Готовый перевод Его не звали, но он приперся / They never called, yet he is here: Глава 23

Chapter 23

There was silence for several minutes, as the comrades-in-arms processed the news. It's one thing when your commander just casually swears at the System (blasphemously, by local standards) and its creators to the third and forty-third generation. It is quite another experience to see what kind of tricks the System occasionally throws at the blasphemer. And this to me in principle was still normal, because I scored a lot of awards in addition to the " squeezed", earning no less than my comrades.

But for them, such a gap in awards was quite shocking. For the local people, the titles received for their deeds are a kind of holy cow, and the realization that you may not be given the award you deserve, hurts them. I exaggerate, of course, especially since the phenomenon of diminishing rewards for titles is well known here - if a crowd of guards, servants, and protectors helps you get a title, then the reward will be very close to zero. But to call my actions in the Stone not fair enough in terms of danger... let's just say it would be an understatement.

However, the last thing I needed was a pity for myself, so I quickly and decisively interrupted the indignation of those around me by demanding that they brag about their achievements. I did not ask them to drop their status - it was an intimate request. I had never demanded such a step from them before, and now I'm not going to. If they want to, they will tell me themselves, and if they do not want to, why should I force them? They will know their class abilities far better than I do, but that is not even the point. They will understand their skills in a way that I never could.

Shadow can't look at Sky, Flame can't understand the Wind, and that's it. Even if I get the full Status of my companions, it will still be only blank lines of description. Clairvoyance can help here, but where I will have to understand through my third eye, for the same Losius everything will be clear and understandable as obvious.

So I didn't even try and limited myself to a completely different formulation - just to tell me what they had already achieved, and in what direction they would develop themselves next. It was Losius who answered first.

"I took the second rank of the Chosen of the Sky, although the result was somewhat unexpected." The nobleman began to boast calmly and sedately. "I was given a full-fledged defensive skill, the Sky Shield. By the looks of things, that would be my greatest asset in the future, working with barriers and forcefields based on the energies of Sky. My second skill is the Sky Palm: attack-healing, as strange as that may sound. I'm not going to use it on you, Tin, though, no offense taken."

"None was taken, I wouldn't let myself." I snorted in response to my friend's tentative apology. "Considering the crap that's saturated me, I can only be cured from life by the power of the sky. Don't you regret training a Chosen One instead of a Duelist, by the way? It doesn't really fit your fighting style, does it?"

"I regretted it a little, but it was the right choice." Losius didn't think for nearly a second, having made up his mind beforehand. "The Duelist's abilities are good, but no more, and clinging to them would only widen the gap between me and the owners of more powerful classes. Especially since the combination of palm, shield, and dueling leap will allow such that my enemies will be surprised, probably for the last time in their lives. Exactly what I've been dreaming of since my first class - the ability not just to maneuver quickly, but also to make powerful penetrating attacks. A duelist is forced to seek vulnerability by striking at weak points, such as joints, veins, and body parts uncovered by armor. And if it's not just the blade that strikes the vulnerable point, but the storm of energy that comes off it... You know how it is, Tin."

The highly detailed and detailed explanation did not cause internal rejection. In many ways I preferred similar battle tactics, taking advantage of the versatility of the mythical class. After all, I too can maneuver very quickly and hit painfully, immediately retreating. I can't help but wonder who it was that Losius picked up this style from, and why he decided to go in this direction. Not because of me alone, of course, but my influence played its part.

"Don't overdo with the Sky, my friend." I surprise myself by the seriousness with which I say these words. "I don't want to scare you or change your mind, but if there's one thing I know about this world, it's about the Realms. And they are always deadly, despite first impressions. Just remember that if you relax, scoop up too much, or make a mistake, you will be charged immediately and without delay."

To my surprise, the aristocrat was not surprised and did not object, although the power of Sky itself, unlike the Shadow, is very popular among the people.

"I know." My companion said grimly, like a cutoff. "Several times I felt that if I looked up too far, I would... drown in the sky, or something. I can't, to my shame, put into words what I've experienced, but Sky... it's too easy to stay there forever, just not wanting to go back down."

It is surprisingly succinct, I must admit, but it is in the spirit of how I described my feelings about the realms. It is always like that with them: you can't explain anything without imagery and a lot of metaphors, no matter how hard you try, because you have to manipulate very elusive and intangible concepts.

"Then all I can wish you is a lot of luck and nerves of steel." I shifted back to my cheerful tone, suppressing the urge to somehow taunt the poor guy. "If you ever need to practice your light and good skills on the vile and evil adepts of the Shadow, I'm always at your service. That is if we get out of this swamp."

"Don't spoil!" I couldn't even make out which of the three of them had shouted it first, though it certainly didn't suit Lósius, for he was a higher class.

What was funny was the silence of the rest of the company during our conversation. They listened attentively, but were silent, although usually when we all sit down together to talk, we talk to everyone at once. But this was just a model teacher-student dialogue, where I act as the evil teacher, and the rest played the role of sitting at their desks students, doomed to go to the blackboard one by one. If you think about it, I can give a lot of advice about their classes, both because I know more about the realms than any other academic advisory board, and also because I have clairvoyance, which will allow me to understand something that I can't pay attention to. Let them still know more about their classes than I do, but where they know, I can guess.

