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

Epilogue

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I officially declare to everyone who hears me that I am beginning to fear Hestia. And in general, women are the scariest creatures in the universe, or at least in the top ten. In all seriousness, when I returned to the mirror camp and shrugged off my comrades' questions, I immediately went to bed - regenerating the scar from the lash had taken too much energy. I only had time to assure my comrades that I was all right and that I was the worst thing around. But the next day, when I made a quick run to the orc tribe's camp and assessed what was going on, I began to wonder which of us was scarier.

The first thing worth noting is the density of the fog created by Hestia. The density is primarily for sensory skills. A circle of three kilometers radius was covered by this energy like the thinnest layer of cobwebs, with a three-meter layer of candyfloss underneath. The vicious power of the mist indeed seemed sweet, so sweet that it was intoxicating better than any drink or drug. At the far reaches, when one was just entering this tangle of debauchery, the influence and density of the energy were relatively harmless, but deep into the treated area, the concentration was truly frightening.

In terms of pure danger, so far, during my absence, Hestia had not yet managed to subjugate her surroundings really completely. Even the lightest cover of Shadow energy, halved by the use of the Gaze, was dampening all possible influences on me. I mean, if the mistress of the mist decided to use those very influences on me. The problem was that, unaware of the presence of the mist, noticing its effects was indeed very difficult, even for me, with my skills and over-pumped intuition.

The senses, native and systems alike, simply refused to notice and perceive the mist as another threat - it did not threaten, did not hurt, and, most importantly, had virtually no trace of energy. I suppose in the beginning, when Hestia was just starting her crowning skill, it was easier to notice anything wrong. But after a week and a half of processing not only the brains and bodies of orcs and goblins but also the distortion-prone territory itself, I could only discern the faintest little things.

They, these little things, wouldn't have caused me any alarm if I didn't know for sure that there was to be an alarm. The signature of the natural magical currents at the edge of the mist and the usual forest didn't match up a bit - that's what often happens with weather anomalies, not to mention the protective spells of the orcs themselves, who were not shy about covering their stronghold with whatever they had and knew how to do. Shadows within the Closed Field of Corruption behaved strangely - they were still easily manipulated, but there was a subtle lag, or on the contrary, too quick a response. Well, that is more suspicious, but to draw attention to it, one must first set these shadows in motion to detect a pattern. Few individuals may suddenly feel the need to run several dozen tests just out of interest.

Anyway, I have to confess to myself that this sort of thing, as long as it doesn't try to affect me, is too difficult for me to grasp. It's when it tries to get into my brain that things take a completely different turn. Whatever plugs are on the third (not chocolate) eye at this point, but the only way I could miss direct influence would be if I were sound asleep... if it weren't for the strong connection with the Dream. I would notice changes in myself even faster in my sleep than when I was awake.

These were the kinds of thoughts I ran through my head as I reassured myself and moved leisurely towards the orcs' apartment block to brighten the time and calm my anxiety. I could have just used the Steps, but I wanted to appreciate not only the green tits of the groomed girls but also the area itself, its defenses, and camouflage. The latter was good - the area was still a long way from being completely encapsulated, but most of the scanners could be fooled right now. If we could find some more mirrors to repeat the protection on our camp, then we could start a much more active pumping.

At least, we won't have to spend most of our time trying to save at least some of the loot, which will allow us to spend all our efforts on leveling up. And dismantling monsters for parts orcs will do fine, thankfully for them such a thing is not new - they also have their own alchemists and enchanters, although they are inferior to such among the endowed races. And just having someone to cook you food, heat up the bathroom and even give you a massage is a great motivator to make you feel like a gentleman. Fun and cheerful, we're shooting por... no, that's a different tune.

Though from what I've seen, from ours too.

The orcs have changed.

It wasn't even felt so much in appearance, though not without that, as for my class senses. The appearance was not the most important thing in this situation, especially when working with such a powerful distorting talent as Hestia's Mist. It wasn't even about the riddled changes in the bodies and statuses of the green-skinned, which was easily sensed by the same sphere. The whole point was how they began to think.

I'm not a fucking telepath, but with my clairvoyance score, one can determine a creature's whole life by the color of his socks without any gimmicks. And this very life, thinking, essence, if you will, has changed dramatically. So radically, in fact, that they are now only on the level of the cult creatures memorable from the Kraj. I would not even risk calling these creatures Orcs and Goblins, agreeing with the System, which renamed them.

