Готовый перевод Его не звали, но он приперся / They never called, yet he is here: Глава 19

Chapter 19

The trouble with eliminating bloody Melareth's internal security representative began literally from the first seconds of our joint trip to get his head. The trick was that this asshole lived too far from the chambers where Gamel lived, so the two of us had to walk across most of the Stone, risking the odd question time and time again. I'd already covered the two of us with a dome of unexistence, just as I'd covered the chief mage's imminent death, and I still had to somehow cover the hollow where my companions now stay. No, I had put a few pieces of the mirror there, but they would not last long, though they did not need to, and they would not protect them from a really diligent search through clairvoyance if all the specialists of the Stone were gathered in the circle at once.

There were only four hours left, which should be spent wisely. If I could at least kill the security agent, that would be fine. But the question of raising the alarm worries me much more, for the death of a man on the access list would send all the people stationed here up in a jiffy, forcing them to search for the cause of the deceased's death. To make his death look like an accident? I don't think I could fake an accident that would wipe out a bison like that. Just poison it with a paralyzing, slow-killing poison, so that it doesn't die immediately? That's closer to reality, but there would be too many amulets on him, including ones that could give the "I'm dying here" signal, which would negate any attempt at elimination. Unless you can remove those amulets, but it's going to be a lot of work, too, to do it quickly and quietly.

The pocket on the inside of Hestia's form was a cozy place, and the proximity to her body negated the searching impulses of the closed field, so I was wasting the least amount of essence, which was too little left for full use. One more large-scale use, like the one in the pantry, and I'd be with a bare ass and an empty vessel. Unpleasant, but I didn't expect otherwise, so I'm fine. If I hadn't met Hestia, I probably would have had to pull the same stunt with the first lady I saw, just so I would be able to move freely.

And there's still so much to do.

Hestia's badges and high rank allowed her, by and large, to roam almost anywhere she wished. And if her rank and pass weren't enough, she also had the status of mistress to the first mage in the area, which neither of them hid. In general, she could get into the office of the head of Stone's special department, even if she didn't open the door with her foot. At the very least, she would be received and listened to politely before being sent to the demons.

We didn't need to go to the demons, so I spent the whole time planning my move, cursing myself for not having time to talk to the girl about the plan. She knew the basic nuances, as well as the necessary reactions, but she had no way to react to my actions in time, simply because I did not know how I would act. A few agreed-upon patterns, when trying to eliminate a unit like this, are not even enough of a joke. These plans wouldn't survive beyond the first strike if they lived to see those strikes. On the other hand, the fight would have to be over in a heartbeat anyway, so I didn't need much planning. If I couldn't kill my opponent quickly, I'd just stop holding back and hit at full force. No matter how much protection I had on the cabinet and the boss himself, it wouldn't survive a shadow attack, it just wouldn't survive a ramming attack.

"The purpose of the visit?" Politely, but coldly inquired about the gloomy-looking secretary - a male, I note - sitting in the reception area of our target and clearly having trouble suppressing a yawn.

Still, this place is too boring, and exhausting with its constant routine. I'm sure that if this place were regularly attacked, it would be much harder for me to sneak in undetected, even if the defenses were much worse. However, we have only what we have, and the paranoia of the builders is met with no understanding from the current contingent of the Stone. Yes, they are professionals, but even professionals tend to lose focus. To be constantly ready for combat or other mischief is very difficult, but possible if you are a really cool professional, but to be ready for danger in the absence of that very danger is a whole other level. From the moment I arrived in Whitewater, most of my actions were aimed at concealing my presence and preventing the fortress garrison from sensing anything amiss. And, I dare say, I was quite successful in my endeavor since there was no teleported team of liquidators waiting for me, like those who are sent after rebellious Heroes and might have sent for me.

In general, the secretary's boredom only pleased me, despite the simplicity of the reason for joy. Because he could probably pretend to be just indifferent talking with Hestia - he was a professional - but to pretend to be bored next to a dangerous saboteur is not the right level for wiping his pants outside the chief's office. Not that level at all.

"Personal address," Hestia answers in her usual manner, which makes me rejoice once again that she is so frozen in life, and then completes what she said. "The problem arose during yesterday's inspection of the golems."

The problem with the golem is not a problem for the Secret Guard, but for the mere wizards, who will have to do their inspection and either fix the breakage themselves or throw the task on a specialist in the person of Hestia herself. Hestia didn't come to them, she came here, which means the breakdown may not be simple at all. Unsophisticated is sabotage, or, more likely, treasury theft, where gold and amulets were taken from expensive golems and then pushed off somewhere. So the work is quite in the style of the local Security Service, which was dealing with just such matters, in the absence of that very sabotage.

All these thoughts flashed through the secretary's head in a few heartbeats, after which he made the right decision, from his point of view. I could barely keep the image of the rat out of my head because of the clairvoyance that came over me at an awkward moment.

"Come in, Maestro Gordion is not busy at the moment." Hestia, after all, has a certain reputation and authority that makes her take her words seriously, not as an excuse to shirk her job.

With a silent nod, showing minimal politeness, the woman entered the office, and I barely had time to increase the dose of the essence released to fool the scanning network at the entrance to the office. Although, this creation of an unknown enthusiast is already much more reminiscent of a full-fledged screen than the usual alarm system.

I looked inside the room exclusively with the sphere, not risking getting out of my container, carefully estimating the number of protective, scanning, and signaling charms in the place. It wasn't bad, I must say, not bad at all. For example, the table at which the esteemed maestro now sat was a kind of concentrator for defense systems, so that sitting at it, the uncle remained virtually invulnerable to enemy magic of the subtle type. A direct attack might have broken through, but all sorts of illusions, mental influences, and curses simply dissolved into a stream of energy. I couldn't tell right away, but I had the feeling that this place, and the magic that filled it, was a sort of offshoot of the main channel that fed the protective domes. The current of power was obscenely huge, literally washing away all extraneous influences. Luckily, the flushing only worked within the confines of the desk, not the entire office, or else my image would have crumbled into dust, or at least become unstable.

The main thing now is to get this fella to leave the table, so as not to raise the alarm. I was hoping Hestia and her not-so-great acting skills would do the trick. The girl had already finished feeding the story she'd made up beforehand about how she'd noticed the lack of passability of the energy conduits of one of the groups of golems, which was most likely due to a change of material from gold to copper. Some of the gold was taken out then they added copper and mixed it all up to cover up the evidence of the crime.

Actually, ordinary golems, even if they are durable, are not made of such expensive materials, preferring the banal stone, but these particular steel statues were put here a long time ago, and they were not brought from the workshops of Melareth. So they didn't look a gift horse in the mouth, but now and then they wished they'd put a few of those teeth and hooves in their pockets. Or even the whole horse.

"It is impossible to say in more detail without at least a few constructs to the core, but had my suspicions not been sufficient, I would not have come here." Hestia finishes her report by giving a polite bow to the possessor of the high rank.

"So you need my written permission, right?" Immediately Gordion understands the unspoken request. "If I remember correctly, no one has abolished the ban on the complete disassembly of combat structures without security oversight. My predecessor had nothing better to do than to issue bans."

It is quite a logical decision on the part of the predecessor - in a disassembled and reassembled golem you can stuff so much good stuff that any saboteur would burst into tears with tenderness. This moment only confirms my conviction - if it were not for the reputation of Hestia, who is known as an expert on golems, no one would have believed her. And anyone who came as a consultant would have realized at once that the Specialists were being hoodwinked, taking advantage of their lack of understanding of the subject. You don't have to disassemble the golems to see if some of the gold has been replaced by copper.

But.

Hestia had a reputation, so they took her at her word, but she "suspected" the mages serving the golems, so their advice was very questionable. The intuition of a seasoned specialist was silent, showing no hint of imminent danger, so the man quietly got up from the table and went to the nearest cupboard to get some form, or seal, or other crap out of it.

The timing was perfect, it couldn't have been more perfect, so I left the pocket I was sitting in and immediately went on the attack, desperately hoping for success in my endeavor.

