Готовый перевод Его не звали, но он приперся / They never called, yet he is here: Глава 17

Chapter 17

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Nothing unusual had ever happened in the town, which was named Whitewater, after the lake of healing water that had long since dried up (because it had been pumped out of it on an almost industrial scale). Regular brawls in pubs, sometimes resulting in broken heads and shanked entrails, and the occasional theft committed by a few members of the thieving diaspora were not considered incidents of any significant scale in this world. And so lived their quiet and measured life, lazy and fat to the point that the official armor does not fit, the guards chased all sorts of suspicious elements, looking through all sorts of violations, and the rare trade caravans were a real holiday for boredom-ridden youth.

However, today the boredom of the inhabitants of Whitewater was shattered and wiped into dust by a completely unexpected event. It will surely be talked about for months, if not years. Fires, of course, occur quite often, but they are usually limited to some barns at most, less often to individual huts or even full houses. Here, however, the scale is much larger - it is not often that a large warehouse with stored alchemical reagents burns to the ground, and even with an annex in the form of the house of the owner of the warehouse itself, who decided to live very close to the place of work.

The owner himself was running in circles, cursing with the worst curses the three drunks who had not only missed the fire but had almost provoked it. And what words he used against the foreman in charge of the warehouse, who had long been addicted to all sorts of smoking mixtures he had made on his own from the chemicals in the warehouse. He was a real asshole, but he usually did his job, and he did it cheaply (like the guards he hired for the minimum wage). But today the desire to save money stung the stingy businessman right in the buttocks, and he nearly howled like a wolf, demanding to be allowed inside the burning buildings. Of course, the kind-hearted residents firmly held the man who had lost his sanity due to grief, not allowing him to die of stupidity.

And the situation was not so fatal as to make someone commit suicide! Really, gentlemen! Well, let us assume that herbs and roots burned, but they were not very expensive, even if a lot of them were stored there - there are no alchemists in Whitewater, who need really expensive reagents. The loss was undoubtedly enormous, but the victim had money to pay the forfeit and buy a new batch of goods. To be quite frank, the victim had even too much money, as for an ordinary merchant, but that's gossip.

There was something the people holding the man didn't know, watching him tear out the hair on his head and praying to all the gods that it wouldn't burn to ashes. He prayed for nothing, by the way, for it burned badly, especially since the material burned too easily, and the merchant had also spared on the fire-retardant, as you can easily guess.

And what the folks didn't know was that there was a small and carefully disguised cellar in the outhouse, where there was a trunk made of unusually expensive wood, enchanted beyond all comprehension, and inlaid with precious stones... on the inside. Because of this inlay, finding or noticing this masterpiece of carpentry art through magic was a very extraordinary task. Inside this receptacle, however, were many patterned caskets made of a variety of materials. Bone, stone, wood, something incomprehensible, like frozen blood - all these things were there.

And what has hidden in these caskets was worth many times more than the contents of the burning warehouse, but even a dozen similar warehouses. If you could sell the contents of the boxes, and not be cut down, you could build a second Whitewater... well, half of it for sure. At the very least a third, because the alchemical reagents stored there were of the highest quality, sometimes reaching even the legendary grade, even if such there were only a few. The list of burned-out reagents mostly consisted of epic reagents, which didn't make the poor merchant's life any easier.

If you put it that way, the chest, especially such a reliable one, should not have burned, for the cellar was lined with iron, and it was quite deep. But an evil fate made the merchant pull the chest right out of his hiding place, and open it to put a new shipment of high-value goods in it. Then he heard shouting and ran to see what was going on in the warehouse. He didn't lock the chest so he wouldn't have to worry about the time-consuming task of opening the very elaborate dwarf lock. And what could happen in the few minutes he had to scold the negligent workers?

An isekai laughing himself to tears, lying on the ground two kilometers from the city walls, would have had a lot to say about that. If, in fact, he wasn't laughing like a madman. It wasn't hard to set up the situation so that the drugged-up superintendent began to see very colorful hallucinations - a very real symptom of the chewing herbs he had taken - which made him think the undead wanted to devour him. The idea that fire would help him against the undead was also easily planted in the junkie's liquefied brain. The guards decided to get drunk without any help at all, and a batch of some cheap oil for alchemical burners burst out like a gasoline.

As a result, even the most biased detective would find nothing here but human stupidity and irresponsibility. Even if he were a clairvoyant, like me. Too much of my presence was worthless and my influence was minimal. It was harder to plant a lie claiming that all the goods had burned, or rather that they had all burned, but I was sure that I had deceived every possible investigator. Including even those of them who would arrive here after we left.

Do you want the funniest thing?

The funniest thing is why I am in an inadequate state, and Ygra, who is leaning over me, holding several bags of ingredients and the chest - which, despite the rare material and enchantments, burns quite well - looks thoughtfully at my convulsive movements, obviously not understanding the reason for the merriment? She doesn't let this misunderstanding prevent her from giving me a contented grin - if I laugh, it's funny, and she's always ready to smile for the company.

So.

All of these ingredients came straight from the Stone, where only the most expensive equipment, facilities, and everything is delivered. It would be impossible to sell these caskets because they are marked, and the reagents themselves belong to a list whose contents are not freely available. The best case scenario is that they will ask uncomfortable questions about "who you bought it from," and after we all visit the fortress, they won't even ask, dragging us straight to the dungeons.

Except that my actions did not raise the alarm at all.

And they won't in the near future.

And even after a probable theft may not raise, as the previous owner of these reagents will do everything possible to hide his attitude toward them, to avoid even more trouble.

You see, gentlemen, human nature is unchangeable on all worlds, as is greed. However, we should not judge humans alone by these standards, because other sentient races also seem to be characterized by such traits. For example, take the Stone. The most powerful protection, constant checks, thousands of traps on the approaches - the pinnacle of the very notion of "paranoia". But there is no getting away from those who want to get their hands on state supplies.

A total of five alchemists sit in the fold - two Great Masters with a rare and epic class in both, and three ordinary Masters. It's enough to create elite-level potions, which for the same patrols go just a huge amount. And they do their development there, experimenting with epic monster parts and advancing science. Especially if there's a necessity to do something nasty to their enemy, and even in such a way that this development won't get shown off anywhere. That's why they sent there not only the essentials for basic potions, accepted by the composition of the guards but also all sorts of tasty rarities.

Two Great Masters, who were engaged in all the most complicated bullshit, calmly assessed the prospects, remembered that one of them had a distant relative living in Whitewater, and concocted a perfectly workable business plan. Who, except the alchemist, would understand how much money this alchemist saved, how many reagents he had stashed, and how many of the approved experiments did not take place at all? Only another alchemist and this one preferred not to rat out his colleagues. Especially since the two Great Masters were superior enough to their assistants that they did not understand their machinations. And it was not so cheating - qualification allowed to fuck up, but make analogs from cheaper reagents, stashing the savings. Every couple or three years, they'd give their kin containers-caskets isolated from magical scanning and protected from damage, taking advantage of the influence of a bribed representative of the Secret Guardian.

At the end of their fifteen-year contract, which had been imposed on them under threat of several unpleasant administrative penalties, they planned to have on hand a very impressive sum or a good margin for personal experimentation. Now they had only to scratch their heads and keep quiet, so as not to draw attention to themselves - not that they would be executed, but that they might be nailed like traitors.

In fact, it's precise because I have all this information that they can kill them. Too many connections, thoughts, and desires of both alchemists are connected with the chest I stole. With this support, a clairvoyant in my person, and a great master as well, can easily begin to probe the Stone, without breaking through the barriers that have been set up, and without alarming the team of Seers. That's why such threats are monitored, trying to keep a single thing in the possession of the Stone's inhabitants out of the guarded territory - prophets and other bastards are madly fond of such clues.

And in this way, I can keep an eye not only on the two corrupt officials but on everyone with whom they have any connection at all. The interrogator, who ensured the delivery of the stolen goods to Whitewater, was easy for me to look at. Getting to the others would be much more difficult, especially to those with individual anti-prophecy protections of senior officers like the Commandant or the target of my planned abduction, but with the help of the mirror, Edges of Reflections and Soaring in Dreams I have a non-zero chance to get even to them... without raising the alarm, of course. And if I don't care about that, I might not even need the mirror - after all, the two, no joke, outstanding alchemists are personally acquainted with all the important people, for the inhabitants there are not very many as it is.

