We've had this conversation before, about thirty years ago, no more." His voice became harsh. "But you seem to have forgotten about it, so I'll refresh your memory. MY Guild works on one principle that hasn't changed. When someone has a problem they can't handle, they come begging for our help. We set the conditions. The client accepts them - or leaves with nothing."

The guest paused and continued.

"In the hangouts, I've been observing here since this morning, I didn't see that. I saw some piece of meat DEMANDING. And he didn't get his tongue cut off or even kicked out. Somehow he was allowed to act like the Guild owed him something."

"But after all... " The Director tried to object and didn't have time to continue.

The guest's tenacious hand grabbed him by the hair and pushed his face into the wall.

"It's rude to interrupt. You've led me astray... I did. I was deeply outraged at the fact that an outsider wouldn't show proper respect to a member of the Guild. I was even more outraged by the fact that you think such a thing is acceptable. And I find it absurd that all this should have taken place here in the guild. Do you see what I mean?"

The guest turned the director's head toward him and shook it. He wiped the blood dripping from his nose with his palm and tried to nod.

"But it seems to me that you don't. Or you do, but not completely. In fact, you're not the first to make my Guild into this mess."

The guest squeamishly tossed the director aside and shook off his hand.

"That's pretty much how it starts. It's always the same. Long-term agreements, mutual assistance, concessions. And little by little the Guild ends up owing something to someone, obligated to someone. The interests of third parties become at first equal to, and then higher than, the interests of the Guild's rank-and-file members. Then the Guild begins to take orders from the others. Tell me, why did that fool's interests take precedence over the girl's?"

The director stood up, leaning on his desk.

"This priest is likely to become the head of the Church of that city. Maintaining a good relationship with the Church greatly empowers the Guild and makes it easier to work as a whole. We can protect more people and make more money. Effectiveness requires some sacrifices, and they seemed justified to me."

The guest nodded thoughtfully.

"It's the same with politics. And with any structure that has some kind of power." The guest turned back to the window. "I let the case go on its own once. I wondered how it would end. I had certain assumptions. I believed that a force like the Guild would not be allowed to remain neutral, and would try to take control, fragment, and turn it into its own instrument of influence. And you know, I turned out to be completely right. It took fifty years, a measly two generations, for the Guild to go from being the organization I created to being something like the personal guard of the next crowned sucker. External control at all levels, repression, corruption. My brainchild was stolen, broken, and remade to suit their needs. Importantly, this did not happen all of a sudden. Year after year, this filth seeped deeper and deeper. One non-lethal change, another. First the treaties of mutual aid. After that, lands and riches were for the eminent domain. Then, with their connivance, secular law for the Guild as a whole. Then personal oaths to the sovereign, the registry, the treasury decree, and other nonsense. My patience and curiosity have cost me dearly, I'll tell you that. And I have no further intention of showing either."

The Director asked quietly: "But there has to be a way around it, right? We can't just ignore the world around us, we have to take care of people..."

"We can do anything, and we don't owe anyone anything." the guest interrupted him coldly. "You don't seem to want to understand that. I thought the main problem was your secretary peddling guild secrets. That's enough. You can no longer hold the position of branch leader. Send word of your resignation to all the branches. Don't forget to apologize to that girl, and get the same from the jerk you've been bending over all morning."

"I understand, Head. Only I'm not sure that the bishop..."

At the next moment, the Head of the Guild was so close to the Director that he almost touched him.

"He behaved inappropriately and insulted one of us. This is unacceptable. He must make it up to us - or die, as painfully and as long as it takes for him to realize his mistake. The corpses of vagrants and emperors stink the same. Do you understand me?"

The director, covered in sweat, nodded silently.

"Good. Now to my business. I need "message" scrolls, the old ones, not the ones bought in the Empire."

* * *

RiP · Jan 1, 2023

* * *

*Draga*

It was late afternoon when Draga reached the city of E-Rantel. The splendor of the Dawn and the events associated with it were dozens of miles behind her.

As well as the barely tasted equilibrium of the soul.

So much powerless envy was in Malikriss's eyes. So sweet was her jealousy and anger.

And how bitter their own. The contemptuous sneer in the witch's parting gaze burned.

The city of the natives to which the Prophet had sent Draga, she greeted in her usual frame of mind - hatred of all living things. The beast, bound by chains of will and duty, stirred inside, searching for the slightest weakness. The sight that greeted her on the outskirts of the town made that weakness dangerously reachable.

A huge mass of people clung shyly and resentfully to the low, crooked walls. There were thousands of them - smelly, filthy, sickly ragamuffins of all genders and ages. The mass of people was a muddy puddle from the moat itself, which smelled scarcely worse than the peasants' clothes, to the distance an arrow could have flown from the wall.

The crowd was not even - the closer to the road, the denser and farther away it was. In the twilight, even denser because of the deceptively bright sky, were the lights of the fires. The surrounding countryside looked as if everything that could grow for miles around the city had been ripped out for the sake of those fires.

The gathering of thousands not only shat and stank but also made the appropriate noise. It was easy to detect infant squeals, women's and men's cries, painful groans, scolding, and laughter in the general commotion.

And on top of it all reigned fear. The smell of fear, of uncertainty, of vain hope, was so thick that it seemed to be touchable.

