Готовый перевод Его не звали, но он приперся / They never called, yet he is here: PahaVol (canon)

PahaVol Omakes (canon)

"- And what are we gonna do about it, your nobility?" Hans asked the nobleman after draining a large mug of not the lousiest beer. For a small village, it's a splendid one. "I suspected something like that, of course, but I couldn't quite believe it."

Losius twitched his cheek irritably in response. He was, unlike his comrade in arms, sober as a whistle and, to all appearances, not at all happy about it. Their appearance in this remote village had caused quite a stir. But the young man's thoughts were not occupied with pleasant thoughts about a bright and prosperous future.

He stroked his trusty weapon almost minute by minute, glancing at his status, where special attention was paid not to the long-awaited twenty-fifth level and the choice of the next class. But the epic title he had received - Hero's Companion. And Hans had the same thing.

"What should we do? Leave the civilized lands and go to the frontier lands, if we don't want to screw Tin," he muttered muffled, exhaling a stiff answer. And, without waiting for Hans, who was startled, to question him, he explained. "What I am about to tell you is a secret that even my noble kind cannot know. But, as it happens, my glorious grandfather was a squire to the youngest prince and quite by chance was able to learn something."

The grandfather was lucky, not only was he unnoticed in the case, but the snot-nosed young man at the time showed great wisdom and didn't give away his knowledge with a word or a look. Otherwise, Losius would never have been born. The squire would have had an accident.

Grandpa lived a long and full life and died surrounded by few but loving relatives. However, at the very end of his life, he told his secret to his favorite grandson. Along with a promise of honor to stay away from that shithole.

... Forgive me, Grandpa, but the wayward grandson got himself into this mess even while he was still on the demon's horn(*). Is it the fate of their kind to cross paths with Summoned Heroes all the time? Powerful men, endowed with almost unlimited power and potential. Wordless cattle, in a card game of the mighty...

Loosey explained all this briefly and lucidly to Hans on his way out of the hospitable village. For the aristocrat paranoia had reared its head again. What a twist of fate! A couple of months ago he would have considered it an insult and a good reason to challenge him to a duel if anyone suggested that he would do such intimate data with a crude soldier! But after all that had happened, there was no way of calling Hans anything but the respectful "comrade-in-arms". And after all, this wild adventure would beat the snobbery and arrogance out of anyone.

He explained this not only to better understand his situation by Hans but also because he was once again in the same boat as him. Yes, the current situation did not threaten immediate death, but it was frightening to think what would happen if anyone informed of their title found out! That Tin was very different from the other Summoned Heroes Losius could understand, even from the sketchy information from his ancestor, which meant it was vital that he not get caught and reveal his status.

Hans reacted to the news in a typical fashion, namely, with strong and inventive swearing. But he was sympathetic to the situation. So was the idea of going to the border zones with the Wildlands. There was such chaos and confusion that getting lost was not so much easy as elemental. Besides, Losius was sure that Tin would prefer to hide there, too.

"Hey, was Tin's joke about the three mythical classes was not a joke?' Hans's first question after the curse ejection was over.

"I don't know, Mythical classes are almost godlike power, I can't even imagine their potency..." To be honest, the duelist had already forgotten all about that episode. "But do you remember the way he nailed all those undead in that last fight? And the death knight after that? I'd swear on my honor that that was at least a legendary class ability, maybe even a mythical one. Wouldn't be surprised at all..."

"Yeah," Hans thought long and deep, obviously wishing he had ordered something stronger in the village. At least he was sobering up quickly from the revelations. "I repeat the question. And what are we going to do about it?"

"Personally, I will look for Tin. I have a debt of honor to him, and I owe it to him to at least try," he smiled as he adjusted his sword and touched the family amulet with his family insignia. "As for you... You are not constrained by my standards and principles, Hans. I won't hold you back, and if you tire of it all, you can stay in any city on the frontier. Far enough from the center of civilization, and your level and your share of trophies and gold will allow you to live without denying yourself anything."

For a moment it seemed that Hans would not stand it and hit him. Well, at least try to do it, after all, the duelist's level of perception and dexterity was much higher than that of the pathfinder. But the man restrained himself, only sending his companion's suggestions by an obvious route.

"....! .........! ... Losius! I swore I'd get drunk with that badass, and I'm going to keep my word!" I finally got something constructive out of Hans' yelling. "Especially since after all, I have been through, I highly doubt that I will not go crazy from the quiet city life. And even more so in the countryside! But how are we going to find him?"

"My inattentive friend, didn't you read the description of the title? Or was the title and its benefits enough for you?" For the first time in hours, Losius smiled sincerely. "I'll explain, it's the title that allows us to find him, no matter where he's hiding. We'll find him quickly, even if he's half a continent away from our portal if we search for him with purpose."

"It's not hard to find! Just follow the trail of bits and pieces of legendary shit," the pathfinder grumbled, smoothing out the heavy sack that held much of his loot. "I'd better get some horses in the next settlement, or else there are no horses in this neck of the woods!"

Losius was no longer listening to his companion's grumbling. Having solved the main question, he delved into another cornerstone choice for himself and for many other people who had taken the twenty-fifth level. Choice of class... A very serious choice, especially since there was plenty to choose from.

... The Phantom

...The Master of the Dueling Weapon

...The Guardsman

...The Witcher.

...The Chosen One of Sky

Every class offered was not even rare, but epic! And that spoke a lot. Losius knew full well that he was not up to any of the above, either in characteristics or skills, except perhaps a Weapon Master. And yet he was given a choice of five great classes, all of them great powers in their own way.

Is this also a benefit of the Title? Very likely so. And this once again signals why heroes should be feared. If their companions received such bonuses, it is scary to imagine what the status of an established hero is like.

* * *

The beginning of a parallel series about Losius and his squire? :-)

PahaVol: Not really. It just seemed to me that after all the misadventures, this couple should get this particular Title, and the consequences of such a "reward". Plus, I think the title itself makes the System a little more... loyal to the person. Not as much as a full Hero, but six (at least five) epic classes to choose from for the average aristocrat - it's a lot, I think the author agrees with me. Well, plus, I think the adventures will now begin to love this couple with more force, though not as perverted as Kostik, and some other changes should be.

* * *

"And why did we agree to this job in the first place?" Hans grimly asked his comrade-in-arms, gloomily surveying the guts hanging artistically on the trees and the gutted corpses. "There was no problem with the gold."

"I need to test the new class and see what it can do," said Losius ironically, not without shuddering as he stared into the meat grinder and made his sword ready for battle. "You? I'm not judging, but I think you've got your eye on the widow of a shopkeeper who passed away not so long ago."

"And that's what I like about the lady," Hans exhaled dreamily, and there was a reason for that, for the woman was indeed quite enviable... in physique, a pleasant face, and a honeyed voice. However, he did not let his dreams obscure his view, instead, he put an arrow on the bowstring of his newly purchased hunting bow. "Still, what the fuck had done this?"

The question was rhetorical; of the two, Hans was the pathfinder, though it was hard to make out anything in this mess. In fact, the five missing loggers should not have been such easy targets; the locals claimed they were strong men, and a couple of them even had combat experience. What could have torn them apart like that?

"Not beasts and hardly people. Not the green-faced ones, they would either eat them, drag them away, or just kill them." In a whisper, the tracker began to list the possible killers, and he began to sweep them away. "They were literally torn to pieces, but that doesn't sound like most monsters. Maybe it's... Beastfolk!

As he shouted, several tall but hunched figures rose into the forest thickets and managed to sneak up on the two adventurers unnoticed. And though one was immediately shot with an arrow through a bloodshot eye, the others hurled their primitive spears at the men, and, roaring loudly and out of stealth, they all launched themselves at the attack.

Losius whirled around, deflecting most of the well-aimed projectiles away from himself and Hans. The pathfinder, on the other hand, managed to fire three shots in a tiny fraction of a second. The last arrow, though, he fired at point-blank range, piercing the creature through and into the mouth of the beastfolk on his trail. Two more of the terrifying screaming creatures were already in agony with their throats slit, and the third, the fastest, was headless.