All I had to do was stop giggling, calm Ygra down, and waddle slowly to the farmhouse we were occupying, leaving no trace because of the oversized cargo. Apparently, I'd have to follow the ogre and clean up any accidental footprints. She'd developed her skills, and I'm sure she'd achieved a great master level, but she didn't have super stealth, only me and, more recently, Hans, who was incredibly happy to have such an enhancement.

In a different situation, I wouldn't be able to call my time watching green buns hypnotizing me at all unpleasant, but right now it's very distracting. Also, I'm sure of it a hundred percent, that Ygra, at some points, quite deliberately displays her charms in the most seductive way possible.

It's gonna be a long way.

The alchemical equipment was very old and practically unusable, notwithstanding any comparison to what I had previously had at my disposal. Alas, the most unwieldy items remained in a rented warehouse in Ostmark, so I had to improvise. This junk I obtained was literally in the trash. One of the alchemists had decided to renovate his lab, which made the old stuff unnecessary. Naturally, he did not throw it away. There were about twenty kilograms of copper alone.

What was certain was that there was no desire to throw away a useless but still valuable tool that was simply thrown in with the rest of the junk and left there until better times. With Dream's help, it was fairly easy to convince the whitewater alchemist that he had gotten rid of these things long ago, just as I convinced the rest of his kin and servants. I tried to be as neat and inconspicuous as possible and I don't think I screwed up.

Next was a funny story with a lot of swearing, in the course of which I, without getting out of stealth, first bore all this weight (in pieces, fortunately), and then had to watch Ygra's green buttocks again, sweeping behind her all possible and not so possible traces. But my foul language became quite skyscraping the moment I started working on restoring the equipment.

Working with the essence of the alchemical machines directly, I was able to catch up their efficiency if not to the level of the laboratory that I had in the Kraj, then very close to it. And the distillation cube was even better than the last one, and almost twice as good. And only after that, I could start making potions, without forgetting about regular instructions and training in dreams. Soon my comrades-in-arms would be able to draw a diagram of the outer fortifications in a drunken delirium because I was so tired of their instructions. To their credit, even Taria didn't whine, who enjoyed this pastime the least.

The reagents were delightful and beautiful in their perfection. It wasn't even that they were high-grade, or extremely rare, but in their variety and packaging. All of these boxes were perfect storage, honed for specific groups and types of ingredients, and in the case of the most expensive ones, for a single reagent altogether. In short, it was a delightfully pleasant thing to work with such material, and the variety allowed me not to get bogged down in routine and to be creative at its best.

The base for the next potion was some rather ordinary flowers, which are the basis for many stimulant compositions, or rather, their essence, which I extracted and concentrated with a class skill, increasing and increasing the effectiveness of the essence. Particles of elementally energized quartz, mined in the neighboring town of Whitewater, became a fixing element, preventing the essence from dissipating into the air after I was distracted by something else. After I merged two clumps of multicolored dust, the second of which was created from special roots that have the strange feature of slightly enhancing other alchemical preparations, the resulting mixture of many individual essences went to the retort I had prepared in advance.

In the meantime, the distillation cube had finished purifying another similar composition, only material instead of pure essence, so that it was much rougher and not as effective. However, my fingers began to weave dark golden threads from this potion as well, preventing it from even flowing completely into the flask underneath. The matter fell as greasy ash of a swampy green color, and I created and amplified another cloud of pure essence. The concentration of the composition was at its maximum, allowing me to turn almost a dozen kilograms of ordinary ingredients into five retorts filled to the top with weightless clouds of the essence.

Each of these clouds was already a ready-made stimulating potion, even if it had no clear effect. You don't even have to drink them, just open the flask, drawing in the lightest dust along with your breath. To a simple landscaper or craftsman, such a thing might have given him a few extra years of life, if not a dozen at once, but it was still only a base.

Five bases with the same properties, but very different shades and compositions. Exactly as I had originally planned. A deep breath and the essence in all five flasks obey the wave of my hand, rising and descending into a deep bowl of the thinnest glass (which used to be thick and murky until I corrected it with essentialism). It will be quite difficult from here on, but I don't see anything impossible, especially with due diligence.

My will keeps the dust from blending, instead beginning to merge it into one, albeit at the cost of enormous effort. It is no longer just a concentration, but something more. All five compounds have the same purpose, but different aspects - one is easier to absorb, another's effect lasts longer, while the third, though short-lived, has almost no side effects or kickback. My will, my talent, and my Inspiration makes sure that the one and only resulting base for the future masterpiece contains all the positive aspects, getting rid of the negative ones completely.

The excess essence, the one that holds the essence I don't need, falls into a gray haze that immediately dissolves into thin air, and my heart beats in my head. This burden is unbearably heavy, but at the same time it requires incredibly delicate handling, as if you were trying to play the piano while holding it in the balance. My heart is pounding more and more frequently, and my forehead is covered in a cold and nasty perspiration, but I don't stop.

And triumph comes.

The moment you realize that your goal has been reached.

As I look at the pure gold cloud, which would be a powerful potion with a wide range of effects on its own, I'm much happier and more proud of my achievement than I am of the message that popped up in front of me. I slowly shove my masterpiece into a suitable flask and turn my gaze to the message.

Concentration of the compound: 3/7

Allows you to significantly enhance the quality of already prepared compositions by wasting essences; allows you to qualitatively enhance compositions by wasting additional reagents and essences; allows you a wider variety of essence applications; allows you to concentrate essences into a more favorable form for use; allows you to transfer into essences only the part of the magic invested in the reagents that you need.

The increase by two points at once is incredibly gratifying, but it doesn't surprise me in the least by the generosity of the System. Intuitively, I realize that I've just found the right way to develop my class, the right way, not just the way it works. I unwittingly treated this class the same way I treat ordinary alchemists, even though I consider myself much cooler. Not unreasonably, of course, but I had missed the main truth, which was ridiculously simple.

The Mystical Alchemist is not an artisan, which ordinary alchemists are, and not even an artist, which experienced alchemists necessarily become. The Mystical Alchemist is first and foremost a creator, if not a Creator, who does not seek routine work on something necessary but boring, but Inspiration. The very name of the class characteristic should have hinted, but I was thinking a little in the other way and the wrong direction.

This doesn't mean that I can't work in conveyor mode, stocking up on healing potions, not at all. It's just that it's much easier to get up to speed on complex tasks that require creativity. The Shadow forces you to stick your head under the guillotine and step over yourself in an attempt to look deep inside, where the desired power will be hidden, which you will no doubt be given with great desire, but only for the worst possible fee. The Dream longs to force you to change yourself, to become part of your dream, a reflection of yourself, and, to curb it, you must not only keep yourself from turning into another nightmare but also be able to understand the very essence of the changes being invested, to keep them from overwhelming you. My Inspiration requires an act of creation, where the whole world is just a ready-made material, to which you only need to reach out and pluck out, to take the part of it that will serve as the material for the masterpiece.

To be honest, I've finally calmed down.

Now I've calmed down completely.

My alchemy, like all the other classes, also wants to turn me into incomprehensible but very dangerous shit, as I have suspected for a very long time. Only now at least I know the direction in which I will be driven mad, and consequently, I know what I should fear. Maybe turning into some kind of mad vivisectionist scientist isn't so scary in the face of becoming a Shadow that wants to devour everything and everyone, or a sadistic nightmare that's deformed beyond recognition.

Perhaps.

Only, obviously, I'm not going to lose myself. If I've managed to withstand the soul-destroying grip of the Shadows and the temptations of the Dream, I'm not going to bend to this test either. Though I admit it's a shame that even the seemingly non-threatening alchemy tried to fuck me right in the brain.

I did not go far from my workplace, for I had no time, though I wished to rest. I just ran downstairs for a quick snack and a jug of cider - in fact, I wanted just water, but there was none in the kitchen as well as no time to look for it, and any alcohol had the same effect on me as water. Then I began the final stage of creating my masterpiece.

I just felt intuitive that I needed to finish it now, not later when the effects of the creative frenzy were somewhat exhausted. The reserve was two-thirds full, and I still had Breath of Magic to restore the reserve. That's why I wasn't afraid of an accident. Even if it exploded, which, with such a concentration of essence, would be more dangerous than a couple of kilos of TNT, I would have time to go into The Shadow myself and to throw the explosion there as well.

Speaking of The Shadow!

