Готовый перевод Его не звали, но он приперся / They never called, yet he is here: Интерлюдия третья: "Прощение" - 2

He could have replaced it, but it didn't work, just like two separate one-time shield amulets didn't work, or the exorbitantly expensive and equally rare spatial disruptor of ancient An'Liit design that was supposed to pull him out from under the attack. There were still basic enchantments on his clothing and one of the shield rings, but that wouldn't help against the strike of a legendary creature that had prearranged the necessary souls specifically for your demise... let's put it this way, loans with such interest rates are never granted, not even to oneself.

Yet he managed it, relying solely on his own perception and the heightened agility enhanced by the capsule of elixir under his molars, reflexively consumed at the moment of the forced blink. Paying the price for nearly three hundred perception attributes over the course of eight and a half seconds would come later, when the intoxication would shave off a couple of years of life, if there would still be life to pay with. The world, suddenly slowing down, seemed to compress around the feverishly sweating body, but the Legend, shedding the flesh of his temporary vessel on the fly, became insanely fast, no longer unstoppable but simply infernally quick.

In addition to protective amulets, Basil carried several spatial containers with him, where he stored not only correspondence and documents but also a whole pile of various trinkets. Some of these items had been lying there for many years, and some were passed down to him from his predecessor as Chief Treasurer. His late second cousin, towards the end of his life, suffered from such advanced paranoia that it seemed excessive even to members of such a cautious and accustomed-to-assassination family. For instance, he left in his Ring of Multidimensionality not only all the transferable rights of the seal and emblems but also an inextricable surprise that unfolds immediately upon its extraction.

Basil had many harsh words to say about his relative and mentor at that time because using the Sphere of Nie'lan in such a way, turning a rechargeable and relatively easily repairable legendary artifact into a one-time mythical expendable, and doing all this secretly from everyone, including the Crown and his own relatives... well, calling it "extravagant" would be too mild, far too mild. But now Basil realized that sometimes even paranoia can be useful, and he also promised himself to come to his predecessor's grave and have a bottle of century-old wine there, offering heartfelt apologies.

Just to survive.

The strike, not even a strike, but a soft and almost caressing touch of the fiend, didn't reach Basil's face, stopping and unable to overcome the area of stabilized reality. Struck again, and again, and several more times, and then burst into a series of attacks from different planes, each of which could have lethal consequences for several hundred soldiers in armor at once. But it was all in vain – the long-dead scholar and mage of an extinct race, a race that excelled in Hell's magic and souls, better than any of those now living or who lived then, creating their Spheres, which are still found in various ruins, accounted for all such tricks and included them in the list of controlled threats.

For about a minute and a half, Basil was as safe as possible, but then the hour of reckoning for such perverse audacity would come. How could he! To disrupt such a plan for his own elimination with such cynicism and ruthlessness. Such things are never forgiven, to anyone, ever. And there was no one left to help – the remaining loyal courtiers were either bewitched or were voluntarily stripping off their clothes and armor with amulets, preparing for a voluntary sacrifice, while the cultists were already circling around an absolutely transparent but unbreakable Sphere in an entrancing dance. The flickering bodies, flashes of strange, viscous, and somewhat sweet magic, complete absence of sound cut off by the Sphere, and his gaze seemed to draw him into a hypnotic whirlpool...

With visible effort, he closes his eyelashes, ceasing to sway to the rhythm of the dance, realizing that about a third of the available time has already passed, and there are no chances of salvation. It's unclear what's happening in the city, but if they're trying to kill him with such forces, if they've already summoned such creatures, then things are going very badly. Sigmund and his gang will clearly be forced into disgrace if they're still alive. Calling for help won't work either because all communication has been cut off, and the signaling systems have been intercepted, causing a standard "all is well" transmission on all channels. Something is happening with Time, due to the activated gifts of the rulers, who also had a hand in protecting the estates of their vassals, but even such games with the Law are unlikely to allow help to arrive in time.

No one to come to the rescue.

Is it time to die already?