The pathfinder dropped his bow and drew his short sword, literally thrusting the next creature on his blade and kicking the dead carcass away from him. He dodged another blow from the clawed paw and severed it, then cracked the aggressor's skull on impact. Losius stepped forward, showering the main throng of frenzied creatures with a hail of stabbing blows, so fast that his movements were blurred, and his sword seemed to be in five places at once.

Behind his back," he said briefly to the pathfinder, taking another step forward and killing five more animals. Hans, realizing at once what the idea was, backed up the aristocrat's back, preventing all slyly twisted creatures from getting behind. This particular pack of beastfolk wasn't much different from the animals, but even they quickly realized that going head-on into such a meat grinder was a bad idea.

In general, there was a sea of varieties among Beastfolk. From entire populations, relatively peaceful and nomadic, to militant and territorial but mostly intelligent. There was even rumored to be a civilization of Beastfolk in the East, and the only difference between them and humans was a cat's ears, tail, and eyes. But wild packs were far more common. And they looked more like beasts than beasts or people. Another thing was that they preferred not to go out to civilization, and lived in places where civilization had not taken root.

It was unclear what prompted these wolf-like and primitive creatures to leave their habitat. But given the animal rage with which they tried to tear people apart without a second thought, it was unlikely that they had peaceful intentions. It was to be hoped that this was just an individual pack and not a mass exodus, or the local county would be drowning in blood.

The beastfolk, and the savage species, in particular, were stronger and faster than the average human. They used only the most rudimentary weapons, but they often fought without them, claws and teeth allowing. They wore no armor either, but their hide was good defense on its own. In short, even a small pack was a serious threat to any village without paling and a regular militia.

However, neither Hans nor Losius, could be called ordinary people. The hardships and misfortunes they had endured had hardened them, not to mention the levels and epic titles they had taken. All of this allowed the two men, even if caught off guard, to quickly convert an entire flock of beastfolk to fertilizer without risking much in the process.

And the next moment, Hans, already relaxed, nearly paid the price for such thoughts. The monsters, already thinning in numbers, suddenly scattered, and a tall and lean beast with a black pelt, a grinning mouth, powerful fangs, and claws... The leader of the local gang, the most dangerous foe of all.

His first blow would have almost killed Hans if it hadn't been for Losius. Losius, somehow inexplicably standing with his back to him, managed to react to the lightning attack. He kicked the pathfinder out of harm's way in one swift movement, setting his dull glowing blade on top of it. The clang of the monster's claws and sword clashing together made Hans sick. After that, the leader, completely oblivious to his prey, turned his attention to the nobleman.

Its brute strength, speed, and obvious experience made it a dangerous opponent for any fighter. Locius had to retreat from a hail of counterstrikes, barely dodging a few particularly successful ones, his rare counterattacks bogged down in the creature's hide, which was clearly of the same protective quality as good knight's armor.

Fortunately the rest of the beastfolk had dispersed quickly, letting their leader show his prowess, and they didn't seem to want to get hit by him. But that helped Hans come to his senses and grab his bow, lying on the ground and miraculously unbroken in the carnage. The first arrows fired hastily at the creature had no effect, but they knocked him off his pace and distracted him from Losius, allowing him to concentrate properly.

His sword flashed brightly for a moment, and at the same moment the beast's body was cut across by a deep wound, made diagonally across the body. Dark blood gushed from the creature, it fell to its knees, unable to withstand the force of the blow, and Losius rushed to finish off his fallen foe.

...The deafening howl knocked the duelist out of step and forced him to stand still for a moment, giving the monster precious time. The carcass rose on its hind legs and howled once more, spewing all its anger and pain into the howl. At the same time, it began to grow wide and tall, adding muscle and regenerating the grievous wound on sight.

"Werewolf!" Hans shouted, no time left for any of the foul languages that were begging to come out. And it was understandable, an epic class for a beastfolk, especially one so suited to the task. Instead, he took out another arrow, put it on his bowstring, used some inspiration from nowhere, fed it generously with his energy, and shot the dimly glowing arrow straight into the muzzle of the transforming creature.

It hit... The arrow, spreading a green plume, went straight into the creature's blood-red eye, and only by some miracle did it not reach his brain. But the werewolf's howl was interrupted, and with it the nobleman, who had fallen into a daze, regained consciousness. Without giving himself time to rest, Losius darted toward the beast like lightning and, once again imbuing his sword with Sky, neither allowed the leader of the beastfolk to yank the pathfinder's gift nor to howl again, but simply thrust his sword with all his might into the beast's open mouth.

The screech of death, the bright light pulsing from the mouth, and the carcass crashing to the ground, to the accompaniment of the rest of the pack howling cowardly and fleeing, made it clear that they had got the monster. Losius, who had been tossed aside by the monster's death throes, staggered to the stricken creature and, with considerable effort, plucked his sword from its jaws.

"Goddamn it, Losius, where did we get so guilty that we're always getting so fucked up," Hans moaned tiredly, throwing back his bow and not even being able to get up on his feet. The last shot drank him literally to the bone. "Let's make a deal, next time I bite on the next skirt and want to do something stupid, you hit me over the head with something heavy."

"Come on, we'd have run into that pack anyway. I've read of the habits of such packs, they'd have surrounded the village and wouldn't let anyone leave, slowly devouring the population." Losius brushed his gaze away from his blade, still glowing but dulling. "Imagine what would happen when you came into that village with a trophy like that hide on your shoulders. I think you'll have all the widows in the village, and some of the married ones, too."

"You know, there's a certain sense in what you're saying," Hans leaned forward, looking at the defeated carcass with more interest, and thinking of ways to cut it up. "I always knew that you despite your love for colorful rags, are a normal man!"

"Thanks for the kind word, for that exquisite compliment," said Losius sarcastically, but the tracker did not even catch the sarcasm, already approaching the carcass with quite understandable intentions. Deciding not to watch his comrade gut the creature and swear to cut off its hide, the nobleman turned his attention to his status.

Class: Chosen by the Sky

Rank: 1

Basic characteristics: charisma, dexterity, concentration.

Abilities:

Sky Power: 2/5

Allows you to use the energy of the sky to some very small degree. Allows you to amplify yourself with this energy for a short time. Allows you to saturate your weapon with power in a very limited way, giving it a weak and short-lived effect of a weapon of light. Allows you to heal scratches with a great deal of time and energy.

Sky Aura: 0/5

[undisclosed]

Bonuses:

Sky's Favorite: The Chosen by the Sky class allows you to use and develop abilities and skills equivalent to the Paladin class without being bound to a divine patron.

Charisma Shield: The higher the Charisma trait, the better the resistance to various control effects. From a certain threshold will increase resistance to curses and resistance to Magic.

[undisclosed]

* * *

The second episode of the misadventures of Losius and Hans. This time, by the way, I used dice for the first time. It's an interesting experience, though not everywhere, but it's fun and interesting. The most brutal and powerful crit was delivered by Hans, who nearly finished off the boss in one go.

* * *

"Look, it says here that you got as drunk as a pig and beat up a level sixteen guard! And before that, you beat up two shifts of his subordinates!" Igward, one of the most powerful figures in the guild of adventurers, finished reading the letter that colorfully describes the adventures of this character. "That's what I call a party!"

It's almost anecdotal, and, really, if it weren't for the letter of recommendation, an experienced adventurer would have considered it a dashing fabrication. Where is it seen that a level seven drunken trash can kick such a number of superiors in every way, with combat experience and better equipment guards.

On the other hand, who else but him - a Monk and a Spiritual Fist of the thirty-fourth level - would know how potentially strong a man really is? And the letter was written by a trusted man and Ingward's old partner. The centurion Crunch had once been an adventurer, too, and he'd been on the road of adventure until he got shot in the knee. The arrow was not only poisonous but also carefully enchanted by some skillful shaman, so the injured knee could not be healed.