The main base for the potion I was planning was a couple or three of the six black roses I had after stealing the loot, which literally oozed the energy of the Shadow realm and, for some reason, the purest power of Life. All six blossoms, neatly cut, lay on the red velvet of the bone box, looking exactly the same as ordinary roses would look. Only completely black, literally absorbing light and oozing a barely perceptible, but still distinguishable, haze.

I was going to use the stem and thorns of these plants, which have an epic grade, for some very powerful poison, preferably contact or oral, because I intuitively feel that it will not be possible to make the composition gaseous. The flower petals, on the other hand, will do exactly what I had planned from the beginning, and I may need even less of them. I'm just afraid that I might make a few mistakes when working with material that is unfamiliar to me.

As it turned out, I wasn't wrong at all, for I still ruined the essence from the first five petals, failing to retain it properly. There were only a couple of shades of the essence in the usual ingredients, and sometimes only one, rarely three or four. Rare and powerful ones could have up to a dozen such shades, and with increasing skill, I even learned to distinguish the sub-tints of the essence. But there were so many shades of gold and black in the black roses that it was an impossible task, even for me, to retain any significant volume without dispersing it. The potion prepared from the partially dispersed essence would be somewhat weaker and incomplete, which I would not like.

I was critically short-handed, but I was the only alchemist in the squad. In the end, I had the brains to use the essence vessel for its intended purpose. In one second I poured the concentrate of healing essence I was carrying as a first aid kit into a nearby vial, and then I sucked in the essence of black roses.

The sensations were very strange and not very pleasant. If the Life and Renewal that had been inside me before was tolerable, now it was almost painful. It was as if I had poured something cold, prickly, and evil into my veins. Cold, leaking, poison, sliding, pain, screaming, amplifying, dissipating, responding, madness, and a half dozen other barely discernible shades of meaning tried to leave the vessel and escape, poisoning or distorting my body. This was not dangerous, for my resistance, granted by my metabolism and my Look Inside, allowed me to survive even a professionally prepared poison, let alone an essence that was not poison.

In any case, the very fact that the essence was trapped in a vessel made it completely harmless. I had a feeling that the vessel was about to crack in half, though, I admit. Well, or simply overflowed over the edge, spilling the excess. It was this state of overflow that made me act faster than my thoughts again.

The effort caused fatigue, bordering on a fainting state, and I begin to drain through the vessel the essence that I considered superfluous for myself. The weightless haze settles in a separate flask and those slags that I could not or did not want to save dissolve into the air, disappearing without a trace.

I filter out all the madness and poison, take away and throw away a lot of strange concepts that I can't even properly formulate into an image, and then only what I needed from the beginning of the experiment remains in my vessel. It's not much, but it's still decent, especially against the background of the power and quality of the epic essence.

My arms flicker at breakneck speed, the test tubes and retorts alternate with the continuity of a game of thimbles, and I realize with mild despair that I am still missing something. Despair gives way to a flash of insight when I get the simplest idea of where to get what's missing. The Inferior Shadow is summoned instantly, and instantly it perishes, and my palm resumes its human form in place of the black clawed paw, beginning to draw from the air the seemingly almost black, gold-free essence that had been released by the creature's death. The same procedure had to be repeated several times to get the right amount, and then the work and filtration continued.

I checked the scheme dozens of times. I filtered all the essences, dividing them into groups according to the aspects I needed. Put aside the flasks that contain the unnecessary ones. My enhanced abilities allow me to isolate even single aspects or a couple or three very similar ones, after which I concentrate them and pour them into flasks and test tubes (depending on the amount of the resulting product). The main filter was me, or, to be more exact, my Vessel of Essence, which had suddenly tripled in size so that it could hold much more than usual. I was not able to hold a lot of essences with different aspects and not let them mix, but even that was enough to make the work much more effective.

After almost five hours of continuous work, which made me really soaked, as if I had been standing in the rain the whole time, I had two vials in front of me, which used all the essence I had collected from two and a half black roses (their petals, because the stems were untouched), the base for which I had made earlier.

Another system message flashed in front of my face, strongly suggesting that it was time to rest. Still, improving one skill point was good. Two - that's great. Three - you're lucky, Kostyan, but come on, stop it before you get fucked up. Now was the time to eat and go to sleep, especially since the resulting vials were a literal leap over my head, otherwise, the System would not have given me a reward.

Vessel of Essence: 2/7

Allows to accumulate of a significant amount of essence in own body; allows to create of compositions from stored essence; the vessel cannot be detected by scanning skills below legendary rank; the vessel cannot be emptied by specialized skills below mythical rank; allows, with effort, to sort and filter the essence in the vessel.

In the two glass containers was splashing an absolutely black potion, called a High Quality Ghost Form Extract, which has an epic grade (and intuition tells me that there is not much left to the legendary there) and gives a whole galaxy of bonuses, albeit temporary.

For one thing, it boosted stats, especially dexterity, without too much scary feedback, which was more than bearable. The feedback from other healing potions from a regular alchemy shop was even worse. Secondly, the drug increased in one fell swoop, stealth skill, exactly stealth, up to the master level, whatever it was before, or added a dozen points if he had already crossed that line, albeit for one day. Thirdly, and most importantly, for the same twenty-four hours, a man who drank this miracle of my creation was able to become partially immaterial, passing through solid obstacles, ignoring any physical damage, and even not reacting to quite a few magical attacks (except those associated with fire and light) if they were not powerful and saturated enough.

The potion that could allow yesterday's peasant to fight a squad of half a dozen warriors and slaughter them like partridges without even panting in the process. The side effects, however, were quite typical - emotional instability and risk of problems with the head, but what did you expect, turning an ordinary man into a surrogate of the Shadow. And there should be no fatal and permanent damage, which would not prevent me from preparing an additional potion, or, better yet, a pill that would provide psychological stability to the drinker. Among the stolen ingredients, in my opinion, there were several suitable ones.

Both vials would be used to enhance Taria and Hans, for Losius, with his sky-blue, would be incinerated by such a thing. I wish I could do something for him now, but I can't.

I call it a day.

It's time to sleep.

Eat first and then sleep.
* * * *

"The pressure of the background is too strong." He shook his head conciliatorily at me. "Tin, if you'll excuse me, but if I met a chicken that reeked of that much otherworldly creepiness, I wouldn't be able to sleep in peace. On the other hand, the sensation now seems to be much weaker than the one that slipped through in the beginning."

The usual chicken, with its typical reddish-brown coloring, cooed angrily, and in a few seconds went to the ground, as if it had been heated in the heat of the sun. I was left in the place of the chicken, cursing softly but wryly. Another attempt was not entirely inconclusive, but still much less useful than I had hoped. Still, that salmon, or something like it, was a really big one, since stealing its appearance and energy signature allowed me to get out of the dimensional pocket. In the case of the much smaller chicken... let's just say it was very difficult for me, almost impossibly difficult, but still not hopeless.

Now Losius and I spend a couple of hours a day trying to master our disguises. I invited my partner as an assistant only after I managed to completely close the illusion of appearance, remaining outwardly an ordinary chicken. The feeling was as if I were riding in the trunk of a car on a very, very bumpy road, and in different bags. It was almost painful to hold, and psychologically hard, as if you wanted to breathe in, but could not because the first breath would destroy the structure of the used skill. And rats are supposed to be even smaller! That's why I started with chickens because the skill didn't work well on rats.

Since the apple crop was completely processed into cider and all sorts of jams, the largest barn was already vacant, which made all three of my companions very happy - a great place to train. I indeed had to regularly renew the Silence in the Hall around that barn, which was kind of easy... If it weren't for the constant strain on my magical energy reserves.

Regular drills in Dreams, work with alchemy, practice pulling chicken shadows on my carcass, practicing teamwork, constant briefings on the tiniest detail, and desperate attempts to find time to sleep - my reserve was spent at an enormous rate and was only saved by my perk, which allowed me to restore it instantly, and the second, which accelerated the normal regeneration to obscene speeds. If it weren't for these two enhancements, obtained for multiples in stats, it would have been easier to finish me off than to wake me up in the morning. But as it was, I managed, even without much difficulty - all that was needed was to know clearly the desired result and to try not to run out of time, giving myself time to restore the reserve. Missing a quarter of your normal reserve will restore itself much faster than a spent third, and a third will replenish itself faster than half. The main thing is not to exhaust yourself, and the rest will follow.