Thousands of souls begging to be ripped from their bodies and devoured.

Seeing this forbidden feast, Draga closed her eyes and could barely catch her breath.

The road leading to E-Rantel was understandably empty. There was no one willing to pass on the road with so many frightened beggars settled on it. Draga found it strange that the local law enforcement did not disperse the hordes.

Of course, she was noticed. A splendid black aspic stallion with a rider equipped in very expensive, by local standards, armor.

The crowd's first impulse was to encircle her. Draga didn't care what the motive was-she just wanted an excuse to massacre her. The nightmare moved its hooves unhurriedly, not slowing its trot for an instant.

No one, unfortunately for Draga, risked trying to harm or stop her. On the contrary, in an attempt to clear her way, they caused a real jam.

And at the same time, an avalanche of tearful requests came upon her.

"Please, good Mistress."

She was about to let her feelings run wild, and then another idea occurred to her. She smiled coldly, reached into her purse, and pull out a handful of silver pennies. And with a lazy, sowing motion, she tossed it aside. The most enterprising, expectedly children immediately darted under the feet of the adults, searching for coins.

The rest of the crowd had barely had time to start moving when another handful flew in the other direction. And another.

Draga had quite a lot of silver coins with her. She was paid handsomely by local standards to kill monsters, and most of it was silver. The Prophet took only a few coins to study, and she kept the rest.

And now the seemingly useless metal offered unexpected entertainment. The people around her were pushing each other, shouting, and fighting over the ridiculous rounds. Some were even pushed to death - Draga could feel it, and again she could barely stop herself from adding to the deaths with her sword. Anyway, the path to the gate was cleared - the formidable appearance of the horsewoman drove them off the road, and the chance to get some coin beckoned them away.

Draga liked it. The heat of passion - fear, greed, hope - that simmered in the surrounding human mass was diluted a couple of times by flashes of disbelief and resentment from the lucky ones who'd been stabbed in the back. She reached the drawbridge smiling.

And just when the mood had improved, it began to deteriorate again. There was no way through the moat. The bridge was up, and between it and the entrance to the city was a good twenty paces of a ditch filled with rotten water and sewage. Not far from E-Rantel, there was a river, and from it, a deep, wide ditch was dug to the moat. And it was only enough to keep the water in the ditch, not to keep it fresh.

There were people on the gate towers. Draga could both see and sense them. The guards looked down with a mixture of indifference and gloating, and clearly had no intention of interfering with what was going on.

And lowering the bridge was clearly not part of their plan either.

It would have been no problem for Draga to enter the city by force. Two strokes of black flame where the chains were attached to the corners of the drawbridge, and the bridge would be in its proper place. Or she could use the impact right from the spot and with one dash to cross the moat and drop the flimsy wooden structure. If the Prophet had not wished her to avoid unnecessary destruction, she would have chosen one of these options without hesitation. Under the circumstances, however, the demon restrained herself, condescending to say the least.

"Hey, you on the walls! Lower the bridge. I need to get through."

She was not answered. The bridge remained in place, and several crossbows were pointed in her direction. The beast inside twitched, an icy frenzy hitting her head with such force that it made her eyes dizzy for a second.

"I'll say it once more. Lower the bridge."

This time there was an answer. A badly shaven head in a helmet without a visor peeked out from behind the loophole.

"Not allowed, Mistress. By order of the Mayor, there is no passage into the city after sunset."

"I don't care about the Mayor or the regulations. I'll give you one minute to open the gate," Draga growled.

"What happens after a minute, ma'am?" With some skepticism, the guard asked.

"After a minute, I will enter that gate. Over the bridge or over its wreckage. The clock is ticking."

* * *

The sergeant only hummed, pulling away from the loophole. The old soldier wasn't particularly worried. Orders from above gave him the right to disobey even the king, though, of course, if his majesty were here, no one would even think of not letting him in.

So the pouting woman downstairs could keep her threats to herself. She was not fired upon only because she looked like someone of nobility. This was not the first year the watchman had been on guard. He could feel the situation. If the stung woman came in looking for trouble in the morning, it wouldn't be him who would get in trouble. He was a mere sergeant, doing his duty as instructed.

He was distracted from his thoughts by a strange rustling in the watchtower. His intuition, nurtured by service in not the calmest city in the kingdom, howled. He took a quick look around the wall - his ten men stuck out from above the gate, torches were near bowls of oiled logs, crossbows drawn. On the city's side came the usual noise - the barking of dogs, the hubbub of a nearby tavern, cats screeching on the sharp roofs in the glow of the moon's peeking out.

But something was definitely wrong.

The officer waved to the nearest subordinate to be on the lookout and strode quickly into the tower. The thick, low door opened without the usual creaky note, which convinced him that something was amiss.

It was bright in the guardhouse, with both torches burning steady on the walls. And what he saw in that light caused him to interject his halberd into the fighting position before his brain could catch up.

The shift, six men, lay on the floor in uncomfortable positions. Right in their armor, their weapons in their sheaths. The deputy glimpsed that there was no blood.

There was a stranger near the hoisting mechanism. He was dressed gray and discreetly, the kind of man you couldn't pick out in a crowd. He was elderly, with a short beard that was thickly streaked with handsome gray hair. And the man was clearly about to pull out a stop wedge when the sergeant looked in.