The first thing I did was apply a Shadow Theft to my opponent, simultaneously releasing all of the essences, stopping the fortress' sensory systems, and giving myself a little more time. No amount of unexistence could conceal the final cry of a previously muted sense of danger, causing the gaunt man in the stone-embroidered black uniform to tense up sharply, preparing to deflect and strike back first, only to ask later. But the man failed to strike, though he turned to face the danger.

The stolen shadow clung to its former master, preventing him from moving or even sending a signal through the always-active amulet, which he didn't even need to touch. A single mental effort would have sufficed. The rat's image flowed and distorted, glowing on the touchscreens, but, bad luck, those screens were reliably silenced by the spewed essence.

My powers wouldn't be enough to hold my opponent for long, at least not without dispelling the image of the rat. A very huge and uncharacteristically black rat, ran up the arm of the magician, almost being launched by her like a stone. And in flight the image blew even stronger, making me almost completely lose the energy aspect of the cloak, only a small fraction short of the point at which I would have been spotted even through the shroud.

I did not understand exactly how I did it, but a moment later there were two glass needles in the rat's paws - they were hollow inside, by the way - the tips of which were already glittering with green drops of something unhealthy. In the next instant, the black rat was already running up the arm of the paralyzed and nearly paralyzed Inner Security Officer, immediately thrusting the needles into the corners of his eye sockets, instantly setting the complex alchemical compound into action.

Any thoughts disappeared from the enemy's brain, leaving only basic instincts, like breathing. The alchemical equivalent of liquid lobotomy was a terrible weapon, especially when concentrated above all norms. After twenty-four hours the victim's brain should be dead, but he wouldn't live until then. After all, I finally had a plan.

The plan is shitty, and risky, assuming no possibility of turning back. But at the same time, it is surprisingly logical and correct, despite the seeming insanity. Yesterday I would have thought it a stupid and shortsighted decision, but right now, if I succeeded, I would be able to make it many times more effective than I had originally planned.

I instantly drop the image all the way down, becoming human again instead of a vile rodent. I nod gratefully at the extremely shocking speed with which Hestia's high-level adversary has been massacred, and then I get to work, leaving the woman to continue to wonder. And she does have something to be surprised about, despite the fact that she managed to actually kill even a stronger opponent earlier - you can't just get used to the fact that even high-level opponents die very easily and quickly. At the same time, I also understand why no one likes stealthers and assassins: in another situation, I would have had to strain so hard to kill a ready-to-fight ace fighting in his own territory. And here he fell with a single blow - one cannot help but begin to hate such dishonest bastards as poor Kostik, who can send any man-army to meeting with his ancestors without even raising the alarm.

Distracted thoughts did not interfere with my work, for I had long ago become accustomed to the fact that my brain was always taking me somewhere else. The class skills were working at full capacity, but the main task, causing most of the difficulty, was keeping my background in check. Something was leaking, of course, but still not enough to push through the alchemical veil.

The stolen shadow was still on the vegetable in front of me, but I kept taking more. Somehow it reminded me of the trick I'd pulled in the slave camp, only it wasn't to increase my combat power, but to match the stolen image as closely as possible to the real one. It was as if a barely perceptible cloud, or rather a shadow of it, had frozen over the body of the Special Security Officer, and the man himself, already not so young, was aging rapidly, stopping just short of turning into a desiccated dead man.

My hands were shaking and my nose was dripping blood under the mask, but I was still holding the damn image, still keeping the parasitic energy currents from lighting up, still not letting go. The Shadow Creation was working instead of the usual Stealing of Shadow that had already fulfilled its role. Muffled heartbeats, heavy breathing, and a haunting cold pierced through my bones despite the insulated clothing. This cold is of a different nature, one that I know very well. It was the same nature as hunger, the desire to consume the soul and life, leaving not even a memory of it. And it was also impossible to ignore the whispers and rustles that exist only in my mind. There could not be thousands of voices calling me to become one of them - the fortress itself is too protected. No, it was just my imagination, stirred by too much use of class skills.

Once again I have to do something that forces me to go over the limit of my skills. Once again I have to bet everything I can, everything I still have. To bet and not lose, to once again win at this roulette game. Right now I wouldn't mind getting a couple of free skill points instead of having to screw my ass with Shadow.

Anger helped.

Not the hatred for anything and everything characteristic of the Shadow dwellers, but the banal, thoroughly human anger. Anger that, even now, in my already miserable situation, I was forced to risk even more, even though it seemed as if I could go no further. This anger was so foreign to the sensations pouring into me that I was able to cling to it, clearly separating me from The Shadow, and then the Price of Humanity came into play, on which I was able to hold on.

Again.

The images that flowed into me, the insight that came with another victory, immediately came into play, turning my pathetic attempt to do something I can't even begin to understand into a full-fledged plan. Understandable, feasible, and even somewhat elegant. The stolen shadow, along with the life drained from my victim, began to merge into the Shadow itself. A shadow that was born in reality, that I had created from beginning to end for a single purpose.

A system message flashed in front of my face, but without even looking at it, I knew exactly what it would say. However, I cannot, and do not want to, refrain from checking my sensations against reality. What could it be in my somewhat inadequate state?

Creating of Shadow: 3/9

Allows you to use inferior and weak shadows as material, changing their essence with your will; allows you to implant obtained essences into stolen shadows; allows you to work limitedly with concluded contracts, throwing a summoning loop on material carriers; with certain costs, allows you to change contracts or intercept others; allows, to the limit of effort, create Shadows from stolen images, lives and souls, very limited giving them the essence you desire.

Exactly what I would need. At least I didn't risk it for anything, or I could have gotten reinforcements that I wouldn't even need, wasting my strength and almost getting killed in the process. It would have been very much in my spirit, just a hundred percent Kostik.

The shroud of negator still exists, even if my activity has undermined it. If I do it right, though, I won't need it again until the hour of "X". On a hunch and a fleeting hunch, I grasp the resulting, created Shadow with my hand, holding it tightly in the grip of my altered palm, and then touch the dying Maitre Gordion with my other hand. I'm not sure that siphoning essence from a living creature can be a fighting skill - the cost is enormous, the concentration is absolute, and the result is too slow to manifest. Thanks to the title of Hero, I can endure the quiet wheezing of a dying man who's not even being used for meat, but reagents. No, that's not right. It's not him I'm putting on reagents, but his essence, something that suspiciously resembles the soul itself.

A golden cloud, whose gold has incredible purity, is slowly drawn into the Shadow frozen in my hand, giving it a piece of what made Gordion La'Skerry all that he was. His knowledge, his habits, his joys, his desires, his sorrows - everything he was and was no longer - was sucked into the slowly growing Shadow, becoming something new. This essence was simply overflowing with shades and aspects and desires. So overflowing that I can't even imagine their exact number, let alone work with it. I don't really need that work right now, though. Yes, I can filter and concentrate it using the vessel I emptied earlier, but I don't have the time or, I confess, the desire for it. It would be too much like Shadows eating the souls of their victims, with the difference that it would be done through seemingly harmless alchemy.

Inhale.

Exhale.

I put the Shadow I had created on myself, turning to face Hestia, who was stiff and pale. Behind me, the body of what I was now was crumbling into dust.

"Well, Lady Raimel, perhaps I will walk with you to verify the conclusions and suspicions you have stated," I speak in the same voice, in the same manner, with the same intonation as the donor who has ceased to be. "I ask you to follow me."

Quickly coming to her senses and it seems even more focused than before, Hestia nodded and, making another graceful bow, said, as calmly as ever:

"No doubt about it, maestro." Just a faint smile on his dapper face. "I am always at your service."

The Negator dissipated, but not a single alarm, not a single closed field even moved to kill the saboteur who had infiltrated the heart of the fortress. I silently bent down and hung several of the amulets Gordion wore and his belt, which had plenty of pockets, including even the treasured key to the artifact vault.

I was about to leave when the essence that Shadow had fed suggested some irregularity. I obeyed the urge, stepped to the table, leaned over one of the drawers, and, touching an inconspicuous area with three fingers, injected some of (not)my energy into it, causing the hiding place to open.

