Готовый перевод Его не звали, но он приперся / They never called, yet he is here: Глава 26

Chapter 26

Have you ever tried ballet dancing? No, not like that. Have you ever tried dancing ballet while wearing a diving suit and scuba diving in a pool of liquid nitrogen suspended in weightlessness in the middle of outer space? Approximately such feelings were experienced by your humble me, trying not to kill myself, my involuntary ward, or the nearest surrounding territories. The latter, as well as the inhabitants of this territory, undoubtedly were not the most pleasant representatives of the human race, and I was not against reducing their number. Alas, but mass cataclysm with breakthroughs of Dreams into reality and mama-born-me-back versus horrors of those breakthroughs I could only pull off by arranging epic self-sacrifice in paroxysms of the purest pathos.

To be frank, I'm generally against such dumb and clichéd bullshit as the self-sacrifice of a Hero, and I'm even more against such a sacrifice for a total stranger. No, this concentration camp brothel-type victim's tits are quite nice, as are her looks and everything else. But here, as they say, Kostik gets nothing. And his "other I.P." named Kickass gets nothing even more so. So, he had to clench his teeth, clench his fists and squeeze his buns, squirming his brains in an attempt to survive himself, save all the good guys, punish all the bad guys, and all this without leaving the image of a drunken goblin. Trivialities of life, really.

Initially, I was in an advantageous position, because I had time to spare... well, not a lot, but I had it. Dream, who had broken through to reality, had not only made a dead Slavemancer a meat glove for my interactions with Reality but had also messed up the defense systems. A Dream is not a Shadow, a breakthrough that can only be ignored deliberately. Even in concentrated concentrations, it hardly ever detects the sensory skills, often deceiving them, or even reassigning them to itself. A very, very insidious force, as shaky as it is frightening. Right now it played into my hands, and into the pouting elf who was in no hurry to break the connection with the real world, using the bridge I'd created.

Not only have the body and soul of the slavemancer become my proxy, but it even manages to be counted by the defense as a living and healthy specimen of a high-ranking sorz. As soon as I leave the dream-filled room, I will be immediately identified and attacked: it is difficult not to suspect a trick when, instead of a human being, you see a gaunt, barely humanoid-looking chupacabra. Fortunately, the time I'd already mentioned would allow me some time to prepare and even try to make myself look better. As far as that will be possible at all. Well, as long as there's a chance, it's a good time to get my coolest skill up and running, entertaining myself and pissing others off.

"Hey, las, do you have any idea where we are or how many people are here?" The Goblin accent was becoming easier and more natural with each breath, and I was slowly getting used to the workload. "And where is the booze in here?"

I don't just talk, but I put the smallest bit of Dream in my voice. Not enough for my voice to be a **voice, but enough so that even with her ears sealed with wax, the elf could hear me. I didn't use the full voice, simply because the ears' brains were already struggling, and that was solely due to the steely will of the girl's personality, which was on the verge of disintegration. If I pressed her even a little bit... I don't know what would happen. Maybe she would react calmly, maybe she would cackle with horror, or maybe she would just die - clairvoyance showed all three options with equal probability.

The slave, who was unsuccessful brainwashed (or was she successful), flinched, involuntarily touching the elves' trademark hearing organs with her fingers, but she pulled herself together quickly. Apparently, she was getting used to my presence and the tricks I was pulling.

"They moved me between rooms either with a bag over my head, or by putting me to sleep, or in a mood in which I could no longer remember the way. I wouldn't risk taking on the role of guide in such a state." The smooth and calm voice suggested some kind of battle meditation. "The beverage stand was hidden behind the picture of the knight."

She avoided even looking in my direction, but she did manage to point her finger toward the right picture. The puppet's movements were too stiff and jerky, but at least I wasn't falling anymore. I walk straight toward the painting. I slide it aside and allow myself to see the rows of expensive glass bottles with far more expensive contents. I bet some of that booze will give a good buff, but I couldn't check it out, because the real body was far away.

As a separate topic, we can consider the old Seer, who won't let up and is working his ass off at this point. He is stabilizing the flow of the Dream that comes through the mirror, even if he can't keep it up for long. I can do it myself, and I can do it faster and better. But I have enough to do, so I accept his help silently and without questions. Anyway, I'm working for him with all this crap. Let him work, and I'm better to use the concentration freed up for a possible battle. Speaking of elves with a father complex!

**What are you... Planning on it? I can't. Hold the flow. Not for long.

The images are broken, jerky, heavy. It's even harder for him than it is for me - his class isn't designed for direct control of realm energy, and neither are the relevant skills. This kind of strain is not typical for, in fact, a pure scout and visionary, and therefore he is in a lot of pain and a lot of fear. He wouldn't "be" here at all right now, too close to me and to Gresa, but then he would leave his daughter alone with me. And he trusts me just as I trust earthly politicians. Not very much, to put it mildly.