"All right, if it's all clear with you, I'll find something to say, too." Hans, squinting and averting his gaze, was a little insecure. "Here's the thing, Tin, I'll tell you, I messed up. It's the kind of thing that would make a draftee beat him with a sergeant's baton until he'd cough up blood."

The gloomy and dissatisfied face of the tracker convinced me that he was not joking in his self-deprecation. Even with my clairvoyance (it was reflexive, honestly) I could not see where the old soldier had made a mistake. He certainly hadn't left any traces that could lead to us, or they would have found us before this conversation at the almost smoke-free fireplace.

"Could you be more specific?" Taria couldn't help herself. "So we know what we're going to screw with?"

"Shut the hell up, you little brat!" Hans growled though he lost some of his grim fatalism. Which was exactly what the girl wanted. "Anyway, here's the thing. I could have got us all out of the chase. Or I could have if I'd known better. I pumped Search for the Path, still had to invest the award from the title, not to keep it, as what a woodpecker. Second rank and all, yes."

"Hans, I respect you immensely, and I assure you in advance that I will not blame you for anything." He was interrupted by Losius. "I can swear it on my family name, but no more mysterious pauses, no more innuendo? Seriously, Hans, if there's a problem or trouble, the sooner we know about it, the sooner we can get it over with."

"The Search for the Path at rank five allows you not only to walk alone on the trail but to drag along with you. If I'd been smart enough to give up all my gifts at once, I could have gotten us all to the swamps in twenty-four hours while I was drunk on potions. I wouldn't swear on blood, of course, but I could, with a bit of luck. What can I say? I didn't think, I didn't think, and now we're under the radar, like the thugs in the woods on a raid."

The silence didn't last long, though it was dead - the prospect was appreciated by everyone present, who had been well acquainted with Hans' skills earlier. It was trail walking that allowed him to cover a hundred meters in one step without a blink, even though I had to treat him later. If he didn't get himself into trouble, he could move through the wilderness in some special way, so that we could cover great distances in the same number of steps he took. From the confused explanations of the pathfinder, who was never known for his ability to speak in complicated metaphorical sentences, we understood that there were difficulties of his own. Not every trail was visible, not every path could be stepped on, not all of them led to where you needed to go, and some of them might not be willing to let the walker go. But huskies aside, Hans could, with luck, cover great distances in a short time.

The key factor was that he couldn't take anyone else with him, no matter how hard he tried. Before, he couldn't. And now, having closed the first rank to the top, and seemingly even taking the first point in the second rank, he could drag a few along with him. And if he had done that earlier, we wouldn't be sitting in a swamp now, hiding and lurking, but we would have been able to safely escape. Or at least more reliably than we are now.

"That's bullshit, Hans." I almost laughed when I answered, and then I couldn't take it anymore and started giggling. "No, no offense, I appreciate the gusto, but please listen to me. Oh, man!"

Silently, I took the flask that Taria had slipped to me, soaking my throat. After a few seconds of trying to organize my thoughts, I finally found the words I needed to say.

"Hans, I certainly believe that you could take us out. I really do. I mean it." A deep breath and another sip from the flask. "But. Just think. A newly learned skill, an alchemical intoxication, a large group of people, and a swamp ogre that weighs a little more than a man. And all of them need to be put on this "path" of yours, on the first try, I note. Set them up, walk them, and lead them back out. You know, that idea seems kind of lame, even to me. I mean, I've done crazier stupid things than that, but right now I'm glad I didn't have to participate in this one. Because luck goes with fools and lunatics, not clinical degenerates."

There were a few seconds of silence, during which we all thought about what I'd said, and then the charm of the moment was defeated by Taria's remark that she should definitely drink a mute potion.

"It was beautifully put, it brought tears to my eyes." And before we all responded in an even more witty style, she continued. "Hans, calm the fuck down! We're alive, we're not in chains, and we have every chance of saving our asses. Whether you could have gotten us out or not is a matter of the past, of the unfulfilled. And you don't regret the unfulfilled."

Now the silence was even more complete - the kind of thought one would expect from Losius, with reservations from myself, but no one expected to hear philosophical arguments from Taria, not even she herself, it seemed.

"In the name of the Sun and the Sisters in Heaven! Why are you staring at me? Do you think that if I'm a lowlife like me, I can't think straight?" The indignation in her voice was barely feigned, but given her skill at faking it, the very "almost" that could be picked up meant the girl was struggling to contain her laughter.

"I beg your pardon." Losius seems to have bought it, though he's supposed to intrigue and play with words like a gambler with a deck. "My silence was not meant to insult you or point out your origins."

"Shut up, white handy, just shut up." Taria, to whom listening to such long speeches made her ears bleed. "It said so it's said, especially since we'd gone off topic."

"Which brings us back to the same question." I intervene myself, extinguishing the remnants of a possible conflict. "The question, I remind you, is very simple: what do we do now?"

Further discussions become more organized, reminiscent more of a corporate meeting than an ordinary get-together. Evil fucking Corporation and I don't mean Disney.