In the cache, which I could not even see with a sphere, there was a single object that didn't have any magic at all because of the sheath in which it was kept. To be honest, this is the first time I've seen such a high-quality insulating material, but I don't care about the material at this point. Much more I care about the shape of the damn cover, which can hardly be confused with anything else. Especially for me, a man from the twenty-first century of the planet Earth.

Is that a fucking holster?

There was simply no time for a showdown, for in a little while the secretary would come in here to ask some questions of his own about the official routine. And I was not at all sure that I could answer correctly while remaining in character, despite what my Shadow would prompt me. It can only prompt, let me pretend, but not to that extent. Or it can?

Fuck knows, but the idea of playing Alpharius and getting a job here, messing with everyone's head, seemed incredibly appealing to me. I give a mental kick to my head, reminding them that in a couple of hours my friends will go on the assault, and I will need to support them. But, you have to admit, there's something there.

The Shadow I wore put a certain amount of pressure on my mind, but, to tell you the truth, it was much less than I expected. I mean, it might have suppressed an ordinary person or even a novice Hero, but it was too easy for me. Compared to the f*cking I'd experienced during the battle with the freaks, or even during the storming of the ritualist's house with the Slavecatchers, the experience seemed much easier and more understandable. It was as if I'd just dived too deep into the Shadow - a small thing at my current level.

It was more difficult to keep my concentration, not to let the remnants of the personality and even the skills of the absorbed Specialist crumble and become unstable, while at the same time not allowing the personality to merge with me too much. But it was tolerable, too - it lacked the all-destroying power of the Shadow, but it didn't have the deceptiveness of the Dream, either. It was too simple, too easy-it was even suspicious.

There was a holster on my belt, made, if my gut was right, of dragon skin, and my Munchkin soul was just reaching for my new toy. No, just imagine: some Chosen One comes up against me, proving to me how much tougher his kung fu is than mine, and I'm all humble - boom, and shoot the bastard.

Although, given the influence of the System... Just considering my skills and strength, I have to admit that a simple firearm is of little use to me. Even if it manages to evade clairvoyance. A sense of danger, even if suppressed, would give a fraction of an instant. And then it would shift into shadowy form, step toward the shooter, and anal punishment with the gun it had fired at me. And it is doubtful that the Chosen Ones would be weaker than me.

On the other hand, something tells me that the gun hanging from my belt, if it is a gun and not some oddly shaped wand, will not fire simple lead. Even through the insulating container, I can feel how saturated with magic this artifact is, how lethal and how dangerous it is. Anyway, I'll have to see and feel it with my hands, if I find the time to do so.

The Stone's chief special security agent, striding purposefully somewhere in the company of the golem master, caused some excitement. No alarm, no, just interest. If I pull out a battle artifact and start looking at it now, it will arouse unreasonable suspicion. Or, on the contrary, quite reasonable.

I've had to listen to reports and short reports three times already, on the fly. Once again proving that with so many dangerous personalities per square meter, the own security could never be too busy, even if there was no threat of attack. If it hadn't been for the late Gordion and his boys, the garrison would have handled their destruction with their own resources! Every other man here was a strong personality, able to bend reality to his own needs, and every first man came close to that boundary. Mutual grievances, old quarrels, reluctance to get their hands dirty with certain kinds of work, contempt for the lower classes, despite the individual power of individual Blackfeet, hatred for the noble houses, despite their professionalism and restraint - all this merged into a cocktail so wild that if it were not for the regular arbitrator of Gordion, it would have flared more violently than a nuclear explosion.

"Did they manage to brew alcohol again?" A little irritation in the professionally cold voice. "Levièvre, didn't I order you to take away all possible access to the reagent vaults? Didn't you assure me by Sun, Heaven, and Sisters that the seven-and-a-half-twenty would have nothing to make a new distiller out of? So why do I have to listen to your excuses again?"

The twentieth level supervisor can only blush, pale and green, once again justifying himself to his superiors. Afraid that after such a screw-up he wouldn't be exiled even further, to herd cows.

"They built a distiller out of night pots!" A young-looking guy with a painfully pale face and thin features shouts out in despair. "Out of night pots, Master! Take me to the tribunal right now, but I have no idea what to do after that. Why don't we just increase their liquor quotas? There are three of them with the title of Drunken Fist, the fourth is a monk by grade, and the fifth aspires to it."

"Hmm." I wonder, or rather, I pretend to wonder, because it's in the nature of my character. "I guess there's something to it. Since they've even adapted the pots, I might as well try... I tell you this, Levièvre, you give the order to Abris, and through him to the Intendant, to have them put in a room with three... no, two barrels of wine. We shall see the result."

Apparently, it wasn't construct woven of Gordion's soul that gave me that clue, but my Soul of Mocker, because the officer nearly collapsed on the spot, unable to match my and Hestia's steps (and the woman was surprised, too, I might add).

"If they can't do it in..." I suppressed the urge to say "a week" this time, expressing myself in a more familiar style to my image. "If they don't get the same title as the others by the end of the decade, they'll be sent either to punishment squads or to the tribunal. Who among the commoners is there?"

"Renat Gonr and Fall Oss, Maitre." The interlocutor answers mechanically. "But is it worth acting so radically? You said yourself that no filth should leave these walls unless, pardon me, we wish to sit here for another five years?"

I cling to The Shadow until my mind is completely numb, trying to straighten things out before a nervous Hestia shoves her dagger into the overly talkative Attendant, deeming us exposed.

"I'll take care of Master Corsic's dissatisfaction myself, but right now we'd better solve the problem before the new garrison arrives. Otherwise, we'll not only be setting ourselves up, but also the Magister." The subtle hint that some new backstabbing had begun went easily, since this particular lad was considered relatively trusted, loyal to Gordion personally. "Better to get a mild disapproval for disciplinary noncompliance seven-fifty-two now than when they set us up with another prank later. Besides, if they do get the title, we can file their constant lack of sobriety as part of Stone's defense potential."

I spewed a lot of nonsense, and after a few days, a week at most, all those to whom "my" man will retell this nonsense, will understand after checking the information through their channels that I brazenly spewed nonsense. There are no physical contacts here, but the communication is at a very high level. Except that I do not care about possible problems later, because I got rid of problems now. Although I admit with sadness that I would not be an Alpharius, because I would be caught up very quickly.

A full two dozen soldiers are twisting the arms of the three mages, putting shackles on them suppressing magic, and I am quietly astonished. That's what I call a lucky break! When I ordered the farthest golem, the one Hestia had pointed out, I expected quiet surprise and gloating looks at the trainee who had blabbed to the Inner Security Specialist, and was now going to shit herself. There might even be an opportunity to move her out of her position.

What I didn't expect was a look of surprise that turned to panic, a desperate attempt to bribe (almost directly, so even Gordion himself wouldn't take it), and then an even more desperate attempt to escape through the wall (geomancers can, but only if the stone is not enchanted, as it is here). They didn't steal gold from the energy wires, no. But the crystal cores, which are excellent storage devices and are worth more than their weight, not even their volume in gold, were stolen by someone enterprising.

I didn't really understand anything, because I was staring at the elite golems, which resembled almost three meters tall and very wide, tightly sealed knight's armor, inside which, once disassembled, I could see iron hinges, scatterings of crystals and gems, which were secondary storage devices, and gold and silver energy conduits.

The clairvoyance and the Shadow-stored remnants of the victim's knowledge immediately suggested that not all golems, even the elite ones, are made with so many mechanical parts. Quite the contrary, in fact. Usually golems, even those made to last, are solid stone or iron statues, or simply piles of stone or ore with a heart inside - a storage unit, spirit, elemental, or alchemical reactor to power the whole thing. Enchantments and rituals with no material component are used instead of gold and jewels.

