Готовый перевод Его не звали, но он приперся / They never called, yet he is here: Глава 29

Chapter 29

Once, when the trees were big, the levels were low, and I was in a frontier town pretending to be a minor alchemist. Ygra and I were able to take down an epic creature called the Forest Yeti. That fight wasn't so dangerous as to call it deadly, but it was still tense and nerve-racking. Ygra, far from his home swamps, would have been torn apart by such a beast simply by virtue of its superior size, characteristics, fighting talents, and home-area advantage.

Now my tame ogre could beat that beast, if not blindfolded, without too much trouble - her levels, her stats, and, most importantly, the skills she uses when she hunts. A great melee master is something much cooler than a regular master, no matter what they say. And if this great master is not alone, but has the support of high-level comrades, among whom was even a brain-dead Hero, then the wood shagger didn't stand a chance.

The advantage of working as a group, multiplied by the intense experience of many fights and the indomitable desire to become stronger, does wonders. Even such strange ones as the search and liquidation of mighty monsters and monsters, being in the very fiefdom of these beasts and monsters, and without an opportunity to escape under the wing of the city walls. Yes, yes, this "routine" has long since become ordinary for us, which, of course, invigorates the blood with adrenaline but is not unusual.

And now we've decided exactly the same.

The beast looked a little different from the one I remembered from the Kraj. The beast's fur wasn't as thick, and it lacked width in the shoulders, but that was easily balanced out by even longer paws and claws on them, greater agility and mobility, and a forty level. This spawn of the wilderness territories could easily tear a hundred regular soldiers apart, devour them, and move on without hurting much in the process. I didn't have to worry about stopping the beast with magic at all - the yeti's wool was still just as easy to negate any energy impact. Well, almost any, within reasonable limits.

The first indication of danger was that the victim he encountered, who looked a bit like an unpalatable orc, was not at all frightened and did not try to run away. Well, Yeti don't know what the prey was thinking, especially since Yeti was not concerned with such lofty matters, and immediately used his familiar deafening roar to paralyze the overly suspicious figure.

Taria's shadow had been stolen beforehand, so I simply shifted the effects of the roar from her to myself - my just ears ached, and all the other effects drained away from my resistance like water from a rock. The monster, reasonably assuming its victim was already paralyzed and powerless, did not wait, immediately rushing to attack, intending to crush and tear the small figure. Yes, it would be a one-tooth meal, but the monster's sense of smell suggested that the meat would be extremely tasty.

Taria was in no hurry to freeze, nor was she frightened, instead sharply drawing her Valerium, sending a loaded projectile of unknown nature straight into the monster's skull. The apprentice rank she had acquired in single-handed gunfire allowed her to aim as accurately as possible, and the subtle influence of the humble me prevented Bigfoot's gut from deflecting from the threat in time. To him, the danger from a revolver seemed to be something on the level of an arrow from a bow, and he had contemptuously ignored such spits since he was young.

The chaotic projectile took on a very exotic nature, not hitting the negative wool-covered skull, but soaking into the wool and bursting underneath it. Some kind of compression effect, like a water cannon loaded with boiling water. Half of his scalp was sheared off, along with some of his facial muscles. It must have hurt like hell, but it wasn't fatal - it only damaged his skull a little, if at all.

The second roar, much more angry and furious, was met by a trio of dimly glowing arrows that flew into the open mouth. Or rather, only the first flew in, the second was bitten in flight, and the third hit the clenched teeth. The monster's angry, pained howl of an even worse blow hadn't even begun before the distance to Taria had been bridged. There were only five wide strides of enormous paws in that distance.

But the female figure multiplied at once, scattering in different directions and even vertically up the trunk of a huge tree, and very quickly as well. If the beast had been intact, the outcome might have been very different, but even the wounded monster could shatter three of the six illusions. However, if he had gotten all of them at once, he would not have caught the real one - the girl changed her position at the same instant as the shot of the legendary artifact sounded.

The blow, with its claws, flashed in a dark gray smoky glow and was so powerful that a tree that looked like a young sequoia was split in half and slowly began to fall. Yeti would have had a right to be proud of himself if the blow had done any good and if he'd had time to be proud. Still silent in battle, Ygra arose behind him like the rustling of the grass, instantly gripping the paw that had been set aside for another strike, breaking it at the elbow, and twisting it from the shoulder joint.

A flash of hellish pain - which one was it now? - made the creature roar, but now there was more fear in that roar than fury. The second paw that had finished torturing the tree soared as a cobra attack, aiming to pierce the exposed side of the ogre but managing only to shave some of the flesh off its ribs. Green's regeneration could cope with such wounds in a matter of seconds, and her fighting capabilities were unaffected. Shifting her center of gravity, the giantess tried to scrap the other paw, grabbing her neck as well, but her opponent wasn't such a punching bag.

As he fell on his stomach, he used his three remaining limbs to shift his position in space and set Yggra up under the falling tree. She didn't get hit, slipping out from under the falling trunk at the last moment, but Yeti did the same. However, he was no longer able to dodge a perfect double to the head, which was not good for his health. Ygra struck with an open palm, trying to stun and disorient him rather than damage him with his relatively small claws compared hек opponent.

The resulting blows, delivered to the already scalped part of his head, dropped the enemy briefly, causing it to let out a muffled groan and try to roll over itself, disregarding the non-functioning limb. The charging Ygra landed a couple more blows, dodging the retaliatory attack with his working limb quite gracefully. Here was where Yeti made the mistake again, trying to paralyze her with another roar. I don't think the experienced monster had really intended to immobilize such a powerful opponent, but a second of respite would have seemed like heaven to him.

The growl never left his throat, for the growler choked on another pair of arrows, only now the wounds from them damaged more than just his throat. Clairvoyance told me that the magical power Hans had pumped into the arrows had hit the brains hidden in the thick walls of his skull, permanently concussing the Yeti. Ygra drew close, folded her palms together in slivers, and pierced her opponent's side, ripping out a chunk of the liver that immediately went into her mouth. Not because she decided to snack instead of fighting, but because Taria, seizing the moment, sent another projectile into her opponent's head, forcing it to recline due to the momentum it received, despite all the power of the beast's neck. The final point was set by Losius, who dived down from above, shining like a bloody angel, thrusting the blade of his sword into the Yeti's eye up to the hilt, simultaneously releasing a strictly dosed portion of heavenly power to destroy the brain without damaging the rest of the body or any possible reagents.

The entire battle with the epic level 40 monster took less than five seconds.

"Ygra says we go to marshes! Ygra be a lot stronger there than she now!" The green-skinned warrior argued her point, licking her fingers after chewing the last bits of the dead beast's heart that she'd been given as the hungriest.

On the one hand, I'm glad to hear her say that - because before, even with the exact same thoughts, Ygra would not have been able to put them into words. Yes, in the swamp, she could hit harder, attack more powerfully, win more easily and hide even more perfectly. But how to explain to this child in a three-meter-tall titty body that everyone else present (even Hestia) from being on the marshes will howl like wolves? And Kostya will be the first and the loudest to howl!

"I think it's better to move aside for the day and start over," Taria spoke up, even though we haven't even called a vote here. "We've already made a fuss here. And over there, we'll safely prepare a place to fight."

The place for the fight with Yeti had indeed been prepared with great care, though we did not know who or what would get here first. Several boar and deer carcasses, suspended on homemade and essentialist-treated grass ropes, were dripping blood, luring more and more opponents down. And we met them quietly and laid them down, either one at a time or as a team.