The plan was straightforward - as long as Hans had mastered his class ability, he needed to practice a little and get us all through the swamps and woods in a way that would waste less time but be very far from possible pursuers or just barricade units. Not that it was difficult, but it was painful and dangerous - each day of delay here increased the risk that another search ritual would find our hiding place. Or, just as likely, we would be found by physical means, just by combing through the swamp. We weren't that far away, and, given the number of people who would get here, our disclosure was a matter of statistics. Ygra's lair isn't a panacea, after all.

The only thing that saves us is that having moved the elite units here, the Crown guys probably won't risk running a lot of ordinary fighters and trackers down here in the same way. It's one thing to waste the resource of the Shoeless Eye on the elite, in the very first and most important hours, when the hope of catching the slipping bastards by the tail is higher than ever. It would be a very different conversation to burn out an artifact for the sake of a couple of hundred simple servicemen, fit only for the aforementioned scouring of the territory. They can be thrown close to the city portal, but to the Whitewater and the Stone (the remains of it), they will move on foot, albeit pumping horses with alchemy. For now, most of those who occupy us now are the guards, jaegers, and even civilian hunters who have been herded out of Whitewater. The latter is particularly noteworthy and shows how desperate our opponents are - hello from the progressively returning clairvoyance.

We must have been sent to the devils in their minds by now - no one in their right mind would assume that we were sitting just a few feet away from their greedy and clingy clutches. The soldiers would have to look not for us, but for the traces we left behind or any other clues. And also, of course, to create a semblance of a stormy search, so that there would be something to say to His Majesty, in response to unpleasant questions. Whoever was in charge of the Stone's security was very close to the gallows now, unless they could think of something better to execute him. The heads of those involved would also be rolling, and so every dog, at this moment, was carefully creating the appearance of impetuous action, hoping that they would get away with fright or at least a demotion.

It's ironic, but it's those kinds of random searchers who have a much better chance of catching us than the wise top specialists who have probably already overlooked our positions.

The decision was unanimous: we recover, then go deep into the swamps with the help of Ygra, and only then do we let Hans practice his abilities a little. If he looks at me with honest eyes and says, "I can handle this mission, I can lead you, brothers and sisters, then we will risk using the trails. If he thinks that it would be too demanding to drag us all through in terms of reserve, concentration, or the load on the thin body, or anything else, then we will continue the same method, crossing the swamp and coming out closer to the wilderness.

Unfortunately, Whitewater, though it was a deep province, was much closer to the center of the continent than to the edge of the wilderness. I would have to wander through the woods and ravines, fearing even to go to the village for a bite: it was not certain that they would find such a clue, or that they would find it quickly, but they would look for it. And Melareth has clairvoyants. We can relax only when we go deeper into the wilderness, away from the watchful eye of the secret office, where we can camp, rest for a while, and only then return to civilization, having made a huge and dangerous detour through uncharted territories.

The same excuse I was going to use. Only now applied in reality. By the way, this way of throwing off our tails was indeed considered very popular, and we could not help but be suspicious that we had decided to act in this way. But this is where another trick comes in - the professionalism we displayed. Doing a "dive into oblivion," as poetically called in Melareth, escape from the chase through the Frontier, would be logical for ordinary brigands or unreliable elements fleeing from the state. Well, also for the much over-knowing mercenaries used by the secret services blindly.

Ordinary mercenaries, common brigands, despicable fugitives could not have done to the Stone what we did. Simply because such powers and equipment, such levels and awareness, do not and cannot be found in loners. The professionals of the highest class working here must have their base, their superiors, and their channels of support. They will blame the neighboring countries, the powerful Guilds, or even some very distant competitors who have decided to begin the gradual expansion of influence on foreign territory. They'll blame anyone except the gang of loners and the fugitive Hero at the head of this circus!

Undoubtedly, they will work out any, even the most idiotic versions, but "working out any versions" and "giving them the same priority" is, as they say in Odessa, two big differences. If we are not foolish enough to get caught by pure chance, and if Lady Luck does not turn her gorgeous ass to us, we will get out of the trap alive, healthy, and even stealing the bait.

There is a plan, the only thing left is to execute it.

The full recovery went even faster than expected - once the shadow control was safe again, I began to reflexively feed myself with realm energy. For a mere human, death, madness, and reincarnation are guaranteed, but with my concentration and absorption limits, I could meditate with so much shadow energy in my body that anyone else would be torn to shreds. I never imagined that I could get so much out of risking my own ass all the time.

After getting the extra booster, my body was in perfect shape in a matter of hours, and in a couple of days, even my thinner body had recovered. I was sitting on pins and needles the whole time (or rather, from the moment I noticed the reflexive boost), fearing a breakdown or something else bad. I recovered, calming myself a little - the Shadow wasn't safer, but it wasn't more dangerous, either.