All of Taria's plans, to her great displeasure, were ruined. After all, she really hoped not to get off me for the next week. However, there was no energy left for love, even in deep theory. Not just me, but any of us, including Taria herself. Hans stopped going to the maids, and so did Losius, though the latter was much more abstemious in this area, which was why Hans used to kick him into brothels. They were both very enthusiastic about training Taria, which made the poor girl howl like a wolf. Hans had trained her before, as he had a much more suitable fighting style for her, but as she got and developed her class, a professional duelist took over - the Blade Dancer used techniques very similar to some of the Brethers' skills. I'll remind you, Losius himself wanted to be a Brether from the beginning, so he could tell you and show you a lot of interesting pitfalls.

Even now Tarya could easily create her phantoms, which existed for seconds but could be a distraction. And given that she didn't have to create a solid illusion, but could do so with a dozen blurry images layered on top of each other, which made it a challenge to distinguish between the real dagger and her hand, she was an excellent assassin. It was better to end the battle in one blow, though, for neither the class nor Taria herself was suited to prolonged confrontation.

Her ability of Light Steps was, to another disappointment, not the dueling blink that Losius had, but rather a very strange variation of the warrior rush, seemingly almost useless at first. Taria was even saddened by the fact that she was given a non-combat skill: Dancers, like Hunters, were only considered partly a combat class. She had been told to get it right by the same Losius, who had sharply appreciated all the charms of the ability.

The steps allowed her to reduce her body weight, while giving her the ability to push off from almost any surface, even from the air. Now, at two points of freshly acquired skill, she can already, with some limitations, fight in three dimensions, which, for now, only I am capable of. When the class ability is fully closed, this beautiful maiden can literally run on walls, or walk on water. It really isn't the most useful skill in a prolonged fight - the same dash will be much more useful - but for a short-term fight... Taria didn't complain anymore, just worked hard at her training, because she didn't have much left before the first rank was closed: the mirage was already at a three, and the steps were at a two.

Anyway, good luck to her in her deeds, while I will torture the chickens.

"Okay, one more time, but this time I'll try not to encapsulate the parasitic energy loss, but to loop it and redirect it straight back into The Shadow. Shouldn't I get lucky?" And, without waiting for an answer, I apply the shadow theft again, twisting my energy and shrinking quickly.

"Hmm." Now the aristocrat's voice was thoughtful. "Right now, I swear to Sky, I can't sense anything at all. It's like I'm standing in front of an ordinary chicken. But I'll disappoint you, if someone saw a chicken like that, he'd stutter."

"Co?" As if to "ask," for words would surely break the disguise.

"This chicken is twice the normal size, has very black feathers that literally absorb light, and its paws look too much like human palms, only very small and wrinkled." Summarizes the only witness to my embarrassment, as I cannot examine myself due to problems maintaining anatomical conformity.

I was right not to ask Hans or Taria for help; they would have laughed at me until I was old. Losius would laugh, too, but at least he wouldn't make a spectacle of it.

"Great!" I pretended to be truly enthusiastic. "The approach has been found, just to correct the major flaws, and we can practice the technique on the rats."

I seemed to hear a desperate groan, mingled with a burst of stifled laughter, but that was just my imagination.
* * * *

"You know, Tin, even my sense of danger is enough to sincerely wish I were as far away from this thing as possible," Taria speaks carefully, hiding behind my back. "Let's throw it away gently, or bury it instead."

"First of all, you came here on your own, just to interfere with my work." I waved the suggestion away indifferently. "And secondly, it won't help anyway, because this poison can seep even through walls and wood."

The girl really did come to my lab, apparently expecting a conversation, or even something more intimate. She had to win a duel with Hans to get the day off by breaking three of his ribs with a good kick on his bare feet (it was barefoot that was the most effective way to use Light Steps). A swearing Hans spent half an hour explaining to me why his loss was a pure accident, due to slipping, sleep deprivation, being sick, thinking, being lost, and not having time to eat, but still having to lie down for a while until his stats and drink of tonic regenerate the injury. And while Losius was still sleeping off the night's chicken marathon, when I finally managed to pretend to be a chicken normally, Taria was full of energy and eager to talk to her superiors. The bosses were up to their ears in alchemy, a little behind schedule, but hints, direct statements, requests, orders, and pleas to leave me alone had no effect.

By some miracle, she managed to stay on that thin line where I wasn't so mad that I could kick her out or start spoiling the reagents, but I couldn't stay calm any longer. Fortunately, I wasn't working on a masterpiece right now, but on a relatively simple composition. Or rather, simple was only the completion of the synthesis, while creating four separate bases at once for each stage had taken me half of last night and a quarter of the previous two.

The resulting poison was probably the strongest I had ever made. I wouldn't say it was the most dangerous, but it was the strongest and most poisonous. Unfortunately, I couldn't figure out a way to turn the black rose stalks into a gaseous poison, only liquid, which made me a little disappointed. But the contents of a strange box, made of quality glass, were a perfect match. The shells in it were poisonous even without alchemical treatment, and even touching them with my bare hands was dangerous, but after my work, their destructive properties have only increased. I even had to work my magic on a large empty test tube in which I placed the final composition. Because, as I told Taria, this poison simply seeped through the ordinary material: a property taken from some obscure mushrooms that are partly intangible. The caps of both mushrooms were used to strengthen Ygra, but the stems were used to strengthen the venom.

The resulting gas bomb could cover about a hundred square meters with a snow-white slurry resembling dust raised in the air. Even the mere touch of this dust caused almost instant death, not to mention inhalation - all the fluid in the body would turn into exactly the same dust, though no longer poisonous. Or rather, poisonous, but within acceptable limits. But the original poison was really cool! In theory, it is possible to protect oneself from such a fierce death with very expensive antidotes - standard, even high-quality ones, will not work - but such expensive compositions do not drink in advance, because they are harmful, and also come into conflict with the amplifiers. And to drink the antidote in those few seconds while you die... even if you did, it wouldn't have time to spread through your body. I'm not sure if it's an elite antidote, not like the poison I'd created, but I doubt that ordinary warriors would have such antidotes - even for Stone it would be too much.

"You're a boo, Tin." Taria is deliriously offended, not even trying to pretend to be genuinely upset. "You could have hugged and kissed and caressed poor me instead of coldly stabbing me in the heart!"

I turned my head toward her, carefully placing the vial on the table and then in a special protective box, also stolen under the fire. A quick check for narcotic vapors in the air showed nothing, so I confined myself to an extremely f*cked-up face and a question:

"Did Losius bite you, that you began to speak with graceful words?"

"I had the pleasure of losing to him this wish, in order to recount in detail all the grimaces that your face took at that moment." And such a murderous seriousness that I smirked involuntarily.

"Have you been rehearsing for long?" I wondered, already preparing the ingredients for the antitoxin tonic.

"No, I'm smart." She waved it off, trying to review the work process. "I only repeated it three times, and then I memorized it. The main thing is not to confuse the intonation, but my voice was always a good thing. Maybe you need help?"

The last phrase the fucking actress uttered uncertainly as if doubting her own words. Apparently, she sensed that I would not tolerate her teasing any longer, and she did not want to leave.

"No problem." I immediately agree, more to spite her than to do her any real good. "You don't even need a skill for the most basic things, you just need your hands and a little bit of intelligence in your head. There, take the mortar, and over there, in the blue bag on the far left, there are the stubs, so grind them into the dust. They're fragile and cheap, and there are plenty of them: even if you mess up somewhere, it's no great loss. I'm not going to siphon essence out of them anyway, because there's enough work to be done as it is."

Suddenly, my answer does not make her want to refuse but is met with enthusiasm, and a minute later there are rhythmic sounds of grinding roots in the hall. The roots themselves can even be eaten, they are not dangerous, even though they are the basis for several very interesting poisons.

"What is an essence?" Taria asks unexpectedly, making me remember that I haven't told my comrades much about alchemy class, except that I can make all sorts of useful stuff. "If I'm not distracting, of course."

"No, not really." I hum, feeling genuinely interested. "It's just a draft right now, anyway, and the lineup is pretty simple. I could give you a short lecture. If you're so interested, why didn't you ask me before?"

"It's a habit." I was surprised, but it seems that I was able to embarrass her. "I knew from childhood that masters, especially wizards, always guard their secrets more than life and gold. They can only tell and teach their students, demanding from them such contracts, and sometimes such oaths in the temples of the gods, that it would be better if they did not agree. I could have been a potion-maker when I was a kid, but don't laugh; there was even an opportunity: one alchemist, without a license though, agreed to teach if I gave him. I wasn't naive anymore, of course, but he wasn't much of a craftsman, so he couldn't teach me much either. I did not want to become a personal slut, a maid, and a workhorse for the sake of knowing how to make pimple ointment, especially since there were other options. There and had to work not so hard, and the pay was normal, in addition to food and shelter. It didn't work out, in short."