Personally, I intervened seriously only twice: when I pulled Taria from under the stream of rare-grade acid vomited by a ravenous armadillo and when I finished off a giant raven that had almost managed to teleport and wanted to escape through the Wind Realm in a rush to escape from an ambush. Both times, like the hunt in general, gave me little or no experience, but my comrades did develop more in skill and cohesion than in levels. Although Taria was only one level away from choosing a second class, Hans had managed to develop his Pathfinder class skill to a new rank. He joked that, at this rate, he'd be shutting down his regular class shortly. Not that he was joking, come to think of it.

"No, young Asterium, I strongly disagree with your opinion," Hestia argued coldly and evenly. "Oglaf Comicson certainly has talent, but I simply refuse to consider his depraved smears as works of art."

"You look at this question from your viewpoint, not realizing that Oglaf deliberately makes the subjects of his paintings grotesquely depraved and vulgar, bringing the usual vices of our society to the point of absurdity." The swordsman objected unaccustomedly fervently. "One must simply look at the situation differently."

"Dear one, I am thirty-five years old, and I spent fifteen of those years in Melareth's army." There was a weary despair in her indifference at not being able to prove obvious. "I know far more about vulgar jokes than the young people of the capital, from whom you picked up your admiration for this individual. If we set aside our attempts to find a deeper meaning in Oglaf's paintings, all the plots of these paintings can be summed up in one phrase, which will sound, forgive me plebeian curses, like the banal "either fucked or fucked or all of them together".

"And I believe such an opinion is imposed on us by pride." Just as calmly but confidently, Losius objected. "Too often, we see ourselves in these caricatures, and his jokes piss off the aristocracy a thousand times more than the commoners. Only the merchants are angrier, but their inability to laugh at their shortcomings is considered a clinical case and cannot be cured by healers."

This was not the first time this argument had been repeated, for Losius had finally found an interlocutor to his liking and status. But Raimel, who had a great deal of life experience and a very different set of values, rarely agreed with him. Hestia's classic "eh, so young, so green" was not insulting, but it was so well-reasoned that it made you feel unwittingly foolish.

The name of the artist they're discussing seems vaguely familiar to me, and the phrase Hestia said is something I've heard before. But I don't want to remember where I heard it because I hurry to tear out as many reagents as I can from the body of the dead epic, trying to place the most valuable ones in tubes. I have too few containers with me for a carcass of this size, and I want to take all of them. The Vessel of essence has long been filled to the brim, and I would not refuse to give it a new improvement. Some of the essences stored there even had to be discarded to fill the space vacated with more valuable concepts.

Instead of a vessel, I use ordinary test tubes, concentrating as much as possible on the collected essence, and even then only that which was part of the perishable reagents. Even taking into account the mythical class, fifteen percent of the same blood was lost. The rest of the blood was recycled into several large flasks filled with essence concentrated to the limit. I simply could not provide a greater density anymore, rather due to a lack of suitable containers.

I decided to leave the fur, fangs, claws, and bones, which were not going to deteriorate from prolonged exposure to the open air, as well as the animal eyes, for which I did not spare a few containers, until the moment when I could work properly in the main camp. The one where my mirror was still waiting for me.

"We're not going to the marshes, Ygra," I said softly and aloof, trying not to disrupt my concentration, which, even at the legendary level, is strained to the limit and a little higher. "And we will not prepare a new ambush, no matter how you like our time, Taria. I'm loaded to the max right now, and I need to process at least some of the reagents I've received if I don't want to throw them away a little later."

"That's the way it always is!" Dramatically, the disappointed dancer raises her hands in the air. "Just when I get a taste of real adventure, I get my wings clipped like a bird. Right, Green Tits?"

"Ygra not a bird, Ygra not fly!" She scratches the back of her head and doesn't catch the irony. "But Ygra likes a fight! You can get tasty meat! But don't stand there in one place. That's not good!"

Well, yes, the ogre's opinion is obvious here - she is not used to hunting by deliberately baiting prey, preferring to pursue her chosen target on her own. Add to this the absence of native marshes, and you get an understanding of how uncomfortable our paradigm of hunting local wildlife is for Ygra. But she preferred good hunting and hearty prey to the lack of it, especially since we all slowly managed to convey to her the charms of working in a group. Here, by the way, it's strange - she knew how to fight in pairs before, even if she was used to the fact that her partner was a small and skillful man-mage in my person and not the same ogre. But two or more helpers seemed so wrong for her that even through dreams it was hard to prove otherwise.

"You see, Tin, even she agrees with me!" Along with the end of the phrase, Taria raised her finger victoriously upward. "And you're telling me something. Here."

"Ygra disagree with nobody!" The green one was indignant, which looked more threatening than endearing for her size, and didn't care about the bouncing boobs. Ygra just like hunt."

The mere fact that the ogre was engaged in verbal battles, even if it was unscrupulously losing them time after time, caused a cognitive dissonance of fabulous proportions in my mind. Although. At times Ygra made such phrases that you could not help suspecting that she was trolling others very gracefully while hiding this fact from clairvoyance.

The argument between Losius and Hestia, as well as between Ygra and Taria, didn't stop me and Hans, who was completely exhausted, from dismantling the stinking Yeti carcass and slowly getting ready to leave the place. The others were aware of that, too, but they were not going to stop poking fun at each other; when there were not enough people to talk to, it helped a lot to bring up a topic of conversation out of nowhere.

"At least orcs and other savages don't bother us," I grumbled under my breath, trying to pour some more essence into the flask, which nearly cracked from the overload. "I'm just waiting for the next tribal incursion. I didn't like it at all last time."

"They're savages, not dull, feeble-minded fools!" Hans grinned in amazement and amusement, obviously laughing at my misgivings as if I had said something stupid. "They aren't exactly the brightest of minds, but they're a lot smarter than most people think. What was it like last time? A lot of weak people found themselves in the depths of their land: well, it's a sin not to overpower the rightful prey! And now, they see are not the weakest beasts hanging in the trees and dismantled bodies of creatures even more terrible than the ones on the trees. And there are almost no traces. Even Losius has already learned to walk properly. That's why they're shitting their asses in here. Tin, how many scout spirits have you beaten off?"

"Eight and a few more possessed creatures," I answered, throwing the rest of the essence I couldn't get into the container into the air. "Maybe there were more birds up there, but they didn't come down low, and you couldn't see much from above through the trees, I guess."

"Not always, my friend, not always." The pathfinder negatively shook his head. "There are such birds and such spirits in them that they can even see through walls. But even if they had a contract like that, they'd only see Losius and the little one, and that's not certain. It's not clear to them, and all that's not clear, it's better not to touch. Maybe some Legend has made a nest here and is hanging tags on it. So they don't risk chasing us, and if they do, they'll die."

Well, that makes sense, to be honest. But once they figure out who we are and assess our strength, they might summon something more terrifying than mere scout spirits. Like the Skin Taker, we had the displeasure of meeting. But for that to happen, the Greenskins would have to try too hard, and we would have to drive them into a frenzy so that they'd hit us with their main caliber.

So, I was reassured a little bit.

Just a little bit.

We did not hunt at the rock camp, located on the site of the ancient battle, but simply killed and fed all the animals that came out to it to The Shadow. We arranged a carnival of bodies hanging from trees a day's march from here and only to one side so that the sites of our hunting parties would not surround the camp in an eloquent circle.