But these machines were made and then "gifted" by dwarves from some continental clan, so they were made in the usual Bearded style - more iron, more stones and gold, less pure magic. It was reliable, expensive, and hard to maintain, but those were superior to the standard models. Only the owners of classes specific to dwarves, such as Mechanics, Technomancers, and other were able to operate this thing properly. Those in Melareth who had such classes either didn't want to serve in the Stones, or weren't trustworthy enough. Ordinary Golem Builders and similar classes could at most maintain these constructs and make the most cosmetic repairs.

By and large, most of these golems have not been touched at all for years, and the largest specimens even for decades. So the three mages, who are engaged in this maintenance, decided to quietly steal the most valuable parts, without which the golems would work on the secondary drives for a little while longer, and then they would stand up. But they won't be here anymore.

"If you don't want to be executed, you'd better tell me right now who you were going to sneak the cores through from the territory I was entrusted with." I say and mentally cringe, for I have now thrown a stone in the garden of the almost dead Gamel, who commanded the wizards. "And you had better not test my patience."

"Through me, Maitre." The voice behind me, belonging to the mere stealther who had come along with the mere soldiers, repented. "I had no idea what they were going to take away, for they had only dropped a hint of the principle possibility. I swear on my blood, if I had known the background of the events, I would have been the first to come to you. I assumed that at most they would choose to take some of their personal belongings, despite the ban."

He's telling the truth, I guess. He really didn't know, and now, realizing how much the smell of gasoline had soaked his ass he decided to sell the guys out, hoping that "I" wouldn't cut off the guilty head. Perhaps, knowing his superiors he wasn't much mistaken.

"Do you have any idea..." I shook my head tiredly, running my palm across my face. "You understand that this is no longer just theft, not just stupidity. More than half the golems are incapable of combat right now. Raimel?"

"At most twenty minutes in combat mode, after which they can be disassembled for parts." The woman backs me up. "Without the presence of the core, you can't charge the secondary accumulators, it's more likely to break them."

"It's..." Nervously and as if coming to some conclusion. "It's not theft anymore. No. Sabotage!"

And before those around me get a strange look - not a single sabotage or attack has happened in the Stone since its creation - my words are supported by the sound of the siren, whose sound cut through my bones and could raise even a dead man off his feet. Well, except for the drunken half-dozen who was diligently getting his damn title.

Everybody's freaking out.

They're just stunned.

For a few seconds all these professionals, aces, and high-level fighters just froze, and the restrained golem-builders almost shit themselves, realizing that it was useless to prove anything now. With a quiet swearing ran somewhere sthealther - not the one at fault, but another - along with a couple of other soldiers, after which throughout the fortress began to spread some strange and unpleasant buzz. The magical domes were at full power, the traps were powered up, and the stationary mass-attack spells were preparing to wipe an entire army to dust.

And then two fragile glass bottles hit the floor, releasing under pressure a lethal poisonous gas that instantly deadens nerve tissue and rots the brain.

With a sharp spurt, barely able to hold the image, I grabbed Hestia, pulling her close to me so that I could activate one of Gordion's amulets, forming a perfect orb that would keep anything out, not even the air. Of course, I've got poisons that can overcome those defenses, and plenty of them, but I'm not about to toss every bottle I can get my hands on, so we'll survive. And the two dozen men whose amulets didn't recognize the two-part poison, the three thief technicians, and my two assistants, they immediately fell to the ground, convulsing like a fish thrown to the ground.

But the "guilty one" not only managed to jump out from under the first splashes, but also clung to the ceiling and covered himself with a hemispherical barrier of the same type as mine. It didn't protect me from everything, but it didn't let in air or sound, either. And he was looking right at me, obviously aware of exactly who and how had destroyed his colleagues. Twenty-third level, an unusual class of Cutthroat, the cold and attentive gaze of someone who covets my blood very badly.

Three seconds.

I look at him in silence, while letting go of Hestia, who had just had time to realize the situation.

Two seconds.

I took the long and thin dagger out of its sheath, taking the stiletto in my other hand. I'm not touching the gun, or whatever it is, because I don't know its nature or how to use it. I've never held a weapon on Earth, but at least I've learned how to use daggers here.

One second.

Hestia also drew her dagger, simultaneously reaching for the golems that had been placed around her, clearly trying to activate them without a controlling amulet - class allows.

Zero.

I turned off the amulet abruptly, letting it fall to the floor. I move forward through the harmless green mist that has already begun to settle on the blood and bloody vomit-covered floor. The enemy is weaker than I am, but the image and lack of ability to apply my skills are weighing on me. However, the poison-green stiletto that glowed was a good substitute. Through The Shadow, I was able to use some of the victim's skills briefly and weakly, which I demonstrated immediately.

A blow on a converging course and we immediately jump apart without hurting each other. Too slow. I couldn't even hit at Gordion's own full strength, let alone mine. Luckily I'm not alone, so I manage to seize the moment, won for me by Hestia, whose golem threw a huge mace at the Cutthroat. The venomous stiletto sliced open the throat of my opponent before he could scream, and I was already screaming at the top of my lungs, echoing the voices outside the door to the hall.

"Treason!" I shouted, and immediately thrust the dagger dropped by the fallen Cutthroat into my shoulder.

For credibility.

"Lord Atkins had already left the fold, along with the advance party." A dandy of some stout but high level reported cheerfully. "My half hundred and Rools three dozen are all that's left inside."

"The first mage?" I threw it shortly, once again driving the healer eager to heal my arm away from me. The wound, by the way, is real, but if you start treating it, the healer may notice that it is not the one who is wounded at all, but something that has put on its disguise.

It's still too early.

Hestia stayed behind with the rest of the techs and one more Guide to bring at least some of the golems, as well as the three enormous mechs, into combat readiness. She still had the set of poisons and stimulants I'd given her, but I didn't have time to give her any clear orders or plans other than "act according to the situation and don't take any unnecessary risks".

"Lord At'Orovai..." Clearly, the brat was mewling, which made me speed him up to fit the image.

"Answer me now!" The role of the gallows-sniffing Special Forces officer who had missed the attack and its preparation, allowed me to get into a rage and not give a damn about modesty.

This dude tolerated the insulting tone, but allowed himself a wicked smile, realizing that very soon I would have to answer to a much more noble and influential personage. And he would write as detailed a description of my actions and my failures as he could so that he could be sure of drowning me. The image and the clairvoyance told me that the feud between me and this man, or rather his family, had begun long before I arrived in this world.

"Lord At'Orovai is dead, Maitre." Despite his gloating, he did not rejoice at all when he gave me the news, for it was alarming. "So were the three men who had entered his dwelling first, and without protection from the poison."

"How!!!?" I shouted furiously and in disbelief. "He was level forty-six! What kind of shit is going on here?"

"Poison and acid, Maitre." With barely contained fear, the whip pronounced, not even responding to the insults, for he was unaware of the first mage's level. "And something else".

"Be more specific." I hurried, almost running toward the cluster of enemies. I'd have to keep them from going through the portal, or my teammates would be outnumbered.

"There's just a huge amount of... semen?" Unsure and clearly not knowing where to put his hands, the officer explained, and immediately a hunch hit him. "And... Lady Rymel was the last one there! I saw her go there myself! And she had access to the golems, too!"

"It looks like I'm already facing the gallows." It's obviously not quite in character, but it's an apt statement, and it even evokes some sympathy from the gloating prick. "Has the capture order been passed?"

"Not yet, we need to send someone... someone who can kill the creature who managed to destroy Lord At'Orovai." Desperately disbelieving the course of unfolding events, my companion says. "Most likely Lady Raimel herself is already dead, and her place has been taken by some creature, like succubi, only higher in level."

"Maitre, sire!" A twentieth-level messenger, laden with all sorts of trinkets, comes running up. "There are some creatures out there! They're asking for reinforcements and more supplies from the reserve arsenals! Code red, mark "shadow"!"

"Shadow?" The officer won't let me talk. "Shadow, not Inferno, or Torment?"

"Yes, sire!" Immediately they give him an answer, clearly writing me off as waste material, which I did not resist in the slightest. This image has almost outlived itself. "Exactly "shadow," they repeated three times before the interference began."