**Relax! Kickass works on booze like gnome cars on... What the hell is it called? Guel?

The images I was sending didn't stop me from growing a huge mouth on the puppet's face, where it used to be, into which I began pouring one bottle after another. I was not doing it for fun, and I could not fill this body with any drink, but to test a theory. If it worked, I would have one more trump card, as a last resort.

After the twentieth bottle, I decided that further elimination of the vintage alcohol would not do any good, so I discarded the twenty-first bottle and approached the mirror with a sharp jerk. My movement-now quick and nimble-not only horrified the captive, but also the Seer, reflected in the peculiar portal.

"Find me the image of the patsy I killed." I either ask or command the elf. "Find and stub... shalibi... ...fuckin'... Stabilize. Damn words! Why can't you make up such words so that Kickass can say them properly?"

I didn't send any images, limiting myself to words, while painlessly but firmly taking control of the breach to another realm. The elf himself did not react to another portion of the humiliating speech, as well as to the demonstration of my superiority, silently proceeded to the task at hand. Separately, I note that the new task for the professional visionary was much more simple and more understandable - after a couple of heartbeats in the mirror was reflected slavemancer. The reflection was as it had been before I met him, and the reflection itself was material enough for me to be able to grasp it.

The puppet hand no longer resembles a human hand: eight fingers, an overly large palm, hardly a dozen joints in the most unexpected places, and other Lovecraftian stuff that makes me look like the Slenderman. Too often lately my appearance reminds me of horror movie characters. There's an unhealthy tendency.

As soon as I touched the reflection, I pulled it toward me, noting the speed with which the elf recoiled from the image. I'm not really in need of his help now, though. I'm fine on my own. Stealing a shadow, as I said before, is like trying to wrap the thinnest cobweb around me moving so that the cobweb doesn't break. What I am doing now is like spreading a viscous jelly over myself, which in no way wants to cover all the surfaces. It's no fun.

The result, however, was quite satisfactory to me - I looked exactly like the dead Slavemancer, as far as most scanners were concerned. Even the elf girl shuddered, either from horror or from the lust in her brain. When I looked like that, I could think of a way out of this ass. In theory, I could try to make a full-fledged portal through Dream, I could do that, and then I could run to the elven forests and drop the girl off there. And I even have some chance of getting there... alone. What will be left of the passenger will be easier to mourn than to bury according to all the traditions.

But the most important problem preventing this decision will be our location. It is a small and carefully controlled gap in Dream, where most of the power that comes from it goes to disguise our presence, and might not be noticed. If I decide to create a real door, the guards and the rest of the crowd of attendant personalities, not to mention the active defense, will come running in here in a jiffy. So it's a last resort.

"Ok." My voice is the same as the deceased's, but I don't change my vocabulary, because then my masquerade, if not revealed, would be called into question. "The main thing now is to be homicidal."

"I dare to object, Venerable... Kickass." Cautiously, as if communicating with a faulty landmine, the long-eared woman intervened. "Your disguise is excellent, but the manner of communication used by the master... the man you killed was too different from your own."

"I don't get it." I'm making my face as beastly as possible. "Did you just call me a semi-literate goblin?"

Rhetorical question, but I can't and won't resist another joke. I came here to troll and punch you in the face. And lucky for you, bitches, I haven't had enough of the former, and there are other candidates for the latter.

"I beg your pardon, Venerable." The fear of the inadequate creature I am now thought to be is almost palpable, but outwardly she remains the very embodiment of calm and respect. "There was not a tone of contempt in my words..."

"Oh, forget it, ears and boobs." I interrupt the attempt to calm my possible anger and resentment. "Kickass the goblin and that's what he proud of! Because there's no one cooler than a goblin. Well, almost no one."

I think she's going to go crazy, not because of the slavemancer and realm energies, but simply because of my jokes. No, my trolling is average in itself, but in the current environment, and with the Dream coming from me, my jokes are only funny to me. Things are sadder and more disturbing for Eared One now, and so is her father, who was at one time preparing to punch me as hard as he could in an attempt to save his daughter's soul from being devoured by an unpredictable creature.

"Then what are your thoughts on my words?" Without showing it, she asks.

"It's all elementary!" I'm waving it off. "Kickass just walks silently and looks at everyone like they're shit. That's what Kickass always does, and nobody stops him."

She processes the input for a few seconds and then gives herself a mental smackdown. Simply because the option I suggested could really work. Or even work with a guarantee. Slavemancer had the high rank and arrogant nature of a refined snob. At most he would nod a greeting, but that was all.