I also took care of the camp, using the same stone mirror as the basis for the Dream Barrier, which covered the clearing itself and about five hundred meters of space in the radius of the clearing. The protection was good at first and then excellent - every time I returned from a hunt, I modified the mechanism of the barrier, making it more powerful, perfect, and invisible from both Reality and the Dream. My design may not be as durable as the nastiness hung over the Stone or Whitewater, but it's certainly more powerful and refined. The fee in the form of regular "technical inspections" suits me more than completely. Well, all played a role in the area of the barrier, which I have a very small in comparison with these examples. Encapsulating a smaller volume is much easier than an entire city.

Attempts to see us by clairvoyance or find us by search rituals are now doomed to fail unless they know our exact location beforehand. And even then, it's not certain that they'll be able to penetrate - I've created dozens of false targets and deceptions at once that will shift the focus of directed attention to another location. I can even vouch for the fact that such a dome would last a few minutes under the gaze of the Shoreless Eye if it got here and if it was pointed at us. It will not hold longer, for the elements that are responsible for the deception of this artifact, I do not fully understand, but I can give the first minutes of guarantee.

I couldn't have done either, but, thank you, Secret Guards, I've had time to watch the way the Eye works and the way it picks up another's presence. My construction of multiple reflections, redirecting the desire to know in random directions, is too fragile, but the Eye risks overheating its structures as it breaks through it. What does it look like? Well, let's say the Eye is looking at us, after which its gaze will be caught and redirected to another point, preventing it from knowing the exact coordinates of the camp. The Eye is used by no fools, so it recognizes the deception quickly, returning its gaze to its former image. The gaze translates again, causing the Eye to automatically start pushing even harder, which moves it sideways again, but now, with amplification, the Eye returns to us even faster... to sideways again.

The attack.

Redirection.

Return.

And repeat as many times as necessary until my defense exhausts the redirection options or until the defense burns out from the strain. But there is a chance that the Eye itself might not be able to withstand the accelerating rhythm of the attack-response, breaking down completely. It is already worn out, and in this state, it has been staying for the last two hundred years. It is much more likely that the attendants of the artifact, swearing frantically and graying in front of their eyes, will simply turn off the mythical ball, saving it and their necks.

In terms of protection against physical intrusion, my barrier also has certain advantages. At the very least, the shroud created from the Singing Dream will make anyone passing by make a small circle, bypassing a perfectly normal and in no way suspicious place in a wide arc without even paying attention to it. I'd also add active defenses, like those predatory reflections that would override anyone who looked into them, but it's either/or. No, in the real world, such a trap would still be invisible until you step on it, but there would already be traces in the Dream.

It is also possible to hide traces of my activities on the other side of the reflected world, and I even know how, but it requires time and energy, which are not infinite. And to increase the amount of realm energy under the dome of protection can be fraught with danger. Not for me but for my comrades, who do not have my protection. That's why I stopped at the already measured limit, not wanting to cross it. If I can improve my control of Dream, even more, I'll add more, but until then, practice and practice only. The whistling and farting only follow the confident control of my creation so that it does not begin to grind its teeth at its creator.

The attempt - seemingly successful - to hide oneself from Dream was dictated by logic and common sense, as well as vague visions of possible danger from this direction. The goblin with the sonorous name of Kirdyk is not sought only because they are very afraid to find it. But they try to find information and traces of his whereabouts, and I have even sometimes tucked in very credible deceptions of these traces that seem to have been thoroughly erased.

What was more disturbing was the vague, obviously concealed presence of some threat, the nature of which was too difficult to comprehend. It was like something walking in your wake, something hiding from view and hiding its hungry growl but illuminating in the net of my senses. I knew nothing of who or what it was nor of its capabilities, but I instinctively did not desire this encounter. For some reason, the images of the howling pack of creatures that had attacked me in the Stone were in my mind. The creatures Hestia had fought, that had come from Dream, and whose master was there as well. The master that had nearly cut off Hestia's life. The one that caused her to become a monster deprived her of levels, classes, and skills.

I did not share my suspicions with the woman herself, not wanting to frighten her nor to spoil her mood slightly recovered after the appearance of the body. But I made the best possible disguise and, at the same time, prepared a couple of surprises for whoever decided to disturb our peace.

It would be better for this incomprehensible creature not to find us... better for both of us.

How do you create a cauldron and an alchemical loom while having exactly one, but a very big nothing? The answer lay within the creative application of the Vessel of the Essence and the processing of materials by means of essentialism. The result was far from perfect, but still noticeably more acceptable than I expected.

One of the shards of rock was turned into a kind of mixture of a bathtub and the mentioned tool, allowing me some liberties that cannot be done with a vessel alone. In the cavity of the lying rock, three recesses were created at once, the walls of which became an ideal insulating container - what's not a cauldron? When you think about it, many alchemists, even full-fledged masters, can only dream of such a pebble: three full-fledged insulating cauldrons, able to work simultaneously and having a chain of connecting channels with each other, cost so much that one would have to sell himself and his descendants into slavery. The lack of fire and distillation cube was easily compensated for by my skills and the clumsiness of the stone giant by the strength and dexterity of a pumped-up Hero.

What was really causing the hamster-berserker's quiet, and at times loud, the rage was the lack of cheap and simple things that were nowhere to be found. Tubes and vials, flasks and retorts, bottles, or at least jars - all of these were readily available to any more or less normal alchemist, but I had no such luxuries. Or rather, I had some, but not enough for a full-fledged laboratory. Not even enough for a field lab! But I couldn't call it a field lab if I had three stationary cauldrons for working with essences, which were properly insulated. In general, I was ready to kill another legend for a box of glassware.

While my comrades-in-arms were arguing about some nonsense, I tried to use as much of the good I had gathered during the raid as I could. At the very least, I could pump up not only the alchemy but also the concentration of the compound or even the fixation of the effect. Last time I almost managed to get the needed improvement, but something was not enough: either the quality of reagents, or complexity of the task, or the inspiration and uncommonness of my creations, which left me unprofitable. It's a shame, but it just means that I need to prepare even better this time.

Thank the tits, in such case I can prepare and try again.

In my other difficulties in life, no one would give me a second chance.

Taria assisted me in the fetch-and-deliver tasks, simultaneously crushing the herbs and roots I needed, which I had to use as a stabilizer for the potions I was creating, its material component. I could already create potions that consisted entirely of pure essence, but only in my vessel, and as soon as they got to reality, the essence inherent in the combination of the concepts would begin to disintegrate.

So go ahead, Taria, crumble the loaf, and I'll do the rest. No kidding - her constant observation and participation in the creation of highly complex and cunning mixtures has given her a nice boost in her alchemy skills. The rank of the apprentice is taken and surpassed, though it is still a long way from being a full master - a consequence of the fact that my potions are too complicated for her to comprehend. Because of this, she will not get the Potions Master class, but she is much more likely to get the not-so-strong but appreciated by these masters, Alchemist-Assistant.

Anyway, now she and I were working together, like a unified mechanism. I think I was using my clairvoyance to better adjust to her movements while simultaneously prompting her to do the right thing myself. Somewhere in this was a little of Dream's influence, but I wouldn't dare vouch for it.