This time she spoke of her experiences, not out of an attempt to pity me, but simply to tell a cheerful story. And there was nothing in the described situation that could be considered extraordinary by the standards of either Kraj, Alurey, or Taria herself. Ordinary working moments, are remembered with nostalgia rather than bitterness.

And I hadn't even noticed her desire to learn alchemy. Or rather, I was wrong to say that she didn't want to because it wasn't her vocation, but there was certainly an interest in the subject itself. It was unlikely that she would seriously pursue alchemy as a basis for her development, but training her into a useful assistant would be a decent result.

Well, then listen, if you're interested...
* * * * *

Using the chest and boxes as a focal point for clairvoyance was a great idea, ninety-six out of a hundred great! I had to back it up, but I hadn't even gone to the bathroom without backup lately. And a few extra hours of preparation just got lost in the midst of all the necessary tasks. It was my team's training that was monotonous, excluding Losius's help in learning the rat form and my regular lectures to the alchemist Taria who had unlocked the skill. I, on the other hand, had to constantly jump between different tasks, trying to do everything, but in fact falling behind on all fronts.

I wouldn't say I was in that much of a hurry, but I didn't want to take too long to get ready, because at this rate I was more likely to change my mind about going in there than prepare myself.

My clairvoyance training coincided with another idea, so I considered killing two birds with one fireball a good opportunity to practice. The same mirror that I regularly used to watch Whitewater and gather information about its inhabitants had become the basis of a very strange construct, partly in Dream and partly in Reality. It was a thing that required the use of both Soaring, Reflections, and Weaving. I confess that I had expected either to fail or to succeed, but my level of skill in working with the Dream must have grown and grown considerably, for the success was truly stunning.

In the part of the Dream that corresponded to the farm we were occupying, the structure I had woven, which was almost a thinking structure but had nothing to do with nightmares, literally swirled the energy of the Dream into a real whirlpool, through which my attention and thirst for knowledge slipped much deeper than ordinary clairvoyance could let me pass, even with the use of the mirror.

I even got to the vague and almost indistinguishable images that constituted the personality and fate of Ferer himself, though I did not venture to read any further. I could, for sure, but I knew perfectly well that it would be foolishness beyond belief. There was some protection against clairvoyants, the kind that could give the curious a good kick in the third eye and under each of the chakras, splashing the brains of the curious clairvoyant on the nearest walls. And the connection between the two owners of the stolen chest of reagents and Stone's main living asset was too ephemeral to go that far.

The second part of the created mechanism was the mirror itself, or rather the images displayed in it. I do not even know how to explain what I have done, because words can only convey that to a certain extent. If I tried... I covered the whole farm with a reflection turned inside out, which, in turn, was sewn from hundreds of separate images-fragments, while showing what was happening here much earlier than our arrival.

Why did I make such an effort?

So it was not just a pretty dome, but a protective barrier of anti-prophetic effect! Still, with every day, every briefing, and every detail before my eyes of the forming plan, it became more and more difficult for me to keep the sighted enemy's attention away from us. Now, as long as we are inside the created dome, the threat from our side will be intangible. No, someone might be able to peek under my creation, but, thank the tits, there aren't any in Stone, and there won't be any shortly. It would seem to all onlookers that only the farmer and his family and workers live under this roof and that we're not here yet. It was as if the reflection that I had turned around had fixed a section of time in place, tucking it in, even though we were building a ritual hexagram here.

You have to agree, it was awesome!

At least the System appreciated my efforts by upgrading my profile skill, so the Status now read about another stepping stone of awesomeness, which I valiantly took.

Edge of reflections: 3/7

Allows any reflective surface to be used as a window to observe or influence a specified target; target selection is determined by clairvoyance skills; allows penetration through various types of defenses, including a fair share of exotic ones; distance to the observation target is irrelevant; allows, with effort, a certain range of effects on the one observed through reflection; allows, at the limit of concentration, to create complex conceptual type structures from reflections, in interaction with branch skills

It would have been a good excuse to experiment with these very "structures," had it not been for the memories of how I almost got splattered by those reflections. And no, not physically, but rather spiritually - if I let my guard down for even one brief moment, hundreds of fragments and images would have chewed me up inside my creation, like a lonely nut in a millstone.

In general, I jumped over my head again, somehow miraculously managing not to die from overexertion and not to part with my brain and personality just because of my stupidity. Some time ago I read an article that there is a certain percentage of people who cannot learn from their mistakes, always stepping on the same rake with consistency, causing both resounding claps of the palm to the face and exclamations of "such an idiot" among the witnesses. For some reason I have this suspicion that one of these "such an idiot" is myself, otherwise I cannot explain the frequency of such situations in my life.

The funny thing about this story is that I wasn't going to pump anything at all! The naive man in me sincerely believed that he would be able to do everything with the skills and characteristics he already had. And even had all the chances, if it were not for the craving for perfectionism and the desire to do as well as possible. I was able to get a little more out of it, and then I got myself into a situation where I either had to pump up or get a hard rollback that could be fatal. I had to take control of my power, not letting Dream turn me into a chupacabra.

A simple task, I thought!

A couple of hours' work, I thought!

Fuck that!

A day and a half of solid rest, when I didn't do shit at all but just ate and slept, only to fall into a dreamless sleep. The guys were justifiably frightened when they saw my face covered in blood from my nose, ears, and even a little from my eyes. Tarya came by later to "treat" me, but in my condition, I could only flick her and ask her for some herbal concoction. When she left, I thought she promised something suspiciously similar to "tie me up, take me to bed, and fuck me," but I should have thought it was hallucinations from overexertion and all that.

"Taria, you're fucking annoying as hell!" To be honest, I didn't even know how to react. "Yes, my abilities allow me to do that! And the previous suggestions too, although I'm not sure about the fifth one, although, with the right reagents, you can use alchemy for that! And, damn it, Taria, what the fuck is going on in your head?"

Taria just smiles mysteriously and puts her palms up in a conciliatory way, as if she's fending off my anger. And I'm really angry - three hours for rest I managed to get, and she comes here with their ideas, and on the brain drips as if she has somewhere in the Status stashed the title of Legendary Mother-in-law, for I'm about to explode my head.

"Why do you need my help at all if you can fulfill half of your perverted fantasies on your own? I kind of made it clear that I give you complete freedom in your amusement, just don't involve me in it." I continued to brush off the dubious suggestions given with the most conspiratorial look.

"The two of us are more interesting, especially since I'm bored." The girl giggled. "Also, my girls don't have any effect on me."

"Why experiment on yourself?" I asked, knowing that I would regret hearing the answer.

"That's interesting!" She exclaimed as if I didn't understand something obvious. "It's fun to play with others, but I want to do it with myself. And you can do the same, I know, you told me yourself!"

Actually, Taria had long been systematically laying siege to my person to drag me to the dark side of those who liked to love other people's brains. No, I'd done tricks like that myself, but more as part of training, punishment, or banal pranks, like the one I'd done to the trader from Ostmark. I should update her mind, by the way, and with the mirror, I could do it without even bothering from the other side of Melareth.

I could not say that I was not turned on by what my friend suggested, especially since she had such scenarios in her head that made me marvel at her fantasy. And this, you must agree, is a very impressive characteristic, if it comes from the mouth of a resident of the twenty-first century, where there were the Internet and porn sites! Except the timing, the timing, be damned, she didn't quite get it right. I've got a lot of nerve cells dying in agony, trying to find a way to accomplish the task I set myself without burying anyone, and I don't have time for fun with the maids. I don't even have time for Taria, and neither does she.

"Well, what do you want from me?" This question was posed in the tone of a conqueror surrendering to the mercy of the commandant of a besieged fortress.

"Can you do to me what I did to Kanye?" The surrender was accepted with a look of absolute certainty that there were no other possible outcomes, after which the woman turned to a pleading half-whisper. "This is the maid with the curls."

I think of this girl, although there's nothing to think about if you think about it. I don't pay much attention to the locals at all - they walk around, they don't bother me, and that's all right with them. We have already paid enough for our lodging, very well, even if without much extra. And about how who and with whom there amuse themselves in their spare time from training, I have no idea, not wanting to pry into someone else's private life. I remembered this particular maid, though, just as I remembered what Taria had done to her.