The situation was impossible and, therefore, eerie. No one, not even the lauded adventurers, could get into this guardhouse unnoticed. Neither could any other place that was off-limits to outsiders. The magic that was applied to such rooms cost enormous sums of money and had never failed before.

These thoughts, in simple images, flashed through the sergeant's mind in a split second. The halberd had no sooner been in the horizontal position from which it is so convenient to poke his guts out with a single poke when the intruder glanced at the guard and raised his finger eloquently to his lips. And at that moment, silence struck his ears - all sounds from outside were cut off.

The sergeant was not particularly clever, but he was neither an idiot nor a coward. Whoever this old man was, the bodies on the floor told him he was extremely dangerous, and he did not want to rush at him. But it was necessary to raise the alarm. And something told him that not a sound would be heard now, so there was no use in yelling.

The sergeant backed up, trying to take the narrow passage and move beyond the ringing silence.

"What are you doing here, huh?" the soldier asked, just in case.

"I'm saving your life," the stranger said dryly and kicked the locking lever out of the bridge's lifting mechanism.

The chain rumbled merrily and flowed downward. The next moment, dozens of colored lights exploded in the eyes of the officer.

* * *

The natives were prudent enough. Within a minute the bridge was down. Draga waited for the planking to settle in front of her, and at a leisurely trot, she approached the gate.

There we had to dismount, for it was impossible to get through the gate when it opened. It was opened by a rather surprised guard, but to his credit, he did not utter a word. Draga lazily tossed another handful of silver in front of him and continued on her way.

Though the contrast between here and Dawn was striking, it wasn't as dirty and filthy as E-Arsenal. Outside the gate was no mere marketplace, with narrow, crooked streets leading out into it. There was a real main street, crooked though it was, almost three carts wide and paved with cobblestones. The houses on the sides of the street had painted fronts, and there were hardly any clean wooden houses.

Although, of course, the reek of open gutters was just as bad, if not worse.

In general, the atmosphere in the city was very much like a state of siege. The shutters were tightly closed, and the streets were empty except for the nervous patrols of guards. Though, Draga sensed that there were more people in the shadows of the back alleys.

As she moved farther away from the gate, down the main street, she heard a surprised scolding at the gate, but she paid it no mind. She met the nearest patrol just around the corner - and from the guards, she asked where the Guild Office was located. Here she was treated with a little more respect than she got at the gate once she'd shown her adventurer's badge.

The local branch of the Guild was also different from the Arsenal branch. In E-Arsenal, it was a small fortress within the city limits. Here, though the building stood apart, it was not like a fortress, with large, almost half-height windows and as many as three stories in height. On the whole, the house looked more like a mansion squeezed into the street.

Without so much as a glance at the brutes at the entrance, she stepped inside.

Inside it was... Noisy. The pub hall, which traditionally occupied almost the entire first floor, was not that crowded but close to it. Nearly a hundred people in all sorts of gear were drinking, eating, whispering, and thoughtfully studying the order board on the wall full of forms. It was as if an exhibition of weapons, armor, and magical gadgets had gathered here. Steel and leather armor, in varying degrees of shabbiness, stood beside camp clothes and colorful robes. Swords for every hand, from heavy broadswords and gladiuses to wave-bladed two-handed swords, were interspersed with simple, intricately carved staffs.

Too small and disorganized for a regular army, it could easily pass for a mercenary army. But it was a far more formidable force than the armies of any of the individual feudal lords. At least from the local point of view.

Draga was immediately noticed. There were whispers, and more and more people looked at her on the way to the reception desk.

And, of course, she was blocked in her way.

The man, broad-boned, wiry, shaggy, with bad teeth, stepped carelessly into her path. He wore no armor, and the only weapon he wore was a gnarled steel cleaver on his belt, with another hilt of something shorter peeping out of his boot. It was noticeably more worn than the cleavers.

The big guy, taller than Draga by almost a head, wearing only a gray shirt of coarse cloth and the same pants, stood relaxed in front of her with his hands at his waist and grinned.

"What a pretty new face in our pit. Who gave you that steel medal?"

This ritual Draga had already undergone at the E-Arsenal. In fact, it was the only reason the insolent was not severely mutilated. She kicked the man in the groin without stopping, and as he bent over, she met his face with a knee shackled in black metal. And she straightened her leg, sending the body kicking away.

The big guy squawked funny and flew away, shriveled up like a crushed worm. Instead of screams, there was only a short whistling whine. There was a silence - a silence that didn't happen often in a guild. Draga ignored the change of scenery and strode to the counter as if nothing had happened.

"I have business with the Director," she threw coldly in the face of the involuntarily shrunken girl on the other side.

"He's... He's busy right now, I can sign you up..." She murmured.

"Ask him to make time today. It's urgent, and I have no interest in paperwork or anything else."

"I-I-I got it, how do I introduce you?"

"Draga, Dark Maiden. I should be known in E-Arsenal. Tia, of those, what's their name, Blue Rose, invited me here."

"I-I got it, I'll be right back..."

"Is there a backyard here?"

"Аh... Ah, there's a door over there, it's free..."

"Yeah. Go ahead."