A crippled adventurer is a dead adventurer. So it had to then still a young warrior of the sixteenth level, to leave his trade and settle in a small settlement, heading the then few militias. He did not forget his connections and old comrades-in-arms, so all adventurers could count on a warm welcome and all kinds of support in his village.

And now the young centurion, no longer so young, decided to send the lad who had distinguished himself so much as possible away, for he would no longer be allowed to live at home. The guards would not forget him, who liked to embarrass themselves like that. They wouldn't have killed him, but that... Josef would surely have had a hard time living there. The commander himself frankly doubted the kid's ability to do such a thing, but to be on the safe side he sent him to a place where they could sort out this mystery.

"It wasn't me!" The lad, who until then had been stubbornly looking at his feet, flinched. He must have been tired of proving his innocence. "Drunk, yeah, who doesn't? I was beaten and knocked out, that's all!"

"Don't be so nervous, I believe you, I also find the whole story and your involvement in it questionable," cut off the monk lazily justifying speech, glaring at the lad so that he choked on a prepared speech. "I've dealt with the masters of the Drunken Fist before, they're very nasty opponents, but you're not even close. Young fool, didn't anyone ever tell you that you can drink, but you can't get so drunk that you're a pig's piss?"

"Okay, you're in trouble, you shouldn't come home for at least a couple of years, and the Kraj is a very dangerous place for a provincial idiot like you. I'm in a good mood today, and I see you're not a bad guy, so we'll take you on as a recruit. Let's see what you're capable of, maybe we can mold you into a worthy adventurer." Ingvar crumpled the letter and then aptly threw it directly into the fireplace of the common hall. There were very few people here that night, most of the hunters were out of town, and the rest preferred to sleep it off. Josef had already outlined a move when the monk stopped him with one short gesture. "Don't thank me, you'll still cry from our requirements. If the field activity fails, I'll arrange for you to go somewhere quieter. Craftsmen or alchemists, we'll see."

Suddenly the monk leaned over the table and stared hard right into the eyes of the lad, who flinched. The two-meter tall, muscular, bald man, with an imposing beard, was a terrifying presence.

"I hope you realize that this is a very generous offer. I will not tolerate disobedience, I require both discipline and wit from my recruits. Most recruits don't pass my test, it's easier for me to screw over a promising recruit if I see that the dickhead in the field can let my guys down. Also, despite all your drunken exploits, don't even think about taking anything stronger than tea in your mouth during your probationary period. If I find out you're drunk, you'll be flown straight from here to the inhospitable streets of the Kraj. Do we understand each other? Fine."

When he realized that the necessary compulsion had been achieved, the monk sat contentedly pushed the late supper over to him, and began to devour it leisurely, gazing half-eyed at the young drunkard who had gone into the astral. Apparently, the idea of giving up alcohol, even temporarily, was extremely novel to him.

The silence was interrupted by a young messenger with a bright blanch under his left eye and the same cheeky smile. The alchemists' messenger darted over to Ingvar and placed a heavy bag full of glassware on the table.

"Order delivered, another batch of acid bombs! The chief alchemist scolded him very much, saying that your order has thrown his people off their work," he reported clearly, placing the order form next to his superiors and waiting for it to be stamped. "The foreman wondered what was the hurry?"

"I have a feeling we'll be needing acid weapons soon," the monk shrugged his impressive shoulders as he checked the contents of the bag and stamped the paper.

"Аh! Well, if it's a hunch, then fine," the boy muttered quietly enough. "Good reason to keep all our alchemists busy."

"Are you asking for an ornament under the other eye?" Ingward grumbled lazily, as the courier was whisked out of the building so fast one would have suspected him of having mastered teleportation. "Too green and young for criticizing me, yet! "

Almost all the adventurers knew that Ingward's unique skill of Insight was well-developed and that his intuition was to be trusted. So none of the adventurers had any questions about the unexpected order for a batch of acid bombs. So that's the way it should be, and it's best not to argue. Even the senior alchemist, though he never missed an opportunity to grumble.

And for the umpteenth time, the monk's intuition was correct. The events of the night began to whirl in a dashing kaleidoscope, in which the whole city was almost drowned. The monk had just had time to give the newcomer a brief lecture on how to use alchemical weapons, and acid grenades in particular when a disheveled guard ran into the guild with frankly lousy news. Then Ingward was shown the wise decision to take a rookie with him and give him a baptism of fire. And all the same, intuition told him to load this retard with a load of chemical grenades.

Josef's baptism of fire was highly unusual, vivid and disgusting at the same time...

* * *

Cultists, mutants, and fanatics. A lousy arrangement in any case. The city of Kraj made sure of that by example. The unmasked creatures were trying to hide, trying to cover their tracks and deflect suspicion. In some places, they succeeded but in other places, they didn't. And there was a real massacre going on. The guards didn't expect such fierce backlash and washed their blood, especially since the cult was deeply rooted in their ranks, too.

But the fanatics themselves had no fear of death, which, coupled with their powerful mutations and the fact that they fought in their territory, made each of their bases a great stronghold. Vivacious, strong, infinitely cruel, there were five or six guards for every dead mutant.

It was a bloodbath, but the city could afford such a purge, the Cult could not. But there, on the battlefield, it is hard to think globally when you slip on the blood of your comrades and see whole mountains of corpses, guards, adventurers, and ordinary citizens alike. For every cult base taken, people paid a terrible price.

Ingward marched ahead of an assault squad of guards and hastily summoned adventurers. His powerful blows were enough for many mutants. He ripped through the creatures like a breakwater and pounced on them head-on. Guardsmen and adventurers fought side by side and were met by a wall of shields, spears, and arrows. They punched and punched, they threw that well-proven acid, but they still died, and died, and died.

If it wasn't Ingward, the squad would have been torn apart long ago, but they continued to crush the filthy subhumans, albeit with losses. Josef, who was clearly guarded by the gods, was still alive, captured right in the middle of the mass of people, and all he could do was to keep the acid grenades flowing and avoid panic.

Until the most terrible thing struck in the back. The hungry and fierce mass of flesh, as if glued together from many humans and animals, surged forward, completely ignored Ingward's powerful blow that had stripped it of one of its limbs, and in one motion broke through the wall of shields to devour every human in its path.

That's when Josef suddenly showed himself. Whether it was blind panic or courage, or perhaps all of the above, the village idiot, instead of trying to run away from the disgusting lump of flesh, stepped forward and yelled something incomprehensible and threw the whole bag of acid grants right into the giant jaws at once. There was still a fair amount of acid left in it, and the concentration of acid was such that after receiving such a dose the monster, after a second, turned into a nightmarish mess, burned from the inside and unable to do anything about it.

Josef survived only by miracle; he vomited so much that he fell to his knees and the blow that should have knocked his head off his shoulders only whipped his hair slightly. And a little later he was pulled from the pile of corpses by someone's strong arms and shaken.

"Not bad for a redneck boozer," Ingward nodded approvingly, not caring that the puked-up guy smelled like shit. "Saved a few dozen people with your stupidity! Maybe you'll do well. Welcome to the Kraj! Welcome to the Adventurers Guild! I hope you like it here."

* * *

Josef's misadventure (drunkard from chapter nineteen). The author once said that he would roll the dice on his arrival in the Kraj and his attempt to join the Adventurers' Guild. I decided to think about how this might end, especially given Kostik's recent actions and the guy's unique bad luck (or vice versa). It was a bit of a stretch at first, but then I got a little carried away.

* * *

Avada Kadavra: Awesome! I'm not entirely sure yet, but if the dice fall the right way, your omake about Losius and Hans and that drunk guy might become canon. Would you mind much?

PahaVol: You're welcome! I'm even flattered. Still, the story turns out very good and coherent so it would be very nice to have a hand in it at least that way.

. . .

