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Chapter 3

***Daimon***

The setting sun was golden on the trees, giving the woods a rare windless weather. The clearly delineated shadows of the trees lay on the hills and edges of the ravines. The gradients between the still bright light and the dull shade were so sharp that travelers unaccustomed to the terrain always suffered an eye sore.

The Cursed Forests. The triviality of the name caused an awkwardness, and almost everyone who heard it for the first time involuntarily cringed.

And anyone who had the doubtful pleasure of living in these lands for any amount of time is no longer skeptical, but grimly frowning. The name didn't come from the views - on the contrary, they didn't fit the name at all. Dense thickets, mighty crowns, picturesque mosses, and even old deadwood looked quite life-affirming. Here one could find plants so rare that they were considered imaginary. Even fairies, creatures almost completely extinct in times immemorial, were rumored to have been found in these parts at some times.

No, that's not why these thickets were called Cursed.

These woods were shrouded in a great number of macabre legends, the most famous of which was the legend of the penultimate King of Greed.

It was here that, according to the legends, he met his end. When drowning in the madness of greed, the Eight could not divide the world even among themselves, when each betrayed all others for their own ambition. When, in fear for their power, they destroyed the symbol of their own power and their loyal servants finally turned against them, a true hell on earth was unleashed. Hell compared to the nightmare they had plunged the world into by conquering it seemed like child's play.

And the penultimate King of Greed, unable to defeat the onslaught of the rebellious alliance of former slaves, retreated into the deserts that were then these forests. His last battle was fought in these lands. A hellish massacre, lasting many days, in which time, space, and death mingled. The King eventually fell, taking countless legions of his enemies with him to the afterworld. A forest grew on that monstrous battlefield, leaving such fertile fertilizer. Hiding the unsightly picture of the war of gods against mortals, a war of mutual annihilation without compromise. And the ruins of forts and the mass graves of the fallen have found rest beneath its roots. And the curses that had fallen on the land had not gone away.

At least, that's what the legends said.

But even if one does not take the ancient legends seriously, it was a lot of the desperate to adapt to life in these forests. Beneath the tree crowns and picturesque reliefs lurked terrors that witnesses were wary of mentioning out loud. The beasts that lived here were a disaster, and even herbivorous prey was deadly to any hunter. Its blood was poisonous, and the urge to kill exceeded the instinct of self-preservation - what was normally fearful prey here knew no fear. Predators, hunting their prey, did not drive it into exhaustion - they fought a real battle with it. The price for unsuccessful hunting was not hunger, but life.

Although, the sapient adapt to everything. In addition to the danger, there was a great benefit. Ingredients extracted from local plants and animal organs were highly valued throughout the continent. The ruins that occasionally showed up from under the landslides and the rivers that had changed course lurked with incredible rewards. Whoever was willing to take the risk always had a chance.

Like Daimon's group, The Immortal Hope. This was their third quest into the Cursed Forests, one of the hidden dungeons they had found by sheer coincidence. A third quest that risked ending in fatal failure.

Four men were breathing heavily in the narrow corridor, lined with hewn granite. Daimon, the leader of the group, was breathing in and out, resting his palms on his knees. His armor was visibly dull and scarred at the right shoulder and across his chest. Hot, dirty sweat fell from his face to the floor in large drops.

"Daimon, we're in trouble." Looking into the darkness, Bryce said.

"Really?" Daimon turned around with his eyes bulging.

"Seriously. The exit was buried. There are no lights, not because it's night or anything."

Bryce, a short, very bony, and wiry fellow looked much better. His armor was a thick leather jacket, studded with tightly fitting steel plates, and the same cuffs with tucked-in trousers. His shoulders were scarcely protected except by the broad sleeves of a black shirt, baggy at the elbow. He didn't look rested, but he was clearly fresher than Daimon.

"That's not good news, I agree. But there is some good news."

"That's a balm for the soul. You don't mean the approaching footsteps of those monsters, do you?"

" Huh, not without them. The good news is that the corridor is narrow, and if they don't have a change in lineup, I'll close it off. And no one will stop you from digging our way out."

"Are you kidding?"

"I'm gonna tank."

Bryce cursed and looked longingly at the blocked exit. It seemed that the ceiling had failed and sagged, succumbing to the many meters of earth above it. A pile of earth mixed with rubble blocked the way out of the dungeon. Then he turned his gaze to Era, the sorceress.

Her robe had long since become grimy tatters, and the expensive staff remained there in the depths of the dungeon. She grimly ignored her last companion.