Some were labeled Lust-warped, some Servants of Vice, but no more just Orcs and Goblins - there was always a note specifying the new status of the units. I was thoroughly enclosed in all spectra and wrapped in my native shadows like a favorite blanket, but I'm sure that even if I emerged from the cloak, there would be no danger to me. Well, not unless I was being overwhelmed by green female bodies, but I was running away from Ygra, let alone any orcs, even if they were modified.

Hestia was still very diligent in her task, albeit not without an army peculiarity - she was told to make orcs into relatively combat-ready servants, slaves, and porters, and she did. Orcs and goblins. Of males. And she has made a threefold score in women's field - either following Taria's orders or simply dumping the main blow of corruption on women, obviously thinking that men - neither us nor orcs - won't mind.

All the males looked like robots, dull-witted robots. The absent gaze, the mechanical execution of tasks, and the total emptiness in their heads. It was as if all the thoughts, skills, and abilities that were not responsible for the work and the battle had been sucked out of their brains. It is possible that it was literally sucked out with the help of the female population of the camp.

The clairvoyance was working, revealing to me all the details of Hestia's work, not too interested in my desire to know those details. The mist couldn't help but change, couldn't help but distort, but the direction of change was entirely at the mercy of the mist mistress. In theory, Hestia might not have applied any perverse concepts at all, limiting herself to the mind, but that increased the risk of breakdown or rebellion. In general, the more changes, the more reliable and powerful the binding.

The men, as has already been said, got quite the same thing - increased endurance, strength, and survivability by turning them into a kind of bull producer and total deprivation of their will. The entire "leadership" of the tribe fucked their broads for days, giving away part of themselves with each orgasm until they became reasonable and even quite useful but furniture. It was like the death penalty, only pleasant and without the death penalty.

In theory, the tribe could even continue to exist - tamed orcs could both hunt and fight, and the order of the women who had taken power would be enough to reproduce. But I have doubts about the efficiency of such warriors. Whatever they say about orcs, they're quite clever and tactically proficient, qualities that have been fucked out of those green-skinned folk. My orders, however, were well and truly obeyed, for these meat puppets would accomplish their purpose with aplomb. The casualties might be higher, but we wouldn't worry about that - there was plenty of material.

Women are a different matter altogether.

Their brains, will and imagination were almost completely intact, but what brains and imagination they were! I would not say that my mind was boiling, but there was a certain amount of feeling, expressed by the phrase "How you could think of that," which made my hair stand on end and my eyes pop out of their sockets. You could tell which part of the tribe Hestia was really working on, and which part she was just doing for fuck's sake.

Speaking of Hestia! Slowly but surely, the figure of a woman began to emerge right in front of my face, gradually compacting and taking on materiality. Unlike me, she was not using stealth, but the surrounding orcs and goblins were not paying any attention to her, though no doubt they must have noticed her.

"Greetings, Tin." The rustling of the young monster's voice didn't bother me now, but it helped distract me from the madness going on around me. "How is the esteemed Taria? I have a few questions for her if you please."

"Oh, she can't wait for you to ask them," I answered with a slight tinge of a malevolent smile. "Just don't hurt each other, to the delight of your enemies."

I don't feel particularly happy about conflicts arising in the group, come to think of it. But Taria was being diligent, clearly provoking Hestia. And during her argument, she'd overstepped the boundaries of humiliation. And Raimel is a proud young lady, even if she isn't vicious, фтв she will fight back. Even without clairvoyance, I know she won't do anything truly dangerous to the health of any but her companion, but other than that... I won't get in the way. Let them sort it out, and I'll see what the result is.

If the situation becomes critical, I will not hesitate to intervene, to pour cold water, so to speak, on the fighting cats. But until then, I will take a neutral position, however cowardly that may seem. There is no doubt that I can nip any conflict in the squad in the bud with the help of my heroic charisma and my clairvoyance. Only I'm pretty sure I'd rather let the two beauties come to a truce on their own. They're both clever enough, and Taria herself knows she's overreacted. Hestia, on the other hand, is too logical and phlegmatic at her core to seriously bite the bullet.

"Thank you for your understanding." A slight nod of the misty head. "Would you like to hear a progress report?"

She's proud of her work, and I bet it's far from fulfilling Taria's order for green boobs. It's my commission. I can't pinpoint (or rather I can, but I don't want to waste my clairvoyance resource on it) all the mutations put on the greenies, but even what leaks out at a fleeting glance... commands respect, to say the least, not to mention the tightness of the trousers. The latter, however, is precisely the consequence of a lost wager.