"Cum from cleaning?" I raise an eyebrow in surprise, cosplaying another textbook alchemist and hero of all sorts of fanfics. "Considering the fact that even Hans cleans his room more often than you do, I might as well do nothing at all."

Well, it's not exactly the same... In short. Every time I want to distract you from your work, I'll start cuming, loud and screaming or quiet, it doesn't matter. And I shouldn't remember this conversation. I shouldn't think about it at all, be surprised. Like, cum and okay, that is, like, no, not normal, embarrassing and all that, but do not raise a panic. And to cum more often, that's it.

I watch silently.

She watch silently.

"Are you fucking crazy?"

"There is a little." He obediently agrees. "But only a little."

"Okay. You nailed me. Whatever, let's do it." I waved my hand at my attempts to keep my companion's desires in check, especially since the possibility of ending her attention to my person seems very tempting to me. "Dream is capable of more than that but please tell me, for fuck sake, why?

"Ah?" And also to innocently blink her eyes. "I remember when I was a kid, I went to a performance of some stray illusionist, and he made the girl on stage all wiggle, thinking that she was alone with her fucker. I would have wanted to go out myself, but I was too young, and without a ticket, I got in through the maid's passage. But here's what I remember."

"Taria, you knew perfectly well that I asked about the other "fuck why"." I sighed tiredly. "Let's you just say it, or, if you don't want to, you can say nothing, and I won't insist. Honestly, I won't. I really won't. Honest heroic word. Just don't make a circus out of it or I'll get a headache, which is also true. Me, Taria. With my endurance parameters. My head hurts. Because of you."

"Just something to be proud of!" The dancer's head arched up, but she immediately took on a serious look. "It's funny how things work out with you, Tin. I wasn't planning on talking about it, and I certainly wasn't. And without your direct order, I'd have been swaying to the bitter end, and with it, too. And when you ask like that, either by pretending to be noble or being so nerdy in life... I don't know."

I'm silent, intuitively sensing that the subject is somehow more important to Taria than it might seem. It's not like we're talking about her sexual preferences (which she's not embarrassed about, I've checked), but something lofty and deeply personal. I hold my clairvoyance by the throat with a jerk of pure intention, not letting it answer on its own without Tarias' permission. It's a kind of courtesy on the part of the dastardly slave master in me.

"You remember the other day, on the road from the Kraj, we were talking." She asks, dryly and lifelessly, in the tone of a funeral. "You said then that you could give me nothing but the freedom to choose for myself, even if that choice was given too late. It's probably funny, but I only felt free when I was deprived of my freedom. And no, this is not pushing you to tears, this is not a charge, it's just a fact. I haven't decided anything my whole life. Yes, I have killed, yes, betrayed, yes, at times I was with money and on the top, leaving behind those who used me. I got there first, that's all."

From afar, however, she had begun. I would not rush her, though, not wanting to be seen as an insensitive jackass, even in my own face. If I had had such a sense of tact and intuition back on Earth, maybe I would have been able to communicate with living people in places other than image boards.

"You see, with my one ability, I can really control, control others, just as they controlled me. Now I'm not the one who gets bent over, forcing my dress up for food, for coins, for the chance to get a decent job, for the right to get a share of the booty, for anything. Not me. I do it now. And I like it, like it, probably more than the fuck itself. When Kanye suddenly bends over, struggling to hold back her moans, when her underwear gets wet and her pussy sputters, it's me who fucks her, who bends her, who's in charge, only me, not someone else. When we were out at the Ostmark tavern, I forget what it's called, four drunken snouts tried to drag me away, remember? I never felt so good before, when I charmed them and sent them to fuck each other! Because it was my decision. I decided, and they did, without even realizing shit."

With each word, she doesn't even get excited but rather becomes more and more sullen. And her voice is no longer cheerful, not even sad, but dead, hoarse, angry.

"Then why..." I ask, but I do not have time to finish the question, because I am interrupted in an impudent way, almost gagging me with a new phrase.

"Why the fuck would I ask you to do the exact same thing to me?" She has a smile, but it's so evil that I'm really afraid she's going to come at me with knives. "Tin. You can think what you want, but your nerdiness combined with your ability not to see the obvious, or on the contrary, to see too much... it's really annoying. I... I felt it somewhere after that incident near the brothel, and then after the thugs' camp, I was sure of it. I don't know what you've put me under, but I swear by all the names of gods and demons, if it was gone now, I'd follow you anyway. I won't lie that I'd ask you to put a spell on me again, but I would, if you asked me to, if it would let me stay around. Because you, fucking scum, know how to be real. A friend, a comrade, a boss, whatever, but real. And I'm real with you, too, no matter what you think.

Another attempt to speak was interrupted by a slap to the head, which I dodged, but I did not interrupt the speech, aware of the danger to my head.

"I'd love it if you could change my mind, that's why I'm willing to let you decide for me, even without all the things that have changed in my head since... after. Because I'm sure you won't do that. Not the way you breathe, not the way you think, like all the suckers I've met before. That's why I can trust that I'll be real with you, even if you do magic on me. That's all." A deep breath, as if soothing, after which Taria takes on a look of carefree, annoying, and pissed off again.

"Now, if you think about talking some shit in the manner of our painted nobleman, I'll kick you in the forehead. Save all this nonsense for the future, and I made up my mind a long time ago without any long sermons, confessions, or sob stories. I had plenty of those sob stories before. Anyway, I'm leaving now and going to bed, and you have already promised to do as I asked. Kisses, hugs, and if you want, you can send me more than just dreams. Be well."

And she ran out the door with all her pumped-up dexterity, leaving behind the persistent smell of cherries and grinded herbs (she hadn't forgotten my lessons and was practicing her gradually growing alchemy skills regularly). She left me behind, too, and I was pretty fucked up from that kind of late-night talk. I don't know what to think about it, but I'll just agree that my militant friend was a little fucked up even without the ring. And with it, she was even more fucked up.

With a sigh, I get up from the comfortable chair and step through Shadow into my room, laying down on my bed and fluffing my pillow. I'd really have to keep my promise now that she'd gotten it out of me.

I'd rather still be wandering the swamps, perhaps even in the company of the evergreen and ever-dumb Ygra.

Things were much simpler back then.
* * * *

*Squeak*? Question.

*Squeak*? Question for the question asked.

*Squeak. Squeak. Squeak.* Indignation and weary rage at the one with which to appeal to conscience is useless little more than entirely.

*Squeak* Mocking surprise, half with a gloating chuckle.

"Tarija, fuck! Stop acting like a little child!" Hans barked like an irritated dog. "It's okay, Tin. If I didn't know it was you, I'd have thrown a boot at you. That's just like a barn rat! Or I'll be sober for a year!"

"A serious vow, especially coming from you, my friend," Losius said, hiding the sneer on his face behind his words. - I'll back your words, though, for the disguise is indeed perfect. I call upon the eyes of Sky and let them gaze out of my eye sockets, but even so, I can't recognize anything in the beast before me that might arouse suspicion.

"You all have no sense of humor." Taria summed it up, determined, once again, to make fun of her boss, despite the boss's own protests. "Maybe I learned to speak ratty, and you interrupted my training."

At that moment not only Hans and Losius and I, in rat form, looked at her strangely, but also the rat, whose form I had taken as my image. Under our skeptical gazes, the bitch finally allowed herself to pretend to be a little embarrassed, giving up on the callous bastards who don't know a damn thing about good jokes. Once again I think about the fact that on 4chan this lady would fit in like a mother - just to tighten the vocabulary, to teach me to use the Internet, and also to familiarize me a little with the modern memes.

I take off the shadow I'm wearing, giving peace to my tired mind, and then indifferently mark the new title in Status. I was not even happy this time, let alone surprised. Because while the other titles I snatched from the System with a fight, then this particular one I literally suffered, having taken it by brute force. If that's the way regular Alureans are pumping, then I don't want to be a local.

*-*Size doesn't matter: using disguising skills tied to shape-shifting has always been a challenge. Using these skills while pretending to be something much smaller than yourself is considered impossible among the general public. You, however, know very well how to cram what you can't cram. Bonus: shape-shifting skills work better; shape-shifting skills can be used on small animals.

They didn't give me stat-points, they didn't give me bonus points, they didn't give me shit, except for what I had already mastered. They would have written "Well done, Kostya," just to piss me off to the flames out of my ass for sure. A rare title, and closer to epic, and also very useful - you can say that it will be a key trump card during the operation. But, admin-god, if you only knew how much of a pain I was in getting it!