"This could work." Her voice is steady, but there is a timid shadow of hope in her heart for success.

"Worries not. I'm sure something goes wrong anyway." Carefully reassuring my ward.

Well, am I not the very gallantry and care embodied in a fragile human body? Am I not a genius of psychological unloading, capable of calming even the elements themselves? That's just it! Learn how to do it, boys.

This place reminds me not of a military base, but of some very expensive brothel, combined with an elite club and who knows what else. Stucco on all surfaces, expensive carpets that at times even cover the walls, marble, and gilding everywhere the eye can reach. It also has the atmosphere of a place where only the very rich are allowed - everyone is running around like crazy, but without the important guests noticing. I wouldn't have noticed it, either, if it hadn't been for the high perception. The Sphere and other shadow techniques didn't work through the puppet, but the creature I was feeding directly to had very high stamina. In terms of naked endurance, it was far superior to my own body.

The reserve drained away not too fast, but steadily. The elf and his circle helped, and they kept the stable connection between Dream and Reality under control, so I had only to spend my energy on my disguise as a goblin and on fighting against Dream's influence on my mind. The latter gradually intensified, but so far the Price of Humanity held steady and without much excess.

Walking around in two disguises at once was not a pleasure, but as long as there was no need to fight to the death, I could tolerate it for a while. But there were a lot of pranks going on in my head, like, I'll wear a mask under my mask, so I can wear a mask while I'm wearing a mask. With these spy games, you can really go crazy.

So far they don't pay much attention to us, but that's only for now. Later, it will be much harder, and I no longer have the ability to draw more energy quickly. The second breath isn't activated yet, but I'm saving it for last, since wasting this perk at the beginning of the escape is tantamount to losing it. As I pass the next turn, I realize that I can wander around for a long time, and I don't have time to create a full map.

As the two of us walk, the image of the elf and his crew shifts behind us. They flicker in the polished marble of the floor, in the glare of the stained glass windows and the mirrors we encounter. I can't imagine how difficult it is for a Seer right now, but he has managed and not complained. No, I got it, because they had managed to bring him some artifacts which take most of the load. And in general, the elves in that hall pretty much increased - not every day you can squeeze yourself almost direct observation in some very, very protected structure of Sortz, where directly engaged in brainwashing the star blood. I have a feeling that the elves themselves know about this place, if only by hearsay, but they do. And before my arrival, this place was long and diligently searched for by all means. And now they've found it - what a joy.

Even if the rescue operation were to fail, the big-eared ones would still benefit by recouping their efforts. Shit, should I ask them for a share? It's all right if they send me, but what if they say yes? I can't just go and get the reward if I don't want to get burned. It's so complicated these days.

"Ernest, darling, I see that you have succeeded in your deed after all." My thoughts were interrupted by the sweet, sweet voice of the good-natured fat man, who looked like a little bumpkin. "And I believed, I believed that you could finish it before the end of the decade. Thank you, my friend, thank you. Now we have something to show Mr. Las'Lernod, and he was beginning to lose patience. The young man can't wait to unpack his gift. And his father had asked so much, and promised so much, for the new girl to be prepared as quickly as possible."

The stream of molasses-like words would have buried anyone under it, but I was a little embarrassed by the thirty-sixth level of the bumpkin, as well as the classes of Lord and Intriguer. And the sense of danger tingled unpleasantly because of the presence of two tall and distant-looking enforcers behind him, not a low level either. It tingled-not with death, but at least with trouble for me and death for the pixie.

:...you're all set, aren't you, my boy, you won't let Uncle Mario down?: His tone was gentle, but his eyes were cold and indifferent, like a snake's.

It won't take long to deceive someone like that; he'll suspect something's wrong from the first word he says, as soon as I talks. Even if I fell out of Kirdyk's image, he'd still know he was being tricked, and there was no way I could make it. I could have done the Stone trick of combining shadows and the essence of the murdered man, but I wouldn't stand a chance now. It would have been if I'd been smarter, but I'm Kostik, and I always think with my ass when I do things, and only then do I think about the consequences.

I made the most contemptuous face possible, while simultaneously raising my hand and snapping my fingers. Actually, it's not a trigger, or, rather, it's not a trigger at all, and I've blotted it out of the elf's mind. But I don't need to influence her, because I need to tell her what I'm up to. While I was snapping here, I was letting Dream out around me, too. Only the sharpest eye would have noticed the slight blurring of my surroundings, and it wouldn't have mattered much.