"Well, go ahead and brag," I answered, taking a seat on the nearest rock and stepping out of stealth.

I didn't remove the basic manifestation of the Aegis, even though I'm sure Hestia controls the vice quite skillfully. I'm not sure if it's a form of paranoia, but it's a powerful and insidious effect. The lack of stealth, by the way, has not changed the reaction of the surrounding monsters - they have not paid any attention. They can see with their eyes, but it's as if they have filters in their heads.

I didn't have to ask the woman twice, and she can do the reports better than all of us put together.

One of the cleverest decisions Hestia had made was to instill cleanliness in her subjects. Not that the greenhorns were all that dirty and stinky, for hunting as a fragrant piece of shit was a non-trivial task, but it was close. The outpost looked like a huge dump where only the tunneled rocky peak was relatively clean. They were not supposed to shit there, or they would simply drown in their filth, and even then, those caves could not be called clean.

After the effects of the Mist, the inhabitants of the hut engaged in a veritable army-style scrubbing, literally scrubbing all hard surfaces to a shine. Those surfaces that were not hard were first tamped down and then scrubbed to a shine. Amid the constant labor, changes in the appearance of the inhabitants were much more imperceptible, even without regard to the effects on the mind.

By the time the purging was finished, Hestia had already run her tentacles so deep into the barbarians' brains that she was no longer afraid of being exposed at all. After that, the more intricate work began, reminiscent of some ultimate perverse character creation for a computer game. The only difference was that they had to create not just one character but a whole crowd.

All changes and mutations made by Hestia have been subject to three basic directives. They must be safe for our company or deactivable in case of insecurity. It is highly desirable that the enhancements derived from the Mist can be useful not only for amusement but also for combat use. And, of course, we are mindful of Taria's request the altered monsters will also become a walking harem for our entire group of villainous villains.

That was what she based her work on, and that was what she worked with, so it was not at all surprising that that was what she got. Not without some rough edges, but she had time and material on which she was allowed to practice her attempts. Hestia's methodicalness and diligence were the former golem handler's calling cards altogether. She merely approached the task at hand as another operation or test run.

She managed to spot some patterns quite quickly that helped with the Mist. The first and most logical one was the dependence of the power and number of available mutations on the level, characteristics, and talents of the original material. In theory, by focusing on a single target, she could stuff even a first-level minnow with perks and talents. Only with high-level material will the process go faster, the result will be better, and the limit of "maximum stuffing" will be much higher.

The second breakthrough was the realization that some particular mutations depended on the character and personality traits of the individual. For example, one of the orcs who can sing quite well and even inspire with her singing (a moderately lousy blessing, but for the whole group) received a vocal cord mutation much more easily. Now her singing can not only impose blessings but also a very wide list of controlling effects. From trivial weakness and clumsiness to lullaby right into combat, uncontrollable passion, limited memory manipulation, or even complete loss of free will for long periods, or even putting a not-too-complicated behavioral program into the brain.

But the other orcs woman, not a warrior at all, who liked to gossip, had a far more interesting talent for creating a curse suspended in the Astral. Lkana could invent a gossip about someone, latching onto the minds of those who heard the gossip. The more people who heard the gossip, the more the curse could take hold in reality. And when the gossip reaches the person it was created about...

Let the text of the rumor be a statement that some Garsha, a warrior, a strong woman, and in general a dominator of dominators, whom even men feared like fire (before the advent of the Mist), actually loves to suck some Thar, a very young and therefore weak and not respected warrior, who is not a warrior yet, because he did not go into real battle yet. In a normal situation Garsha, having heard such gossip, will kick both the gossipmonger and the author of the gossip and Thar (the latter just for the company) in the teeth. And it's good if there's no funeral - for the head of the small horde, that is a detachment of ten to fifty warriors (in Garsha's case, she commands only sixteen units), can kill for such accusations. She's not a bitch from the chief's harem to suck dick!

But she hears the gossip, which almost the entire tribe already knows, and upon hearing it, realizing what has been said, activates the second part of the curse, which has matured and intensified, being infused with astral energy. Activation occurs, and images and visions flow into Garsha's head, making her believe the gossip and begin to accept it as reality, the truth that has always been true. Giving a gossipy person a kick in the teeth won't stop her, but it will really start, at times, sucking up to Thar. And more and more gossip follows - that she only comes from sucking, that she likes the very taste of the process, that she never wanted to be a warrior at all, that she would like to be Thar's woman...