Actually, the whole situation was about their overestimation of their skills, but Era blamed it all on him. Now it didn't bother the sorceress that the boy wasn't responsible for their plan. They were in dire need of a healer for this dungeon. And since there were no good spell casters or priests to be found, they had to take the first one that came into their sight. In conversation and training, Lias was quite good, not as good as their previous partner, of course, but not so terrible. They had risked going with him and now regretted it.

Lias appeared to be a coward and a whiner, unprepared for the real business. Only on the spot, it turned out that his reserve of energy was much smaller than it had seemed at the beginning. His reaction speed in combat was worthless. In the main, he was completely unsuitable for adventure, except to sit in the camp and treat the group after they returned from the raid. As it turned out, that was exactly how he imagined the healer's job in the group.

Thus, it was an absolute failure. Lias seemed to realize this himself, and just waited for it to be over.

Daimon didn't like such problems, but as a leader, he had to deal with them as well. And now, unfortunately, there was no good way out. He preferred not to think about the fact that they might all die, too.

Now he, too, could hear slow footsteps from the darkness beyond the corridor. He listened closely. Judging by the number of feet and the creak of rusted metal, it was the same trio who had chased them here. Daimon raised his heavy shield with a sigh and closed his visor.

"Guys, I know you're all very tired, but I don't see any other options. You'll have to dig, and you'd better do it before I get cut up here. Era, lights, please."

The sorceress concentrated, detaching herself from discomfort and emotion. Daimon was right; she could say what she thought about the situation and the reasons for it later. Right now, the important thing was to survive.

[light]

A flickering light source, like a very bright firefly, appeared behind Daimon's right shoulder, and out of the darkness ahead came two skeletons clad in deceptively rusty armor, and the outlines of another a little farther away. Daimon pursed his lips and stiffened, blocking the narrow passage. He'd dealt with the undead before, and at first he hadn't taken any skeletons, even if they were in rusty armor, seriously. It turned out to be a big mistake, almost costing them all their lives.

One of the warrior skeletons, pacing like a drunken loader, leaped toward him with barely perceptible speed and swung his two-handed axe sharply. Daimon, already aware of their way of fighting, bounced back down the aisle. Taking such a blow with a half step on his shield would be a costly thing to do; his arm had nearly been broken the last time he'd faced it. The axe's blade jettisoned a spark from where he'd just stood. The second skeleton, a moment later, delivered a powerful straight thrust with his halberd. Daimon brushed it aside with his shield. There was a great temptation to pile on with all his weight and press the weapon against the wall, but the idea was spoiled by a skeleton with an axe. Pinning one opponent's weapon down would rob him of the ability to evade another's attacks. Daimon was well aware that without the ability to maneuver, he would be dead.

By retreating to the back of the corridor, he gained an advantage - there was no room for the axeman to swing, and his blows without a good swing could already be blocked. And most importantly - there was no third skeleton warrior to get through. A more or less regular heavyweight brawl began. The skeletons, helping each other (also, who would have believed it), relentlessly poured simple, but powerful and fast attacks, while Daimon blocked them and led them away with his shield. Some of his attacks gave him a chance to close the distance and push the invading undead back, which he used to get back to his starting position. He didn't even try to attack himself now, only parrying what he could with his sword. There was no visible damage to his attacks anyway. Of course, if he had used an axe or mace, the result might have been different. But the axe and mace wore him out after a few minutes of combat, nullifying his advantage.

Punch, sliding block, return kick. A strong but light foe is thrown back a step. A swift lunge of the halberd, Daimon not having enough time to shield himself, and the tip left another dent in his armor, his ribs aching. Another axe strike, another sliding block, another halberd lunge. It's all predictable, but it's too fast - there's no way to get into a rhythm. Hit - lunge to the body, hit - lunge to the head, hit - lunge to the legs. Taking another attack with an axe, he didn't have the strength to move it fully aside, and the heavy blade snagged his helmet. His head snapped back in a jolt, and Daimon could not react in time to the thrust of the halberd. The piercing tip pierced the visor, sinking into it but leaving a deep cut on his cheekbone. His ears rang with pain.

The bone is caught. Daimon noted in passing. It's very bad.

[shield push]

The muscles crackled with the sudden exertion. The fighting skill, one of Daimon's favorite special moves, threw the axe-maker out of the passageway with a crash. It took the rest of the skeletons with it, giving him pause for a few seconds. Sweat mixed with dirt and blood trickled down the back of his neck and tickled unpleasantly. The exhausted body was beginning to lose its grasp. That was it. There were no aces left for the day.

Through the twisted visor, in the darkness broken unevenly by the flickering faint light, it was hard to see, but it was also clear by hearing. The enemies were up and attacking again.