It's like writing a diploma, only without the diploma.

The sleep-induced compulsion had to be removed from Taria after only a week after that memorable conversation. The compulsion had begun to interfere with her training. I had made sure that she would not be uncomfortable with Hans and Losius, but my lectures on alchemy, combined with the practical exercises, had lost all sense.

If she'd just cum every ten or fifteen minutes, that would have been half the trouble. But she was dropping mortars, overturning test tubes, and spilling reagents. No doubt, the sight of an incomprehensible girl, just about to make a good sarcasm, suddenly beginning, as she says, to "fly away," is quite a sight to behold. And her attempts to hide the very fact of the sudden release and pretend that everything is normal and generally seemed to me, so at all amusing. But after the tenth time, I was beginning to get bored, especially since Taria's alchemy skills could not grow in such conditions.

Since she was in a constant state of sarcasm, she didn't just cum while working at the alchemy booth. A couple of times it even led to a spontaneous and rapid clamping in the corners, however, not reaching the marathon we had set up earlier. Anyway, I had to put my companion's brains back into place, which earned me a big hug, a kiss on the cheek, and a promise to do it again. And, of course, no one asked my opinion about "repeat".

The information obtained through the "corruptor's coffer" had exhausted itself, and even with the upgraded mirror and barrier, I could no longer get anything out. I managed to find out almost the full layout of the interior of the Stone, even if without some of the classified areas. Aspects of the biographies of most of the knights in command were revealed, and I even managed to get a glimpse of the heart of the fortress that supported the spatial fold. The Mist, of course, obscured clairvoyance as well as specialized barriers, and this heart was partially buried in the realm itself, so it was not only impossible to see it properly, but it always seemed as if something was looking at you from the damned Mist. And even if it had been a thousand hungry stares, like with The Shadow realm. But I couldn't see a damn thing. Just walls of milky white fog, and a vague sense of something lurking in it.

I won't say it scares me that much, but a nervous shiver runs through my body time after time. And that's me! A man who has seen other realms no more often than the office plankton his reflection in the mirror!

"Here." Proudly pointing my hand to the object of my justified pride. "Sone. I finished it at the highest level, though it was quite a challenge, I'll tell you. Thought I'd go crazy, and literally, but I did it. Enjoy it."

My hand gestured broadly toward several wooden balls made from the log closest to me. But now that I had infused these balls with my power and rearranged them with essentialism, they were not simple.

"You know, Tin, after what these things have become through your efforts, I find the phrase "enjoy it" hard to reconcile with the realities of our existence." Losius is literally cringing at the sight of these balls, and he can hardly restrain himself from summoning his power and scorching the place with pure blueness.

The reason for his inadequacy is quite obvious if you know that I have turned these balls into secondary anchors of summoning, somehow transferring my will to them. Now, as soon as my companions crush one of the balls and then preferably toss it aside - the contracts I made will come into reality and begin to do good and inflict justice.

But, according to our plan, the Shadows would take the first blow, and only after them, literally on their intangible backs, would my companions make their move. The contracts, alas, were still turning my vision black and white, eating the colors out of the real world and freezing my heart with nails stuck in it. But there was nothing I could do about it. The contract was made with me, not the wooden balls, which means it was up to me to take on the contractors' obligations as well as keep them in check. In theory, after a few more points in my class skills, I could have thrown the loops that bound us entirely to an external medium, and such a Shadow could even be summoned, but only summoned, not controlled. And I have a sneaking suspicion that the first thing they would do would be to get back at those who had summoned them, especially since they would be closer than the enemy. And there won't be a trap line between them, which is also important.

A separate song was my attempt to convey the task and the plan of execution to the evil minds of the Shadows I had ensnared, not by calling them again, but by using the loop of the contract itself. It's a pain in the ass, especially when it comes to the older Shadows. Whereas the "evil cloak" was well aware of my intentions, though he was cunningly deceiving me, the strongest of my contracts was too foreign to be able to penetrate the necessary truths into him.

I did it.

But it wasn't piece of cake.

The cloak and the nameless creature are the two strongest Shadows in my arsenal. An Elder, and a very experienced Elder, accustomed to working under contract and able to interact with humans in ways other than as food, and another Elder, but a much stronger, almost a High. The second was needed as a blade, though rather a cross between a hammer and a battering ram, to penetrate defenses and take the worst blows. The first needed to be a shield, covering the team from random and not-so-random attacks.

Two full-fledged Shadows, summoned before they came to Whitewater, sharpened solely for confrontation and combat with the inhabitants of the material world. I mean, their abilities, which they are accustomed to using in their home dimension, are perfectly suited for this purpose in reality. I doubt that there is a single creature among all the Shadows that have evolved specifically for action in reality and not for its dimension.

Instead of a wasted contract with a Shadow spy, I made more than five dozen contracts of the same type with the lower Shadows. That's where the purest demining of positions with bodies would be. There could be no dialogue at all with these creatures, so I confined myself to the simplest directive - to crawl away from the place where they were summoned and to devour all who did not fall under the ally's signatures. I was not even willing to remember how much effort I had put into literally driving the sensations of my friends' presence into their small minds.

Naturally, it was not without two pieces of news - good and bad.

The good news was that I had another class skill upgrade, which, at my third rank, couldn't have been more satisfying. The bad news was that I was going to get myself killed again. But, to be honest, it was suspiciously easy this time - I didn't even have time to lean on the Price of Humanity, saving my essence from being absorbed by a plan that was hostile to everything living and not so living, before I'd finished holding back the flow of vague images and foreign desires and returned to a relatively normal perception of the world.

Never mind, we'll do it.

Or am I missing something?

Creation of Shadow: 2/9

Allows the use of inferior and weak shadows as material, changing their essence in a limited way; allows, when heavily concentrated, to implant received essences into stolen shadows; allows limited work with concluded contracts, throwing a summoning loop on material carriers; at the extreme limit of power allows to change contracts or intercept others' ones.

As I understand it, this skill is not only analogous to the buffs that I assumed at the beginning, but also a kind of development and expansion of the mechanics of summoning Shadows. It's not entirely clear exactly how this works, but now I feel like I'll be able to implant an inhabitant of the other realm into someone's shadow, distorted by my will, after which... Well, let's say my ally's shadow could occasionally catch arrows and blows aimed at the wearer's back, pump poison from the body, or wrap itself around a weapon, inflicting additional damage.

I have a rough idea of exactly what to do, and how to merge several lower Shadows creating something new out of them. But I won't do that, at least not at my current skill level. There is always the chance that a Shadow will jump up and devour its recipient, and being so close to a living being's body and soul takes life away at an enormous rate. Not a year in an hour, of course, but a month in half a day. And such enhancements will not suit our company - too weak when compared to alchemy and may hinder using of the skills. If there are prisoners that I don't mind, I'll give them to Taria for processing and experiment with Creation, but that will be later.

There's too much work left to do now - we're coming to the finish line.

"Ha. Ha ha ha. Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! Mwa-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!!!"

"Guys, it looks like our boss has lost his mind." Melancholy, Taria said in an indifferent voice. "He's really gone off the deep end. We need to calm him down somehow or knock him out. Preferably quickly, before he starts biting people."

"What, the beast? Eaten? No, bitch, you didn't, because you got eaten! Аh? What do you think of my joke? Is it funny? Why aren't you laughing now, you goddamn bitch? I want to hear you laughing your fucking ass off! Why can't I hear it?"

"I was taught as a child that strong people are allowed to have their small quirks." Says Losius, then, after a little silence, adds. "Or not really small. Or not small at all. Or just fucking enormous weirdness."

"What? What, you scumbag? I can't hear you! I don't understand what you're trying to tell me. I don't understand commands, okay? А? Why are you laughing, are you laughing? Are you laughing, I'm asking you?"

"No, I understand that he doesn't have the talent and all that, especially since he doesn't need it, but why the fuck does he have to be such a torturer?" Hans also has unreasonable doubts about my sanity. "What's gotten into him?"

"Come on, will you try to get out? Try to save your own skin, you beast. I hate you! You won't torture me now, will you? Now you won't make fun of Kostik? Huh?"

"Well, in case you've forgotten, that jackass actually managed to knock Tin to the ground three times," Taria speaks out again. "And that's with his dexterity! And anyway, he's a surprisingly dumb, vicious, and disobedient animal. Anyway, I think Tin is just getting revenge for the humiliation he's suffered. And he disposed of the other horses as quickly as possible."