To be honest, I was ready to climb the wall: it wasn't even forced idleness or helplessness that irritated me, but the realization that time kept flowing away into nothing, and the noose around my neck was getting tighter and tighter. Conversations with the team and even with a smarter Ygra helped distract me, but the nervous mood could not remove completely. Although, I must admit, talking to Ygra was a very good distraction, and no, not for the boobs, although those too. It was just that it was wild for me to hear almost meaningful sentences and questions from a three-meter tall stool. ++++

Ygra was rapidly mastering the concepts that were difficult for her to grasp before. If I hadn't been in such a state, I would have even studied with her in my dreams, but I didn't take any chances. The Ogre, however, was doing just fine: she had mastered the concept of time, learned to ask about things she didn't understand, and even got the idea of names. The latter, alas, in her way.

Losius became a "firefly", and he got lucky. Hans, nicknamed "the big ferret," was ready to howl with rage. Ferrets were the name given to rookies among the trackers who had just joined the service. She called him "big" only because the average ferret was smaller than a healthy man... about a third. I fuckin' don't even want to know what kind of ferrets there were in her swamp of origin, but it's not like the name was an insult. At least I got the feeling that even Ygra preferred not to mess with these "ferrets" without too much need or severe hunger. Another argument that she was not insulting Hans, but comparing him to a dangerous and biting predatory creature. But try to explain that to him.

Taria, meanwhile, was now "petty," which offended her, too, but not for long. All her attempts to argue with Ygra ended with a gradual transition from vicious arguments and threats to fragmented phrases, and then to a dumb mooing. Yes, she took the anti-pheromone cocktail steadily, but the attractive body effect was still there. Even I once almost forgot the multiplication table after an hour of staring at green tits, the low-level Taria was flying into the astral much faster. And, strangely enough, almost without lust - lust was suppressed by the drug - just dumbed down to the level of Ygra herself and even lower.

After the first three times (she got really angry and tried to change her nickname only the first time), I had to stop the brainwashing sessions. It was even fun to watch the shouty "little one" gradually calm down and freeze. Taria herself was clearly getting a high from the induced influence, but I still didn't risk letting her have her fun this way. I don't care about her fetishes, but I'm not sure yet whether the gift of the Ygra's ability has any permanent damage on the brain. I've got enough of a clinical, perpetually wonking fool on my team. The second one, please don't! Especially considering how much that kind of brain damage turns Taria on.

Oh, yes, I got two nicknames at once: "leader" and "muster," the latter with an "u" and used much more often than the former. It was the Ring itself that put that concept into her head, for I can't figure out where in the Swamp Ogre's head the meaning of "master" came from. Taria and Hans, by the way, were laughing like horses, and Losius was coughing delicately into his fist, obviously catching a cold somewhere.

Why am I, the great and terrible, always being laughed at by my loyal minions?

Should I complain to the World Court about the rights of Villains, Dark Lords, and Apocalyptic Maniacs? Maybe I could even get myself some compensation, some unpaid wages, and some useful contacts.

Sometimes I have this feeling that I have forgotten something, sometimes. I had it most often when I was on Earth, and it was prophetic and foreshadowed a reprimand for an incomplete report or some other crap. But on Alurea, my memory was better, and I did not do as much wrong, for a wrong could have killed me if I had not thought about it. Anyway, it took me a long time to realize that the nagging feeling at the edge of my consciousness was not a delusion.

Then there was a long recounting of possible mistakes and lapses that could bring me to a painful death in the future, but there was nothing there that I couldn't remember now, either. It was only after an hour and a half of intense reflection, staring at the sky, kicking pebbles, and listening to frogs singing that I got it. The desire to kill me with a facepalm was strong, but I managed to resist despicable suicide and pull myself together. Who am I telling, though? I panicked a little, despite all my heroic restraint.

Just for the record, if my boss, or, say, my girlfriend, were to lock me in a flask and forget me for a week or two, I'd be a little offended and pissed off. Hopefully, Hestia wouldn't want to give me a session of misty tentacles in retaliation for my forgetfulness. In fact, I even have an excuse: I was sick, poor me.

My companions were somewhat surprised when I started to think intensely about something and even more surprised when I ran at full speed (I did not use the steps only because of the excitement) in the direction of neatly folded things, starting to look through them in search of the one that I really, really needed.

The flask looked... not good. The cracked surface, the rust, and the stains indicated that the essentialism of the flask had not been in vain. The matter was rapidly and inevitably deteriorating, but it could still hold what was in the flask.

The flask crumbled in my hand, like a mound of frozen sand, and a white stream of unbelievably thick fog surged upward. The marshes had been regularly covered by it lately, but only an idiot could compare the fog to the Mist that had broken free, not me, who knew and felt the difference. My companions were no fools either, and a second later Losius was in a fighting stance, Hans was on the ground like an animal before he jumped, clutching in his only free hand a short knife that looked more like a broad stiletto, and even Taria somersaulted over her back, blurring her image and leaving her illusion behind.

And then we all heard a low, barely audible voice, not even an understanding of what was being said. It reminded me of the way the Shadows I summoned communicate, only in a very different way.

"At last."

When I add the power of shadows to my voice, it becomes quite eerie and frightening - as if thousands of mouths were speaking at once, neither living nor ever having lived, but thirsty and hungry at the same time. The power of the Dream, I suppose, would produce a similar type of result, though I have not tried to add the power of this plan to my words. But the words spoken by the Mist were unlike anything I had heard before. The creature from the Kraj spoke in a very abominable and alien way, but it was still understandable, even if it was on the level of "this abomination must die.