In the three stone cauldrons, the mist of all shades of gold is bubbling, the dust that is the foundation of this world, its essence and heart, naked and stripped of its material shell. In each of the three cauldrons are hidden dozens of concepts, hundreds of shades of those concepts, and innumerable elusive shadows of meanings. The contents of each of the three would make even a great master weep with envy, just as it would make any merchant rub his hands in anticipation of profits while ordering more guards so they would not be taken away by force.

In the first cauldron floated almost all the essence of Yeti blood, stuffed with so much power, strength, and might that one could be torn apart by touching it without preparation. There fall the grated roots and petals of several kinds of flowers, stabilizing and soothing the raging blood-golden doom. I will compress and concentrate the accumulated power, mercilessly discarding the excess, resulting in only one small vial of potion. But the potion will be worth more than the entire barony, its inhabitants, and the baron himself.

I already know what the effects of this composition will be, just as I know the price of those effects. At least thirty units of power will be given to whoever drinks this treasure. And not just a weak novice, but even a high-level warrior, if his strength does not exceed two and a half hundred, will be added this bonus. And along with it is a very useful perk, allowing you to get an extra unit in strength every five (with luck and every three) levels.

Alas, but not without the negative aspects, because in addition to the bonuses will come penalties, and no less harsh and cruel. The first bell will be the Meat Eater perk, because of which you will completely lose the ability to eat anything except meat. You will be able to eat, but stomach upset and poor satiety will prevent you from enjoying a baked potato. As well as changed taste buds, because of which raw meat will seem the most delicious of all possible delicacies... and it's good if it's just raw and not human.

Add to this the toughest intoxication, after which you have to come out of it for almost a couple of months. And if only to recover! After taking my masterpiece, intoxication will always come more quickly, and the consequences will be very dangerous. So it would be better not to drink enhancers and regenerators at all if you want to be healthy and live a long life.

The final blow was the realization that without at least a hundred and fifty units in endurance, it was undesirable to drink the compound. You could, of course, but the damage would be unpleasant. With some probability, which I estimate at forty-five percent, a side effect would be a decrease in the endurance you get per level. It wouldn't be five, but four or even just three. A sad prospect, comparable to a disability, only even worse - injuries can be healed, but status effects are more difficult to erase.

That's why I also cook the contents of cauldron number two.

There are practically no beastly components, monster particles, or monster fangs. Only all sorts of plants and herbs with antitoxic or healing effects. Purification, stability, harmlessness, soothing, and many other aspects merged into something extremely complex and poorly understood by all but myself. This potion is useless in isolation from the previous one, though even one breath of it would put a dying man on his feet, and that would only be a side effect.

The main goal of this masterpiece is to enhance the positive aspects of the permanent booster while weakening the negative effects. A perfectly matched set of opposing concepts will have to interact with only one potion in the entire world. The subtlety of the fitting is beyond even me -concentration is simply not enough, and every second can bring a mistake, after which both potions can be scrapped. But so far, I'm doing fine.

And now I'm doing what I started this whole thing for.

Through specially made grooves, the stabilizer flows into the main cauldron, mixing with the bloody buster suspension, diluting it with its blue lettuce hues. The redness gradually diminishes, and the gold becomes more and more until it dominates the color scheme. The dust settles and liquefies, turning into a small droplet of liquid resembling a kind of red mercury.

I immediately put the vial up, corked it securely, and shook the resulting mixture, simultaneously raising it to eye level and evaluating it with my alchemical analyzer. The analyzer evaluates this miracle as a potion of legendary fucking grade and gives me a full certificate.

Thirty-five units of power once.

Plus one unit of strength every two levels.

A minimum of half a hundred endurance for harmless ingestion.

Only a week of intoxication and no physical weakness - just no other potions to take, and the activity should be reduced, indulging in nothing to do and laziness.

If I'd presented such a gift to the same King of Melareth, they'd have given me the position of Court Alchemist the very same day after kicking out the old one. Well, if they hadn't recognized me as the one who'd given them the trouble with the Stone. And after they'd found out how fast I could make new formulas, preferably by letting me work for a month, even if he'd known about it, he'd have scolded me at most. Of course, it's a joke, but all jokes are partial jokes, and the rest is a bitter truth.

I put the vial aside, taking up the last pot, in which the essence of several claws and teeth of Yeti, a couple of hearts of forest ogres, the tail sting of a thirty-level mutated scorpion boar, and the eye of Yeti, as the main catalyst, is brewed. Here the problem is no longer with toxicity but with the need to resolve many different concepts, resulting in exactly what you wanted to get, rather than another "greed pill" that is too shabby to throw away and nowhere to use.
(анекдот)

This time it goes easier, not even a headache. I bet I picked up a new division in the class skill, which makes it easier for me to work with the tasks at hand. I'll finish the potion, read the system tray if I don't forget, and pass out from fatigue. The latter is still very likely because the reserve is going so fast as if I were mowing down a full army in one snout. I'd have to use my Second Breath, which is undesirable in every sense of the word. Both because of the overload, I'd have to suffer and because I'd want to save a perk for my experiments with mirrors.

I clenched my teeth and finished concentrating the potion, releasing the excess essence along with all the slags. The black stuff at the bottom of the cauldron is left, the consistency resembling oil, and a barely discernible vapor rises into the air. I condense the steam into a perfectly clear liquid, which cannot be discerned by sight at all, and seal it in a second vial. I hold the container up to my eyes and, smiling, evaluate the work of a humble alchemist.

Plus ten perceptions permanently.

A gifted perk that allows me to look a few hundred meters ahead every few hours (depending on my perception and concentration), through walls, obstacles, and even through magical defenses. In fact, it's not much inferior to my Sight, even if it's not superior.

Intoxication is within normal limits, but complete rest and a very moderate diet are better to adhere to at least two weeks, or better yet three, for complete assurance.

One point for each level increase will automatically be invested in perception, leaving only four points free to allocate, but that's much better than just losing those future points.

And I want to get a good night's sleep.

"Well, what did we make?" My beautiful assistant unceremoniously interrupts my self-praise. "Soup or something stronger?"

I measure her with the Darth Anyan look I've seen in the sorz's bastard, and then gloatingly tell her... The truth of what we (yes, we worked I'm and tractor) have made. In response, several pairs of eyes stare at me, which splashes with a frenzy of the purest of purity. Well, yes, I've created masterpieces before, but they, for all their coolness, had only temporary effects. Now it's the kind of permanent enhancement that only a fool wouldn't dream of at least once in his life.
(111111111111111111111111111111111111111111)

"Before you start trying to prove to me that you would be the best candidate for the booster, I'll tell you this." Here I pause theatrically, letting the curiosity harden, but quickly realize that I decided to prank, then I will be beaten by the crowd and even Ygra to participate in catching Kostya, though not understanding the reasons for the revelry. "We're in the wilderness now, where the right reagents are plentiful. In the meantime, my skills are growing, and so are my application skills, so that subsequent formulations will have fewer and fewer side effects, but more and more benefits. Surely, you don't want to just wait until you can take my enhancers without the risk of poisoning yourself to death? If not, we can flip a coin, but I tell you right away, I don't want to drink my creation yet."

A few seconds of silence, during which my friends clearly considered disregarding my advice and taking steroids. But common sense prevailed, after which they stared at the vials that had vanished into my waist bag and politely inquired.

"And how soon will you get your alchemy up to a sufficient level?" The same question was asked almost simultaneously, albeit with different stylistic overtones.