Avada Kadavra: I also note the appearance of a level 34 Monk described in PahaVol's omake, as well as (perhaps) his negligent student with a bag of acid bombs. It was their group who was involved in cleaning up what they could not get away from the "Club". And yes, the acid grenade situation really happened.

* * *

Victory, there was so much mixed in that word. It was certainly worth rejoicing that the cult and the creature above it had been defeated, but there was a bitter lump of loss in the mix. The people of the Krai, and the adventurer guild itself, had lost much in this carnage. A wound that will not soon heal. No, every adventurer knew what he was getting into and unwillingly got used to the fact that any loved one could, at any moment, cease to be. Such is the very essence of life on the edge of wild lands. But when so many people die it is still sad.

Ingvar, despite all his experience, class composure, and professional cynicism, could not boast of a complete aversion to such a thing, and therefore could not help but grieve for the departed. A victory with a very bitter aftertaste, to which was added an unpleasant sense of his weakness.

It had been a long time since a monk had encountered opponents who could wipe the ground with such outrageous ease, not only him but an entire elite fighting squad. Just polished to a shine! A victory...which they couldn't even fully call theirs. Not that the man was very proud, but relying on the strength of an unknown element in such matters was the peak of unprofessionalism.

Even though it was now clear that they had underestimated the cult from the start, they owed their final triumph to the strange masked man who had dragged the thing away with him. Yes, unlike his comrades, Ingvar was certain that their unexpected ally was human after all, albeit with a touch of strange hungry darkness.

Once again his Insight skill helped him see deeper than anyone could have imagined. It had malfunctioned badly in the last battle, but at the very end, it suddenly worked properly. And Ingvar realized that their "victory" had almost ended with the creature's triumph. Not now, but centuries from now, when everyone had forgotten about it. And he also understood perfectly well that it was a strange man who destroyed this creature literally eliminating it from the universe.

What powers did the mysterious... man possess, what did he seek and what did he want? Ingvar didn't know; his Insight had limits and worked more spontaneously. And, frankly, he did not want to know. But he owed him a debt of gratitude, and so he said nothing when his companions, after a brief conference and a test of magic, all agreed that he had died taking the creature with him.

Dead? Even such a Hero, as if he had come from ancient tales when the Summoned were still relegated to mere mortals, not all swirling in the "high" world, was unlikely to die so easily and quietly. Not that style, not that story; the monk's gut told him directly that the man was alive and even relatively intact, but to send a chase or a search party after him just for doing their job... that would be a total disgrace.

Just a ghost of a bygone era. Not the most common and well-known fact, but the Adventurers Guild, or rather its forerunner, was founded by several mighty Heroes, and Ingvar, as one of the masters of the Guild, had access to some interesting information. How fortunate that very few people in his circle are interested in ancient histories, the adventurers themselves are more focused on the present.

Ingvar assisted the others in the cleanup for a while longer or rather was by their side just in case until it became clear that with the death of the creature all of its ugly spawn began to die with dreadful speed and very nasty effects. After that, the monk decided to make a brief inspection of the surviving adventurers.

The losses were... acceptable, the monk admitted to himself with clenched teeth. After all, it was the most resilient and strongest of the adventurers. The bulk of them were veterans, and only on the periphery were cordons of the guild's more inexperienced members. Alas, the main casualties were among them; no one expected such a fierce fight, though they should have been.

Strangely enough, his recruit and green rookie was alive. Though exactly where he was standing was where the fiercest blow came from. And he made his mark... in his own style, Ingvar had already had the pleasure of hearing the story of the drunken madman who had destroyed the Cultists' vanguard, and especially the question - "Ingvar, where did you dig up that drunken monster?

The "psycho" himself sat quietly and peacefully on the crumbling wall with his head bowed down and thinking intensely about something. He, given the wild rumors that were circulating, tried not to be touched unnecessarily. The standard guild gear looked like a saddle on a pig. He still looked like the same village idiot, only at a slightly higher level. Instead of the seventh when we first met, ninth after the memorable sweep, the guy was a proud twelfth. He obviously hadn't chosen a class yet, though.

It's not a bad thing to have almost doubled your levels in less than a week. But he doesn't think Josef was that happy about it. And Ingvar himself realized that he had had a lot of experiences and outright crap these days and that after that most of the newbies would just leave the profession. But this level also told him that despite all the rumors, he had received the least amount of experience for defeated creatures.

Which also indicated that he had the least to do with the monsters he cut out. Minimal experience bonus just for being there and trying to do something. If he'd have taken them out himself, he'd be shining with a proud sixteenth level and an epic title. Yeah, bad luck for the guy, someone powerful is clearly playing with his fate. On the other hand, despite all the shit, Josef was still alive, which is already good luck...

"It wasn't me," Josef looked up as soon as the monk approached and met Ingvar's gaze. The look was no longer one of doggy enthusiasm and awe for the man but of respect. "I know how it sounds from the outside, but it wasn't me."

"I believe that," Ingvar nodded briefly, and that word alone made the boy feel better. It was as if a rod had been pulled out of him.

"I was scared," he said quietly and showed the monk his trembling hands. He was shaking all over, even though he tried to fight it. "I had never been so scared in my life. Even on the day, I was nearly eaten, I didn't realize what I was doing."

"I was scared, too," Ingvar shrugged and continued in his normal voice. "And there's no shame in being afraid. It's all the more unashamed to be afraid. And in general, an adventurer who is not afraid of anything is a dead adventurer. And it's good if the fool will die alone, worse when such with their stupidity drag away with them the whole team."

Josef didn't answer, wrapping his arms around himself and squeezing his eyes shut. Apparently, he'd had enough adventure. Plenty.

"I know what you're getting at. My mistake, I shouldn't have brought you along in the first place. Tomorrow I'll set you up with the alchemists, especially since you're pretty good with grenades. You..." Ingvar started to say but was interrupted.

"No, I'm not leaving," Josef said quietly but confidently, without opening his eyes. "At first I wanted to leave, and then I wanted to run away. But then... I felt like I was in my place, for the first time in my life. And then... I don't know, I was scared, rotten, and disgusting, but, I don't know when the creatures attacked I felt something nearby... I'll stay in the Guild if you leave me alone after my forced drinking."

"A worthy choice, though foolish, but I'll tell you a secret, every adventurous veteran is a bit of a fool," Ingvar smiled broadly in response. It's always nice to meet someone with a spine, even if that spine is hard to see at first. "As for the drinking episode, I'll pretend I don't know anything. Especially your life and the lives of your partners were at stake. I'm the last person to criticize you for trying to save yourself, even in this way."

"And I need to get stronger. Much stronger," Josef said, his hands unclenched and his fists clenched together, looking at them as if he'd never seen them before. "It looked like I wouldn't have a peaceful life, and I didn't want to have to rely on the incomprehensible crap that happens when I had a drink. Whoever or whatever it is, I have such a doubt that I have exhausted my limit of miraculous rescues. Next time, it might be so, I'll have to do it on my own."

"Words not of a boy, but a man. My mentor always said 'God helps those who help themselves'. He's a nasty old man, but the older I get, the more I understand him," Ingvar nodded approvingly, and then he became interested in a fact that he had noticed long ago, but had no time to ask. "Listen, for a countryman, you speak very well and correctly. Did they teach you?"

"Grandfather was a wandering bard, and he taught me that. Counting, writing, legends, many things," Josef smiled warmly, obviously remembering his grandfather. "I didn't show it at home, because they would laugh at the literate."

"Well, you're full of surprises. Fortunately, literacy is encouraged in the Guild, so you don't have to worry about the reactions of others," the monk was sometimes dismayed by the village mores. No, he knew that people in the village were mostly narrow-minded, not liking to stand out. But still, having lived in the Kraj, he had somehow become accustomed to it. "Okay, now that you've decided to stay in the guild, can you give me the classes you want?"

When Josef heard the question, he flinched in surprise, and only now he seem to realize that he had crossed the bar of the tenth level. He didn't look very happy, but he was distracted from his thoughts.