Mist's voice was... Distant, that's probably the most accurate definition. It was as if the words were spoken not near you, but far away, many leagues and day's migrations away. It was as if, far away, the words had been picked up by wisps of fog and carried to your ears by a tailwind. It wasn't a scary, frightening, maddening voice, at least not compared to Shadow's, but it was unnerving in its distance. For no matter how far away the one who said its words is, it's out there somewhere, and it might come closer.

So even if I felt uncomfortable at once, the reaction and reflexive willingness of my team, including Ygra, who had gone into hiding, was understandable. Except that my clairvoyance, sense of danger, and simple logic all told me that right now I didn't have to worry about fighting another hellish fuck*nitch. At least this motherfucker is playing for us, as much as possible in this situation.

"Hello, Hestia." I greeted her politely while trying to hide the embarrassment of realizing I'd just forgotten about her. "I'm sorry for the delay in opening your shelter."

Judging by the silence, everyone present had something to say, with the exception of Ygra, but that was not a fact. I had not said much about what had happened in the Stone, first there was no time, then health, and then my friends did not ask much, giving me time. Considering the information I had discovered, I was even grateful to them for this, for there was much to think about. But they knew the name of the unwilling garrison helper recruited by the ring, so they put two and two together very quickly. And then Hans took up his normal standing position and spoke thoughtfully, glancing strangely in my direction.

"Yeah, you're attracting... all sorts of things." And then, smiling, he adds to it. "Or maybe you do have strange taste in women."

Somehow he miraculously dodged a well-thrown lump (the man is getting more badass!), but he did not manage to dodge the following one, which was hidden behind the first one and concealed by the unexistence, and got a hurtful poke in the forehead. And I prepared myself for long conversations and constant taunts from everyone around me. Because forgetting my companion in the flask was a thing worthy of the legends.

"I didn't come to my senses immediately, and then my periods of consciousness and unconsciousness alternated with each other." Hestia was whispering, or rather, her misty form was whispering. "I could reflexively attract the mist, wrapping it around the area I was in, but it required effort, and I couldn't be sure that such an action would do any good. I had to limit myself to the bare minimum, which was the least I could do."

After the first hour, the unnerving voice of the new partner hadn't become familiar, but it didn't make me go into a defensive stance anymore. Hestia continued to speak, just as dry and calmly as if she were making a report to her commanders, rather than sitting on a nameless swamp, waiting either for a miracle or for death.

By her words, she only woke up completely when I picked up the flask, scattering it in the dust and rust. Until then she was in some strange state, reminiscent of the healer's trance she had experienced several times, which she had been put into in the hospital, after the brutal bounce from the ruined golems. The woman was experienced and had fought in many places, and not immediately her life was respected. More often, on the contrary, she was sent to plug any holes in the front, because she had the skills, but not enough patrons and personal power to send brilliant strategists with their admirable plans far away.

When she woke up, she immediately did something resembling a typical "stretch her shoulders," only for the misty creature she'd turned into. The flask was already holding on tightly and conscientiously, so it fell apart immediately, and we could all see the former golem guide's new form.

Yes, yes, exactly a new form, you did not misunderstand! If at first, she was just a very beautiful woman, whom even the ring did not change too much from the original, then she became a shapeless lump of mist with no stable shape, now her appearance is different again. Clairvoyance immediately suggests that the incurvation of beauty has worked even in this strange situation, allowing the creature-turned-woman to look quite... attractive, if not for the fact that she is composed of the ominous fog of the Mist

Raimel resembles herself in human form - the same shape, the same body proportions, the same face, and even the contours of the strange misty cloak that obscures her figure resemble her officer's robe. And yet, gazing at her body, her form, one cannot help but feel nervous. Something was in her, something in her had changed, even if she had not yet realized it. Something was staring at us out of the fog, and it wasn't Hestia, or, rather, it wasn't just her.

"As for my capabilities... It's hard to explain, so I'll take the liberty of forwarding you my Status." At those last words, she was clearly remembering the events that had happened since the last Status display. "It would be easier and clearer that way."

I nodded silently, receiving a notification from the System, which I immediately opened and began to review, feeling my eyebrows begin to run up to my forehead and even higher, threatening to find political refuge in the back of my head.

Name: Hestia Raimel

Race: Spawn of the Mist (creature; epic)

Level: 1

Titles: Creator of the Legend (The Fall of Stone);

Stat point: 0

Evolving point: 0

Characteristics (standard):
Strength: 25
Dexterity: 25
Endurance: 25
Perception: 25
Concentration: 25
Energy: 25

Talents:

Body of Mist: 5/5

A skill common to all creatures of the Mist; grants invulnerability to all physical and weak magical attacks; allows you to penetrate any crevices and openings; allows you to use your own body to create shields, tentacles, whips, blades, nets, or other weapons, tools, and defenses; Allows masterful concealment of sensory abilities and skills by pretending to be ordinary fog; allows you to regenerate your body from insignificant particles left by enemy attacks, down to a tenth of a point.