The pale girl picked up her notebook and ran off into the back of the building. Draga, on the other hand, glanced around at everyone present.

She was definitely the center of attention. A hundred pairs of eyes studied her, and apart from the whimpering of the big guy on the floor, over whom a couple of people were already leaning, not a sound could be heard. She hummed and walked to the backyard.

Draga remembered that it was something of a tradition here to test the strength of strangers and newcomers. She was frankly too lazy to do all that dancing in the part where she had to blow off the most insolent one.

The backyard was quite tidy. The ground was tilled, and there was even a boardwalk here and a tall stone fence. The wall of the building opposite was blank, without a single window. Near the wall of the guild, there were rough but sturdy dummies for practicing blows and shooting targets.

She went out and stopped right in the center. The wait wasn't long, and in less than half a minute the rest of the adventurers began to come out of the doors one by one.

As they surrounded her in a very wide ring, she noticed familiar faces. That trio the Prophet had babysat the other day. She smelled them as soon as she entered the building, but she saw them only now.

A medium-sized guy with a wide scar across his face came out of the row. If it weren't for that scar, he might have looked like a sleek, blond, good-looking guy. Unlike the man who'd been left lying in the canteen, he wore armor, lightweight armor with numerous nicks and dents on it. On his belt hung a broad straight sword in a scabbard.

"I haven't seen you here before. That's the kind of girl I'd remember. My name is Jerrick." He pulled the chain around his neck, pulling out a dark gray plate from beneath his breastplate. "Silver rank."

Draga nodded and also showed her badge.

"Drag. In E-Arsenal they called me the Dark Maiden. Steel."

"The Dark Maiden? I've heard it in passing. Did the E- Arsenal teach you how to cripple your comrades in cause?"

Draga raised an eyebrow.

"Comrades? Are you referring to the trash that blocked my way?"

Jerrick pursed his lips.

"You're asking for trouble."

"Shut up, you worm. I'm bored with all this talk. Go on, take your weapon, and beat your righteousness into me."

Jerrick scowled, stepped back, and unhooked his sword from his belt without removing it from its sheath.

Whatever you say. I respect your wish.

The sword, not light and still in its scabbard, fluttered as butterflies in Jerrick's relaxed fingers. It seemed to be in more than one position at a time. And then Jerrick struck a powerful blow to Draga's face.

Despite his impeccable eyesight and perfect reflexes, the strike missed the target. It just didn't reach her. Jerrick jumped back to square one, trying to figure out why he missed. It was obvious from the position of Draga's legs that she simply recoiled from the blow. Except at what point it happened, he didn't catch it.

Jerrick got up, realizing in all seriousness that instead of an instructive beating of a rookie, he got a real test for himself.

"You move pretty well," he said dryly.

"And you're awful. I expected more."

"Anything more will end in injury or death for you."

"I'll tell you how your silly talk ends. You'll be lying here in the dust, choking on your vomit."

Jerrick tried to look for possible gaps in the defense. Besides the obvious one, the head, there were underarms in the armor, but it would clearly be impossible to reach there. Not with that kind of reaction from the enemy. He wasn't about to stab her in the head with a naked blade - the healers could deal with most of the damage, but not with a corpse. And something told him that he had only one chance of a successful attack.

Draga, still not pulling her sword from behind, beckoned Jerrick with a finger, and he made up his mind. He came in a flurry, intending to injure her hands with the sword - armor is armor, but a sword is not a twig - and then continue with a knife throw from his left hand after the blow. It always worked. If the sword hit the target, there was no need to throw. If it didn't - the flying knife would at least distract from the instant sword strike from below upwards.

Draga pursed her lips contemptuously, and the next moment Jerrick realized that the inner voice had lied about one chance.

She stepped toward him in a relaxed, but incredibly quick movement grabbed his wrist and jerked it aside with such force that every joint from hand to shoulder popped out. Jerrick lost his balance from the jerk, and would have flown far forward had he let go of his arm. But as it was, he just hit the ground with his whole weight. The next thing he knew, he was kicked brutally in the torso. The plate of his bib held, but the body itself did not.

Jerrick flew a good ten steps away. His numb insides were spasming with cheap wine and bread.

Draga snorted contemptuously.

"I'm not even disappointed. I hope it wasn't the toughest fighter?"

Several men rushed to the lying man. As they carefully picked up the twitching body and carried it into the building, a short, wiry, black-haired big man in a riveted leather jacket appeared before Draga. One of the Prophet's pets. He spread his arms in a conciliatory gesture.

"Hey, good mistress, stop being angry! We have all realized our mistake, and I apologize on behalf of everyone here for the rude manner."

"What's your name, clown?"

"I'm Bryce. The clown offends me a little, but at least it's not a worm, so I'll take that as a compliment! I have a favor to ask of you."

"Yes?" Draga arched an eyebrow in surprise. "Ha. Well, come on."

Bryce bowed respectfully.

"We all realized that you're a lot stronger than you look. Would you mind being a little gentler? You can't hide your skill behind your rudeness, but it's like a rat's tail in a sausage, it's no big deal, but it spoils the whole impression."

Draga chuckled.

"You're funny. Okay, I'll pretend I care. Did you just want to talk, or did you want something else?"