So instead of the vicious and bloodthirsty cutthroat, we have the submissive wife, who, of course, like any orc, is bloodthirsty, and can kick in the teeth but certainly has no right to hold the position of the head of the pack. And she will never be taken to the campaign again - having agreed to become a hearth keeper, she will stay in the camp to watch the kids and occasionally remember what a fool she was, that she wanted blood and carnage, and not such a happy life as she has now.

A strong talent, at the level of a solid epic, but still not up to the level of legend, mainly because of the need to "gain weight" by increasing the number of people who have heard about the gossip and because of the growth of the curse is easy to notice. This is truly an ideal weapon against a warrior whose talents and skills are honed on chopping with an axe - if she can sense a threat (which is unlikely since she hasn't been harmed directly), she won't have time to find out where it's coming from. For someone with high magical stats or the right class, it's hard to fool her - she'll notice it, and if she doesn't, it's not certain that the Astral bash can successfully rewrite her consciousness.

A third example is Mtran, who is a hunter and scout... but more of a spy and scout. She was no master of the best cutthroats in the tribe but had a couple of talents for which she was valued in the raids. For example, the ability to whisper a short message that could be heard by her female tribesmen a couple of hundred meters away. You could say it was a real radiogram, only without any radio.

After the Mist treatment, this ability of hers mutated into something quite amazing and brainwracking. No, she hadn't lost the ability to whisper into the ear of someone standing far away, though the range of her talent had diminished a bit. It would be more fun if she whispered something close to the person to whom the whisper was addressed. So there's the talk of a big man who thinks scouts are unlikeable, and Mtran replies.

Except that at times, between individual phrases, her lips move as if to say something, but the words are inaudible. Not heard at all! But after the first such phrase, spoken with her mouth alone, he will stop insulting her and try to provoke a beating, after the second, he will gain sympathy, after the third, he will follow her to the far corner of the camp, and then he will polish the scout pussy with too long tongue. The scout will leave, and the impertinent freak will remain polishing his spear, recalling the taste and smell of his new love while at the same time contemplating how he can persuade her to have another episode of such pastime.

"You don't want to insult me" is the first sentence.

"You don't think scouts are unworthy of being warriors" is the second sentence.

"Follow me, desire me" is the third.

The whispering is actually just as good as before. It's just that now it's not you who hears it, but your subconscious mind. And this kind of truth, having broken into the mind, is capable of rewriting opinions and desires quite well. And fifty phrases are very enough to create a submissive puppet. Quickly, cunningly and inconspicuously. Cultists from the Kraj were supposedly capable of something similar, but they hadn't had a chance to show me their talents in that branch - they died too quickly, and I wasn't really vulnerable to such tricks myself. But against someone less well-powered, such a trick would be a gift from heaven.

Well, they caught the infiltrator on reconnaissance, dragged her to the interrogation, interrogated her, and after the interrogation, they gave her the documents, the staff treasury, and personal artifacts and escorted her to the exit. Though, given the orcish nature, even with Hestia's modifications, she would rather order them to slit their throats.

The essence of the problem I described is quite amusing.

Three orcess.

Three talents related to voice and words, but a completely different final result. Moreover, the result is directly tied to the character of the subjects - the abilities granted by the mist develop that part of their skills, which they were spiritually closer to. When Hestia noticed this pattern, she got a real breakthrough in her experiments, which allowed her to get a lot of interesting results.

Most of the effort was spent on the senior tribal shaman I had noted earlier, who had a specialization that was useful to our whole group. There were many curious ways to use his contracts, so I asked him, without the slightest hesitation, to keep the bearer of his valuable skills relatively intact and adequate.

Since all the men of the tribe could not be called adequate or at least reasonable beings now, Hestia had a different way of getting out of it. One of the old shaman's wives was turned into a kind of living mine - all her levels, of which there were six, were nullified, as were her two available talents. Instead, she gained the ability to siphon off her lovers... everything. I mean, everything. Levels, talents, skills, personal contracts with spirits, titles, and perks - all of which she could literally suck out of an unlucky lover, but only once. She couldn't do it a second time, not even with Hestia's help - the soul couldn't take the strain.