Bassil had hoped to postpone this date by at least a few decades, but he was already old. He had already passed on the mechanism of inheritance, and even if he died here, embracing this legacy, it would still pass to the nearest living blood relative. But, of course, it would be better for his successor. Agnia is prepared to take it much better than his own heir. He never fully recovered from those mind-wrenching sessions, and now it's impossible to trust him completely, always suspecting that some implant in his head remained, or perhaps some control mechanism couldn't be completely eradicated.

Agnia...

Too young, still too much of a sheltered girl, even with her wolfish tenacity and exceptional intelligence, it will be too hard on her, especially if he doesn't have time to pass on the duties and seals from the First Treasury, not to mention the other imperial gold vaults. He didn't want to leave her unattended, without pointing out the most crucial mistakes that can only be realized by taking on the right role. It's unfortunate that he has to leave now, at such an inopportune time, under such difficult circumstances. For someone like him, it's simply indecent to die like this, as if mocking his entire way of life, thinking, and behavior.

But who's gonna ask him?

Without opening his eyes, so as not to let the maddening dance mesmerize his consciousness this time for sure, Basil awkwardly assumes a meditative posture and, ceasing to count the seconds until the Sphere's fall, turns his gaze inward, into the depths of his soul. Into those depths where not even his relatives dare to look, where no one dares to peer except for the one initiated into this secret, always only one from the House of Ezless. Most often, it falls upon the head of the House and his successor, but it varies. Fate had it that on this day, he was the one entrusted with this right, the one who had already passed on its inheritance further up the bloody chain, reserving for himself the right to wield the very last argument, an argument his House of Ezless hadn't used in so long that most of the world had forgotten it, considering them mere traders, only close to the Emperor.

Without questioning why, during those distant centuries when the alliance between the two families was formed, the Eternals began speaking to some amateur traders and profiting from that trade at all, why they didn't just take it by force, impose direct subjugation instead of a soft vassalage?

From his coat pocket, Basil retrieves two gold coins, and at first glance, both of them, as well as any subsequent ones, appear utterly ordinary. Upon closer and more attentive inspection, a seasoned specialist would realize that these coins, with their nearly worn-out crest and other images, do not belong to any of the currently existing and circulating minting styles. Knowledgeable antique collectors would also note that the coins are old but wouldn't be able to pinpoint their exact era, only providing rough estimates of their age. A magician, preferably an artificer with a leaning toward jewelry craft, would have great difficulty identifying the presence of an extremely peculiar and very ancient enchantment for non-divisibility, which, by the way, is prohibited by the laws of the Empire.

None of the aforementioned individuals will discover the truth.

Of course, these two coins, on which one can discern remnants of a pattern depicting either a runic ribbon, a crest border, or some kind of serpent, were not passed down through generations by Ezless to deceive gullible tavern keepers or pay for some goods. The non-divisibility of the coins stems from the same source as the property of binding specific artifacts to their users. Try to take the mythical Messenger's Ring from its rightful owner, and you'll notice how it simply returns to that same owner's finger. Then he'll activate it and begin asking you about the reasons behind your actions. However, it's not all that important it's just an example of the same effect at work, even if it's applied to coins that repeatedly appear in Basil's pocket, even when he didn't put them there; the effect operates on different principles.

This coins.

They were the first.

The first three gold roundels were promised to the first of their house, Ezless the Fatherless, for his first bargain in time immemorial. The first transaction and the first deception. These coins were not given up, forcing the then-still-penniless merchant into decisive action. Two thugs were hired as collateral for one of the three coins, which the merchant didn't have at all, and they killed the debtor and, for some reason, didn't take all three coins, killing an unnecessary witness at the same time, but they paid in full and honorably.

The traces of the third of the coins disappeared into the centuries, but these two remained with them forever, never spent, never bartered for anything, never known to anyone, pieces of worked and melted gold of the highest grade. They became a symbol, the first brick in the realization of the family will, the first attempt to claim something they thought was theirs and could prove it. Passing from hand to hand, from one Ezless to another, from century to century, the coins ceased to be just gold and became a symbol.

The symbol was becoming something completely different.

Transformed into a channel and a door.