"I don't know, but there's no need to rush yet." Seeing the unkind looks directed in my direction, I clarify. "In addition to the obvious side effects, boosters have many other disadvantages that require attention. For example, the need to get used to "non-native" stats, which were not honestly earned by titles and levels. And with too many boosts, you will have to get used to the new features for almost years. Therefore it's better to choose what to boost carefully, pausing between acceptances and not rushing to the graveyard."

"You've explained it all very well, Tin. - Hestia was the first to speak after a long pause, wrapped in her own (donated) cloak. - Most of the highborn would prefer to drink these potions at once. But this decision comes from the fact that even the most highborn rarely get their hands on such treasures. We, on the other hand, have the opportunity not only to take advantage of the miracle but also to choose which of them suits us best. We are in a position of advantage, so it is the logical and correct decision to take advantage of it. I'm willing to wait as long as it takes, Tin, don't doubt it."

After this speech, the others calmed down as well, letting me fall on a bed made of driftwood, using my cloak instead of a blanket and a sheet at the same time.

Such a delight it is to have someone to watch your back while you sleep.

It was worth it to start putting my team together just for that.

Oh yeah, what's in my abilities?

Consolidation of the effect: 2/7

Allows you to permanently create compositions whose effects can have a permanent effect on Status; allows you, if you have the right reagents, to create compositions that can permanently increase characteristics or skills; allows you to manipulate the concepts of harm and benefit, reducing intoxication and redirecting side effects to the desired direction; allows you, at maximum concentration, to reduce the quantity and quality of the side effects of the adopted compositions of permanent action.

Concentration of the composition: 4/7

Allows you to significantly enhance the qualities of already prepared compositions by wasting essences; allows you to qualitatively enhance compositions by wasting additional reagents and essences; allows a wide variety of application of essences; allows you to concentrate essences into a more favorable form for use; allows you to transfer into essences only the part of the magic invested in reagents that you need; allows, at the concentration limit, combining different essence groups for subsequent strengthening or weakening of certain effects.

The Multi-Handed Devourer had an epic grade, but given its forty-seventh level, it could be considered a very weak legend, already having the right characteristics, but lacking the specific and terribly powerful talents that make legendary monsters legendary in the first place. This didn't help his victims much, so the creature ate well, fed well, and was already nursing dreams of becoming an even more powerful entity in his dwindling brain.

The creature was old, even ancient, at least older than the mole we had never met, from which we had successfully escaped. Even now, we did not run away, but on the contrary, we put our heads straight into the tiger's mouth and quite voluntarily. However, considering the amount of time spent on preparation, it was not us who were in trouble, but the monster itself.

I found it by chance when I was playing with mirrors, or rather with the visions, I could receive through them. At that time, I had just finished reviewing the fates and lives of my few acquaintances, and I was in a very lyrical and good mood. The reason for the high spirits was that an old storyteller I'd forgotten about, whom I'd hired to help me in my alchemy shop while I'd been sitting around the Kraj, was doing quite well in life. The grandfather himself worked quite freely for the Adventurers' Guild, which had hired him as a figure carver and as a storyteller to teach aspiring bards, and his children had taken jobs as servants to one of the guild's alchemists.

That was my fault, by the way - when I explained to them the reasons for my actions and the simplest alchemical laws, I thought I was just babbling, but the others didn't think so. At least, the alchemist who approached them sincerely referred to the twins as perfectly trained assistants who should not be taken as apprentices only because of their small stature and age. I did not know it, but it turns out that in my time they have opened the skill of alchemy and almost crossed the apprentice rank. There, Kostik, are a couple of tips and some explanations for you.

Either they were two young geniuses, or they clamped down too hard on workshop information, or I was not the worst teacher (at the expense of the title of Hero, probably), but the result came out... came out. Personally, I think that all three factors combined were involved, but that's another matter.

It was from observing the alchemist and the children I managed to snag the image that the adventurers were running out of reagents obtained from the carcass of the devourer killed eight years ago. A common rumor that left a noticeable trace in the infosphere, which is why I latched on to it, untangling the thread a bit. I wouldn't say it was any particular difficulty, for the guild quarters were protected, but the protection against clairvoyants there was extremely rudimentary and almost ridiculous.

I found out that most of the "reserve" potions, which were only used when things got really bad, and it was necessary to fight back the city, fighting for its life, had been spent during the mess with the Cult. In fact, that mess fell under all of these conditions, and the cup was emptied without mercy.

After the death of the Cult, the alchemists began to slowly, in the background, create new stock. But the toughest potions that enhanced dexterity and regeneration were created from the bones of the devourer, or, as he was affectionately called in the Guild, the gauntlet. He was still a young beast, despite his epic grade, and he had come to the Kraj because he had been kicked out of his home turf by some of his older kin.

He liked people, both in taste and in general, and therefore, soon enough he was given a contract of silver rank with a possible transition to gold. The guild's top team, which I know from the same mess, tracked down and killed the creature without too much trouble and earned a bonus and material thanks from the alchemists of the city. Well, some of the reagents the guilders didn't sell, privatizing them to their warehouses. The Magisterium was against it, as was the Burgomaster, but then he was politely silenced by the Rights and Liberties of the Guild.

I didn't care about those little things. I got into the situation myself more for the sake of clairvoyance training, but I, as an alchemist, was interested in the monster itself. It was so useful in making regenerators and dexterity enhancers. Without thinking long, I followed the image of a huge bearded monk who had once fought the beast, after which I unobtrusively pulled out an understanding of this monster and created a directed search query. And what was my surprise when I found the lair of a similar one literally a week's walk from our main camp!

The next thing was diligent reconnaissance, as I tried to probe the creature's lair on all spectrums and learn its skills and talents. The longer I worked, the more I wanted to waste the thing on exp for the group and reagents for me. The monster had no trumps, or, rather, none that could change the picture of the battle in favor of the Devourer.

His entire fighting doctrine was based on three cornerstones: a huge number of six-fingered paws with five joints, which could strike from any direction and allowed him to fight in three dimensions at once; a very high speed, thanks to which a simultaneous blow with dozens of limbs was almost unrealistic; and a monstrously (pun, yes) strong skeleton, perfectly holding even extremely powerful blows.

One on one this monster would have torn apart Ygra, Hans, and Losius, but against a group, and even with my protection, the monster had very little chance. I could not completely refuse to take part in the fight, for the Devourer was still very strong, but the fight itself would not be useless, given the level and degree of danger of the enemy.

So, my offer to hunt some really serious prey was met with the restrained approval of everyone except for Hestia, who is traditionally a cautious and reassuring person. But even she acknowledged that our chances were good, and so were the prospects of defeating an almost legendary creature.

In general, we hit the road lightly, without long stops, and with a predetermined goal. It's true I'm getting my marbles in a twist from the realization that such adventures have become routine for me. I don't even know if I would agree to go home if I were offered that option right now. Although, no, I would - there's the Internet.

The Devourer's lair looked impressive, for the beast was carefully marking its territory, preventing anyone from making an ignorant visit to its lair. Those who came here deliberately would obviously be either strong or very stupid, but here the monster's instincts maintained that it was better to be overthinking than underthinking.

The first circle of spines and skulls scattered across the branches was passed without a single rustle - the noisiest of us drank some potions that enhanced our silent movement skills before the fight. The second circle, a mile from the lair itself, was passed with the same silence but with a very noticeable disgust. Here the bones were not old and whitened by time but covered with half-rotted shreds of meat and skin, and there were more of them. It was a final warning, and exclusively to the beast's kin: step over the rotten line, and you become the enemy.