The old man had an unforgettable night full of pleasures, the last in his life. No one killed him, but the decrepit and emaciated first-level orc, with only ones in stats, simply died of old age as soon as his mistress got off his body. Not a bad death, especially for the bloodthirsty maniacal cannibal that the deceased was.

The concubine who became the first shaman, to be honest, is still inferior to her victim, if only by five percent. Another thing is the experience of using new skills and contracts, which she simply did not have at all. Without at least a month of training, she'd better not try to repeat what the late shaman did without even straining too much. But her level wasn't thirty-four, but twenty-second, despite the fact that her stats were much higher. She's an excellent development, especially since there's a good chance of getting that development.

The second reason to be proud of was the only woman among the trio of shamans, whom Hestia treated even more thoroughly than the first number. She was not so much a fighter as another specialist in support, and she was no longer a young shaman (she doesn't look even thirty-five now). The shamans of this tribe specialized in support, a tribal specialty that gave a great advantage to ordinary fighters who were covered by allied spirits.

Lorhsa summoned the spirits of the air in many manifestations. There were combat contracts among them, but the shamaness' greatest pride was her main spirit, which took the form of a boar woven from air currents and fallen leaves. Despite its formidable appearance, this creature did not fight directly. The spirit could shelter over a hundred allies with a barely perceptible air barrier. Not too strong, but quite capable of deflecting arrows or glancing blows. Spirit could also hinder a hundred enemy fighters. Also, not very strong, but very timely and sudden: a handful of dust in the face, a push under the knee, a sharp lack of oxygen in the air. Not enough to kill even a first-level plowman, but in combat, such a sneaky move could kill even a mighty warrior. And killed, by the way.

Now that spirit was literally devoured and digested by the Mist, and what was left of it was stitched together with the soul of the shaman herself. Therefore, this essence had new abilities. Or rather one, but a very large-scale and powerful one, capable of pulling the battle with a small (smaller than the one captured by our team) tribe in one person.

The breeze made by a spirit blew thoughts, desires, and will out of victims' heads. A barely perceptible breeze could, in a few hours, or at most twenty-four hours, slave an entire settlement. One of the most primitive, turning sentient humans into inert dummies, albeit capable of carrying out complex orders, but imposed on everyone at once. A sharp gust of such a wind could turn off the victim's mind in an instant, turning them into a living but an unthinking obedient zombie.

That wind could do the opposite: blow thoughts into my brain, but only a limited list - lust, craving for sex, depraved fantasies. Likewise, ten hours of light breeze and a small settlement turn into a huge orgy where no one cares about orcs climbing the walls. Frankly, the second option is of little use, but such is the nature of the mist bestowed by one particular Ring.

Almost all of the tribe's women possessed similar abilities, and among them were both relatively uniform ones - pheromone systems, lust-inducing tits and asses, submissive touch, hypnotic voice - and unique ones that were if not useful, at least amusing. There was little use in making everyone around want to fuck the green asshole of one particular orcess if every use of that ability made the user go dumb and turn into the spiritual sister of Ygra, who couldn't even speak coherently, and not the wiser Ygra yet, but the original one.

A separate issue was the enhancement of certain skills that had little to do with utility and combat: seduction, hypnosis, lovemaking, submission, domination, depravity, and persuasion - it was a standard list. Rarely did anyone have them all at once, but a couple or three developed in every woman of the tribe. And at least one such skill reached a minimum of twenty-five points, and more often thirty. There were isolated cases where a skill reached the level of a great master at once, but it was rare. And there were skills, too, of course, depraved beyond all measure, distinguished by somewhat unusual names.

The most striking thing was the fourth-level goblin, who got the seventy-fifth level of a skill called Blowjob mastery. I, for a minute, don't have such a high score in any of my skills! But she does! A legendary fucking skill development rank! Her status indicates so, for next to the numerical designation is the definition of legendary. Purely out of interest, I remembered this goblin, just in case.

In appearance, the goblins turned out very nice - not tall, just over a meter and a half, but very shapely, with large breasts and thighs, especially for their short height. And almost all of them had incredibly sensual lips as if they had been made for a known cause. Why do I say "as if," though? They only had one legend, but the others had the aforementioned skill, too, far from low.

It's funny, but if I understand it correctly, the lovemaking skill that Ygra has is a complex skill, just like my stealth. Not an elite skill, unlike stealth or clairvoyance, but a complex one. So the blowjob skill is just a part of it, which, if the owner of the skill wishes, can be merged with the rest of the skills of this branch...