"Oh, I'd like a lot from such a pretty girl... Oh, wait, that's not what I meant..."

Draga took her hand away from his throat, and he continued.

"And about that too, but no, not now!"

"You are testing my patience."

I ask you to show us your swordsmanship. None of us can compare to you. That's obvious. Can you show it less brutally?

"What do you mean?"

Duels from which the participants don't have to be carried away. Well, you with a weapon, and I with a weapon, just without all that mutilation.

Draga, on the one hand, was annoyed by this chatterbox. On the other, he was no more annoying than anything else around her. And he suggested something no more pointless than what she was supposed to do. Though, it was more complicated.

"Whatever you like."

She drew her sword from behind with a rustle. It was a fake, and so was the armor - her best gear was waiting in her inventory, and she wore outright junk for show.

Bryce stared mesmerized at the matte-silver blade. It seemed as if you could cut your eyes on it.

* * *

There was a pounding, nervous knock on the door of the office director's office. The director frowned, regretting again the loss of his secretary.

"Come in."

A pale, shaking receptionist girl rushed into the room.

"What happened?"

"Mr. Director, there's a de-de-demon in there!"

"What?" The Director rose smoothly from his chair. "Focus. Where's the demon? What's going on downstairs?"

A trembling girl walked up to the table.

"Downstairs. The demon is downstairs. She beat Knorrig and demanded to see you. And then she left for the backyard. Everyone in the hall followed her."

Director went pale and rushed to the window. He didn't think he had the right to doubt the registrar's words. They were very carefully trained to recognize all sorts of creatures. As well as the illusions favored by sentient undead, demons, and criminals of every sort. On top of that, any e-Rantel registrar had amulets chained to their souls to enhance perception. And since the girl was so frightened, the situation was out of the ordinary.

Outside the window, there was fighting. Director extinguished the first impulse to rush into the fight. Fighting demons required a clear head and a clear understanding of who you were dealing with. Any mistake led not just to a painful death but often to an extremely bad death. Director had personal experience of encounters with the forces of evil in his youth, and from that time had scars, not only bodily. So, inwardly regretful, he wrote off the people below in advance. Either they could handle it, which was quite likely, given their average rank, or they could not be saved. And by what was going on below, one could understand the enemy.

But the next few seconds of observation revealed a strange thing.

Immediately the figure in the center of the courtyard caught his eye. The completely black outfit made it impossible to see the details, but the steel flashes of a two-handed sword were clearly visible. It fluttered intricately in its owner's hands as if it were a feather, rising and falling, parrying and braiding the attackers' blows in precise semicircles and vortexes.

There were many attackers, five of them attacked the swordsman at once - and it had absolutely no effect on their success. Director had a trained eye to recognize some of the techniques and their execution - the attackers were adventurers, most of whom he knew personally.

And the strange thing was that when the sword struck another target, it nailed it to the ground or threw it away - but it didn't cut into bodies, didn't cut off limbs. Though, seeing the movements, the headmaster was sure that if the swordsman had intended murder, the courtyard would have turned into a butcher's vat of goulash in a matter of moments.

The swordsman struck very carefully. Flat out. And everyone who got hit quietly crawled away, giving way to another.

"The demon you're talking about is dressed all in black and with a two-handed sword?" Director kept watching and asked.

"Yes, Mr. Director, in female form!"

"Calm down, Arri. Nothing terrible is happening yet. You say the demon wanted to see me. Did he introduce himself?"

"Yes, Mr. Director. She said her name was Draga, her nickname from E-Arsenal, the Dark Maiden, and showed her badge, a real one."

"I heard about a new adventurer with that name. Either a changeling or someone at E-Arsenal has gone blind... Go downstairs and tell her I'm ready for her. Don't worry. She won't hurt you."

The girl clearly did not share the director's confidence, but she obeyed.

* * *

It wasn't as much fun as Draga thought it would be. And yet, it wasn't as boring as it seemed at first. It had been more fun in the E-Arsenal, but it was harder to hold back. There, the beast inside was frantically beating in chains from the smell of blood and the cracking of bones. Here, however, it only howled wistfully from the fighting, comparable in vigor to a run of drunken snails.

It cost Draga a great deal of effort to adjust her speed to the adventurers. Giving up the initiative, responding to slow, unskillful attacks not with crushing blows or knocking weapons out of hands but with techniques discernible to their blinded eyes. Deliberately slow and correct retraction of attacks and slamming the flat part of the blade to mark the fatal blow.

But that was enough for them.

Only the men with weapons participated in this sleep-dancing contest. The few people in whom the spark of magic could be guessed stayed away. It was a bit of a shame; Draga wouldn't have minded a lightning bolt or two to the pile - it might have added some pep to the proceedings.

One way or another, they didn't last long. After a few minutes, only one fighter remained on his feet in front of her. Not by accident and not because of her skills. She'd just left him for last - one of that trio near the plains. Not the chatterbox, who got his share almost immediately, but the other, the tougher one.

With him, Draga wanted to play longer and harder. Not for any particular reason. He was saved from an unenviable ending by an accident in the form of a frightened receptionist who looked out into the courtyard.

"Mistress Dark Maiden, the director is ready to receive you, please, I'll guide you. Let's go!" She slurred.