Incarnated by contract and contract anchor.

And so, after not just one millennium, the deal was sealed. A deal that had been flawlessly upheld ever since, granting them the powers that had made them the world's most successful creditors, giving them the authority to speak from a position of near equals even with the audacious and uncompromising Eternals, who were only just beginning to unite disparate principalities into the machinery of a mighty empire, who were merely planning to cleanse ancient ruins with steel and magic, upon the ruins of which pitiful remnants of once-mighty races and peoples still dwelled. And now, in the final seconds of his life, when there was simply nothing left to lose, Basil intended to make use of this right.

Intended to demand.

His hands barely trembled as his unsteady fingers pressed each coin against his still tightly shut eyes, as the legendary fiend raged behind an invisible wall, sensing in his gut how victory slipped through his fingers, how all premonitions of imminent and dreadful doom cried out in unison. His body didn't flinch when the worn coins once again displayed the remarkably delicate engravings of serpent rings, nor did it twitch when the coins turned into molten drops of yellow metal, searing their way into his eye sockets. But everyone, even those who couldn't hear anything due to deafness or the sound-blocking barrier of the Sphere, flinched at that moment when the first echoes of the ancient Call emanated from Basil's lips, utterly unlike the familiar shared language, yet remaining understandable and comprehensible, imprinting its meaning onto the very soul along with the words:

"Gold, gold, all mine." Not a voice, but the chime of coins falling to the ground, but the rustle of a huge creature crawling with scales of pure gold. "I turn to oblivion."

The sphere has fallen.

Only the man inside it was gone.

Flame, Hardness, and some kind of weakening curse slam into Bassil's unresisting body, driving him into the wall, sending more cracks, making him spit out a stream of blood from his reflexively open mouth, but Losing Fidelity, despite his status as one of the Legends of his domain, despite all his power, feels no relief, only a growing panic. The man who should have been splattered with a thin layer of whipped and pulverized meat only shakes it off, climbing out of the huge dent in the enchanted granite.

His steps and movements are heavy as if all the bones inside his mangled body have become incredibly heavy, golden. The same golden color is in his eyes, and it is also rapidly showing on his golden skin and hair. And the eyes... it seems as if something is moving in those eyes, under the golden film. The devil does not understand and cannot find a reason for his feelings. Why isn't there the thrill of battle, the pleasure of pain, the passionate desire to pay back the too-cunning mortal for his insolence, for ruining the plans of Losing Fidelity and his Sovereign? Whence the pressing panic, the foreboding of trouble that could not turn into another passion from which new shades of Lust could not be extracted?

The spells of the fiends and cultists struck Basil of Ezless's body, tearing through his clothing, amulets, layers of skin, and muscles, yet he didn't even attempt to resist, only swiftly transforming. His sensory skills showed nothing substantial, the watchful eyes embedded within the assembly didn't perceive the chain of events, only foretelling an unclear calamity of unknown nature. However, Losing Fidelity was ready to swear by his place in the Choir and his access to the Bank that something inside the mortal was stirring.

"Awaken from your slumber..." The voice, as impassive as it was passionate, as ancient as it was youthful, compelled each of his souls to tremble in terror, transferring its fear to its master and igniting a wild fury within him.

Blink, a brief series of strikes delivered with the flesh-grown claws of the body provided by his servant, infused with curses, flair, spells, planar energies, and several divergent effects drawn directly from the Bank of Souls' guests. The series of strikes propelled Basil farther and farther, breaking through new barriers with his body and threatening to simply toss him beyond the limits of the Chief Treasurer's summer residence when those walls would finally give way. However, with each blow, this body twisted more and more, distorting further from within, growing increasingly heavy, and risking becoming altogether unmanageable even for a legendary being.

"The sacrifice before you is precious..." All the strikes, injuries, and curses received, enough to guarantee the simultaneous destruction of two Losing Ones, seemed to have no effect on the man who monotonously extended his Call. It wasn't directed at a man, but rather his remnants, his skin, beneath which something was hidden, just as the Losing One had concealed himself a couple of minutes earlier, taking possession of the well-worn toy's material body.