"Hey, Losius?" Hans paid no attention to Taria's words.

"My attention."

"What does Kogtik mean? Is that a swear word?"

"Kostik, not Kogtik, is another diminutive form of my name, Hans." I intervene, teleporting a step toward the company waiting for me away from the center of the barn, which I could barely keep from stepping back in sync. "That's it, I'm quite adequate. Revenge is done and I am at peace. And God forbid anyone ever makes a joke about it, Taria."

"Why does always Tarya... All right, all right, I get it, I won't make jokes. Just don't joke around like that, either, okay? If anything, you'll run on foot, just like you wanted. It just looked really creepy. It was really fucked up."

The others supported the girl's words with approving silence, obviously being mentally disturbed by the massacre that took place in front of them. It took me a good ten minutes to calm them down, and then another hour to prove that I was in my right mind and had not gone crazy. I had promised myself that I would feed the scum to the Shadow, laughing infernally at it, so I had fulfilled my long-standing vow.

I had to spend another two hours fighting off Tarya and the men who supported her, wanting to know the full form of my name. This was strange because on Alurey I had encountered, among others, people with names that were relatively common on Earth.

Taria can be very annoying, I've noticed more than once.

We cleaned the farm as diligently as we could. We cleaned up every trace of our presence there, even to the point of wiping it clean with a shadowy rag, even the energy markings. The creatures that fate itself had sent to torment me had to be killed, too, to my deepest relief. Too suspicious a clue would be those animals we'd spent so much time with - a gift for a clairvoyant even cooler than the chest I'd stolen.

The team killed their horses quickly, but I was diligently and thoughtfully drowning mine in the Shadows. Not in Shadow, per se, for I wouldn't risk opening a breakthrough - traces of it are easy to spot, as are traces of the Sky force if I choose to mothball the primary traces. No, just a huge mass of shadows, gradually drawing out life. I think that if there were a member of the Animal Welfare Society here, he would have gotten a berserk class and a quest to destroy me.

The laboratory, the training ground, the mirror barrier, and the clairvoyance amplifier were all scrubbed clean. The memory of the farmer and his servants were once again corrected with the utmost care and in general "glory of paranoia" in all its pride. I can be sure that if they do not start to take this house apart literally at straws, they will not be able to find anything intelligible. And there can't be many such specialists who will be able to notice anything at the Crown. There is a non-zero chance that they won't find our hiding place at all, thinking that we came from the woods.

The woods are where we're going, for that matter. That's why we had to kill and turn the horses into ashes - there's no way to drag them through the forest, and we'll have to run far and fast, perhaps as far as the wilderness, where our search will be as difficult as possible. There are options, but it depends too much on what, if anything, we can learn from Master Ferer when (if) I open his skull for interesting secrets.

We carry only a minimal amount of supplies with us and a stock of alchemical booze of all varieties and colors. Most of the lab, except for the bare minimum, had to be destroyed, along with expensive and extremely rare containers and a chest: too bulky and conspicuous things.

I had a few small, one-bucket-sized barrels for Ygra hanging on my back. With her endurance and regeneration, I could boost her so much that she would outrun any other legendary creature in terms of raw physical parameters. It wouldn't add to her specialized skills or unique abilities, but this is one case where a hammer can replace any scalpel. She might have been foolish enough not to get caught up in it. But that's a nervous thing - no matter how low her intellect is, she thinks very quickly and, importantly, correctly when she's hunting. The ogre won't let me down, and neither will the rest of my companions.

The most important thing is that I don't let them down myself.

Each of us received many bottles, vials, and jars, and not all of them were to be drunk right now, or even at all. There were alchemical pomegranates of all sorts, and highly specialized enhancers that would only need to be drunk on special occasions, but even so the amount used was impressive.

Taria and Hans got a Black Rose Elixir that gave them a semblance version of my shadow powers, a very peculiar sedative that prevented negative psychic effects from manifesting, a couple of stat boosters, powerful regenerators, a magic resistance potion, a combat skill enhancement potion (there were a couple of bones of some mighty warriors among the stolen items, I was also able to use some of the potions that had been processed into potions, which temporarily gave the drinkers some of their skills), and some of the various toxin neutralizers (both poisons and toxins from the mixtures I drank), while their skin was covered with a special oil and powder that could protect against almost any magical influence.

Losius got the same kit, which raised his stats by a huge amount, so it took him a while to get used to his new abilities (Hans and Taria did too, but it was easier for them), and I brewed him a tincture that greatly increased his control over Sky energy, even temporarily, plus the same mental stabilizer because at his current level there was already a real danger of dissolving into the blue of Sky to the end. What was there to say? Other realms have always been a source of danger, even if they are such benevolent, at first and inexperienced, places as Sky.

Ygra drank more than anyone else, and that's why she got the worst of it. The stealth, the ability to cover herself with the power of the forest as well as the power of the swamp (for a couple of weeks, and not disappearing completely, only weakening), the temporary removal of weakness to fire and acid, before which swamp ogres are powerless - all this was only the tip of the iceberg. The only way to kill it now is to vaporize its head, and I can't be entirely sure. Separately, I noticed that I had to close the process of rubbing a small barrel of antimagic oil into my skin with Silence in the Hall. No, she knew exactly what she needed to do with the potions - we'd all worked it out more than a hundred times in our dreams, a lot more. But the fact that this green and extremely stupid nymphomaniac would decide to combine the process of rubbing the compound into her body with another session of self-satisfaction was a surprise to me. Although Tarya wanted to go and help the "Green Tits" grease those very tits.

I have a suspicion that the influence of the attractive body and pheromones on Taria has not fully passed. For the girl is drooling all over the ogre, but that, again, is a matter for the distant future, if we survive the night.

For dessert, I treated all of our clothes with alchemy and essentialism, turning them into a very convincing semblance of armor. At least the knives didn't cut the fabric of the shirts, and the light leather armor was stronger than steel. Added to that was the noticeable weakening of all incoming magic, alas, not just hostile magic. On the other hand, there are no Benefiks among us, and there are certainly plenty of Malefiks among our enemies. The garments that used to be the simplest, albeit of the highest quality, have suddenly risen in the grade, becoming rare. It wasn't bad, even if it was the most I could do so far without soaking my clothes in pools of potions.

"That's it, guys." I'm giving my farewell speech. "Everybody remembers the plan. Come in, make some noise, and get out, ideally without any noise. Everyone remembers their roles, and I trust that no one will screw up. Good luck to us and let's shake this world up."

My response was four predatory smiles (Ygra smiled just for company), and we bumped fists in silence. I didn't care about the odds - I just wouldn't accept any outcome other than success and our survival after that success. And the odds? What do odds and percentages mean against a Hero who has a great fucking mission to save (destroy) the world? There must be some useful use for my role, right?

I can't stand asking admins and the System to do things, but I now responsibly declare that in case of fate screws up, I'm going to use the admin's diarrhea ability of the Ring until I'm old enough to do so. I hope they will be impressed.

And I don't care if all Bobiks of the Universe chase me.

Authors note:

22 pages

You can count not three updates this week, but four at once.

There was a shitload of dice, too, but I'm not going to tell you all of them.

There was a success on the pumping of alchemy - and even without crits, just bonuses accumulated and finally the MC was able to understand the mechanism of the class and its dangers. And the presence of really cool reagents played a role.

There was a crit on the creation of the reflection barrier, though not pure but, at the expense of bonuses. And immediately he got kickback but survived without my help (bonuses and so little left).

The Creation upgrade came out very easily - a case where it was almost a safe thing to do due to all the available bonuses and the right choice of effort application.

The title surrendered under MC's attacks - 27 rolls, with huge disadvantages, but each failure added +1 to the next result. The MC was close to breaking off and going to Stone without completing the training but still managed to do it. Hooray for him.

The conversation with Taria was very successful, plus the morals and generally revealed a character that could not be revealed in any normal way.

MC defeated his real enemy number two after Bobik by nailing the thing. The horses died the death of the brave (no).

The potions were very successful - but with such reagents, it is not surprising. Some of these reagents MC also took with him, thanks to their light.

MC and Taria flew past the joint oil rubbing of Ygra turning into PwP, but Ygra doesn't give up, even if all she has left is her hands.

I think that's it.

Good for everyone.

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http://notabenoid.org/book/80370/535338

Переводчики: Camrad_RIP