"Goddamn it!" Almost howling, my "opponent" immediately started giving orders to everyone, including "me". "Okay. Mater, you need to open the reserve arsenals, go there immediately. Rool, take whatever you have against brain effects and go to the golems, you need..."

I have no idea what he was after, for it was at that moment that I realized that there would be no better time. Or rather, I could wait, but after the order to liquidate Hestia, which was about to be given, she would have very little time left to live. I, on the other hand, would live a little longer, perhaps without destroying the nearly crumbling image. I'm too inexperienced at this sort of thing, having tried the trick for the first time today, and my Creation skills are too underdeveloped.

The more so that there would be no such good time to use this potion, and carrying this stuff around with me was a little scary. I did not even trust it to the team, because it was too fragile and dangerous. I waited until the last of the laggards came running out of the corridor, and then I dropped the vial on the ground again, only this time it was bigger and more unusual in shape.

The snow-white, almost glowing white sphere falls to the ground just when I activated the artifact again and jumped back at full speed because I was not sure that such protection would stop this nasty thing. I was right to jump back, for the sphere would not have been able to withstand my mUsterpiece, not reacting to it. Did I intentionally infuse the material components with those aspects of the essence that were responsible for overcoming the barriers, pretending to be absolute emptiness?

There were almost a hundred of them - all who had to go through the portal rift to support the fighters who were already fighting my comrades.

Many of them simply didn't have time to react, as I carefully covered my actions from their intuition. Among those who did manage to react, only a few survived. A dash was a good thing, but the kill zone of my creation was too large. The magical barriers were of no help at all, simply not noticing the threat, not perceiving it as such. The intangibles and ghostly forms were even more useless, for the magical crap worked on the intangible forms as well. The only survivors were the blinkers and teleportationists who could not only recognize the danger but also jump to the right side and at a sufficient distance.

They didn't win much, since I didn't try to hold back or pretend, immediately pulling off the Shadow and starting to hit at full force. A third of my reserve and twenty-eight strikes per five rescued opponents. Just a shadowy spike popped out of the nearest shadows, piercing their guts. Three fell from the first blow. Some regenerator, with its incredible stamina and strong resistance to Shadow energy, needed five of those blows at once. All the other blows went to Losius's colleague, who had some extremely tricky class that was honed for light damage.

If he had been ready to fight and not been inside a cloud of deadly poison, he could have been a really unpleasant opponent. Fortunately, the surprise attack worked here, too. In general, I was very lucky that there were few really serious opponents in this crowd - even the rare classes were less than two dozen, plus my surprise and concealment from foresight, plus the poison made by the mythical alchemist, and the ability to hit with shadows through the perception sphere... All together made it possible to win quickly. If they'd been ready to fight right now, it would have taken a lot more effort.

He was the only one who had to be shined in my face with three shadows at once, and he almost didn't get out. And he would have, if it hadn't been for the shadowy pins created on the inside of the shrouds and the circular saws that cut him open, in spite of all his resistance to my magic.

I had to switch to a shadow form, though, as air blades of all shapes and sizes started hitting my body. It was not particularly strong, but it was unpleasant, precise, and magical - each hit took away part of my reserve and felt like an electric shock or a burn. When I stripped myself of the Special Officer's image, I was open to being scanned. And having found an intruder, the air masses immediately tried to cut me open (hitting my throat and eyes), restrain me, siphon air from my lungs, to twist me into a tornado, and that was only automatic defense.

It was lucky that I had time to finish the extermination of the army men who hadn't been poisoned to death before their main calibers were pointed at me. I took one last look at the work of my hands - the bodies lying huddled together, weeping with the dust that spurted from every orifice. Like leather bags stuffed with incredibly white dust, like the purest flour of the highest grade. The price is not even a victory, but a single individual advantage created for the sake of the big picture.

I'm not going to convince myself that they were my enemy, that I'm not like that, that life is like that, that maybe they were bastards and generally "thugs it's different". I just silently step into the Shadow and walk sharply away, fleeing the purest Frost's blow to the place. Up there, even things that shouldn't be freezing have frozen over. Even though my resistance to the cold is very high, since the concept is related to The Shadow, even I wouldn't be able to survive in that place unless I spent all my reserve to create protection.

I float back into the upper layers of Shadow, manifesting into reality and casting the sprawling image of Gordion over myself, hiding from the attention of the defense systems. The system messages are simply ignored, as is the notification of the level received. I don't have time for this crap right now - my cloak has only minutes to live, if not seconds. This means I need to knock out at least the same sighted ones that can point major calibers at me. I can just physically feel my intentions leaking out to them now, under this strain, making the Watcher himself, their chief main, begin to see the dead man's mark appear over each of them.

Now I have to act very quickly.

I run at the maximum speed possible for my image. Now the appearance would fool no one but the mindless scanning system: I deliberately sacrificed all parameters except this one. One moment I look the same as Gordion did. One second later, as if he were the same, but desiccated into a mummy. Another step later, like a molten wax figure, losing droplets of his waxy skin, leaving them on the walls. The essence in the Shadow is gradually eroding due to a lack of skill and concentration, making the Shadow itself barely hold on to reality, despite my efforts and prodding. A little more and it will simply crumble into nothingness, and I will be left unprotected. I could steal someone else's shadow, though, and I'd kill the recipient before I could do so-an alarm, of course, but I'd escape the blows of the defenses, and that's all I needed.

A full hundred fighters, led by the bald commandant, had already left the pocket dimension, joining the five-fifths of Rangers, now occupied by my comrades-in-arms. Nearly a full hundred more have been nailed down in my two diversions. All that's left are the individual mages and groups of guards that now hold the central compartments of the Stone, covering Ferer himself and his apprentice-trainees, and all the little things like servants, intendants, arsenal guards, and clairvoyants.

Oh, yes, and the five other guys who I "ordered" to lock up in the company of wine barrels and not give them the keys to their room. But I don't have to count those, because they couldn't get out, even if they really wanted to. Let them drink, they haven't taken the title yet.

I walked directly out into the corridor leading to the cognizance department, almost seeing my adversaries before my eyes. Five soldiers level twenty to twenty-five at their sergeant. Four men standing behind the guards, putting their hands on the shoulders of the fifth, a not old, but completely gray-haired man of Chinese-Asian appearance, looking at me like shit. In front of them stood a hard-wired barrier, glowing with a flame that even I wouldn't be able to penetrate easily.

And they were also waiting for me, combining all the powers of the Five Watchers to cover their trap and put my sense of danger to sleep. Like I wouldn't fuckin' figure out for myself that if my gut was telling me everything was all right, someone was fuckin' with me. I could have broken the deception, but then they would have just put up a wall, shutting me out of my perception of their intentions and desires altogether. At least this way they wouldn't be aware of what I already know about them.

My appearance had completely taken on its original form - a figure in a cloak and a mask, with the remnants of poor Gordion's waxy flesh dripping from its arms and legs. All in all, I could not deceive and impersonate anyone else, even if I wanted to, even if my disguise worked at full capacity. Too suspicious were the clairvoyants who had sensed their doom.

To make a long story short, these idiots gave me time to run forward down the hall and, about halfway down the course, they lit up like Ozzy Osbourne at his best. It burned so that I doubted again whether I would have survived such a blow if I take it. The poor Shadow image, which I sent off this time, proudly alone, was shredded into small pieces so small that I don't even know the words.

And I safely jumped under their protective barrier through the lower layers of Shadow.

I almost missed twice!

This place absolutely does some incomprehensible shit with space, which makes such tricks with diving to the depths of the native realm and rising sharply outward require a simply unspeakable expenditure of concentration.

But Kostik - good boy!

Though my self-inflicted wound had healed before I began my venom attack on the soldiers gathered near the portal, it was uncomfortable. Now, it was gone, and I'd managed to restore my reserve almost completely, having trivially pierced two of the Watchers and one of the soldiers with my limbs that morphed into Shadow.

"Konstantin Yuryevich was an excellent clairvoyant." I thoughtfully stretched out, watching how a new Shadow was created out of nothing, which was a new image, and how the gold of someone else's soul dissolved in this shadow. "Maitre Watcher, according to him, did, too. But Konstantin Yuryevich managed to be the first."