"Mm-hmm... Fighter, Guardian... Monk... Grenadier?"

"Fighter and Guardian are common classes - a warrior archetype, the first focused on attack, the second on defense. The other two are rare classes. The Monk seems to have appeared because of my detrimental influence. It doesn't happen often, but I've impressed you," Ingvar said, scratching his beard vigorously, savoring the newcomer's bewilderment. "Grenadier, if I'm not mistaken, is also a martial class, but one that specializes in alchemical weapons and grenades. A little alchemist, a little healer, a lot of swordplays. Take the advice of an experienced, do not focus on the usual classes if the kit came with a rare. Choose between the two, rookie, but take your time, think first. Believe my experience, the Monk of all military classes probably requires the most dedication from the man and in general is not the easiest and extremely dangerous class to master and develop."

* * *

Immediately I say that Ingvar's insight skill is much like Kostya's clairvoyance. However, it is less universal and more focused on the "here and now" paradigm. Roughly speaking, something like Sherlock Holmes on minimal levels, notices a lot of details, even seemingly unrelated, and draws certain conclusions. To decipher these conclusions is a separate art. And the rituals of "darkening" the cult have little effect on him. So he understands so much. If you take my interpretation of the character, then Kostik lucky monk decent and generally a very correct man with his principles and strong enough morals. That's rare in this world, which is why such individuals are more or less comfortable in the company of marginal people like the Adventurers' Guild at the very edge of civilization.

* * *

"And yet, Losius, how do you intend to find Tin in all this chaos?" Hans asked what was perhaps the most burning question of all, taking one gulp from his mug of beer.

"I have no idea," the aristocrat answered in complete honesty and without any internal doubts, carefully but quickly wielding his fork to finish his order. "I just expect to get on his trail someday. I'll be on the lookout for news and check out the loudest ones. A guy like Tin can hardly hide for long, he's bound to get caught up in some high-profile story."

"It's an awesome plan, foolproof as a dwarf's watch. I do not even know where to begin," said Hans, who, unlike his companion, was not bothered by the rules of etiquette, so his portion decreased much faster. "Am I the only one who is uncomfortable with the whole bundle of gold? Or being a fucking plug in every barrel. God, it's like we're really cursed! Everywhere we go, we're gonna get in trouble!"

And he wasn't even joking much. Everywhere they went, they had to fight. A memorable fight with a pack of Beastfolk was the first of many. Then there were the bandits, several gangs in a row, a pack of rabid wolves, the undead raised in their path by a demon, the necromancer himself, who had the faintest idea that Losius had come for his nasty little soul... And a whole bunch of equally disgusting situations.

The apotheosis of their adventure was an entire village of disturbed cultists, worshippers of some kind of fallacy who had decided to sacrifice them and then devour the corpses. The children and the elderly weren't in the village; they were the first to be mauled. They had to slaughter the whole settlement and in the end, they had to deal with an infernal creature that jumped out of a cute little urn in the local temple, which provided insanity for everyone. After the creature was laid to rest, Losius was sure to scorch its remains with a skylight (five minutes of ironing, then three days of recovering), and then scatter the ashes over the lake.

Anyway, when they were approaching another village, this time with an inn and a palisade, they were attacked by simple goblins for a change. Honestly, after all the crap that had fallen on their heads, meeting these little freaks was nothing short of a relief. I think the goblins themselves had time to be surprised when their arrival was greeted with joyful, anticipatory smiles and the glint of steel. Though Hans wouldn't have vouched for it, they were dead fast.

There was something positive about it all, though. Levels and skills grew by leaps and bounds. Losius raised level twenty-seven and took some class abilities without putting points into them, Hans simply crossed the threshold of level twenty and was now confidently aiming for level twenty-second.

And for a village with fucking villagers and a demon instead of a priest, they got a whole epic title. Of course, his bonuses weren't even close to what they got for the legendary scum, but it was still an epic fucking title that they got on their own for specific actions without sitting in the stalls! Losius so still earned a unique class title that made it easier to work with Sky Energy and generally allowed him to use some sort of Paladin Exile against these kinds of creatures.

There were some funny moments, though Hans still remembered them with a shudder. In that same village near which the goblins had the worst luck, he was nearly castrated in a tavern by a dark-skinned beastie with a distinct admixture of non-human blood. For innocent fucking flirting! Wild bitch, it would have been a lot sadder if it hadn't been for Losius.

Fortunately, the little brat, who was served by the black-hearted scum, decided not to aggravate the situation and pacified her with one word. He even apologized(!!!) for his bodyguard's intemperance himself(!!!). Hans had long suspected that something had gone wrong in his life because in this month he had managed to see two adequate aristocrats!

The conversation did not last long, for the odd company was in a hurry. Losius chatted with the lad for five minutes anyway, while Hans suffered under the derogatory gaze of the black bitch, who managed to silently threaten him with every earthly torment. Talent, fuck, let the goblins fuck her with the whole tribe!

Then they parted, and in this strange company, there was an elderly servant who looked abnormally normal in this wild society. The old servant himself said a little later that he had not expected to meet the future Crown Duke, the only heir, with such a poor entourage. However, he did not care much about the story, and they went their separate ways.

The aristocrat and his two servants to civilization, and Losius and Hans as close to the wilderness as possible. To the last more or less civilized city before the frontier. To Ostmark.

Ostmark gave the impression of a buzzing but calming beehive. Whatever was going on here was resolved without their active participation, and Hans was incredibly happy about it. He was almost as glad for a decent tavern, a drink, pretty women in walking distance, and the pleasant heaviness of the gold in his pockets.

Suddenly, Losius, who was lost in his own thoughts, woke up and gestured to listen to the conversation in the tavern. Hans did so, listening to the closest conversation between two men dressed in plain but neat clothes with the insignia of a small trading house. They were clearly servants from the mercantile district.

"Did you hear that? Little Jerome finally got that bitch Lenda!"

"No way! No way! It's a rock, not a woman!"

"I swear! My little sister works for that bitch. One night she's going into the cellar, and there's these two. One of them's fucking her like a goddamn whore, and the other one's scolding him out for some credit deficiency! Lucky my sister wasn't spotted..."

"Hehe, well, who would have thought! It's true what they say: water cuts stones! Maybe now, with regular fucking, the bitch won't be such a bitch anymore."

"Yeah..."

"So, what's the point of listening to some brat's love triumphs?" Hans became disgruntled when the discussion turned into the usual muttering of the two servants.

"Hans you... is simply you. You only hear what you're interested in," dolefully covered his eyes Losius mussed his hair and poked a fork in the direction of the seated a little further and also something animatedly discussing, though not a much quieter, traveling merchants. "So, I'll inform the horny ones... In the city of Kraj, a powerful dark cult has been uncovered and an epic massacre has occurred. And there's some rumor going around about some "shadowy faceless monster." Which means what? It means we need to clarify some things."

And Losius, picking up a barely half-full mug of beer, strode confidently toward the gossipers who had interested him. Hans watched as the aristocrat quickly drove a wedge into the tense but quickly relaxing men, Hans only covered his eyes.

This is not the first time an aristocrat has taken to traveling after hearing such rumors. So far without any effect, unless you count the trouble on their asses. So even without any fortune-tellers, the pathfinder knew for sure that the next morning, if not this night, they would be traveling to this town, where the cult had taken a party and was clearly in turmoil.

* * *

Another excerpt about Losius and Hans. written just under the impression of the end of the episode with the cult. We can say that now this couple is really on the trail. But whether they will meet Kostik or whether he will walk off into the sunset beautifully, I don't know yet. I'll see from the storyline. Perhaps the author would like to use this passage...

* * *

Avada Kadavra: Nyaaaaayyyyyyyyyyy!

In principle, it could also be considered canonized. There's nothing strongly against the lore and my plans here, so it's all good.

Thank you.