The Dream was singing in my hands, and I was weaving out of it the canvas of what the world should become. My silence, the uncharacteristic movements of the nephew, the general irregularity of the situation, and my incomprehensible premonitions should have pointed out the irregularity of what was happening beforehand. They should have, but they didn't. They did not allow them to notice, did not allow them to connect, for a moment, the obvious facts with each other and come to an equally obvious conclusion.

Instead, all the intriguer's attention was focused on the newly bared breasts of the elven woman, who was smiling happily, boasting in glee about how big her boobs were now and how she could please her new master with them. Right now she would go and please him, proving to him the simple truth that big-eared whores are the coolest whores in the world, and not pathetic short-eared girls trying to beat her in this field. The words flew off her tongue with incredible ease, I didn't even push her, just pointed out the approximate direction of her words, and then the weeks of brainwashing and the captive's composure came into play.

She wanted, really wanted, what she said to be true, but the will of a trained warrior of the elven race allowed for more than that. Had she been able to hear the short and insulting praise of her new tits, she would probably have given herself to her interlocutors - after all, her treatment was just coming to an end. Though she was made a whore, she was not made a whore, loyal to one master only: this effect was planned to be secured by the very last.

But she had her ears sealed, understanding her interlocutor through lip-reading. She had the will to pretend masterfully, balancing on the very edge of switching back into slave mode, but balancing. Not falling.

A few slaps on the ass, a couple of minutes of groping, and there we were, walking in a direction I didn't know. Dream sang softly, and the Seer still kept up with us, indifferently considering the options of escape or attack. He does not pay attention to the humiliation of his daughter, perfectly grasping the background of the events and my influence on the minds of others. We are walking forward, and "uncle" keeps talking and talking, not noticing that his nephew has not said a single word since the meeting, limiting himself to short gestures and facial expressions. Not paying attention to the way the top layer of disguise is gradually slipping away, giving a couple of heartbeats to notice too tall, long body and extra joints.

I was getting ready for the fight.

Almost cumming from her humiliation, the elf was preparing for battle.

The Seer and several supporting specialists were getting ready to either fight or watch the fight.

The great hall was crowded with servants, guards, powerful retainers, and those who were bidding to join their ranks, all surrounding one single person. Level Seventeen. Class Prince of the First Blood. He had an unimaginably large number of trinkets on him that reeked of all sorts of powers and a "you're all trash and I'm Darth Anyan, Lord of the Sith" look on his face. The white hair, the delicate features, the colorful eyes - I think they call that heterochromia - his clinging fingers, fiddling with some enchanted rosary... Yeah, he looks like a twelve out of ten, even I'll admit that. Remember when I said something about looking at everyone like shit? Now that's a skill I'll have to learn from because the guy knows how to do it.

"Are you finished with your assignment?" In a voice in which boredom, lust, and contempt were mixed in equal proportions, this something asked. "I confess I'm surprised, but it's a pleasant surprise. I'll write you a bonus, of course, after I've tried out the new whore. What was your name again?"

And this he says despite our levels, which a priori denote a certain amount of respect for the person bearing them! And the "uncle" is sweating and scared, even though he was completely calm before. And the guards somehow unpleasantly look at me. The cat-girl standing behind this harem owner is sniffing as if she can detect a note of Dream in the surrounding space. The Sensor of Strangeness class hints at the veracity of this version.

Once again, I look at the kid, who is slowly getting turned on by my silence and ignorance. He's probably not even eighteen, but he's behaving worse than the textbook golden youth. And the way he looks... Fuck! It's like he's escaped from the pages of some female love fantasy, or even a male isekai. I mean, seriously! Young, handsome, aristocratic, has a harem of hot chicks, everyone is frightened of him and walks in front of him in a crouch - isn't he an isekai? Just ask him straight out, honestly.

So, I, hardened by 4chan and the Internet, was a little sickened by the sight of this fagot. I'm not kidding now, because I literally threw up twenty and a half bottles of booze that I drank.

Magic wine is power! And if that power serves as the basis for something else, then you should put out the light, throw a grenade, and shovel out the bricks with a forklift. The drink poured into the puppet had been soaking in the purest Dream all this time. So saturated, in fact, that the liquid, which resembled a kind of mirror mercury, was now much more Dream than matter. And a great weapon for me.

I was just beginning to "puke" when the kneeling elfess, who had already managed to get her hands under the hem of her dress, grabbed the leg of "Uncle," instantly frying him with a discharge of purest Thunder, killing him despite a couple of powerful amulets.

The body of the colobus was just falling when a fork, shattered and melted to a needle, stabbed into the eye of the first of the bodyguards, and the sharply torn dress tried to wrap itself around the face of the second. The second came to himself quickly, and he was not a fetishist who liked to smell women's underwear, so he burned the dress with a stream of fire and was about to kill the elf herself, but suddenly he hesitated, as if losing his balance, and got the second melted fork in the eye. The Dream is insidious, yes.