Cover of Mist: 3/5

Allows you to create and control fog over a large area, giving it special properties; allows you to use fog as the basis for concealment and masking fields; allows you, with effort, to move through the fog, leaving the usual spectrum of space; allows, at the limit of concentration, to give the fog a small part of the properties of the Mist.

[granted]: an error!

Special:

Immateriality (racial)

Voice of the Mist (racial)

Balance of the Creature (racial)

Skills:

Premonition of danger: 6 (student)

Energy Flow Management: 12 (journeyman)

I reread it several times, as always using clairvoyance for support, and found what I read to be surprisingly good. Seriously, I expected much worse from an almost completely devoured woman. In the state she went into the flask, she would have been disembodied by being in the real world itself, even without the extra exertion. Recall that the Mist had taken everything from her, everything except her mind and memory. Even her skills were gone, and they were very close to her personality. However, without her body, it is unlikely that most of the skills she once had can be used.

What saved Hestia was her only title, which not only gave her the characteristics she needed to survive, but also the class skill points that allowed her to pump herself up twenty levels at least at once. Now her Body of Mist not only allows her to exist freely, but it also allows her to fight effectively. The second of her unlocked racial talents even now allows her to help our company by shrouding her in a misty shroud. And we blamed it on the weather!

This is where the good news ends and the bad news begins. First of all, for Hestia Raimel herself, the bad news. The very fact that instead of class skills she got racial talents means that she is no longer human, nor is she endowed at all: racial talents instead of classes are the lot of monsters and creatures. And while monsters like orcs can still be considered reasonable, monsters remain monsters. Creatures beyond religion, beyond law, and beyond morality. No one would condemn or punish for killing a creature, only thank them.

It's not even that creatures are unintelligent, for that is far from being true - sapient creatures also occur, albeit very infrequently - the point is that those of them who are sapient cause much more grief than the unintelligent ones. Worse than that are the full-fledged behemoth, which is also "kill or flee," only raised to a cube.

Even Ygra is considered more human, more animated than Hestia, even if it is strange from my point of view. But, alas, only from my point of view, for Hestia is a very peculiar creature. She must have lost herself, if not been devoured by the Mist, by turning into a creature that craves other people's lives. Even if her mind had remained relatively intact, she would have been the same creature, only a hundred times more dangerous. But I happened, screw the formation of the new breed of the Mist.

My decision to put her in the flask first shielded Raimel from the creeping realm energy, and then the influence of the mythical ring came into play. The very essence of the artifact worked with body, mind, and essence at the same time. Even if the body disappeared, even if the soul was pretty bruised, but the mind remained almost intact, preserving the absolute loyalty imposed by the ring untouched. It was by clinging to the loyalty and the feelings it evoked that Hestia kept the original person as a whole as possible in that situation.

It is a ridiculous situation: a creature with the essence and body of a creature, but the mind of a human, and a human who is infinitely loyal to me. I will not say that this situation is unique to Alureya, for I am not the only one who possesses a mythical artifact, but it is a rare one, I am sure of it.

Now a strange situation has arisen. On the one hand, Hestia is faithful to me. But on the other hand, all that is left of her is her mind and memory, which will not hold the reflexes of her altered body and the demands of her creature's soul. Sooner or later, as the level grows, with every enemy she defeats, there will be nothing left of the old Hestia except the same memories.

She understands that.

I understand that.

The options are discouraging. One could try to find an artifact created specifically for the Monster Catchers or the Creature Catchers that control these creatures. But it would be much more effective to do something much more trivial and simple, as Hestia herself directly pointed out.

"Are you sure about this?" I asked in response to her unspoken demand. "It is always possible to try to overcome the effects of the realm, I can speak of that from my own experience."

"You shouldn't." She objected calmly and confidently. "I know the value of myself and my willpower. If I had turned into a monster, like your green-skinned warrior, I would have tried. I would have been immensely grateful for the very opportunity to try, instead of another charge of submission. Even now I am grateful, believe me. But I have become a creature and a creature that is one short step away from becoming a behemoth. I believe in my power, and I am happy that you believe in me, too. But... no, I can't. It cannot be defeated, cannot even delay the inevitable. If I only let a little more power into me, I will be completely wiped out. Please. Don't... don't waste any more words."

If I were her, I would have continued the battle with myself, even if I'd known I was going to lose. Simply because I am me, Kostik, accustomed to his soul being regularly eaten and pooped out by something else. But I, to my deepest happiness, am not in her place, and therefore I cannot command her. By the way, the moral question aside, I'm not even sure how much submission is still in effect right now. I mean, she's still loyal to me, that's true, but her loyalty comes from her mind, not her soul... On the other hand, the insertion of beauty is still in effect, even though all the gifted talents have been gobbled up in the Mist.

Hell knows.

Perhaps if she lived away from me, her loyalty would wane, but Hestia reasonably assumes that she will not live to see that moment, and if she does, she will no longer be herself. That's why she asks me to keep the only thing that's left of her, even if it's in a way I don't like. I can't stand the use of the ring, and I can't stand its creator.