Losing Fidelity goes into a frenzy, forgetting his defenses and the orders he has been given, striving to defeat the enemy, to shut up the hateful throat that tugs at every one of his sweet souls with its words, preventing them from enjoying their submission, their singing and crying. He realizes by some almost deep instinct the necessity of finishing the battle as quickly as possible, preferably as early as yesterday.

"Arise, Golden Serpent..." No creature's artifices, no techniques, or intricate combinations could silence Basil, now a sodden sack of flesh and golden droplets from the blows that had transformed him.

Golden Serpent.

Within the shelter of Alurei, with its unified language, a dialect ingrained in creation itself, people who were excessively greedy and obsessed with accumulating wealth were referred to by various names. In the Empire of Ages, they were said to "breathe gold," while in Alishan, they preferred phrases like "purse-headed" or "coin-minded." In the distant and enigmatic Arms Empire, such individuals were called "golden-hearted," although among those who worshiped the Monkey God of Gold, their relationship with this metal was entirely unique.

While conversing with a few of the Summoned, the still-young Basil heard from one of them about a concept called "worship of the golden calf," somehow connected to the religious doctrines of an uncharted world, which was considered native to the Bound One. It might have seemed strange, but on Aluria, there had once existed a nearly identical practice, now mostly forgotten, and almost entirely absent from the lexicon, where the greedy traders worshipped not a "golden calf." Those who followed this path were said to have given their souls to the Serpent.

Golden Serpent.

"You're all mine, and I'm all yours."

The one Losing Fidelity had only managed to be surprised, and then it was too late - when he had already kicked (not with a vulgar and long useless kick, but with a spatial distortion, splitting in half with a change in gravity vector) unwilling Basil, who refused to fall or shatter into pieces, into the stolen light of his Master of the heavens, when his Call came to an end. The body of the man, or rather, what remained of the man's body, simply exploded from within, bursting into countless delicate golden chains, each link the size of a grain of sand. Small chains merged into larger ones, as thick as a finger, and those, in turn, into thick ropes of pure gold. The ropes fused, intertwining with each other, giving birth to a gigantic, rapidly growing body...

Immediately, a kind dozen of chains shot toward the one Losing Faith, causing him to attempt an emergency escape, which he couldn't accomplish, as if the price for his long-learned and finely-honed ability, honed in hundreds of battles, had suddenly skyrocketed. It increased in every aspect, from reserve requirements to the strain on the assembly, and no one intended to give time for reevaluating priorities. The legend died, torn apart by golden chains that pierced not only the matter of the pseudo-body but also the energy shells and even the souls within the unraveling assembly.

The legend died, but something else, incomparably more terrifying, rose amidst the shattered tactical charms of the park, writhing in a colossal mass of golden chains, gradually taking shape, acquiring flesh, and finding purpose. The serpent materialized in the world in the form of a colossal cobra, unfurling its golden hood and baring enormous fangs, reminding this world for the first time in many years why the dynasty of the rulers of the Hands Empire preferred not to conflict with the Eternals and generally keep communication to a minimum, why there was not a single major temple of the Monkey God within the Empire's territory.
The links of the chains transformed into scales and muscles, cast from gold and remaining gold themselves, leaving only two places on the immense multi-meter body of the summoned entity where there was something other than the golden hue.

Where the eyes of the summoned entity should have been, there was an absolute void, gaping into somewhere beyond the reach of mortals, immortals, or even the deceased. And within that darkness, two small sparks danced, the lights of those very two coins, two anchors, and seals that enabled the Serpent to exist here and now. Every second of its existence was paid for, paid for by the very nature it embodied - gold. Gold evaporated from treasuries, safes, chests, purses, and money bags, spent on each of the Serpent's actions, but what the realm of Ezless - and therefore the Empire - had in abundance was gold.

There was a Serpent.

Not a monster.

Not a behemoth.

Not a creature.

Not a ghoust.

Not a god.

Not a beast.

Something else.