And then they started killing us.

Two of the people present at once were at forty levels (strange that they didn't have a personal Hero with them, but maybe they decided not to bring him) and could take us two down, if not easily, then very, very quickly. The only reason they didn't hit at full power was the abundance of friendly targets. But that would only distract them for a few seconds, or five seconds at the most. If there were a whole lot of slowpoke and retarded illegitimate children around.

That was enough for me, just as it was enough for the elves, to whom I sent an image of my plan, as soon as I received the same image from them with the description of a funny artifact, which they were about to activate. How the guys dragged it at such a speed I do not understand, but when necessary, elves know how to forget about grace and grandeur, running like crazy horses with a bucket of turpentine in the ass.

The liquid, which I don't know what it is, surges upward, covering us with a mirrored dome. I stop saving, use my Breath of Magic, regain my reserve, and start pounding into areas. The reflections in the dome come to life and begin to tear open their mouths and squeeze out their eyes, the air is filled with the ringing and rustling of Dreams seeping into reality, and the liquid itself evaporates in an instant, filling the free volume.

A second more, and then the space was all mine.

One more moment, and I overturn reality itself, shaking it like a bottle of mushroom tincture before drinking it. And the reality is shaken. Everything that does not have the strongest protection, literally burning planar energies out of reality, has been horribly deformed, crumpled, and fused into something new. The entourage and servants were killed instantly - my blow was fatal. I probably would have had a pang of conscience for the deaths of the noble slave traders, but I was too busy surviving the fire of those who refused to die in my strike.

They shut down several powerful artifact barriers at once, waiting only for the storm I raised from the unfulfilled Dreams to subside a bit. After that, I'll be swept away: I can't reach the Shadow, and my second class isn't a combat class at all. All that's available to the puppet is to work with an extremely unsuitable plan for direct combat. I can't pull the round, but I didn't come here to win, did I?

The point is somewhat different.

The place where the Prince and Co. were waiting for their new toy to arrive was very unusual. First of all, it fell out from under the protective barriers of the rest of the building, being a kind of buffer zone. That makes sense since many clients would rather not climb under domes of enclosed fields of unknown nature, fearing an ambush or simply not wanting to take the risk. Nonsense, guys, we made you a special waiting room with all possible comfort! But that's how you open the door to trouble, isn't it?

On the other hand, you also open the way to escape, if you have a way to teleport yourself out of trouble quickly and quickly. These guys had a way to do that, though they weren't going to use it. The prince didn't even change his pose, looking at the pair of us with both surprise and contempt.

Asshole.

But the asshole with the balls. Because that's the kind of stare you get when you look at a naked, titsy elf girl - her dress was burnt - not a multi-articulated something like my puppet had presented. And he watched, watched calmly, without averting his gaze. Even if a good deal of this indifference was due to the protection artifacts, but he did look! A harsh turd for a harsh nation, I admit. The Sorzs are very unpleasant fellows, marvelously combining a whole bunch of flaws and vices, but their leaders hold their own, and the descendants of those rulers try too.

I silently raise one of my three hands, the puppet mutates more and more and I put a shitload of energy into it, and point my finger down. And the little prick really bought it! Yes, he only looked down for one brief moment, but that was enough to make me laugh again.

To myself, of course.

Once, quite recently, to be honest, I almost killed myself by diving straight into Dream, in my own body and without the slightest preparation, purely at random. Now I was not diving there myself but through a proxy. It was safer (just a little), but much more difficult. Controlling the puppet was hard enough, and controlling it from under the disguise, and even more so by guiding it directly through Dream... I felt like a plumber trying to fix a working hydroelectric turbine with only a wrench and a crowbar.

I dived in.

I grabbed it.

I ducked out.

My barrier scattered dust, revealing me and the elf to the enemy's spells. All the survivors thought something very unseemly in sync. The prince, clenched tightly and almost wrapped in long arms, swallowed loudly and not at all pompous, anticipating trouble on his ass. Judging by the charming and unbearably anticipatory smile of the elfess, whose hands were now covered in lightning bolts that were gathering into something resembling two fang-like mouths, trouble for his ass was almost guaranteed. As if she hadn't really fucked her unlucky master with an unskinned log, perhaps even a birch log that had just been cut down.

Well, I could not refrain from answering the long-forgotten question that this asshole asked me, even though he thought I was someone else at the time:

"I'm Kickass! Noone calls me, I come by myself!"