I finished my last words in a different voice not in the least sorry for the death of this particular member of humanity. To tell you the truth, I can safely say that the bastard got off easy. Just fucking got off so easy.

I was holding hollow needles borrowed from the Watcher, both poisonous and empty. I was not much interested in the poisoned ones, by the way, but I poured the contents of the vial I had taken out from under the ready-made image into the unfilled ones as I went. Black rose venom is practically guaranteed to kill any living creature and quite a few non-living ones. It's perfect for important negotiations.

I was in no hurry - up there, in the carefully screened compartments of the Stone, they either already knew about me from the clairvoyants, or guessed it themselves. And they are waiting for me. No need to make hasty decisions, but it wouldn't hurt to plan and prepare for the attack. Now that I've turned the deceased Watcher's workshop into ruins, my clairvoyance discerns much more than it used to. Not enough to see the enemy's preparations, but enough to know that my comrades are safe. The outer group is covered by the Shadows, who have not yet been dealt with, largely due to the lack of the right specialists. Hestia is locked in with the golems, the remnants of those on duty who haven't been hit by me, the attendants, and fellow leapers. And she was the only one with the connection amulet, so only she would hear information about her betrayal, even if someone decided to deliver it.

The others, of course, could put on their amulets, but in the rush to prepare and "unfreeze" the biggest golems, they didn't remember that. The guys huddled in the armory could have been a problem, but they were too few, and their commander decided that a tribunal was better than the grave, leaving them to await orders. Having broken the connecting amulet beforehand. The sudden death of ninety percent of the fortress' remaining force seemed to have knocked him down a bit. I didn't expect it from a pro, to be honest.

The commandant is now in charge outside, Gamel and Gordion are dead, and Ferer will not risk leaving the maximum shielded shelter instead of waiting for help. The message of the attack has already been sent. But it will be at least two hours before the Capital first figures out what the signal is, realizes the prospects, pulls their graying hair out of their asses, assembles an elite team, and sends it here by the portal. During that time the fortress cannot fall, because it is too well protected, and they will not believe what is happening immediately. It is too late.

I can't say that this colossus had such clay feet because if I had made even one small mistake, missed even one signal, or been a second late with my punches, I would have been beaten. But I hit exactly when it was not expected, exactly as it was necessary to hit, and, most importantly, I was fucking lucky. It was as if the admins up there were frightened by my use of the ring, and then they twisted the odds in the direction I needed them to.

At the same time as I was walking leisurely in the right direction, I read the system messages that popped up. There were only three of them, but I liked them all - the first one said that I had pulled myself up to the thirty-fourth level, and the second said that I had a new title. The title was useful, of course, but the description made me grind my teeth again.

Face Taker: Few can so well pretend to be someone that they steal their very soul, forever retaining all that their victim had. They are called the Image Stealers, telling terrible legends and half-forgotten myths around campfires. But you, somehow, were able to replicate some of their accomplishments without having the specialized skills and the proper class! To combine the control of shadow aspects with higher alchemy, to get the result you got, and not to die a stupid death at the same time, is a worthy deed. Stupid, but worthy. Your feat put us in a dilemma, but we can't refuse to reward you. Bonus: +10 to all characteristics except class, +1 free ability point; stealing and appropriating other people's faces and fates is easier.

How funny, though.

No, I realized that I was one step away from death, but the fact that such a result is actually uncharacteristic of my class skills... Surprised, to say the least. I also really, really didn't like the mention of some Image Stealers, who do such tricks on the fly and with their eyes closed. I was not afraid of them, but I wouldn't want to encounter such creepiness, either.

All right! Time will tell how it really will be. Now I have to choose a bonus for a hundred strength and go on another deed in the name of world justice, progress, and toilet paper, which nobody but myself needs.

The strength characteristic has reached 100! Choose a perk!

- Powerful grip (rare; active);

- Amplificated Strikes (Rare);

The first allows me to strengthen my grip so that breaking out of it is a problem, but it's almost useless to me. The strength of the grip is no match for the power of my Shadow Grip, so it's no use to me either. Amplification allows me to passively increase the power of each individual strike with my bare hand or crushing weapon. Not that I use anything like that, but I do occasionally attack an enemy hand-to-hand, as evidenced by my level in the relevant skill.

Took the second one, just to get something. Not my stat, not my stat at all. As issued incomprehensible crap the first time, back in the goblin forests, and now did not change their mind, issuing two more useless bullshit. Only with a rare rank. I glance at my stats, which have risen well due to the free ten points, and then continue on my way to my goal.

My clairvoyance tells me that they can't track me because I don't show up on their radar as an enemy. And the only one who could mark me as an enemy was the Watcher, but he didn't take advantage of it, luring me into a trap. His skills told him that I would fall into it and die and that the Shadow-image would die in my place... It was a mistake, no big deal. Another blunder in the local security system, but the owners of the fortress did not dare to put such power in Ferer's hands. If something happened, he could simply lock himself inside his laboratories and then cut out the entire garrison and start doing whatever he wanted. Especially if he also somehow blocked the entrance to the fold.

By the way, yes.

I don't care about the entrance, he wouldn't block the exit.

Characteristics (standard):
Strength: 105
Dexterity: 175
Endurance: 110
Perception: 144
Concentration: 160
Energy: 214

Characteristics (class):
Shadow: 172
Dreams: 87
Inspiration: 73

I have no doubt they will wait for me.

The main thing is that the guest did not miss with a gift.

I paused in front of the entrance to the locked part of the Stone to admire the lilac glow of the barrier, which remained unbearably bright even in my Gaze. My gut, at the sight of this marvelous wonder, literally begged me to give up and turn back, grabbing Hestia on the way. But I was no idiot, either, having prepared myself in advance for such difficulties.

Okay, not exactly to such, but to difficulties undoubtedly.

Several dozen vials of gaseous negator flew to the ground - as simple as a stick, as straight as a stick, but as concentrated as my grandmother's village moonshine. This stuff can't fool the tracking systems, but it doesn't need to - everything magical in the corridor where I'm standing, and in this part of the wing in general, has been knocked out, including even the heating and air circulation systems. It also cut off any chance of observing me, which was a good thing.

I fall to one knee, resting my palms on the mirror-polished floor, and then begin to call out. This time I don't need a specialist, I don't need any special abilities of the summoned, I don't need anything at all. I just want to summon a Shadow that will crave human life more than it craves my own. Not an Elder Shadow, no: a Higher Shadow, and not the weakest. My call goes deep, the summoning loop searches for the target and finds it.

I'm not pulling the creature out now - no amount of camouflage can stifle the appearance of such shit in reality. And besides, there's only me and the fucking barrier in this place, and I don't think the creature would choose the barrier as its target. I could tame it... I guess, but it would take a lot of effort and a hell of a lot of energy. And the defense wouldn't stop hitting me for a second. I'll call it inside, and it'll be even easier to pull that thing out than to summon it, but it'll cost a lot of money. And I will survive the waste - the reserve is almost full, thanks to the same clairvoyants.

A can of the most powerful acid, capable of dissolving almost any matter and no small fraction of intangible manifestations, flies into the nearest wall next to the barrier. I watch as a new passageway appears at the side of the barrier, only to stop abruptly upon sensing the death of my creation.

It's not like the occasional sensation of needles being pulled out of my heart that I experience from the deaths of contracted Shadows. And the creature is not a shadow, but a nightmare. The same nightmare that I had created in place of the guard of the local station of Dream! It did kill him, and it killed him badly. I could hear the echoes of his pain, his rage, and his battle - whatever had attacked him, he'd had a good last punch, seemingly even killing someone in the final salute. But there were many opponents, and he was torn apart, and then his last scream was cut short, giving me a vague sense of impending danger. It was as if someone in the Dreams was eager to get to my ass in real life.

Did they have another preparation for this kind of thing? No, I certainly planned to use my first nightmare for an attack, but I could not find a place to put him so that he could help me, and did not raise the alarm before the time. And when I couldn't find a solution, I just decided to leave him here, even as a spy who could follow up the investigation, which would surely be conducted with the utmost care.