Draga gritted her teeth in regret. After a moment's hesitation, she kicked the lad right in the shield he had set up. She didn't glare at the body that had flown off toward the fence.

The girl leading her through the corridors and stairs was so piercingly frightened that it was hard not to eat her on the spot. It was only now that Draga noticed, with some surprise, that she was almost the only one in the whole building who felt fear.

"What is your name?"

"Arri, Mistress."

"Your heart is going to burst. I don't mind, though... Tell me, Arri. Why are you the only one who's afraid of me?"

"I-I please don't hurt me, please!"

The shaking girl, flooded with tears, pressed herself against the wall. Draga made a "boo!" and the girl howled thinly. Draga grinned contentedly.

"Okay. But still, answer the question."

"I-I don't know, I'm sorry!"

Draga saw that the girl was lying saying I don't know. But there was no time or need to torture. She just inwardly licked her lips and left the shaking girl alone. The office was on the third floor. The escort, clearly trying not to turn her back on Draga, knocked on the door and opened it after a muffled "come in," ran downstairs.

Draga entered, assessing the situation. There wasn't much to see. It was poor but clean, as Lord Cassius would have put it. A couple of couches, heavy shelving, a shabby rug, and a table by the big window.

From behind the table came a rather elderly, gaunt man in an obviously enchanted leather camisole.

"Draga, I presume? I'm flattered by the visit. Have a seat. The time is late, and the secretary is absent, but I can make tea personally for such a guest."

He was clearly wary, and there was a tightrope underneath his friendly tone.

There was clearly a trap in the room, and the man was ready to unleash it - and doubted whether he should. Draga grinned.

"At E-Arsenal, the director was not immediately ripe for such a reception. Do you have any milk?"

"Milk?" Director asked the question in amazement.

"Milk. Hot. With honey."

"What we don't have, we don't have. There's only wine and tea. But if it's a matter of principle, I'll figure something out..."

Draga brushed it off.

"You don't have to. I wanted a business meeting."

"I'm listening."

Draga went to the table and placed a sealed scroll on it.

"I want you to give this to the Head of the Guild."

"What is it?" Director asked politely, looking closely but not stretching out his hand to the object.

"This is a scroll, with a letter from... A certain sir. This sir wants to talk to the Head, and the scroll gives reasons why it might be of interest to both."

"I don't want you to take this the wrong way, but the Head is an extremely busy person, and a lot of people are looking for a meeting with him. Tell me, why is this case of this... Sir is more important than all the others?"

"Because this Sir's decisions will affect the whole world. You may not understand the depth of what I am saying. But your Head does. If he doesn't either... Then there's really no point in this meeting."

She moved the scroll closer to the Director.

"We need an answer within a week of tomorrow. If it is not there, then any interests of your Head will not be taken into account in the future."

* * *

RiP · Jan 12, 2023

* * *

*Director*

The demon-it was a demon, and many things about it showed it off - was standing in front of the Director, grinning slightly and exuding disdain. Director was tensely considering his options.

For a demon, the guest's behavior was highly atypical. They were notoriously cruel and assertive and never sacrificed their interests, not even in the slightest. They never counted for anything or anyone. If demons wanted something, they took it right away. This demon was different from the image known to the director. He acted like a person endowed with tremendous power. And she came with an offer that technically included a refusal. Of course, who knows what's in that scroll, but he didn't really think the Head would personally unseal and study it.

And at the same time, there was such power behind this demon that Director had no words to describe it. His perception whimpered, unable to find the limits of his guest's capabilities. It was a sensation that had previously arisen only in the presence of the Head. Could it mean that the demon was comparable in danger to the Head himself? Had the Director not been in the same room with the creature, he would have found the very thought of it absurd.

There were traps and cunning devices of a magical and mechanical nature in the room. The reputation of the Guild stood not only on riches and feats. And now, for some reason, the Director was sure that the infernal visitor would not even scratch if he were to unleash his entire arsenal on her right now.

The director took one more look into the dark eyes and humbled himself.

"I will do everything in my power to make sure that your words reach the ears of the Head of the Guild. Unfortunately, I can't promise more than that. If I have to give you an answer. Where can I find you?"

The demon thought for a while.

"Well, either here somewhere or at Stronoff's house, you know where that is?"

"Of course, I know."

"So fine, show me. He invited me to his place and said his house was easy to find. I'm too lazy to search."

"In the absence of the knight-captain himself, I'm afraid you might be misunderstood. I think it would be better if you stayed in the guild rooms, the best ones are empty right now."

Offering the demon shelter was no less absurd than anything else that had happened that evening. And yet, looking at the situation soberly, the Director preferred to keep the demon at least under observation.

"Okay. Lead the way."

* * *

*Era*

Usually, at this late hour Era would sit in her room and read. Or doing something else, but always alone and quiet. It had been that way until the last time she'd returned to E-Rantel. Now every night was the events in which she was forced to take part, instead of resting.

It was one of the reasons she was going to have a serious talk with her companions about moving to another city. Such thoughts had been on her mind for a long time, but they had never really lingered in her mind. Only after that meeting in the Director's office did the desire to leave this place to grow stronger and stronger. In everything that had caused only passing irritation before, she now saw something that was impossible to put up with. And even talking to the head wizard hadn't turned her away from that decision, only smoothed the urge to abandon everything immediately, set fire to the building, and flee.