After this smelly barrier, bones were found everywhere but already whitened again. Crushed and cracked skulls, shattered brain bones, chest cages in which the rest of the skeletal parts were stacked... Among these skeletons were both beastly and humanoid - at one time, the creature had preferred to hunt a couple of tribes of greenlings until they left their territories, ceding them to a new host. There were even the remains of very powerful foes, like ogres, trolls, and even the yeti, the shells of mighty insectoids, the debris of tree-like monsters, and fish spines that we don't know how they got here. Our enemy had a tumultuous life, but he defeated and devoured all his enemies.

The main thing now is not to increase their number.

The den itself resembled not a burrow or a den, but a bird's nest, only made of long and thin trees, among which conifers predominated. Well, yes, it smells nice and disinfects and chases away parasites. The nest was located in the middle of the deadwood, which was clearly intentional because it would be easy to maneuver within it, and very difficult for possible guests, on the contrary.

The enemy was there now.

The enemy hadn't seen us yet, but his nose picked up notes of other people's scents, making him instantly awaken and concentrate before attacking. I don't know when, but the Devourer had met people before, knew their scent and taste, and knew they could be dangerous. It's strange because, in my visions, I hadn't seen the monster fight people. Perhaps it just wasn't a battle dangerous enough to be deposited in the images associated with the enemy itself.

I give a sign, and then we stop in silence. The mist, brought by Hestia, creeps quietly around us: light, barely noticeable, but hiding the place from possible observers. She didn't set the cloak to full power, because that would bother us even more than the Devourer. Orcs shamans, on the other hand, wouldn't be able to see the fight if they were there, should they wish to. Why do we need unnecessary witnesses?

Instead of a greeting, I pull a vial of explosive potion from my pocket and silently toss it overhang in the direction of the nest. The potion is weak but noisy, just enough to motivate the inhospitable host to come out to meet us. But the projectile did not reach its target, being intercepted in the air by a long and disproportionately thin limb, after which they tried to send it back in my direction. The bastard was fighting orcs, and they were good at making bombs, too, while the monster had an excellent sense of danger and recognized such projectiles instantly, especially since I hadn't even tried to hide them.

I threw my hand out to the side and intercepted the returned projectile, shoving it back into my pocket because it's not a good idea to waste useful things here. I feel more sorry for the vial than I do for the potion itself, to be honest - I can still make explosives, but it's hard to find glass here.

My thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of the Devourer, who was so fast that he looked like a real whirlwind. The outside of his orbit was filled with arms wriggling in all directions, which made him look like an angular tentacle, but real tentacles don't have joints. At the center of the vortex were the head and torso of the monster, which was one enormous sphere with an equally enormous mouth full of small teeth in dozens of rows, like a catfish. It also had a face that was both childlike and very angry, which made the creature look like an evil donut from some horror story or...

At that moment, I could barely contain my laughter at the realization that came over me. Yes, laughing in such a situation is silly, even for the holder of the title of Hero and three mythical classes, but would you try to restrain your emotions if a huge f*cking thing, looking like the world's toughest Swiborg straight from the native Earth Internet, was coming at you.
(картинка)

I stepped out of the way, causing my opponent to whiz through where I was, grabbing only emptiness and taking a couple of ghostly claw blows straight from the immaterial state that drained some life and strength out of him. Not much for such a healthy and dangerous creature, of course, but it made me want to burst. But I had come with a full reserve, so it was hard to judge. One thing I could say for sure was that this attack was not serious.

He lost sight of me and spun on the spot, quickly finding the worst hiding Losius, and sprinted toward him, speeding himself up with his many limbs. Another miss, or rather a poor choice of target, as Losius did not even move, and the path of attack was interrupted by a boulder that flew into the side of the donut, directed by Ygra's steady hand.

There was no impact, for a few hands managed to catch a piece of rock harmlessly, only for another, smaller one to crash straight into the huge head that it had no time to cover. A golden shot, Ygra, golden as it was, for the creature had enough free limbs to spare. And my non-existence had nothing to do with it.

The stone hit was immediately complemented by five arrows fired from the bow of a tracker who hadn't shown his face. And this time, the poison on them was not so much for killing as for reducing dexterity and neutralizing regeneration. I could have cooked something very strong, but then it would have been a beating rather than a fight, and it would have been problematic to gut the corpse for reagents. I chose the ideal option between efficiency and non-hazardousness for later sorting out the trophies.

It wasn't even poison, but a very peculiar buff that boosted immunity and disease resistance to the limit but weakened dexterity and regen. It was also useful to embalm the body so it wouldn't stew for much longer! I'm telling you, the perfect choice for hunting, really, really.

When the arrows stuck in his head, Donut didn't even flinch... I was a little nervous, especially in light of the squealing monsters I have to deal with every day. Continuing to dash toward Losius, the foe was struck again, but with a celestial force that almost completely burned a pair of limbs, severely burning his eyes. The creature's speed was really too fast and had it not been for the potions, the Duelist would not even have had time to attack, having been caught and torn to shreds. But the potions had been drunk, and so, the nimble aristocrat had time not only to attack but to blink away the attack as well.

Here are adversary showed that he couldn't play a one-way game, for he not only caught the spot where Losius appeared in a blurry image but also managed to send several small boulders and a couple of fallen logs into it, showing that Ygra is not the only one who can play bowling here. Losius ducked, falling to the ground, but didn't have time to make a second blink, finding himself in mortal danger.

I emerge from the Shadow back into reality and immediately attack with a powerful technique. A vast and black canvas of shadow, as black as a starless sky, rises from the ground and throws the nearly running Devourer back. You can see where the skin is wrinkled and cracked - even the mere touch of shadow energy is already deadly when you have almost two hundred points in class stats.

The creature had just begun to land when Ygra, who had fallen out of hiding, kicked him with two legs at once, which, of course, didn't break the super-tough bones but popped out of the joints, knocking several of his arms out of play at once. But the attack wasn't in vain: even in flight, not having recovered from the previous bruises, the donut managed to grab onto the green thighs with a pair of hands, ripping out the muscles, temporarily restraining the green-skinned ogre.

Clutching onto one of the barrels with his hands, the monster spun around it and immediately sprinted toward the first of his wounded attackers. Now he was moving even faster than usual, hurrying to take out the underdog. Valerium's projectile was taken in one of his many palms, almost completely ripping his arm off to the "shoulder": the gun's attack took on some kind of frosty form, causing the bones in his limb to burst and crumble, causing a hell of a lot of pain.

The donut was silent again, disregarding the torment, but it lost its inertia, letting Ygra swing her arms around herself, raising a cloud of dust, dead leaves, dried twigs, and old bones. After hiding from her enemy's gaze for only a moment, the green giantess went into hiding with absurd ease, not letting herself be caught again. The impact with her entire body and the many limbs that surged in every direction, eager to catch the lurker before she could escape, pierced only the void.

I must give credit to the opponent's morale: he was not afraid, not afraid, and not groaning from his wounds, continuing to try to catch and kill the nimble targets dancing around him. Losing Ygra from sight, the donut changed his aim again, rushing toward Taria, who hadn't had time to hide after the shot. He ignored the five arrows, covered by the un-existence again but the few shadowy tentacles that grabbed him by the arms that acted as legs did not. It didn't slow him down much, even if it did damage a couple of the grasps, but Taria managed to split into several doppelgangers seeking to deceive the creature that craved her doom.