A quick movement and the activation of the artifact ended with a wave that passed through the misty body, after which Raimel froze as a statue, swaying faintly in the wind. After about a minute of silence, during which not a single word or joke was heard from my motley guard, she came to life again, simply dropping her Status back to me with a single word.

"Thank you."

The Status was almost the same, but there was one change: the area responsible for the gifted skills was now full again, but with different content. It's logical, when you think about it, since the body is now new, as is the soul (almost new). Instead of her three powerful abilities, there was one in her Status, but it was a good one! In principle, Taria's boobs are even cooler, but I wouldn't say that much, and only in one aspect. But in every other respect, Hestia's new ability makes a hypno-boobs like a hare outruns a turtle. Rather, Taria's ability was dangerous to me personally, while Raimel's gift... also dangerous, but not as much. Or vice versa, much more.

Mist of Corruption 12/12

Allows you to influence those in the mist controlled by the skill holder in a variety of ways; the longer the stay, the greater and stronger the influence, and the greater the distortion of individuals caught in the mist; allows the widest manipulation of the memories, thoughts, and desires of those in the mist; allows you to change the bodies of those in the mist toward the most perverse reincarnation;

++allows you to put all sorts of perversions and changes in bodies and minds; allows you to create an extremely powerful field of ignoring, through which those caught in the fog do not notice reincarnations and do not see the strangeness in what is happening; the longer an individual is in the fog, the stronger the effect of the ignoring field; the stronger and more visible reincarnation, the higher the probability of the ignoring field not working; allows you to hide the territory covered by the fog, up to its complete fallout from the material space; allows, at the limit of concentration, to create full-fledged closed pocket dimensions, in which vice and depravity will forever rule, as embodied by the creator of the fog.

I don't want to insult anyone right now, but this is just f*cking bullshit, gentlemen! I'm not talking about the scale of the effect, I'm not talking about the ability to manipulate a spatial constant, which is incredibly hard even within ordinary magic, not to mention the secondary aspect of the main skill. But fucking twelve degrees? The System, are you [bleep] out there? It's not even a legendary skill, it's some mythical one! I only have nine degrees in my third-rank mythical class! What the fuck, motherfucker, come here, I'll fuck you, admin, bitch, I hate you, motherfucker!

"Before you say anything, my Lord, I dare assure you that I will never use this skill on you or anyone else without your permission and direct order. Also, if you think my existence is too dangerous, I will gladly cease to exist, if it is your will. My last request will be only..."

"Shut up. Just shut up." I could hardly control my nerves, calming myself and the shadows in my blood. "You don't have to worry. I won't ask you to die, I just won't. Besides, as powerful as your new ability is, given the amount of realm energy in my body, it's not a problem for me. Even if the prolonged exposure could break through my defenses, I could feel your influence in time. It may be a skill that can hide its effects, but not from me. It's just... it's just... It's just so [bleep] fucked up!!!"

For another few minutes, all my teammates were circling me: Losius with anxiety, Ygra with amusement, and Hans and Taria, especially the latter, wanting to interrogate me about what that ability was all about. In the end, Hestia threw a copy of her Status to everyone, even Ygra, and made them (except Ygra) swear with me.

Twelve points!

Mythical rank!

God, why didn't I get another mythical artifact back then, huh? If even a ring honed for perversion and harem collecting can do such things, then what kind of capabilities did the other mythical artifacts have? No, there's the same Shoreless Eye, going for the lower bar of the mythic grade, but still! Why didn't I get some " Ring of the Almighty Munchkin" that gives the wearer one class point and five level points each week, or something along those lines?

Twelve friggin' three times the evil ****ing points! That talent of hers is stronger than any of my right now and noticeably stronger! And this is from me, a fucking Hero with three mythical classes. And anyway, what other classes are supposed to get this kind of skill? It's a goddamn mixture of a cheat and a virgin's dream!

Wow.

Apparently, the new and lost gift points were added, because I don't know how else the System could have given Hestia such a gift. It's... this is just too cool to be real.

"Taria, leave the human alone!" I barked at the girl, who had already begun to incite her companion to "an awesome way to try out your new skill".

"I'm not human, not anymore." A bit bitterly, but without the same fatalistic hopelessness, Hestia says. "And I will never be again."

I promised her I'd find her a new body, but it's one thing to promise that to a crippled human, but it's quite another to promise it to a fully formed creature. Even creating a new body wouldn't help much, and it certainly wouldn't make things go back to the way they were.

So, put away the gloom, forget the sadness. - I speak with a kind of abnormal cheerfulness, mingled with a quiet frenzy and a desire to kill. - You're faced with a dickhead for whom accomplishing the impossible is not the task of the century, but a thrice-beastly routine. So what if there have been no documented cases of the return of humanity and empowerment to the converted creature? First of all, it's not a fact that such situations have never really happened. And second, I'll tell you what I learned from Ferer, fuck him in the ass, Roche, and you'll all understand the new dimensions of words like f*ck, impossible, and they're f*cked.

My timing was exceptionally well chosen to tell the story. At the end of my story, even prim Raimel, who did not like my swearing, was forced to admit to herself that, yes, her problems were not quite problems yet. In fact, even very prim ladies can swear sometimes.