What am I even thinking about?

"All right, I guess we can move in." The woman smiled a faintly satisfied smile at my words. "You did good, Hestia. You're really good. Keep the mist active for another three or four days while we gather up the necessities and move it here, and then put the mist away."

The chief's chamber was the most protected and the coolest place in the whole camp, for it was situated on the top of a rock, or rather, under the top. From this cave, one could ascend in a few steps to the "roof" of the natural fortress, where it was very amusing to watch the losers cowering below. The past chiefs of the tribe were very fond of this kind of pastime - it made them feel chosen, exorbitantly cool, and superior.

The cave's past masters had left behind baths hollowed out in the stones in a separate room-cave in which rainwater was collected, and the spirits embedded in the stones could both purify the water and heat it to any desired temperature. The troglodytes warmed their newly hatched congeners here, creating a kind of nursery. Orcs renegotiated contracts with the spirits and destroyed most of the ponds, leaving only a few for the leader and his closest associates.

From generation to generation, owning such a bathtub, in which it is so pleasant to soak after battles in the company of a couple of pretty females, was an indicator of status and a rosy dream for all those who knew about their presence. Ordinary youngsters were not even allowed here, forcing them to huddle in yurts and tents outside. Theoretically, the cliff could easily hold all orcs and even most goblins, but the green-skinned monsters reasoned that the cool and dry caves were better to use as storehouses for supplies than to have them fully stocked with their tribesmen. That's why only the very best of the Orcs lived "in the apartments", and the others were allowed in here only on holidays, on important business, or in case of siege.

The former chief now sleeps outside in the company of his brainless companions. Well, the present owner of this mansion, who brought her husband to the state of a slave, with sincere joy gave up this place to our company. One might even say, with genuine pride, she conceded it!

None of us went into the water room, preferring to sit on the beds made of hides and some special herbs that ward off disease and evil spirits. The chairs were surprisingly soft and comfortable, and I wanted to fall asleep in them. I hadn't expected such a love of comfort from the orcs. Hans, who was most tired and exhausted, did so, snoozing quietly in a corner. He had to carry most of the reagents because of a lost game of cards, so he sent the whole meeting off and told me to wake him up in case of war.

Losius was napping, too, but that was more due to fatigue after our sparring - he'd wanted to test some ideas about using celestial power, and he'd succeeded, but he was tired as a dog. Only Hestia, who had regained her material form, and Taria were awake. The former needed little sleep at all, and the latter was wary of sleeping next to the former. Hestia did nothing of the sort, but she looked at the dancer with such a promising expression that even her slurs were made up. By the way, the bandit apologized for all her faults as soon as she had a chance... and Hestia accepted the apology.

Taria herself acknowledged that the Misty Maiden was now entitled to a backlash. And when she saw what the Misty Maiden was capable of, she began to feel nervous... ...and got herself all worked up. She had no desire to put herself, and her mind, in Hestia's hands, but she couldn't help but laud the beauty of the green forms. It's strange, she not only lets me control myself, but she almost forces herself on me. But I can't say that this is a direct consequence of the Ring because her fascination for brainiacs comes not from the Ring but natural. Hestia, on the other hand, is quite indifferent about such things and doesn't seem to be in any hurry to become enamored of the brainwashing sessions... no matter who it's aimed at.

The trio of gorgeous and barely clad in tight leather garments that served us all attracted the attention of the dancer enough to make her consider, now and then, to send everyone and everything away and go have fun. And I stared at the hostess of the room, with her level nineteen, her size D green breasts, and her very intelligent gaze.

Don't think anything of the sort! She's beautiful, of course, but there's just a crowd of beautiful women for every taste... if you like green, of course. It wasn't her looks or even her orcish intellect that attracted me to her persona. She was an archer and scout, who'd been to several wars, and who had evolved into the elite of her tribe: she disliked her man, who gave her an ultimatum: either she takes him, or he takes her. The orc's mentality is very peculiar, as the orc woman did indeed keep the hearth of her at first hated spouse to herself. But, again, it was not the story of her fate that interested me.

"Does your ability have something to do with clairvoyance?" I asked the question, listening carefully to my senses. "And a very narrow-minded, strange kind of clairvoyance."

"Yes, human." She agreed calmly, still looking at me intently with her eyes. "It's hard for me to get it right yet. It's hard to think. It's hard to understand. But I can see, yes. Mist-maiden knows better. Better than me. She knows well."