The Serpent grew, gaining dozens of meters in length, resembling not just a giant cobra but one of the rail-armored vehicles the dwarves used to travel through the caves and dungeons from one city to another so as not to have to fight off every small beast or monster that ran past. And the gaze of the empty black eyes, in the eye sockets of each of which could stand a knight in full armor, the gaze of indistinguishable sparks at the bottom of those eye sockets, was directed precisely in the direction of the golem that landed softly, almost gracefully, on the stones of the central quarter, just within walking distance of the Palace barriers. A golem that was a foe of the size and danger level of the Serpent that had come to call.

News Bringer found himself the kind of opponent who had every chance of cutting the news short before he heard it.

Author's Note:

https://lurkmore.so/images/8/8e/Epic_thread336.jpeg - Valzea isn't thinking very fast, but when it does get to her...

https://drive.google.com/file/d/1OGtWIbWNzEqwmy3oVcJcYLUUzeyXhk0c/view?usp=sharing - Help on the way.

https://drive.google.com/file/d/1KBIvBz7MXcADnr9Nvp3H3Ja-UQuJ4Tii/view?usp=sharing - The brave crew has not forgotten their mission.

https://drive.google.com/file/d/1y0wqUgkN75iNVvlsowlBWjl-Qr_L08-Q/view?usp=sharing - Maria

https://drive.google.com/file/d/1sYn8SlRfCe_--D3CBujnmUfVkkJH0GRk/view?usp=sharing - Under the Dome

https://drive.google.com/file/d/1CXcIjycUDs0adsiepNBXj3sLHjz3NYQg/view?usp=sharing - Goodron. Interesting fact: I originally planned to make Vilonia Notel from L&M black, but changed her color to a strong swarthiness.

* * *

103 p.

It pains me to see the white light, like that monster in the K&J song. I have done it, created it, finished it, and proofread it. At the moment when I begin to estimate the number of errors in the PB, I begin not even to sob but to scream and squeal like an uncircumcised pig.

I have no idea when I'll get a chance to edit the public beta properly, so I apologize to those who helped make the text a little (actually, much more than a little) more literate with their error marks. Usually, I edit PB the day after the update, but this time I do not have the opportunity to regularly go online, and every day I'm in the city doctors will not let me out because no fuck here to have fun, lie down and heal.

Dice... you can guess their number, so I'll limit myself to the minimum minimum so as not to stretch this commentary to the length of two similar interludes.

Let's start in order:

Valzea the Eternal actually shouldn't have been rescued, or she should have been, but then she would have been ballast that Fern would have been dragging behind her. For saving the princess. She would then be questioned for leaving Valzea in danger.

Instead, she rolls out two crits, one of which turned out to be natural, all because the guild leader's son, when he was slashed by Shyngys, was healed by the fleur, among other things, screwing up his rationality a bit (minus twenty on the standard for all rolls involving critical thinking). There were patches, but the realization of owning an entire princess a bit (3, 26, 11, 39) loosened those patches on his brain.

Valzea turned on ZA WARUDO and started to avenge her own worthlessness from her point of view. There was a crit fall (1 no minus and then 57) when he called her worthless. Had he called her a slut, a whore, a dog, or a slave, she wouldn't have cared in that state, or even enjoyed it. But hinting at her uselessness..... we'll remember.

In the fight with Ramarz, Shyngys was the coolest of all, never falling below fifty and even managing to partially level the threads. I was already thinking about whether to add points from his stash or let them get out of captivity themselves (here there are hopes for NC scenes with the captive Fern), but then (here these hopes die) dice were rolled on Mort, who is now de Morte. 97 minus 10 to escape being smeared on the inside of the barriers, and then 100, 91 (added to the round hundred), and 87 to sneak up and shoot Ramartz in the head.

The hapless father was surprisingly adequate, as for a cultist, but Shyngys made him so mad that the minuses for caution and adequacy outweighed the usual pluses, and then there was a single bad roll (23). The result is in the chapter, and the newly minted Esquire now has some good career prospects, yes.