I don't even know how to react to this at all, but I'd rather just get it over with Ferer.

I walked wide and dropped most of my disguise, leaving only the cloak for the scanning systems, and entered the resulting passage, found the continuation of the sphere-barrier, which did not care about the walls, dived into the Shadow, and dived so deep that the glow of the barrier became barely discernible. I concentrated as hard as I could, and now I was diving just beyond the barrier, still clutching the Shadow decoy, which I put on when I surfaced into reality.

I appeared in a wide hall, covered with writing, where dozens of different kinds of barriers appeared around me. They try to break, bind, subdue, paralyze, cut me off from the Shadow, deprive me of the ability to control my energy, put a dozen curses on me, and even seem to bewitch me to some pretty mage in the left corner. All of this is taken over by the maximum saturated shadow armor, literally reclaiming some of the space from reality.

Three-fourths of the reserves and every single sign covering the floor and ceiling crumbled to dust, and I was glad to see no blood coming out of my nose and ears under the mask. If it hadn't been for the potions I took, I would have been screwed here. As if I hadn't expected it all along! No, there was hope that we could steal Ferer quickly, but the main plan was to have him and his guards twisted and slaughtered first. And there are still many fewer of them here than originally planned.

"Who are you?" The old man, who is my target, who is very well-looking and slightly overweight, asks quite serenely.

My voice is filled with sharp and cold shadows as I answer, literally driving my words into the ears and hearts of every person listening to me now:

"A consequence of old mistakes."

"Kill."

He doesn't seem to be impressed.

The first fiddle was played by another shadow barrier, or rather a shadow cloud, in which every single enemy attack dissolved and was lost, literally disappearing into oblivion, transported into Shadow. I never thought I'd use the rips of space leading into Shadow as a weapon other than the "last argument of an idiot," but apparently I'd grown quite a bit stronger.

Or, more likely, dumbed down to the core.

The potions in my blood began to work on restoring my reserve, but slowly, too slowly for it to make any difference. Every flash of light, every hit of magic, every enchanted arrow or bolt, every amulet or alchemical grenade-it all ate away at a piece of the dark cloud, forcing me to retreat closer and closer to the wall, closer to the still-working barrier.

They naturally thought that they had already won, even though they were surprised and frightened by how long I was holding out under the blows of the real elite. Now would have been a good time to use the artifact still hanging on my belt, but I had other plans than to put my fate in the hands of a strange and unknown artifact, even if it was my grandfather's revolver.

From the remnants of the cloud of shadows comes a black clot, blacker in itself than any abyss. It flies out and immediately reveals another cloud, which hides something that resembles a horrible mixture of an octopus, a shark, a snake, and a ball of ringworms. It looks fucking terrifying, and the mere presence of it is more terrifying than any other legendary creature.

Suddenly I realize, as if in a flash of insight, that it really is a Legend. A weak, on the low end, but, fuck the admins, a full-fledged Legend.

I summoned the Legendary Monster.

The second rank skill.

Fuck.

Thank the tits that I never risked summoning such things before, when I hadn't taken that third rank yet. No, even now I'm sure I have a chance of subduing that thing. Under ideal conditions and with Losius by my side.

Once again.

I can (in theory!) bend the Legendary Creature to my will!

Kostik, meanwhile, is very good...

The creature pounced on Ferer and his entourage, which gave me time to say goodbye to questioning the purpose of my adventure by devouring half his students. Each tentacle had a mouth on its end and could conjure shadow spokes, spears, whips, and nets - not something their defenses were prepared for. And from that moment on I did not need to support the creature with energy, for it was kept alive by its devoured victims. But just as I was beginning to wonder how I was going to get the old man out of the jaws of my sudden summons, the old man reminded me that level forty-nine is not something you just give away, even if you look a hundred times like a good-looking old man.

Palpatine didn't look like a scary dark lord either, and look!

My musings were interrupted at once by five opponents, level thirty at least, each armed with Light enchanted weapons. In a flash of insight, I realized that the reserve arsenal Gordion had access to was a space pocket that could be opened anywhere in the Stone if you had the amulet. And Ferer had one, as well as time to prepare for my arrival and to understand the powers I was using.

The Breath of Magic worked its way through, replenishing the nearly empty reserve, and I began to prove to my attackers that the vulnerability of ordinary and even full-fledged Shadows to the power of Light did not mean that High Shadows, or, would you believe it, Lords, were vulnerable in the same way. It was unpleasant, even painful, but the shadow blades continued from the faithful daggers, did not even think of disintegrating into weightless debris, easily taking the blows of their opponents.

Behind the attackers' backs, the summoned Legend proved the same. A weak Legend, but hungry, angry, and skilled. And where other shadows would have died on the spot, this one hissed shrilly, losing lumps of ink-black flesh, but it endured, and then struck back. And almost every blow took the life of one of its attackers.

I stop watching other people's battles, concentrating entirely on my opponents.

Two female bodyguards, who look like two peas in a pod, dressed in very frivolous, but enchanted rags. The throwing needles in their hands glowed with Light and the green of some kind of poison, and their belts were full of all kinds of unpleasant stuff.

A full knighted Paladin in full armor, reminiscent of the Spacemarine from WaHa, both in stature and with a huge shining hammer in his hands. Each blow from that hammer sent a wave of Light around me, making me crinkle painfully. This technique can't make me fall out of the rhythm of battle, but it forces me to expend extra energy to overcome it.

Brether, holding a sword shining by the Sun and the Sky, which is a legendary artifact, was a relatively simple opponent. He not dare to break into the scrum of general combat, waiting for the moment to attack. Rounding out the composition was a woman beating sunbeams from her hands, even appearing old and decrepit. Her lips moved incessantly in prayer to the Sun itself, and her deity responded, generously pouring into her the strength to fight the terrible and abominable enemy.

For a few unbearably long seconds, they believe in victory. They almost fucking win! I bounce and bounce like a rubber ball, steadily approaching the point where there is nowhere to rebound. They're hitting fast, hard, and right, giving me no time to react or retaliate. They're almost winning, but I'm not going to let them.

Трансформа, которая раньше всегда задевала только часть меня, накрывает мое тело полностью. Теперь я уже не закутанная в тени фигура в черной одежде и криповой маске. Теперь я - абсолютно черная, состоящая из Тени и Тенью являющаяся, фигура, единственным пятном краски на которой есть моя маска. Вокруг фигуры серо-черным ореолом проявляется Эгида, а сама фигура начинает... мигать.

I am there, but I am not there.

I'm everywhere, but nowhere.

Every shadow, every fold of terrain becomes a doorway from which I can emerge, and into which I leave. I don't stay in one point of space for even a tenth of a second, moving faster than even my thoughts. The light, nasty and painful, burn even harder, but I invest already my strength, my will, and my right, not allowing the technique to be interrupted.

And I am attacking.

The first to die is the most dangerous and the most weakly armored of them all, the priestess. I emerge from three sides at once, attacking her with claws, shadow lashes, stakes, and spat-out blades. Her aura burned the attacks, scorching me, but the first hit with the claws that broke through the defense was the last, opening the old woman up like a tin can.

Ten old ladies is already a ruble," went through my surprisingly empty head.

My thoughts froze, freezing to the core, but somehow I managed to hold myself together while still being myself. My blows were measured and deliberate, not the thrusts of a raging beast.

The second knocked out one of the bodyguards, who had run out of needles at the wrong time. Now my afterimages didn't disappear immediately, but fought for a few more seconds, turning into shadowy silhouettes, ready to strike, stiffen, or simply scatter, forcing my opponent to fall too deeply into the attack. That's exactly what happened to the beautiful woman as she cleaved the creature that had just manifested itself in my face - she pierced the void, and the void became me a brief moment later, striking and piercing through her heart. I threw a dead body drying up rapidly under the impact of the glowing hammer.