Crowds of people who, even in normal times, were difficult to remember, and now even more so. The common room was too large and therefore uncomfortable. Brothers in business who could spend days here aimlessly instead of doing their work. And if only it had been for those who had been wounded, but it wasn't.

And the inability to spend time in the usual way, shutting off from the world in an illusory shell of loneliness.

She and her friends sat in the common room. There was room at the small, time-darkened table for a couple or three more people, and yet no one sat near them. There was still plenty of room in the hall. Nearby, Bryce sat. He was sluggishly picking at the coarse millet porridge and meat, moving his right hand very gingerly. He had hardly taken off his leather armor before, so he looked about the same as always. His friends had inspected him, though, just in case, back yesterday. He had the usual ugly scars all over his body, but now he was densely adorned with huge bruises and bruise bumps.

Across from him sat Daimon. He was without armor; even with his stamina, it was impossible to carry nearly a hundred pounds of weight on him all the time. Besides, the armor was long and badly in need of repair and had only been returned from the guild's blacksmith an hour ago. The group leader's eye was adorned by a huge, half-face black and yellow bruise. Until the swelling was removed, it was also swollen halfway up his head, and there were great fears about whether the eye would be lost. It didn't.

In fact, few in the audience could boast of the absence of such injuries.

When that creepy woman showed up at the guild late that night, Era felt uneasy. She hoped she would never see her again. There was something creepy about that woman, like a crazy person who acted normal on the surface. And that wasn't even taking into account the circumstances of the previous encounter.

The "traditional" meeting of the low-ranking rookie went off script. Era saw nothing wrong with giving the jerks who thought it up a lesson. The first time their group had met like this, she'd been pretty freaked out, especially when faced with the effects of the negator amulet. And yet, that cruelty, the disregard embodied in the blurred blow, made Era remember more vividly the brief dialogue and the expression on her face. Handsome, incredibly handsome - and with obvious fires of madness in her eyes.

It wasn't a figure of speech. It's really what she would do. Era shuddered.

Of course, such a show could not go unnoticed. Especially since the "newcomer" actually invited everyone to try their strength. And it was really impressive. The brutal, aggressive, arrogant woman was more than entitled to think everyone else was crap.

Bryce. with his usual pissed-off charisma, inserted his copper there as well, and he was blown away, as usual - at first, in a good way. That Draga didn't kill him. Well, and then in a bad way, when he caught a kick in the gut.

"I'm telling you, Wall knows her for sure. And she knows him. Era, you saw it, didn't you? He didn't even try to attack. He knew it was useless. And she went easy on him."

Daimon grimaced and reflexively touched his bruise.

"Yeah, it's weird though, the guy's holding an ogre's club, and he gets kicked away... And sure enough, they have something in common. This engraving, like the skeletons. And Maiden was there as their own."

They were silent for a while.

"Bryce, didn't you assess that dagger?" Era asked.

"Nope. I looked at it more closely afterward and tried it in my hand but didn't show it to anyone. And I won't show it to anyone. Only if I kill with it."

"What's wrong with it?"

"Everything. Remember when I brought the Akuro stump and told you what I thought of it?"

"And?"

"Well, it's not just bones that can be chopped as cleanly with a knife like this. I don't know what kind of steel it is, it's obviously magic. Yesterday, I used it to shred a tin plate into a thin ribbon, with almost no effort. And then I took a chip off my dagger, off the blade. It's not blunt, not at all. I don't even know how anyone could sharpen it with such durability."

"Wasn't it a pity to spoil the blade?"

"Of course, but that's the thrill of the moment. And in general, the main thing is not even that it is so sharp."

"Am?"

It's. What should I say? As if it were personally made for me. It fits perfectly in my hand. It feels like me. And when I hold it, I don't know, it's like... Do you remember that Taler magic? When did that undead got smashed in front of the plains? Well, it's almost the same with me if I have that dagger in my hand. So I'd feel a lot better if no one knew about it.

They were silent for a while longer. Then Bryce cast a glance toward the exit to the courtyard. There was a pitying clang of metal and a thud.

"Not bad," Bryce grinned crookedly. "Daimon, are you coming?"

"Are you kidding me? Of course, I am," Daimon stood up and stretched his neck. "I wonder why she only has a steel badge. She should be wearing at least an orichalc."

"Oh, come on," Bryce smirked. "Somehow, I'm sure she'd humiliate the Orichalc team just as easily as she humiliated us. If not harsher."

Era only shook her head. She tried to avoid meeting the "adventurer" in black. It wasn't difficult. Draga spent most of her time either in her room or the courtyard. After her first performance, she was literally the star of the guild, and there was no shortage of people eager to spar with her.

Despite all her boorishness and barely concealed contempt for those around her, the Dark Maiden never refused a request to "teach". Apparently, she was simply bored here. She was waiting for someone to arrive in E-Rantel and had no friends (which is not surprising at all), acquaintances, or connections. She had no opportunities to entertain herself in the city. Or rather, she didn't. So, she entertained herself with all the "sparring".