The donut, as has been said many times before, was experienced, and therefore he had already fought with the duplicators. And his senses were enough to distinguish the absence of sounds produced by all but one of the doppelgangers. The creature knew that this one would be the real one, even if the noise it made was barely audible and too faint for such mass and volume. What the creature didn't know was that by closing the first rank of her class, Taria had learned to make her illusions denser. So far, on the first division, very little and not for long, but the donut itself took the lack of noise as a disguise for Taria.

The doppelganger was destroyed, but instead of blood and guts, the monster only got another shot from Valerium, fired from a new position. Again I didn't close the shot with an out-of-existence, but Taria chose the right moment to attack, hitting the spot where Ygra had hit before. Her broken arms failed to protect her prized skull, from which the shot tore a huge chunk of bone. Still, this thing has a strong vulnerability to cold and similar energies!

This wound was already really serious, causing the creature to get lost and almost fall over. The creature spurted thick but almost transparent blood, something like lymph, and the pure Sky was already striking from above. The creature, clumsily - the wounds and the venom from Hans's arrows seem to have combined - rolled to the side, dodging the powerful but slow attack that Losius had diverted almost his entire reserve into. The crater was pretty good, but what good was it if the enemy wasn't there? I made a note to smack his hot head and continued to watch the endgame of the battle.

Ygra reappeared, seemingly out of nowhere, delivering a lethal blow directly at the spot of Taria's previous attack. Alas, even the wounded devourer managed to translate the lethal blow into a glancing blow, simultaneously forcing Yggra to duck backward to save her green boobs from traumatic reduction.

A few more arrows struck the nearly uncovered center of the monster, which had too few undamaged limbs left. Ygra followed that up with another blow, almost classically knocking the Ball on the head, dropping it to the ground, and backing away from the backhand, which only managed to leave a small scratch on its leg.

The shadows surged with slashing ribbons, cutting off three limbs at once like torches, and Losius struck at the last crumbs with sky power, keeping the dying monster from standing up. Ygra made the final point by jumping on top, pushing the limbs that were barely moving due to the concussion aside, and delivering several mighty blows with her fists, finishing the devourer to death.

During the entire time of this fight, which took less than a minute of real-time, the dead beast did not make a single sound.

I look at the huge carcass of killed prey, estimate the approximate amount of effort I will spend on its cutting, imagine the number of hemorrhoids from this fiddling, and realize that in this life I need to change a lot. One minute of real battle, and now the work is for twenty-four hours at least, and much more will have to be left here to the delight of scavengers!

"I realized one simple truth." I attracted the attention of those around me, who joyfully shared the experiences of the past battle. "We need helpers and porters if we continue our regular hunts for this kind of prey. Because the cutting alone already gives me a nervous tic."

"I'll tell you this, Tin." He said thoughtfully but with no hiding his amusement. "If you've adapted the creatures you've summoned to carry and cut up your prey, I don't know how I'll react."

"I appreciate your faith in my efforts, but Shadows can't help me here, even if they really, really want it." I, too, hold back a chuckle from the surrealism of my imagination. "I'm not talking about my classes, though Dream can help but about Hestia's ability. We could use a whole tribe of obedient porters and handymen if we don't want to dig around in our guts for a week for every hour of battle."

"I can't even tell which use of such powerful skills makes me laugh more." Losius laughs unashamedly. "Because such porters would be no less shocking than Shadow carrying sacks loaded on them."

Our pique was interrupted by the joyful and happy squeal of Taria, who seemed to have received the coolest birthday present imaginable.

"Do you know what that means? Аh? Do you?" It's a rhetorical question that doesn't need an answer because it's obvious that Taria is about to enlighten us on the subject. "It means I'm about to have lots and lots of green titties! I call a shootgun on the best orc girls! Hestia, my friend, you wouldn't deny the sweetest me a little request, would you?"

With that last remark, the dancer took on such a begging cute look that even an undead person's heart would probably melt. But the newly humanoid form of Hestia Reimel was a human (a monster) with strong nerves and immunity to the puppy eye. So she only replied calmly.

"Whatever you may think, Taria, I'm going to use my talents exclusively as Tin asked me to." That's the way you talk to smug bosses and dumb coworkers. "In other words, creating suitable porters and assistants who can take some of the burdens off from Tin and us. The size and color of their breasts are the least of my worries, believe me."

"Damn it, Hestia!" Now the townswoman was using whining, which was the second most terrifying weapon in her arsenal. "Oh, please, what's it worth to you? Let me cry, you melt your heart and agree to my terms?"

"Alas, no, I have no heart at the moment." Hestia ruthlessly rebukes her, for whom my request is a working request, and I demanded auxiliaries, not a green harem. "And I'm afraid that nothing and no one but Tin's orders will change my mind."

"Hmm!" Taria hummed a little ominously, evidently thinking of something. "What if I can charge your mind... or change your mind with my talents? They're not the weakest of talents, you know."

Instead of apprehension, Hestia only smiled condescendingly, clearly underestimating Taria's abilities, considering them insufficiently strong and dangerous.

"I'm afraid you can't do that either." With the same calmness and indifference, she answers. "My consciousness is too different from a human's, and the talent I have guaranteed a good defense in itself. Besides, I see no reason at all to enter into such a conflict with you. After all, we're all doing the same thing."

"Wanna bet?" Taria dismissed the attempt to reconcile and extinguish the conflict as uninteresting. "If I can mesmerize you, you won't hold a grudge, and you'll do my bidding. A bet?"

"Even if I agree, what's my interest in it?" Hestia asks, not indifferently but tiredly, looking for my support.

Unfortunately, I'm having a fit of hysteria right now, so I can barely contain my laughter. I mean, seriously, how could they even start arguing about something like that? It's just surreal!

"Hmmm? Will I stop bothering you and owe you?" Taria sounded a little unsure.

"Good." Hestia feels no emotion other than a desire to end this idiocy as soon as possible. "You will have two minutes to activate the skill, after which I consider you the loser. And we'll only start arguing if Tin gives his permission."

I take my palm away from my face and ask everyone present, trying to keep a normal expression on my face so as not to lose my authority as a leader.

"Girls, don't you have anything better to do?" And then, without letting me answer, I continue. "Okay, Taria, she's got the wind in her head, but you, Hestia? And I'm not talking about the reason for the dispute right now. I'm talking about your part in it."

"I could estimate the talents I receive from your submission, and I believe I can repel any influence at the expense of non-human physiology." The answer sounds more like a report than a friendly conversation, but it's easier for Hestia. "Even if her powers turn out to be higher than I expected, my monster essence will give me the strength to withstand the two minutes. And, I admit, her confidence in the weakness of my will to temptation was a bit of offense to me."

Behind Hestia's back, I see the puppy-dog eyes of Taria, who asks me not to ruin her bet, which she is sure to win. I just wave my hand - if Hestia wants to test her strength (which is what she wants), then let her test it. Especially since I don't even know if being a monster helps against hypnosis. In theory, it shouldn't, but I wonder how it will turn out, and it's an interesting question that requires an answer in advance. I could do with trying out the new defense of the mind, which had grown considerably since the last time I'd experienced the effects of Taria's ability.