I came up with the idea of introducing Iron Krieg somewhere in the first third of the first book, but I finished introducing it into the lore as a full-fledged force/mini-faction, rather than a regular giggle-eastern egg by the end of the second book. And, having finished, I couldn't find a way to introduce them into the plot because I couldn't find an appropriate counter to such an imba. Divine sealing is no joke, especially when you put SO MUCH of effort into it.

I remembered them when I was rereading the situation in the capital and going through all the dice for the last few books. I didn't realize right away that this was the perfect situation for a Herr Major, but when I did..... Here, gentlemen is one of the mythics on the side of the endowed ones. It's not a given that they'll be on the side of the Empire later. Iron Baron has a lot of hard feelings, and forcing him into the same outcome again will be difficult.

Actually, this glued tank is responsible for the thinning of Legends in the city, two small ritual points turned to zero with the ritualists, and even one big one was also trashed, although devils roll out three defense crit (all with bonuses from sacrifices). Combat Mythic on the fly out - that's the power.

Now let's talk about the idiot who apparently decided to outshine Kostik in terms of recklessness and suicidal mortido. The one who drank most of the bonuses spent in this chapter. About who now owes Brinar a beer because it was his omakis that saved someone's ass.

Losius, fuck!

No doubt, he rolled well, without failures and anti crits, managed, due to the pluses from potions and temple support, crit a couple of times, and another time gave pure crit. But he didn't even think (minus for prudence, minus from upbringing, minus from the character's character) to turn his ass to the problems and quickly run away from First Temple!

I've said more than once that omak bonuses only increase the combat (and very rarely social) rolls of allies, under no circumstances acting to bypass the character's character and NEVER lowering the rolls of enemies (for that is pure cheating, killing /b/ and interest to any quest).

Because of that, I couldn't help Losius in a normal way. Thanks to Sky's features and his dexterity, and even with the potion boost, he was quite decent against the Maiden. He could even scratch her a bit (and no more), thanks to the Needle, but he was incapable of doing normal damage. He would have had a chance to retreat, but the very same "psychic attack" of the Maiden telling her story, according to the same character of Losius, made him bite down and grab at the throat of anyone who tried to evacuate him.

Next, the first throw below 60 was enough, which his allies failed to cover. Until the moment of teleport from a hopeless battle, they managed to cover him, even if he rolled low (despite all the bonuses from potions and the personal trio of benefics, which Tactics assigned to him, as they saw the coolness of the unexpected assistant). When the cover was gone, and Losius didn't want to run the result was obvious, even without dice. It was too early for him to go up against such Legends. He's got a good chance to take out the Skin Taker under boost and with Needle. Maiden is already closer to level 70 than level 50, so the result is obvious.

I didn't use the bonuses (71 in one go) to help Losius use Forgiveness because he did it himself. I only increased the pain and agony resistance rolls because it's hard to concentrate when your insides, soul, and everything else are being taken out of you with blood, guts, and alive.

I will admit I reworked the attack on the Temple a bit when I realized where it was going, rolling back from about halfway through the assault and starting to play with different characters. The original plan was to have another Branded with the power of Heaven instead of a Maiden. Or rather, the Branded Ones, because twin brothers. They came out even weaker than the Maiden, but Losius didn't stand a chance against them, and Jerem was still just as hesitant to put up a fight against creatures honed against him.

I replayed it already with the participation of the Maiden (who was also among the billets and for a long time since the second book) and, ta-dam, a perfect hit in the character and worldview of Losius, with the support of bonuses, allowed to throw as necessary (100, 100, 95 - it's one roll, but the purity I provided him with bonuses that leveled the monstrous disadvantages to concentration from pain and suffering).

Bottom line: minus the Golden Needle, plus a new, I haven't thought of a name yet, artifact of MYTHICAL grade of summoning type, and a tamed Simurgh-chan. The last one I didn't immediately realize I'd unwittingly made the reference, but then once I realized and finished it already intentionally. Heaven, foresight, physical power - the mythic is still weak, but it's against the background of mythics, but the ability to keep her summon in reality, to strengthen it yourself and at the same time cover yourself with it from attacks... Perhaps with this art, Locius has a real chance against a seriously playing Bones (before the mix-up with Touch, because it is not clear how Tin will crawl out of the Eternal and whether he will crawl out at all).