Authors note:

Well, that's it.

Hestia, in fact, is out of luck. If she were at least a monster, then you could play a line with a gradual almost complete fall of submission and the subsequent attempt to live together with a former enemy, whom you kind of hate, but also love. And it would add moral torment to Kostya, albeit less than Roland.

But she is a creature, and the only way out in the current situation would be either to activate the Ring again, locking her mind in a human state. Or a hopeless struggle.

MC could have successfully rolled on persuasion, but there's a 95% chance it would have been death for Hestia, or, more likely, forced submission "before it completely eats away" and partial loss of personality. She's too crippled, the disadvantages to all her rolls are just too extreme - you have to crit regularly just to stay in place.

But the ability she received...

That's what Kostik said - f*cking hell. I'll write more about it in the comments, because there's a whole story there, and there's too little space in the notes.

https://drive.google.com/file/d/1eD4OuNntOqNLh2H4fbeNsRFTZoyWHYue/view?usp=sharing - Hestia, only the fog is much bigger and much thicker.

I got the first comment, so straight to the business.

So, let me tell you, children, a story about a skill called the Mists of Corruption. At first, I didn't want to put it on the list of available skills thanks to the ring, but then I thought let it be, only with a low probability. And then the probability was increased by reusing the ring and...

Actually, something similar would have been possessed by the creature from the Kraj, had it been able to recover its full strength, but even there it would have been weaker.

The ability itself is not just strong and inconspicuous, it's incredibly strong and inconspicuous.

Take a spherical temple in a vacuum with sororites... that is, with the novices of the Sun, i.e. the future combat priestesses.+*+*9/

A couple of hundred novices, fifty mentors, a few servants, a powerfully fortified temple, and divine grace.

After the weather changes a little, and a light, but not at all ominous or disturbing fog appears, two weeks will pass. During that time, the order of fanatically glorifying the Sun and preaching, among other things, strict puritanism of the priestesses transforms... transforms... transformed... transformed into...

An order of fighting whores fanatically glorifying Kostya the Almighty, spending day and night in such orgies that it would make your brain knot. Instead of not particularly impressive-looking (average) novices and elderly mentors, there will be stunning beauties, as if drawn from teenage fantasies and for every possible taste and fetish (or all to one taste, as a choice of busty blonde or brunette with huge bums, it depends on the Hestia decision). Appearances are not just looking, but more than that. Especially if a couple more months pass after two weeks.

To implant a weakened (or not so weakened) pheromone system? Make the huge melons of the elder abbess produce milk, which is a mutagen that causes addiction, breast growth, lustfulness, decreased intelligence, and a gradual manifestation of the same mutagen-producing ability. Changing the vocal cords so that the singing of the temple singer causes involuntary arousal and either a subsequent orgy or just an orgasm on the spot? A dozen more mutation powers, not particularly strong, but still powerful, like those given by the Creature from the Kraj, but not ugly, and even beautiful and aimed solely at depravity, lust, fetishes, and other stuff (albeit with the possibility of combat use)? And even the divine presence wouldn't notice at first, and then it would be gone, but no one would care, because Sister Isabelle's tongue had doubled in length, and it was urgent to test it in action.

A year? Completely encapsulate the space around the temple and even the nearby villages, so that only a huge effort could break in. And with a high probability of coming inside the army will be fucked into submission and overturned by the whole staff.

Then you don't even have to stay there, you can just leave, looking for a new place to apply the skill.

Such a thing.

In theory, in a couple of years, the same Kraj can be turned into one huge brothel, where the currency will officially be considered not gold coins, but their bodies and orgasms.

At first, it was unnoticeable - there was a little more joy, there was a party, there they went to women, and women did not mind, there was a party in the inn and the girls became a little more relaxed, a forty-year-old slut somehow lost weight and became prettier, and rotten teeth no longer smell, there fashionable aristocrats started wearing dresses with a huge neckline, and then even with the uncovered breasts falling out.

That's it.

The gradual but inexorable corruption of the territory and its inhabitants. And the stronger Hestia is, the more territory she will cover.

Now for the funniest part, which you can already guess.

This "bonus" is even more useless to Kostik than Hestia's previous ring skills.

Because you can't take the Capital that way... Or you have to spend a dozen years on the first steps with the risk that the high-caliber barriers and artifacts will smell and start the fun of a different order. Or try to act as quickly as possible, but also noticed and the fun begins.

And against those places that you can take... So there's nothing for Kostya there.

He's nomadic by life, and he doesn't need a skill that requires being in one spot all the time.

Although, no doubt, this skill will allow him to have a lot of fun. He'll be sassed in some proud mountain village, and he (well, Hestia at his behest) will turn it into a place where the villagers are only interested in other villagers, and the men are sheep and not even worth it on those. Though then again, he has enough of his Dream to do that, so the skill will not be needed every time.

But a cool cheat, delightful.

P.S. The Ring of the Almighty Munchkin exists, but whether it has been summoned to the world or still hangs in the Hall of Summoning is not yet known.

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

Переведено на Нотабеноиде
http://notabenoid.org/book/80370/536876

Переводчики: Camrad_RIP