"Daimon, retreat, retreat, back, there's a way through!"

Hope filled with new strength, and the warrior, almost completely behind his shield, quickly scooted back down the passageway. Retreating that way made the enemy attacks much easier to bear. Keeping his balance wasn't easy, his feet were stuck in the soft dirt, and then his shoulders were barely able to squeeze through. The powerful blows from my opponents even helped a little to move this way. It was a little scary not knowing where you were retreating to, but Daimon had faith in his comrades. And, as always, not in vain.

At some moment there was no support under his feet, and Daimon went tumbling down the thorny grassy slope. A few moments later, his back slammed into the shallow water, crushing the thin reeds. The evening sun glinted merrily through the hole in his helmet.

"Fffuuuuuuh."

Someone came swiftly up to him and with a couple of jerks lifted the jammed visor. His eyes were teary and it was impossible to see who it was, but the voice and tone were unmistakable.

"You're looking kind of creepy, Dai. Have you been beaten?"

"I was shaving drunk. The others are all right, the undead are not chasing?"

"Yeah, it's fine. Looks like the undead are at least somewhat normal, they stay out of the sun. Can you walk?"

Daimon analyzed the sensations.

"Bones seem to be intact, I think I can do it. But I'm going to whine."

"After Lias, you don't impress me at all."

"Okay, I won't. You didn't lose the loot, did you?"

The silhouette, which had almost turned into a dirty, wet Bryce, silently shook the bulky leather sack. Something inside it rang distinctly and melodiously, and several oblong objects were visible as well.

Daimon stretched out his arm, and Bryce, grabbing it, helped him up. His head was dizzy, his face wound burned with throbbing pain, and his eye was rapidly swelling. Era and the healer were shaking off the waterlogged puddle with a hopeless look on their faces. Both squinted funny at the bright light.

"Lias, I know you're tired, but there's work for you."

***
Talik
***

Talik left the improvised training ground completely exhausted and pleased by himself. All the spells he was used to using, and even the ones he hadn't thought of for a long time because they weren't needed, were working. He would have to get used to the new ways of activation, but his worst fears were not confirmed. He hadn't yet been able to fully test the ways of use, but that could be done a little later. Still, it was a must-do. Applying spells in combat, in Yggdrassil, is a science, after all. Goals, priorities, calculating area of effect, timing, considering external factors, positioning, planning long-lasting casts, timely use of safes, many, many interdependent circumstances. You're a shitty healer if all you know how to do is push the toolbar.

Illadria was very helpful. It was a great practice to test his skills. He thought at first he would just stretch, but she gave him such a thrashing that he seriously feared he would lose. Especially after his buff. Even had to surrender his trumps, without a super-level spell limiting the area and power of AOE damage with a consumable to trigger instantly... Wouldn't have made it. Had it been a real PvP player, Talik wouldn't have had a chance to defend the poor horned pony, or even get out of danger himself. She is, after all, extremely predictable, and that saved his prestige and faith in himself.

He wonders if this new self-awareness will allow them to learn independently now. Without the need to manually enter conditions and algorithms.

In general, he really liked the feeling of using spells. He felt something with his whole body when he used his arsenal, and it wasn't just adrenaline.

That's how chunibyo feel in their imagination, isn't it? Only I'm so much cooler, lol. Because it works for me.

Although, if he's actually giggling and drooling blissfully under drugs in a straitjacket right now, it's not so much cooler. But certainly more interesting.

He thought of Illadria, and his mood dropped a little. Her attitude toward him had seemed amusing at first, but now it was beginning to... alarming, maybe? He didn't mind a good relationship at all, but this kind of adoration was too much. After all, imagining him to be something great is a huge delusion. It's unpleasant to feel like a cheater pretending to be someone else. And what would happen if the secret came out, what would he say to the disappointed fanatics? Triple unpleasant was the nasty suspicion that this was all actually an absurdly large-scale performance, where for unknown purposes he was being persuaded to adore, despise, or even hate in fact. It was imperative to make it clear, and preferably without losing face. Well, as much as possible.

Draga, again. If she's anything like Illadria in her attitude, that's a real problem. Which must be solved in the very near future.

He recalled last night.

Well, if that's true, she shouldn't have been left alone, without clarity, without the right words. What a sheep, he should have taken it more seriously. Though who knew? Maybe he should do it right now. But who knows how long it might take, and it was very desirable not to be distracted by anything else.

Clarify a few things with Wilhelm, and then go to make peace with Drega. Oh, he wishes there wasn't such unhealthy subservience in that big, nordic man. From a woman, it is still at least somewhat tolerable.