Dream's voice was filled with the tinkling of shards of mirrors crumbling to the ground, the rustling and whispering of half-forgotten dreams, and something else, something unbearably ugly, but at the same time incredibly alluring. Something in that voice evoked longing and sadness, and something else evoked terrible longing and joyful tears. There was something in that voice that made even me uncomfortable, and my prisoner almost shit himself.

Add to the overall palette the gurgling sounds of flesh and bones constantly stirring, as well as the crawling and immediately increasing blue haze that covered these flesh and bones, and you can understand why the boy was sad.

We would have been burned at once, but now all present were clearly afraid of damaging the young man in my strong male embrace (Hussars, I won't tell you twice!). They were already facing an epic-sized dildo up their asses for missing my appearance, a legendary-sized device of the same type for letting the prince be captured, and for what I was about to do, they should be fucked by a herd of thoroughbred donkeys.

"Do it, big ears!"

My scream had not yet had time to sound, and everyone around me began to act. The guards, us, and the elven foreigners rescuing us. I put almost all my remaining energy, into punching a tunnel for the elves, and already they are using the prepared artifact. I could have figured out the name and history of this magical masterpiece through visions, but, again, I was too busy surviving.

The marble floor, or rather the reflection in it, had just begun to crack when we were attacked, acting quickly but as carefully as possible. Only the two highest-ranking ones were able to make it. But that would have been enough. If I had been in my body, I would have had chances in combat against everyone present at once. And a good chance, I might add! But now all I had to do was run away, and do it quickly.

Some creature made of thunderclaps snapped from the elven woman's hand and crashed into the intricately tattooed palm of the warrior, dressed only in the lightest of pants and shirt, while the second attacker took the other thunderclap's attack with crossed daggers. A second, one brief moment, shorter than a heartbeat, shorter than a breath, separated them from succeeding.

But we made it in time.

And they were too late.

One brief moment later, we were gone from the Sorz.

And at the same moment, we appeared in the Dawn Forest.

I looked around, gauging the reaction of the crowd, holding the prisoner by the throat and preventing him from activating his artifacts, which he was wearing like toys on a Christmas tree. The crowd looks at me, obviously expecting that now the creature will show its true face and try to eat everyone, and then they'll nail it. The naked elfess looks around, not at all embarrassed by her nakedness and barely able to control the urge to throw herself into her father's arms and burst into tears.

But before she does, she turns to me and asks a single question. As she does so, she is very afraid to be near my person, but still does not follow the urge to get away. Apparently, she is waiting for an answer, which is now very important to her.

"Why?"

"What why, big-eared boobs?" If the puppet still had a face, I'd give it a perplexed look.

The audience tensed, especially the warriors of all stripes and classes slowly filling the room. Nevertheless, the elves around us were silent, not interrupting our polite conversation.

"Don't pretend, Kickass." She dismisses my attempt at trolling with the same calmness and confidence in her own rightness. "You can pretend to be a drunken idiot for as long as you want. I am even sincerely convinced that the first half of this description is true. But no matter how many drinks whose bitterness and heat are more potent than a flash of the sun itself splash through your belly, you are not stupid. Not stupid at all. A fool could not have crafted an improvisation on the fly that allowed us to wrap our heads around the entire elite of Sorz, that allowed us not just to escape the Silk Cage, but to kidnap the first prince, the heir to the Golden Crown, with us. So why? What reward do you want, what are you willing to demand for your help, what payment will you accept?"

And she is good! For now, by speaking, without giving herself time even to get dressed or visit the specialized healers who will restore her mind with the already normal and proven methods, she makes it clear that this debt is solely hers. No, the others will pay as well, of course. Especially given the trophy I now hold at arm's length. But if I demand a payment that no one else can afford, she, and not the Dawning Woods, would have the claim. She's a sly daughter of a bitch, isn't she? She's only just out of the collar, and she's already scheming.

"Stupid girl!" I interrupted her before she even finished. "What makes you think I had a purpose? Kickass doesn't help because he expects a reward. Kickass is doing a deed, whether it's good or evil, just because Kickass can."

I fill the last word with a dream, which causes one of the archers somehow placed on the ceiling to reflexively release the bowstring. It could have been uncomfortable, but some warrior ahead of me uses a blink (tied to some realm, but it's unclear which one) and puts his palm under the enchanted arrow. No foul language, but the silence is eloquent and resounding, as is the silence of the healers who quickly patch up the wounded man.

"Can?"

"Can!" Again, if I had a normal body, I'd probably nod. "Why else do you need power if you don't use it? My power is as great as Kickass himself! Does Kickass see an opportunity to use it? Kickass does! All your moral questions, and all your nonsense that you cover yourselves with is bullshit. If you can do it, do it! You can't, you're afraid, you don't want to? Then don't do it! You don't have to ask about dangers, self-doubt, or any other excuses. You either do it or you don't. That's it!"