It's at times like this that I realize I'm not writing in vain. -_-

* * *

Kraj. A month later.

The city was slowly but surely recovering from the carnage wrought by the dark cult. Many people were no longer able to return, the war had taken the lives of many of the city's newcomers, guards, adventurers, and even criminals. A lot of warm and lucrative jobs became available, and young and toothy "talents" immediately began to fight over them.

The more so that the expected invasion of the green-skinned horde was postponed indefinitely because the clans and tribes disagreed and solved their problems in the most understandable way. Namely, with a global massacre. There was still a danger to the Kraj, but it was many times less.

Now the citizens of this glorious city had other beasts to fear. As soon as the danger had subsided, the criminal element, in an instant, emerged from the hiding cloaks and began to take "vacant" places and impose their rules, bumping into the thinning guards, the rivals of another gang, and even the desperate townspeople.

* * *

Avada Kadavra: I don't see any problem with canonization. Something similar I even sketched for Josef (the old man in my version quietly holed up in the house without sticking his head out and not letting the kids go out). All in all, it could be considered canon.

* * *

It was... starting to become a habit.

"Tell me, Losius. Is it normal that I'm starting to feel very calm about all the shit that happens to us?" Hans asked his friend with sincere hopelessness in his voice.

"Yes, quite normal. I have a healthy amount of fatalism about it, too," the aristocrat replied in a relaxed voice, swinging his rapier to shake the boiling demon blood off his blade.

"Awefucksome, if you're going crazy, it's best in a company," snorted the pathfinder back, gripping his short sword and dagger more comfortably.

This supremely friendly conversation took place in front of a small stone chapel where two friends had only recently slain an infernal creature. And this deed resonated strongly with the bright and pure hearts of the locals. And to be even more precise, the brainwashed people and the cultists directing this herd, seeing the death of their idol, were so eager to introduce the guests to their rich inner world and unique culture.

More specifically, they were about to kill and devour... And now, beastly howls, armed with whatever they could find, were streaming toward the crumbling chapel. The unwilling duo of demon fighters had no choice but to stand back to back as usual and prepare to repel the onslaught of the human wave...

And everything started out so well...

The settlement itself inspired hope for good rest, sound sleep, useful acquaintances, and replenishing supplies. It was a small but sturdy farmstead with a population of about three hundred. With a stone house and chapel, a sturdy tavern, a few shops and a militia barracks, pretty women, and a high, wooden fence. A normal, upstanding settlement. Hans himself had come from a similar place and had a certain weakness for such places.

However, as soon as they arrived, both Losius and Hans began to sense that something was far from right. And the first bell was the sincere enthusiasm of the villagers when they met the two high-level travelers. Normally such settlements were warier of newcomers. Who knows what kind of troublemakers might have gotten into this neck of the woods?

The experienced eye of the pathfinder immediately noted the absence of children and the elderly in the streets. He also noted the empty fields, although most of the strong men were supposed to be already harvesting crops. And in general, some desolation. Aristocrat, due to his lack of experience of life in the village, paid attention to the strange reservations of the locals, the mysterious thirst in the eyes of the encounters, and determined on the fly that over the village thick fog dominated very unpleasant energy.

Alas, they realized this as soon as they entered the settlement, otherwise, they would most likely have gone around it in a wide arc. But no such luck, so Losius advised Hans to keep his ears open and look around, and he headed for the headman's house to talk about it. Hans, on the other hand, did go on a scouting trip.

So that after a measly dozen minutes, I could smell the decomposed bodies, walk into the mill, and watch the bloodbath inside. There were unnoticed before old men and children, or rather what was left of them. Even he got a kick out of it... And then to kill the miller, who in no way wanted to die. Even on his sword obese man continued to move forward, trying to get to the pathfinder. Only a blow of a dagger under the chin, which reached to the brain stopped this lunatic.

No sooner had Hans caught his breath and wondered when the sounds of a fierce fight came from the center of the village. As it turned out, Losius had quickly brought to light the locals who had tried to feed him human flesh, put two and two together, discovered the demonic cult, and essentially slaughtered its entire apex, so fortunate to be in the headman's house.

The locals couldn't help but appreciate it. What's more, they were absolutely delighted! They tried to kill the nobleman, but he was very successful in hiding in a captured house and held his ground there. But this could not last long, for there were so many enemies, and Losius himself could not be everywhere at once. In the course of the defense, he had to move first to the second floor, then to the attic, and then to the roof. The locals lost several dozen of their own during the assault, but that did nothing to diminish their determination.

It was then that Hans came to his aid. Soberly calculating that it was not his ability to try to get through to his friend. For he had no trump cards against the crowd, the pathfinder instead climbed up into a nearby chapel, right under the roof where the bell was, and began to fire from there.

It was a long way off, and he had always been an average archer, but a bunch of stats from titles and levels as well as a tailwind and serious motivation, did the trick. Almost all of the arrows hit the target and most of them hit the head, which was important because most of the villagers were Possessed.

And the Possessed, in addition to their stupidity and fanaticism, received a twofold increase in Strength and Endurance, a complete insensitivity to pain and fear, so they could continue to fight even with mortal wounds. That's why they had to be beaten to the punch. A very unpleasant opponent, much more scarce than the Greenskins.

Perhaps at first, the idea of climbing up to the chapel seemed reasonable. The highest point, a good view, and at the same time difficult to catch by surprise. At least with the last point, Hans had shamefully failed, for he had not even thought that in this fucking village the priests would be appropriate.

Or rather, the local priest, as they found out later, could not be converted and instead was tortured for a long time before he was devoured. But the cultist who had taken his place was a little smarter than the others. He took advantage of the fact that Hans was completely distracted by the showering of arrows on the Possessed, and he struck the bell as hard as he could before he attacked the shooter.

He went down with a broken head, of course, for there was no need to disturb busy people. But he had done his dirty work, for the entire population of that village had vividly forgotten about Losius, already standing on a natural mountain of corpses, and in one rush had rushed to the chapel.

But even that wasn't the lousy part... The lousy part was that as soon as Hans grabbed his bow and cursed, he was hit hard on the floor and dragged into the chapel itself by an unknowing force. What happened later he remembers only in bits and pieces. He remembers the sweet voice that promised much, he remembers the most beautiful maiden stretching out her arms to him, he remembers taking the first uncertain step toward this angel...

... And then he remembers with particular vividness how a fierce light came crashing down on her through the roof. He remembers a scream that had little humanity in it. And he also remembers that instead of a maiden he suddenly saw a hideous creature with four arms, three pairs of breasts, a hideous face, clawed and weak wings, and six legs, but they were joined into one.

And Losius, with an extremely furious grimace uncharacteristic of him, covered in Sky Light, strikes the creature with blow after blow. Like the pathfinder before him, the nobleman also came to his friend's aid in time, literally saving him at the very last moment.

Alas, despite the extremely painful blows the creatures received, they wouldn't die and snapped at them dangerously. It was fortunate that the local lunatics had stayed out of the chapel while the fight was going on. They were either forbidden to do so, or they seemed to believe in its ability to crush the two sacrilegious ones.

In the end, their faith failed them. After a few minutes of literal dancing with death. Dodging whole cascades of dark scarlet spheres, multiple abyssal eruptions, and other tainted demonic attacks that the creature literally flooded them with, Losius managed to seize the moment and unleash another Blow from Above on the creature, erasing all its attacks while expelling several lower demons that the creature had pulled out near the end of the fight for support.

And Hans, following a hurried plan made right on the battlefield, smashed an incomprehensible white vial with red veins and exuding black and red smoke. And that was the last straw without that receptacle the creature was obliged to leave this realm, but Losius just wouldn't let it, keeping it in this world and literally ironing it with a continuous stream of celestial power. Three minutes later, a handful of scorched white ash was left of the creature.

What's worse, when they came to their senses and came out of the ruined chapel, the locals had no intention of thanking them and wanted to destroy them for all the good they had done. So the two tired and angry men had to take up arms again and put an end to what remained of the cult.