Hestia clearly remembered that I hated "master," " lord," etc., so I didn't have to put the slavery thing in the Greenskins' brains. Their submissiveness and loyalty are the envy of even the best of Sorz's slavers, but they behave quite... freely, though clearly eager to please every one of us.

I was not even interested in the orc's abilities, but in the fact that I was interested in them myself. Hestia thought for a moment and then began to explain while Grtlashra nodded and tried to supplement Raimel's words in a primitive common language.

And I listened and marveled - it really is a very funny ability. If not the best of them all. Even if it wasn't much use to us. Hestia didn't focus on the orcs because her mutations were of little use in battle or for hunting beasts. The benefit of her gift was that I could learn a great deal from it as a clairvoyant.

She saw for a few seconds or even minutes into the future. Seen, heard, and realized herself in that future. In that version of it, where she hypnotized, seduced, and subjugated whoever her gaze was on. Roughly speaking, she will always know exactly what actions she will take in the future to subdue someone's will. Not just will she know, no. She has already experienced these actions she has already done them, albeit in her visions, which means it costs her nothing to repeat them.

With no protection from clairvoyants, the outcome of any conversation, any communication, any skirmish, any exchange of phrases during a battle was foregone - her target on the knees and herself riding her target. At the same time, her visions helped not only to subdue but also to dodge blows and attempts to kill, silence, or at least run away from the seductress.

Unless you have too much strength and speed to destroy her too quickly, there's no way to overpower the resulting orcish temptress. The same Losius can hide from her clairvoyance behind the Sky, preventing her from finding a path to his subjugation. Hans and Taria, on the other hand, are more likely to lose. While I'm not entirely sure about Hans, since he does have some connection to his Paths, Taria, even if she uses her boobs to the fullest, won't be able to take her down.

It turned out to be a great individual fighter.

For someone with a level in their thirties, or with a strong connection to other realms - just a dangerous but not too problematic fighter, sharpened for evasion and distance combat. For anyone who doesn't have the aforementioned qualities... well, at least she's pretty. Against the same modified wind spirit (its form is no longer a boar, but a fragile maiden of wind and flower petals now) - its ability isn't that strong, but otherwise, it's just a total pisser. To be honest, I wouldn't mind learning something similar. Not in terms of being able to seduce everyone, but in terms of the same self-defense - an automatically generated scenario of evading blows and attacks that aren't too demanding on concentration. Of course, you should not rely on clairvoyance alone because the first deception will kill you, but the technique itself is not uninteresting or unhelpful.

"Stand up," I command her, getting up myself, and then walking out into the middle of the cave-room. The chief had the best of everything, and so there was enough space, even if it was too limited for a full-fledged fight.

With light, soft steps she walked over and stood a few metres away from me, under the bewildered stares of the rest of the company. I appreciated the feeling from her presence of wanting to know. It is like a thin but very strong thread bending in such a way as to build a chain, a link between several events. To build a path along which you can reach the outcome you need, bypassing and overcoming all the dangers.

I partially reveal my own un-existence, not allowing her to see clearly, but still making her aware of my presence, aware that I am here in front of her. I looked up into her surprised eyes and asked:

"Can you see me?"

"I can see." The answer is given after a brief pause, during which she tried to build a chain of visions in my direction. "But strangely. As if through the water. Or a wall of rain. I usually see what I want to see. I want to see you licking my slit, but I don't. I see strangely. Want to see you on your knees, but I can't look. It's like a shroud over my eyes."

Basically expected. First of all, I've only opened up part of my essence so that she can discern anything, but not enough to make a direct impact. Second, even if I removed all of my protection, Hero's resistance alone would be enough. In theory, if I relax and don't interfere with her, she could subdue me, but there's a "thank you, I'm not hungry". I have had enough of Taria with her antics and Ygra regularly trying to mesmerize me with her body to give me brainwashing here as well. She's a good-looking girl, though... But that's not for today.

"Then dodge," I said and immediately attacked her with dagger blows.

I move at barely a third of the speed, deliberately going to the limit where she can still dodge my attacks, but only if she knows what those attacks will be when they come and from which direction I will inflict them. A mere orc, even one with her characteristics and skills, wouldn't be able to do anything to me. Just wouldn't have had time to react to my lunges.

She didn't make it in time either.

But she didn't need to keep up.