And at the last "That's it," I crouched down and spread out all five of my arms. The same archer failed again to keep the arrow in the bowstring. Only now it was no longer caught. Turning my head a hundred and eighty degrees without moving my torso, I silently pull out the arrow and throw it to the ground. With the doll's vitality, I don't care about such wounds, even if I didn't care about the doll itself. I sense that Dawn Forest has a candidate to be a latrine attendant for the next two hundred years. I continue my goblin-styled motivational speech myself, not wanting to miss the opportunity to laugh at the blue screen catching elves from the philosophizing goblin.

"To hurt or to help is your choice and yours alone. I used to do pain, but I got tired of it quickly. Helping can not only be fun, but you can also ask for a can of tincture of mushrooms, just like that. And, strangest of all, the 'ummies and others give me some mushroom tincture! Tried it with boyz, but they never give it to me, no matter how much help they get. That's right because a boyz who gave up his booze doesn't deserve to be a boyz. 'ummies also often wanted to beat Kickass, but then Kickass do bad and everything is fine again."

The life philosophy of a good-hearted goblin - a good goblin, Carl! - knocked out all the listeners more reliably than an axe to the back of the head, which was exactly what I wanted.

"Bzw!" Suddenly I "remembered" the most important thing. "Do you have any mushroom tincture?"

"Any wine, nectar, or other drink from the cellars of my house before your eyes." The Seer intervenes, clearly pleased to be able to forgive at least part of the debt. "Only choose what you wish."

"No, no, no!" I shake my puppet head in disagreement. "I don't want any of your woozy drinks, I want some of the mushroom tinctures. Do you have any?"

"I'm afraid we don't keep such a drink." With the look of a man on a scaffold, he asserts, clearly contemplating the possibilities of getting his daughter out from under the imminent blow of a monster enraged by deceit. "But if you tell us the recipe, our best winemakers will create it as quickly as possible and in any quantity."

"No, I'll have to wait." I shrug it off as if it were a small thing, wondering what I would do if they had the right stuff. "Then maybe I'll come in later. Here 'ummi for you, make yourself some soup or something, and I'm off."

The prince of the main branch of the Sorz kings I'd thrown at him had been hit with more than a dozen paralyzing skills before he'd even touched the ground. Before he could use the artifacts, he was nearly torn to shreds by whatever hangings might have served as beacons for the portal. It would be a lot of fun for Sorz, especially if they didn't kill him, but used him in some other way.

For example, they will brainwash him on the greatness of the elven race, and then return him home for a ransom. Fund his actions and arrange a civil war in the lands of the most hated neighbor. It will be fun, pragmatic, and even somewhat symbolic. If you think of the fates this woodpecker has condemned elven slave girls to. I doubt the one I'd saved was his first and only... or, for that matter, his kin.

Without waiting for the elves to react, I jump into my own reflection, leading the puppet as deep as possible into the Dream, simultaneously tearing and hiding all possible threads and images that could be used to find Kickass. All the images by which I can be found, I hide even more diligently. After about half an hour, there was nothing at all left of the slavemancer's body, which had turned into a creature, and the real me tossed aside the red-hot and melted mirror.

The text flashed before my eyes, and I reflexively ran my eyes over it. Well, at least all this was not in vain. My head doesn't even hurt, but in foul language tell its host about how much of an idiot he is, but at least he got a fair amount of bonuses. The funny thing is that there were not even any particular dangers, except for the most recent trip to Dream, when I drowned my puppet. Moderate danger, yes, but no scary, deadly situation. I was continually monitoring the effects of the plan on my mind, clinging to the Price and not letting myself be changed. If the whole situation had not been so stupid, foolish, risky, and unprepared, I would have even considered the day a success.

Soaring in Dreams: 5/7

Allows you to draw Dream energy into reality, freely accumulate it, control it, and use it for a wide list of effects; the accumulated energy has a high plasticity and degree of variability of influence on Reality; allows you to use the accumulated energy as a bridge to interact with the Dreamworld, while remaining in Reality; allows you to distort Reality metrics, using the accumulated energy as a shield, blade or tool.

Edge of Reflection: 6/7

Allows to use absolutely any reflective surface as a window to observe a specified target; the choice of target is determined by clairvoyance skills; allows to penetrate almost any protection, including exotic, unique, and even legendary ones; distance to the observation target plays no role; allows to exert the widest range of effects on the observed through reflection; allows to use reflection as a passage to Dream plane, going there together with the material body; allows capturing with available mirrors intangible manifestations, redirecting or manipulating them within certain limits; allows intercepting control over enemy reflections, causing them wounds and mutilation that will affect their bodies in Reality; allows using mirrors as a limited accumulator of Dream power.