"I warn you that your loss is very likely, Hestia." Yet I try to dissuade her. "Besides, the last thing I want is a conflict between you two."

"I can assure you I know how to lose with dignity." Hestia was obviously mindful of what I'd said, and she was already regretting her agreement, but now she couldn't let go of the banal pride of an aristocrat who wouldn't show her back to a commoner even in such a small thing. "And I certainly wouldn't be angry at others where my self-confidence was to blame."

"Am I the only one who sees the dumbest excuse for the strangest duel imaginable?" A somewhat shocked Hans interrupts the pathetic exchange of phrases while Losius holds his face in his palms, reevaluating his life's positions.

"You don't imagine so, Hans," Asterium says confidently. "And you, Taria, have an amazing talent for reducing any situation to a mixture of absurdity and vulgarity. With all due respect to you as a person."

By the way, the respect was not the least bit misguided, for he had already appreciated his companion's martial prowess more than once. He had even forgotten her origins and how she had come into my company, learning to see her as a loyal ally and friend. But yes, she does make him cringe at times, knocking all censorious thoughts out of his head. And he doesn't mean throwing acorns.

"Ugh!" Happy face and hands pressed to her cheeks. "I'm going to melt, Losius. And yes, I won't be offended by Hestia either, never, ever, really."

"Of course, you won't be offended." The misty monster agreed. "Because you're not risking anything right now."

She wasn't just talking. She was preparing for battle. The discarded human form had turned her into a familiar misty silhouette (floating in her clothes that had never been discarded) that could not be confused with a human even in the blink of an eye. In such a state, she looks at the world very differently and looks the wrong way, which is why she holds out hope for success even now, despite my words about the probable loss. Well, she wants to show me that she is stronger than I think, that I appreciate and praise her, and that I have something to praise her for. And so she is full of readiness the moment she utters her words.

"I'm ready." It's the same cold, collected calm that makes it so hard to tell what's really going on. "Begin the influence."

It didn't take Taria long to beg, and in a moment she dropped the leather armor, then the thick felt armor, and finally unbuttoned her silk shirt (a trophy from the slavecatcher camp), revealing her main and most beloved weapon. Who was lucky to have the skills from the Ring, it was Taria, for not only was he strong, but he also matched her character. Though she would have found even more uses for Hestia's vicious mist... In fact, she had already found those uses.

"Take back your human form." Taria's voice is like the incarnate avatar of smugness.

Hestia complied with the order in less than a dozen seconds because she had time to pump her talent one division up, apparently because she knew exactly how to control a humanoid body. After a while, Hestia stood in front of Taria, clad in her cloak, which had not even had time to leak fog from it, staring at her obedience concentrator.

"Say you're a cocky snob with the temperament of a piece of ice." Somewhere she seems to be going the wrong way.

"I'm a cocky snob with the temperament of a piece of ice." Dutifully, Raimel agreed, making no attempt to resist.

It was enough, however, for Taria, with just one look at her back, to put her hands in the air in a conciliatory way without even trying to justify herself or continue to humiliate her rival. Yes, she really doesn't like Raimel, not so much out of jealousy, for the ring keeps her from being jealous, but because she dislikes aristocracy in general and aristocrats in particular. They, they say, have everything she wanted to have, and from birth, bitches like that. She regarded Raimel as a friend and comrade, but some germ of that dislike remained. It was largely because of Hestia herself, who acted like that icicle. I know she's an emotional person, but I know Taria only sees the ice bitch, even if it's our ice bitch.

"Actually, you really want not only to make useful helpers out of our future orcs but also to make them our whores. So that we can have a real orc brothel with girls for all tastes. And especially for me, you want to make some of the tastiest, juiciest, and tittiest green girls with huge green melons. You know yourself that you really want it, that you've wanted it all along but just didn't want to admit it to me. You want to use your Mist in the most imaginative way possible without repeating yourself. But you will deny this fact to us because you don't want to admit it. And by turning orcs for me, you will think that it is your decision, and in general, since you won the argument, you can do whatever you want, and it will not be a loss.

---You just wanted to make a green brothel with green orcs with big tits. And only when you're done working on the orcs will you remember this conversation and all my words will drain from you, bringing you back to your former opinion. And no matter how much they tell you and convince you that you've lost the argument and I've bewitched you until then, you won't agree, knowing that they're wrong. Whew! Also, you'll come to your senses by starting to think again in a minute, but in the meantime, ignore my words and what's going on around you."

When she had finished her instructions, Taria quickly buckled up, turned to me, prayerfully folded her palms, and apologized for trying to insult Hestia.

"I won't do it again, I promise." And then in a serious tone of voice. "I'm a fool. My fault. I admit it. I'll apologize to her in person later, but for now, she still owes me a brothel of orcess."

In the meantime, Hestia blinked, looked around perplexedly, and said demandingly, maintaining the same polite coldness and indifference that was the basis of her manner of communication.

"Are you going to activate your gifted skills, Taria, or should I wait a little longer?"

"I surrender, Hestia. Alas, I have nothing I can use to break through your defenses of reason and suppress your will." She lowered her head in repentance, presenting the redhead before Hestia's gaze, looking at her proudly. "Forgive me."

"It's nothing, and it's not in my nature to be offended by such trifles." The woman was eager to settle, not even trying to make fun of her "losing" rival, which made Taria feel a sharp needle of sincere shame for her earlier disruption.

And only in the heads of the three men watching the scene did a synchronized "fuck you". Well, at least she was decent enough not to leave anything extra in someone else's head. I won't even say anything to Taria, waiting for Raimel's submission to drop, and then I'll make them spar. Or even allow her to affect the dancer with her mist, of course, only if I can bring her back to her original state of consciousness... No, for that would not be a punishment for Taria, but a reward, and a very welcome one at that.

"Well, at least I'll have someone to fuck." Hans said to himself under his breath. "I just hope the chicks don't come out too ugly."

"You only think about one thing." Losius scolded him.

"As if it were something bad!"

Oh, I have a feeling the next few weeks aren't going to be boring.

Authors note:

Well, happy start! 19.5 pages - almost two chapters. I don't know if there will be any more this week.

There were even too many dice - especially in the second fight.

A familiar weaver grandfather glimpsed nearby, but MC abruptly recalled his prudence, capping himself in time.

Taria crited when she was shooting at the Kolobok ( pure). MC crited when he was developing alchemy (there were a lot of bonuses).

And, of course, Taria crited with her fantasies, and Hestia almost critically failed the test of pride. She thought she was too tough, like, "I'm just being a monster here, with just loyalty and pathos, and you're talking about some boobs there". Well, she was overconfident, it was her own fault.

Honestly, I didn't tweak anything for her - she did it all by herself.

The decision to overrecruit orcs MC took even later than the norm, for such a quantity of meat one alchemist simply can not drag, as well as not to process.

Let's see what Hestia made,

At least Hans will have fun: always in the company of three beauties, and none of them gives! At least that would make him happy.

The Kolobok-Sviborg, by the way, is far from the most dangerous but also not the weakest of possible opponents. Luckier for MC than unlucky. But there was one epic with a huge weakness against Shadow, though it crawled in the other direction from Hero and co.

The proofreading is tomorrow because I don't have the power, but in the meantime, good luck to everyone.

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

Переведено на Нотабеноиде
http://notabenoid.org/book/80370/542048

Переводчики: Camrad_RIP