* * *

It was a complete surprise that the cultists, coming in a continuous wave, suddenly ended, leaving the two utterly exhausted friends in the middle of a real bloodbath and with absolutely no idea what to do next. However, both Losius and Hans had their own ideas, which in many ways coincided...

"- My middle brother, always distinguished by an enviable religiosity, at his tenth level he received a class of Inquisitor and for several months nagged me with his scriptures and codes, until the people from the Order came," shared with his comrade Losius, shivering in his cloak and with a quiet sadness watching the torched mill, where the old, children and those who were strong enough will to reject promises of the infernal creature. "And now I could use it. If it hadn't been for his lectures on possession, demonic cults, and dealing with those things... Who knows, maybe I wouldn't have brought them out so quickly and tasted something I shouldn't have. And I wouldn't have known that in this case, you have to look for an artifact and not just cut up that abomination."

The aristocrat shrugged shakily; after the desperate fight, the generous use of his powers in the battle with the demon, and the equally strenuous battle with the distraught remnants of the locals, he was starting to faint. But that did not temper his grim triumph over the creature's death, and Hans fully shared it; it shouldn't happen under this sky.

"Who would have thought it!" The nobleman laughed dryly and somewhat nervously, his hand trembling as he tried to fix his lank, bright red hair. "My brother would be proud of me right now, his good-for-nothing junior didn't just take an epic class equal to that of a paladin! And he's also destroyed a demon that wasn't the weakest!"

"And there's a reason for that, believe me, Losius. To kill such a bastard is not a pissing in the bushes," Hans gloomily confirmed, taking his eyes off the burning mill and just to occupy his thoughts asking his friend about something else. "By the way, you hardly ever talk about your family, but looking at you, I think they are decent people... If you don't want to, you don't have to."

Hans said the last words after Losius threw a sharp look at him, obviously remembering his past story involving his family, in that fucking necropolis. But after a second the duelist smiled softly and relaxed.

"What is there to say? My family is, for ... certain reasons, hardly poor by the standards of the aristocracy. A small estate, not a full-fledged castle, but a well-fortified estate with a few villages. A typical rural setting. Father Knight, rise us in these ideals. My older brother, the heir to the family, absorbed the father's ideals with mother's milk. Same a Knight and the hope of the family. You've already heard about the middle one. And I, as the black sheep in the family, more like my grandfather, as my grandmother told me, inherited many of his qualities and hair color. And then there's my sister..."

"Wow! That's a good place to start! Isn't she pretty?" Hans perked up but immediately retreated. "Don't take it seriously, I'm just kidding! I'm not sick enough to flirt with an aristocrat, much less your sister."

"You can try," Losius said with a surprised chuckle. "She's a sharp and prickly lady, and my brothers and I preferred not to test her sharp tongue. She's also an extremely talented girl with a serious talent for light magic, especially blessings... If we're ever in the neighborhood, I'll be sure to stop by and introduce you to the family."

"Oh, come on! I understand you, we've been through a lot together. But your family, I'm just a commoner to them," Hans was indignant, vigorously warning himself never to pursue a sorceress, as many tales suggested it could only lead to trouble.

"My word is enough for them," Losius cut off the objection, and then he smiled warmly in surprise. "Of all my family, up to a certain point, I've been the most arrogant and snooty. My father and older brother generally prefer the company of soldiers to the neighboring nobles. They are said to be much better and more honest. My middle brother is like my father, too, but in his case it's all overlaid with religious dogma. My sister is aloof from it all, and mages in general have their own way of doing things. Only for me, it took an epic adventure to share the ordeal with ordinary people to realize that everyone's blood is still the same color."

"Hmm, I think I might even agree to come and see it for myself," said Hans, a little dazed, who could hardly imagine such aristocracy at all. "Oh, You have such a family!"

"The best," continued to smile warmly Losius, and then with a grunt began to rise to his feet. "Come on, I think we need to scatter the ashes of the beast and put a landmark for future travelers and a possible patrol from the local baron. Not the safest place to be, after all."

The title of Losius and Hans. Back to Back (Epic) - You, working as a duo, had to fight against an enemy outnumbering you by a factor of tens, if not hundreds. Not only that, but at one point, you faced an enemy outnumbering both of you combined. And won in both cases. Your combat skills were a serious help, but no less supportive was your comrade, always ready to back you up and support you. Bonus: +3 to all characteristics except class, fighting in a small group your combat cohesion gives bonuses to all squad members. The synergy of several titles increases the effect of cohesion and interaction.

Losius title. The Extinguisher of Abomination (unique, class) - Few people, even among paladins, can boast of having fought an incarnate demon. Even fewer can boast a victory over this creature. And only a few can rightfully claim toetely destroyed the infernal creature, erasing it from the universe. And now you are among those few. Bonus: +5 to a class stat, now you can use sky energy to banish creatures not of this layer of existence with greatly increased efficiency, increased effect on Demons and Undead.

* * *

Avada Kadavra: The Losius family is shown a little differently than I scattered them, but there's only the bare minimum to change, so I'll still canonize.

* * *

* * *

A small conversational omake that included my thoughts and guesses on some of the undisclosed parts of the local System. I would like to know the author's opinion as to whether I guessed the specifics of the system accurately. Or did I miss it?

* * *

Avada Kadavra: Very close to the truth. Let me just point out that even the epic classes most often have their own class characteristic. And very "rare" rare ones, like the Librarian, too.

Thank you very much for the omak, extremely interesting and even canonized (let's consider that Brother Cadmius, pretty much embellished the importance of class stat).

PahaVol: It could be simpler. To say that Losius gave his listeners the basics "for the little ones", and then on this basis it will be possible to explain more complex and non-obvious things. Still, it seems to me, for all the time of existence with the System, a lot of such specific knowledge must have accumulated, and not all of it is simple.

As for class characteristics, you can also come up with some sort of gradation and use it as a starting point. That is, some presumably Mnemonics for Librarian or Exertion for Defender, is of a slightly lower quality than Shadows, Inspiration, or Dreams for Kostya. That's what guided Losius to choose his class.

* * *

He drank the strong, stout beer that was served in that lousy tavern in a gulp as if it were spring water. It seemed an eternity separated that mug from the one he drank before he went on guard duty. After that, it was a kaleidoscope of images and indistinguishable pictures.

He was running... He wasn't so much running from incomprehensible enemies, who were able to slaughter basically a small army under the command of some very strong scumbags, as he was trying to run from himself. He ran, afraid to even look back and at the same time fighting the urge to go back and enjoy the spectacle of his former "comrades-in-arms" being cut into ribbons.

To spit on the corpse of that bloodthirsty butcher Grad, to see the absolutely ruthless Brether Nicholas lose his life, to enjoy the last seconds of the existence of the mentalist freak... The list was long and it included almost the entire population of the camp in one way or another.

Fortunately for him, he valued his life somewhat more highly than a long-awaited but brief show. And that is why he ran... And ran, and ran, and ran. He fell from fatigue, rose again, and rushed forward, even managing to eat on the run, sometimes he just turned off from fatigue, and right on the run, he fell into a sleep. To wake up a couple of hours later, climb out of the ditch, and start this wild escape again.

It was strange that in all the days of this constant flight he had not encountered wild beasts, goblins, or any of the other dangers that filled this forest. Perhaps Lady Fortune had still not turned her back on her not-so-worthy follower.

Yes, this was not how he had imagined his long-awaited escape from the horde of those fucking monsters in human form! And he had not been particularly enthusiastic from the beginning, suspecting a catch, but alas, his "dear" parents thought otherwise. And as soon as his son turned eighteen, and the level was over ten, they sent him through persuasion and near-tantrums to... them.

The young archer sullenly swallowed his beer, took a symbolic snack, and ordered a refill from the girl. Seeing that she was in no hurry, he grinned irritably and dumped five coppers on the lousy table, which immediately stimulated everyone. The second mug of even lousier beer repeated the fate of the first.