[message]

"William, this is Tallarius. I want to talk to you, do you have time?"

"I am flattered, Prophet. Of course... I have 'time' as you call it."

"I'll come to you in about fifteen minutes. You owe me tea."

"The best that exists, Prophet."

"Got you. Wait."

Talik interrupts [message]

***

Wilhelm enjoyed it. He valued comfort, good company, and a chance to relax, and now all three of these concepts came together.

Yesterday, when he received the Prophet's order, he took the importance of the task and approached it with great responsibility. The clerks of all the warehouses, farms, mills, and markets were called to their ears. The archivist spent half the night cross-checking figures in town records. Low-ranking orc chiefs shuffled through tents, counting their green-skinned bands. Only Illadria dodged attempts to involve her in the thankless task of inventory with graceful politeness. At once she voiced the requested figures and suggested that she not be bored with pointless clarifications, for she had her own Orders. Wilhelm liked to emphasize his status powers, but there was nothing to object to.

By morning all the data had been summarized, organized into columns and lines, and presented to the Prophet. Wilhelm wrote the document himself - the idea of entrusting a scribe to write a document for the High Lord seemed to him a total sacrilege. High Lord appreciated the work of his loyal vassal and honored him with a visit. And now they were chatting and drinking tea at ease. Wilhelm could not recall such a thing in all his years of service to his personal deity.

He listened to the Prophet, catching every word and striving to remember every detail of his image. He wanted to learn how to enjoy simple things like a comfortable chair and good food and drink. Wilhelm endured a lot - terrible wars, betrayals, struggles for leadership, victories more bitter than defeats on his way to the top. Until the moment when, at last, the Prophet demanded that he fulfill his oath, Wilhelm had no idea what a good rest is.

Still, William's entire life was but a mere shadow of the hardships and difficulties that stood in his and the other Lords' paths. But He and His divine companions did not despair a single day, continuing day after day to put super effort into achieving their super goals. Each new difficulty that would break William would only generate excitement and a desire to overcome it.

The temptations that had drawn Wilhelm in headlong when he gained power were powerless to shake His spirit. He passed through what he considered insignificant and did not turn back to what was not really needed. Holding absolute power in his hands, He appreciated the little things. Possessing the greatest power, He did not use it unnecessarily. And now, sitting in a comfortable chair, He simply enjoyed the comfort of it. As He tasted the tea, He simply rejoiced in its taste. Not more, not less, but just enough that it didn't interfere with the work of the mind.

William was passionate about adopting this attitude of existence. Even as king, he was aware of how far behind his true greatness he was in comparing himself to Him. Only the manner of speech... It was confusing. Not suited to a person of such magnitude. Though it was not for him, born a pathetic mortal, to judge the whims of a deity.

They had been talking for quite some time, discussing the current state and condition of Dawn City and the surrounding areas, the work of services such as water and sewage, the economy, the army. And, of course, magic. Today the Prophet willed to reveal some of his powers to the new world, and there was much discussion on the subject throughout the guild.

"Speaking of skills. Wilhelm, I guess you haven't tested your skills yet, right?"

"No. It hadn't occurred to me, actually. Should I start checking immediately?"

"You don't have to drop everything right now and go check it out. But in the near future, be sure to do it. Things that until now have been considered natural may not work the way we are used to, I have already experienced this today."

"I understand you, I will certainly do so in the very near future. Would you share any thoughts on the difference you've already encountered?"

"Hmm. Basically, it's the affected area, it's bigger now. Also, it's much harder to accurately estimate the effect. My skills are very different from yours, so it may be different for you. Anyway, I want to have an idea of your current capabilities."

"Wise, as always. Let me ask you a question." After waiting for a nod, Wilhelm continued. " Do you already have plans for this world?"

The Prophet grinned weirdly and shook his head.

"This is too complicated a question, Wilhelm. I don't... I don't have an easy answer to it, I'm sorry."

"I'm the one who should apologize. I asked more than I could comprehend."

"Just relax. We'll see."

"Wilhelm nodded respectfully. There it is, the attitude of the Great Ones toward mundane matters. Seeing complex things in simple ways."

"Also, I want to have some kind of meeting tonight at eight o'clock, with all the Elite. Do you have any plans for that time?"

"I can't imagine what plans could match your wish."

"That's good. Then I'll be going, thank you for the tea, it was delicious. No, don't escort me, I want to walk alone."

"I wish you well on your way, wherever you may be going." Wilhelm bowed, clasping his palm to his chest.

The Prophet left the chambers, leaving William in the best possible mood

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