The sister of the fallen lost her clarity of mind from rage, living a little longer, though her plan was good, even excellent. The clairvoyance whispered that she had a strange ability to anticipate an attack on a guarded target, a bodyguard class attribute. It was the one she'd developed when her sister was able to take her intended target's wounds, and it reminded me unpleasantly of my theft capabilities.

She flipped her tracker from the Ferer she was guarding, thus predicting the moment of my attack on the Brether. Using another class affinity, she swapped places with her target so that I wouldn't have time to change positions. The girl didn't expect to survive, hoping to trade her life for mine. Or at least for a serious wound. She only managed to pierce the dagger and the glowing needles with another silhouette, and then I simply severed her head with an extended claw that became a shadow saber for a second.

The Brether lived only a little longer, managing to use the skill of the blade and the Brether trick I had seen before. His body split into four illusions, each of which could strike quite tangibly, and the only real one activated the blade's ability. The Gaze immediately revealed the real one, allowing it to pass behind my back, exposing a normal silhouette to the blow of the legendary weapon.

I ducked for a reason, for the laser beam of Blueness and Sunlight that shot from the tip of the sword was a doomsday weapon. It seemed that the sword had simply lengthened to an obscene length, penetrating the wall and wall after wall, and even farther. It seemed to have hit somewhere very unpleasant, for Stone literally shuddered, and new melodies, even more disturbing and angry, appeared in the notes of the still howling siren. If guy had more energy, he could have swung that very sword around himself, fucking apart the very rock that was the base of the measurement.

I don't want to be crushed by a rock, I thought as I looked at another head that had been torn off.

The paladin used some sort of dash of his own, transporting himself in a flash of light-something reminiscent of the way the Death Knight from the Necropolis moved, but only reminiscent. His trouble was his slowness. Now that I wasn't being pummeled by five opponents at once, I could use a very useful trick in my arsenal. I could have used it before, but the techniques I cast were too costly, so the stolen shadow would have been washed away.

Now I just gave the paladin the blow of his hammer, along with all the wounds I'd sustained. The wave of light nearly shattered the frail and wretched technique, but I had enough power to keep it under control, though it required complete immobility. Had anyone taken advantage of the situation, my song would have been sung with assurance.

The paladin was smeared on the inside of his own armor, and I flew back against the wall from the impact, pushed myself off the wall, regained my balance, and, turning to face the battle, began to think about how to save my future "tongue," as the tongue had saved itself. The shadow had already devoured all but Ferer himself, enveloped by some strange barrier that kept the tentacles of the shadow from getting close to him. And then his aging palm surged forward and upward, clawing at the creature's enormous muzzle, whereupon the Shadow froze.

I read the phrase "not today and not like that" through lips with the help of the sphere and understood by clairvoyance, rather than by actually hearing it. He was unwilling to accept death from this creature, refusing to do so, defying logic, common sense, and conventional wisdom.

And then Shadow died.

Without shouting, without screaming, without external effects.

The legendary creature simply died, crumbling to the ground in black ash and slime, under the furious and angry gaze of an old man who was no fun at all. His breathing was heavy, but he didn't look particularly tired or wounded. Except that he no longer had an entourage, and the amulets with artifacts dangling from his neck and belt were diminished.

There was also a strange and frightening change in him. It was as if something subtle had changed in his face, in his posture, in his very presence. He now seemed more than a high-level mage. The system answered my suspicions the moment I could read the slightly altered information above his head.

The Hero of Eternal Magic

We froze in front of each other, and my clairvoyance was working at full power, because the energy flow to the specific barriers had already stopped, and there was nothing to keep me from knowing. Knowing that he had read the system information about me. To know that any modern summoned Hero does not have a name, but instead the System issues another designation: Chained, which the summoned themselves do not see, but those who have become true, true Heroes are always privy to this mystery. To know that the inscription denoting my very nature as a Hero, as a person, as an existing concept is quite different. In the face of the Hero stood another Hero.

The Ultimate Hero

He's exhausted, but I'm even more exhausted.

The power in my reserve is too low, and his power was restored entirely by ascension.

He's more than a dozen levels older than I am, and he's a fuck of a lot older than I am. He also got some kind of one-time booster from the System, which instantly doubled the threat he posed. And it wasn't small enough as it was. Suddenly, that's how almost a victory became a "We're about to be beaten, probably by legs". But instead of attacking, he only smirked bitterly, bitterly, and maliciously.

"Old mistakes, right?" His voice sounds unusual and strange, like dozens of voices at once, all different and none of them human.

In his words one hears the rumble of thunder and the splash of water, the crackle of flames and the howl of the wind, one hears the scream and the ringing, the rage, and the groaning. As if it were not a man speaking, but a miracle that had come to life. As if magic itself were speaking to me as a conceptual manifestation of the impossible. A manifestation of something that has existed as long as humanity has existed on Alurea. Something that appeared with the first two-legged ape, that was able to change the world with its will, able to become something more than a creature of flesh and blood, knowing more than man can contain.

"Any mistakes will have consequences." My words slip blades over stone, claws over skin and flesh, the quiet ringing of a breath that freezes on the fly. "I am one of them."

"You will perish." Calmly parries the man who embodies humanity's desire for knowledge and development. "You will fall, as will all who have gone before you. You cannot break what cannot be struck. You cannot catch what cannot be. You can't fight alone against the whole world. You will not survive the night."

Every word is a stone on my grave.

He's older.

He is stronger.

He is fresh and full of power when I am exhausted and weak.

He's a hundred percent damn right.

It is this, his rightness, his calm certainty of this rightness, the fact that I do not even really have anything to say, not even the possibility of striking, that pisses me off completely and completely.

Self-control and fear of one's power are cast aside.

Contemptuously ignoring the always reliable pillar of the Price of Humanity.

I am diving into myself.

I merge not even with the Shadow or the Dream, but with the very fact of my connection with them. The one that binds us together more securely than any chains or treaties. I must fall, I must turn into a creature that is scarier than I've ever seen. I ahould dissolve completely, become a dull and vicious beast, a puppet of the power that had devoured me.

Should.

Somehow my consciousness becomes unbearably, painfully clear, and my thoughts take on such a sharpened sharpness that only nothingness and madness can go beyond it. The Shadow sings in me, laughing with shrill and vile laughter, crying with millions of voices, howling with uncountable hordes of angry throats. The body becomes the Shadow, the will becomes the Shadow, and I myself become the Shadow, but in some unknown way, for some reason, I remain myself.

My words do not threaten, they only say what will have to happen. What I will make true, even if I have to extinguish the Sun itself and bring down the Heavens, even if I have to carve out every deity that is sure to come my way.

"I'm not going to fight you." Grunting, I feel like I'm spitting out bits of my soul along with the words. "I'm just going to destroy you."

There is not a hint of fear in the eyes of the enemy, not a drop of uncertainty and doubt - the truth is on his side.

I step forward, in the same way, without fear or doubt - I will have to break this truth

​Authors note:

I'm going home - 21 pages, 18 of them today. Fuck it.

Hestia is still alive, but the hardest part lies ahead. And she and the MC, thanks to the Omaks, were extraordinarily lucky. Events are developed according to the best possible scenario. Or rather not so - first MC chose, and then by the best possible scenario within the choice.

MC and Hestia both got 6 crits and 3 more for the rest of the team (two of them Ygra) - that's what training + bonuses mean.

The Shadow's summons, by the way, is pure.

The High Shadow is the bottom tier of the Legend, with all the perks and problems for the summoner. What do you expect it's a mythical class?

Enough with the omaks, slow down, or I keep having to re-roll. You can write, but the bonuses are for after the arch. The events of this one will end with what we have.

Next comes another chapter and then an interlude.

The old Ferer Roche crited twice, and one of them cleanly and without bonuses. MC, of course, is boosted and angry, and his classes are stronger and more combative, but here still dunno.

I'm not going to give you the dice, because there are a lot of them. Honestly.

Good for everyone.

Внимание! Этот перевод, возможно, ещё не готов.
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Переведено на Нотабеноиде
http://notabenoid.org/book/80370/535758

Переводчики: Camrad_RIP