And he knew in his gut that he wasn't going to like the "work". During this month he had seen dirt in all kinds of forms! He saw a fate worse than death, literally in front of his eyes he saw how they make obedient dolls out of living people, he saw what impunity and the high level did to a person.

Of all the fresh recruits, perhaps he was the only one who took no pleasure, neither in the good pay for the "work," nor in the suffering of the unfortunate prisoners, nor the company of the crazy subhumans. And there were those among them whom he seemed to know well... He tried to withdraw himself, to silence the voice of conscience, to forget himself in the exhausting training, to accept any job outside the camp as long as he did not have to look at all this horror up close.

This did not escape the "dear associates", because of which the bowman began to be openly mocked, and to him, as a sophisticated mockery of the universe, the nickname "Saint" stuck. It was then, after hearing this and watching how the dogs are fed the "unfit" goods and betting on who will live longer. And another "commander" gutted the most rebellious man in front of the entire camp out of boredom, he began to think about escape.

He was foolish and on his next leave, he allowed himself... sharp language in the family circle. Which he received a scathing slap from his mother and a furious lecture from his father about gratitude and respect for "benefactors". It was then, seeing how confidently his loved ones nodded at these words, how radiantly enthusiastic and eager to join the "dashing but glorious fellows" of his younger brother, that he realized with horror... That it seems monstrosity is contagious. This must have been what his great-uncle had warned him about, and it was the reason he'd been slaughtered. Just like five others not too long ago...

He began collecting money, looking for escape routes. He was not that stupid and understood that if he just tried to escape, punishers would be sent after him, from whom he could not hide or escape. He had to wait for the right moment, save his money, and pray for a chance. His prayers were answered and when the sounds of battle came from the camp and their amulet gave the alarm signal. He did not hesitate long. It was only a matter of seconds before he ditched his "partners" and headed in the opposite direction.

Already now, after a little bit of a day-long run and putting his thoughts in order, the bowman was well aware of one fact - he hadn't escaped, he had been let go. Who, why, and for what reason, he did not want to think. But it was a chance that not everyone in this world gets. A chance to start all over again and without this filth... But how to come to terms with the memory and the realization that he was part of it all, albeit involuntary, not decisive, but part...

Still not finding an answer, the guy sighed deeply and uttered only one word, well known to every man.

"Status," there was a notice that flashed for a day, and when he opened them, the guy found out that he had become the owner of two titles.

**Desperate Fugitive: You ran for a long time, you ignored fatigue, you disregarded your own body's needs, you exhausted your reserves, and you almost died of overwork. What drove you forward is not so important, but such persistence cannot fail to be rewarded. Bonus: +3 to Endurance and Energy, now constant running at the same pace takes a lot less energy, the greater the distance covered, the lower your endurance cost.

***Last Survivor: Whether by blind luck or your efforts or maybe by the whim of the enemy, you were the only survivor of your team. No matter how or why this has left a definite mark on you. Bonus: +3 to Endurance, +5 to Evasion, and Danger Perception skills.

The bowman gritted his teeth in annoyance and paid the innkeeper without a word as he headed out into the street. Yes, titles were good, but the fact that the latter referred to the fact that he did belong to a band of slave traders once again cut him a good chunk of conscience. There was no need to remind him, he wouldn't forget it anyway.

A small farmstead where a few families of loggers and coal miners lived did not make a strong impression. A hundred people lived there, and the smell was horrible. It was strange that someone had opened a tavern here at all. The only possibility was that there were often people here who bought their produce.

The bowman sighed heavily once more and ignored the stares of the locals, still fixed on him. Yet an exhausted and tired bowman who emerged from the woods could easily be an outlaw. What stopped the locals from taking harsh measures was a great level. The highest in the village had a sixth. And also decent equipment, and weapons.

It was strange that all that equipment had survived the wild run. His bow and two quivers were still behind him, his club and a couple of daggers, his bag of potions still tugged pleasantly at his waist, and even his purse full of coins, all his savings, had managed to survive the adventure. So it wasn't too bad, at least for the time being.

Rumor has it there was a massacre in the Krai not too long ago, and the Adventurers' Guild was ravaged. They say skilled recruits are always welcome, and he's not likely to find a worse job in the guild than the one he's already had.

"Goblins!" Suddenly the man who had come from the outskirts howled and immediately collapsed, writhing in pain from a small arrow in his back.

Three of the little folk had somehow managed to saddle up and ride the forest wolves, and with a hoot and holler, they followed the shouting leader, causing panic and terror among the people. Goblins were rare here, for this settlement was not too far from the castle of the local lord, who loved to hunt all manner of forest creatures near his domain. Apparently, this pack is nomadic...

A goblin bowman on a wolf had already aimed his small bow at the fleshiest and loudest woman, but then he was literally knocked off his "transport" by an arrow of much larger dimensions. The wolf lived a second longer, that's how long it took for the archer to lay the next arrow, aim and hit right in the eye, reaching the brain the first time.

The other two invaders quickly identified the shooter and with a roar directed their wolves directly at him. But they underestimated the enemy, and one of them was buried under the carcass of his own beast, which had been killed, and the other was knocked down and pinned to the wall of the nearest house by a second arrow.

"The Double Shot was not nearly as good as the Arrow Fan, but it was still a difficult trick for an inexperienced Bowman. This time, however, for a change, it even worked. The last remaining wolf overcame the distance between them and lunged at the man, but instantly received a club to the snout and a dagger to the throat.

In his hurry, the man ran up to the goblin trying to get out from under the beast's carcass, and cracked his skull open with a single blow. He straightened up, took a breath, catching more and more stares, and listened to the sounds of the approaching goblin horde. There weren't many of them, only three riders, and they seemed to have the nerve to charge into the village just because they thought it was an easy target.

They would have even succeeded, but it was on this particular day that a weary stranger stumbled out of the dense thickets onto this village. The stranger had seen creatures far scarier than goblins, even riding on wolves. What is there to see, he even communicated!

And the next moment there was a dashing whistle throughout the settlement, instantly drawing even more attention to himself. The bowman took a breath, ran up to the man, drew an arrow from his back, and hauled him to his feet.

"The goblins are coming!" He barked a platitude, in as commanding a tone as possible, and pointed his bloody cudgel as picturesquely as possible in the direction of the approaching freaks. "All the women, kids, and those who can't fight, get in the tavern and barricade it! The rest of you, arm yourselves with what you've got, axes, pitchforks, wood chippers. Move it, move it, you grimy fools, or we'll all get fuckin' eaten!"

Strangely enough, hearing the right commanding intonations from the man who had easily killed three wolf riders before their eyes, they really began to obey him. He was, unexpectedly, the commander of the newly formed militia, and managed not only to make some semblance of a formation out of the crowd of men but also to organize an improvised barricade right in the way of the goblins.

The green-skinned freaks weren't long in coming, and the first one who showed up got an arrow in the gut. The archer continued to send the killing presents over and over again, remembering in the process to give orders to the unwilling fighters and try to build a crooked wall of spears from pitchforks and wood.

For the first and last time he thought of the deceased brether with gratitude, for whatever scum he was, he had an enviable commanding ability, and it was his example that made quite a decent barrier in the way of the green mob.

Perhaps this village will even survive this little invasion. And all thanks to an archer who a few days ago was a member of a gang of slave traders and bandits. Life is a funny thing.

Second chances are not often given to people, and sometimes absolutely for nothing. However, sometimes the opposite happens, and yesterday's bandit suddenly turns out to be a defender and a hero, albeit in the eyes of a pathetic dozen little people.

But everyone has to start somewhere...

* * *

Avada Kadavra: Awesome! I don't see any problem with canonization.

* * *

Внимание! Этот перевод, возможно, ещё не готов.
Его статус: идёт перевод

Переведено на Нотабеноиде
http://notabenoid.org/book/80370/535636

Переводчики: Camrad_RIP