Jerem, by the way, calmly, though not without risk, finished both remaining Legends :)

For a long time, I've wanted to introduce the character of Szczepan into the narrative since about the time of MC's "joke" with the name Grzegorz, but I haven't had a chance. And here, his group turned out to be one of those that, by the will of the rolls (87), managed to arrive at the Eternal. And the character himself has a reason to rush inside the stolen city.

I had originally planned to show what was happening outside through the eyes of one of the Warrior Clerics or through the perception of one of the few people left outside the Eternal, pardon the pun, the Eternal. But then Szczepan showed up, and with an attempt to work through the swamp, and I couldn't resist.

He could only die with such minuses to the ritual (here's an example: 33, 11, 17, 40, 36), where anti-bonuses reached fifty at times. It's a miracle he didn't roll any anticrits. Literally a miracle. He often prayed to Naamu the Bottomless, and at that moment, he asked for help, so at the time of the ritual, he could not have anti-crit for the use of swamp magic, only at least 2. As a matter of fact, he had gotten that 2 twice.
T.N. Naamu the Bottomless it's a god of another not bad Lit RPG.

But Ygra.

She also has two, but it's already a crit due to swamp bonding and crazy affinity. And, the purest of the pure (all pluses offset by minuses) stealth crit when they were attracted by the devils' trap (100, 80). And they stupidly didn't notice Ygra hiding in their ritual pool (34, 11, 11 - even plus forty points due to the ritual and its effects and sensors didn't help)!

Too bad, but her first attack came out frankly weak because of all the same disadvantages from the ritual, and also her vulnerability to brainiacs. Uh-oh!

I had to sacrifice omak points to maximize the speed of the effect dropping, aided by Ygra herself, who has quite a bit of experience dropping effects. There's actually a title (maybe now that it's gotten upgraded) that gives a very wide range of hypnosis removal effects. She can just as easily spend a week in a cage under the influence of an orc's order with average brain-breaking abilities, or she can even reset the near-legendary shit almost instantly. Now that's truly random, which by the way is very conveniently guided by bonuses - the most vulnerable-to-abuse mechanic available, perhaps. With enough bonuses and an upgraded title (purely from the rolling mechanics, not the world and lore), she can even get rid of the control, if not of Sovereign, then of Taria, time after time, every second. True, so many bonuses don't happen, but the fact itself is cool. I guess after this arc, I'll get to work on recalibrating the dice mechanics of her title.

More importantly, Hestia rolled a couple hundred, killing the ambush regiment of creatures in the catacombs almost effortlessly. The devils weren't prepared against the Mist, and Tia, who was nearby, helped upstairs a bit, giving visions to Varaa.

Giver worked like a god, crushing two Legends. In justification of these Legends, they were VERY badly beaten by Iron Krieg, and Giver stole from her victims just A LOT of such souls, which in her sonm used to be three or four, and half of them were rented from the Bank. She was almost gutted by Thirst for Ascension, but at the last moment she intercepted it, and if it hadn't been for the second creature that got under her control, she would have been killed.

And, of course, the previously mentioned mythic, when I said that the clerics shit rolling, but someone else had an unexpected success.

Meet - the Golden Serpent, at the cost of summoning into the life of a true Ezless and barely into the annual budget of the Empire and a couple of smaller neighboring kingdoms. So to speak, conceptual donation at maximal.
T.N. Pay to Win.

That's it.

Thank you all for waiting and kicking me from time to time. Thanks for the comments and omaks for reminding me why I write and keeping me from slipping into despondency.

Good luck to everyone, look carefully at traffic lights, don't buy station station shawarma, don't buy station station shawarma either, don't come to a gunfight with knives and don't invest in mining - I want to upgrade my computer this year.

P.S. When is the next part I don't know, but it won't be soon.

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

Переведено на Нотабеноиде
http://notabenoid.org/book/80370/558904

Переводчики: Camrad_RIP, VirusZyX