Instead of her, the present one, she, the future one, was moving. In that future she, though she failed to subdue me, managed to dodge all my blows, managed to survive. And since she survived then, she survives now. That talent of hers really predetermined what happened. Quite a curious ability. Very, very curious.

Minutes flow by minutes, the graceful green body working at its limits, but avoiding my attacks each time. If I close myself off from her scanning, from her knowledge, she will die. Once I accelerate a little more, she will die. But as long as she has one chance, even if it is one in a thousand, to dodge, she will dodge. She is unable not dodge.

We stand in front of each other. She's breathing heavily, tearingly, but her face is radiant - she's having the best time of her life for an orc. And I've just made her feel like she's on top of the world like she's invincible. Orcs live for moments like that.

I put the daggers in their sheaths and sadly state that this branch of development will not suit me. As one with the skill of un-existence, I know all too well that any prophecy, any vision, and any knowledge can be deceived, distorted, and erased. Yes, there are ways to overcome unexistence. There are ways to consider deception and distinguish it, but that is not my choice. I, as a human being, am accustomed to creating any kind of deception myself, rather than letting that deception be created for me.

I cannot physically give up so much control over myself and my existence as to become a mere continuation of a preconstructed chain of events. My character is not like that, and it is too late for me to change. I did learn something from this training, but this is a different matter, other thoughts, and other techniques of application.

"Funny talent," I commented, making Grtlashra almost shine with pride. "I think we should spar a few more times. I have some thoughts on the subject..."

My monologue was interrupted by the resounding slap of a palm that flew right into the face. Not mine, no, Taria's face. The palm was hers, too. The eternal facepalm gesture was repeated by Hans and even by Losius, which made me a little uneasy. Cautiously, as if I were treading on a minefield, I asked.

"Wut?"

"How can I explain you, Tin?" Taria can hardly seem to hold back tears and laughter at the same time. "We've got a lot of girls around us, and we've all started to mentally prepare ourselves to relieve the stress of the last few days. And then you take one of those girls... and you really put her in a practice fight. Tin, you don't see anything weird here?"

"There really are a lot of girls around, and they're not going anywhere." I shrug it off. "She does have an interesting ability. No. Seriously, though. It's really interesting!"

"Tin, you'd better be quiet." Hans struggles to pronounce the words, trying not to burst into tears as if he were a damn horse.

"Fuck you all!"

That evening, strangely enough, there was no debauchery. We left the "royal" mansion and went downstairs to Ygra, who was waiting for us, looking at the many greenlings running around and lazily rubbing her tits, waiting for us to return. There we dispersed all the greenlings, except Ygra, and decided to have another little picnic.

For the first time in a long, long time there was peace of mind.

Yes, it was hard.

Yes, we could barely get away.

Yes, it's going to be even worse ahead.

But now we have a comfortable base where no one will bother us, an equally comfortable hiding place in the depths of the wilderness, an opportunity to develop in peace and not to worry about our backs... too much.

And personally, I had the confidence that, if anything happened, the few people who believed in me and followed me would watch my back. No one was waiting for me in this world other than another loser who must be shackled in invisible and irresistible shackles. There is no place in this world where I would be tolerated, no place where I would be welcomed.

Well, since I wasn't expected on Alurei, that's Alurei's problem exclusively.

Author's note:

The second book is over.

I wanted to add some PwP, but Kostik stayed true to himself. A third book is in the plans, but I'm not sure yet. Work on another project has moved quickly, so we'll see.

Pictures:

https://drive.google.com/file/d/1ZqoELpK_gNkwN_pbZ3x3hT3XPcBJjFrm/view?usp=sharing - goblin

https://drive.google.com/file/d/1dqt7lB33sIqJP246_vkNQ6aQIR-9NqQ2/view?usp=sharing - goblin2

https://drive.google.com/file/d/1ImwehoNwd6eiwUy0u8dJswBnaXBlZJyj/view?usp=sharing - goblin3

https://drive.google.com/file/d/1sqUHhzaX2S6l4NhnO4gJ31k0sc5ZpxEp/view?usp=sharing - what would happen if a tribe altered by Hestia went on a raid for slaves?

Goblin (sent by Dinosapiens): http://jpeg.im/dthj

P.S. NSFW pictures almost all said "Woof" because the file with them... ...of. So I throw in what I had. If there is anything similar, then throw it in the comments.

Now there will be a long break - I will try to swim out of the deep pit of the work process. A month and a half at least.

Good luck and happiness in the new year, everyone.

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Переводчики: Camrad_RIP