Weaving of Dreams: 6/7

Allows you to create incredibly complex and multidimensional structures in the dream world; allows you to generate animated Dreams within your woven dreams; allows you to give a Dream Spawn a will; allows you to bend the vast majority of standard Dream Spawn to your will by giving them a varied list of orders; it allows you to change the essence and essence of the inhabitants of Dreams at your discretion, reshaping them as you wish; it allows you to work with the matter of Dreams, creating protective and attacking structures; it allows you, with some difficulty, to weave bridges between Dream and Appearance, creating stable links between reality and Dreams; it allows you, at the limit of concentration, to transfer your consciousness into a woven from Dreams and matter avatar, capable of fully using the class techniques of the Master of Dream and Reflection.

Like, four points of class skill in a single operation would be too cool, because I wouldn't compare this adventure to the mess I was having in Stone, not in any way. Except that I have a feeling that this is simply the first time I've used my second major class the way it's supposed to be used.

For too long I have treated sleepwalking as a class of intelligence and consciousness correction. I hadn't thought about the fact that, like the shadow class, it had a mythical rank and a mythical variability. But when the need arose, I immediately got creative, crawling up the ladder of class skills. The only thing that upsets me is that the need was expressed not by saving lives, not by wanting to develop, and not even by banal munchkinism, but simply by wanting to poke fun at the big-eared snobbiest.

Mythical Class.

Up four divisions in the second rank.

Because Kostik wanted to laugh.

Either there is something deeply wrong with this world or with myself.

Finally, I evaluate the two titles that appeared at once, which makes me not hold back a smile. The smile, however, resembles a grin, but I do it fondly, kindly. That's all right, fellow admins, I am also able to laugh at myself, as well as know how to remember other people's jokes. When the time comes, I'll give them all back to you, to restore, so to speak, karmic justice.

Great Mocker: Someone else's jokes are found funny. Someone else's jokes are found outrageous. And your jokes change the political climate and start military conflicts! You can't just insert a slur into a conversation, but you can set up a whole chain of consequences for your humor, intuitively sensing the possible outcome of your actions. Bonus: you're more likely to guess the consequences of your jokes.

Of course, there is no bonus to the stats. And the humiliation of my person somehow not added. In general, I estimate the attempt to troll me from the System on a maximum of three. Only not out loud, because what if they change their mind?

The second title was more useful, but it was also one of those which it is better not to display publicly. Because there would a pain, fucking, and a lot of trouble. I don't care about the prospect, for there are more compromising records in the Status, starting with the very first of the titles available. I mean the title of Hero.

King Kidnapper: Let the wretched thieves and brigands work as kidnapers on the roads, stealing and selling into slavery common travelers. You are as superior to them as a dragon is to a lizard! You steal royalty at once. For ransom, for revenge, or fun, you commit a crime that can only be punished by a painful death. Are you a fool? It's debatable! Are you worthy of reward? Absolutely! Bonus: Endurance + 15; showing this title increases your prestige among criminals.

I reread another sluggish attempt by the System to troll up an isekai, and I roll the Status window to hell. I glance around at the crew watching me carefully, assessing their glances at the mirror that had turned to mush, and then calmly stand up, shake myself off, examine my hand that miraculously had not dissipated in the Dream, and stretch myself sweetly.

"Well, what is there?" With bated breath, Taria asks.

"What-what?" Rephrasing her question. "I seem to need to get another mirror somewhere."

Authors note:

Whoo! So Kostya's adventure came to a successful conclusion.

The escape option was the riskiest, but also the fastest. I wasted a lot of Omak bonuses (17 points left, if anything), but without a hitch and with a profit.

The prince-asshole will have a lot of fun. Although if Kostya's version of the elves' plan is prophetic, he might even like it, though not immediately. In any case, whatever the elves decide, the Sorzs will be looking for MC as well. Search actively. True here they have no clues at all, so it will be easier.

There have been a few crits. But it's mostly from bonuses, both natural and omak. The only unlucky thing was the two critical composure failures of the archer, who now goes to clean latrines (by Elvish standards, that is, some tedious and not honorable job will be given out). The class he has is very nervous about Dream so there were tough minuses.

That's it.

Goblins of philosophers doing good deeds for booze have never been seen in the Dawn Woods.

I don't feel well, so I'm going to lie down.

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

Переведено на Нотабеноиде
http://notabenoid.org/book/80370/539648

Переводчики: Camrad_RIP