Because of the magistrate's temporary decree, it was impossible to simply enter the city, and it was also difficult to get out. Era assumed that if this woman wanted to go in or out, no walls would stop her. The rest of the adventurers, on the other hand, had a lot of problems. From the magistrate's officials trying to force the director to house some of the arrivals in the guild building to the inability to do the work.

Daimon and Bryce, too, in less than two days, never missed an opportunity to face the Dark Maiden in a practice fight. Era was well aware of their motives, though it was sad to see how battered they were when they returned.

Well, at least it's without really serious injuries, Era thought aloof, pushing other thoughts away. About the Dark One's connection to Taler and the real reason, she was here.

She wasn't alone for long - her friends returned rather quickly. Daimon was the first one back. With his back to the front, the guy flew through the door (it hadn't been closed since last night's show). Bryce was held up for a few seconds, and Era even got worried. Everything turned out all right, and the dodger, flying through the door with much more speed than Daimon, knocked the rising leader down with his body.

"You're taking a long time," Era raised an eyebrow. "A sudden increase in skill?"

"Nope," Daimon grunted. "That's a brave cunning maneuver."

"A brave honest maneuver!" resented the shaking off Bryce. "What if I really am in love?"

Era was taken aback.

"What?"

Daimon didn't answer right away, looking doubtfully out the door. Then, apparently, he decided not to go back into the courtyard and, grumbling sat down at the table.

"Our dear friend got tired of living and invited Dark Maiden to take a walk around the city. He promised to show her some interesting places."

"Yes, I'm in my right mind," Bryce interrupted Era, cautiously probing his tailbone. "Why wouldn't she be? She's good-looking and badass. Do you know how hard it is for women like that to find someone to get laid with? Everybody's afraid of them. I'm kind of doing her a favor."

Era silently covered her face with her palms.

Bryce is Bryce.

"And that's how you told her. Let's get laid?" Just in case, Era clarified.

"You shameless. Do you have any female in you at all?" Bryce was indignant. "I guess you could have tried, though. I offered to show her around the city sometime, and I told her I knew a lot of interesting places she'd probably like."

"What about her?"

"She said, "Really?" and raised an eyebrow as if a cockroach had promised her heaven on earth and kicked him," Daimon answered in Bryce's place.

"You didn't hear the main thing, Daim. I managed to answer that it was true, and before she kicked me in the ass, she said, We'll see."

"Yes," Era shook her head. "Heroic lover, aren't you afraid she'll just mince you when she finds out what kind of fruit you are?"

"Well, what if she likes it?" Bryce grinned.

"What if it isn't?"

Bryce brushed it off. Era only sighed heavily. Their trickster, if he got something into his head, always did it his way, without regard for anything.

* * *

*Draga*

Draga whipped her blade at the adventurer's sinking sword, knocking it aside, stepped up, and lightly slammed her fist into her adversary's face. The frail body tumbled funny, flying backward.

"The hand was too tense. You ducked to the side. Do you seriously think that would have kept you from getting hit? After the first miss, you had two choices, run or shorten the distance to the knife. Neither would help against me, but against a seal like you, it might."

It was the last one left standing. It was beginning to get boring again. She'd been entertained by this game for a while, but now it was boring. Adjusting for speed, responding with an attack only to the most obvious mistakes. Block and parry so that the adventurers would at least know what was going on.

She looked around the "battlefield" with a sigh. There was no one left on their feet. Five men were sitting against the wall, catching their breath, two more limping toward them. A little farther away, one of the "heroes" was getting his arm fixed by his comrades. Draga stowed her sword in its scabbard and headed inside.

The trio of misfits who had rejected the Prophet's invitation was in the same place. The redhead shrank back at her approach. Their leader rose from the bench, standing between Draga and the redhead.

"Thanks for the lesson," he nodded. "What can we do for you?"

"You are nothing. Chatterbox, I'm bored. You promised to show me the city."

The chatterbox peeked out from behind his comrade and grinned.

"Of course! What do you want to see? Or will you trust a professional?"

I want to see the Square and the Cemetery.

"Oh, that's not exactly what I wanted to show, and the prices there are..."

"Shut up and go," the demon interrupted him.

* * *

*Era*

Era glanced at the receding figures. She sighed.

"I'm worried."

"So do I," Daimon said grimly. "Everything is upside down."

"I'd like to stay away from her, but Bryce is so drawn to the fire."

After she stated this fact, Era finally dared to start a conversation about what was troubling her.

I don't want to work at E-Rantel anymore.

"Is that a completely settled opinion, or are you just sick of the situation?" Daimon clarified. "Things really haven't been going our way lately, but I didn't think it was that bad."

Era could barely resist the urge to complain about the interrogation she had been given. Director apologized so much to her the next day that she was even embarrassed.

"Both. I don't like it here, and then there's that Draga. She's connected to Taler, which means that this nonsense with the undead and the elves might come up again. And she's promised to kill me, too."

"Is this a critical issue for you? We will have to change a lot of things, and there will be less money."

"Yes, it is."

"Okay. Let's come back to this when the city opens."

"Thanks."

* * *

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

Depress , motivated ( may be )

Depress , motivated ( may be )

Seeker of Silence

Seeker of Silence

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Making the rounds.

Seeker of Silence

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Seeker of Silence

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Seeker of Silence

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