Готовый перевод Общий файл / Does Force Bind to Responsibility?: Глава 17

Chapter 17
* * *

Taler continued to surprise Era throughout the journey. He was frankly strange. The fact that he was a stranger explained a lot, but not everything.

Most of the time he was perfectly normal, only occasionally asking questions about such mundane matters that one wonders how he survived, traveling alone in the woods and mountains. And he found things perfectly obvious, the mere knowledge of whose existence was illogical to a commoner.

At the same time, he obviously knew a lot more than he was trying to show. In the days-long search for the necromancer's trail, it was as if he knew exactly what they would see when they came to the next place. And also - she felt a strong contrast between this journey and all the previous ones.

No one wore their feet out, no colds came up, and they were practically free of insects. After half a day's trekking through gullies, deadwoods, and hills, the group was barely tired. On their previous treks, every day of the trip had been so exhausting that they barely had time to pitch a tent by nightfall. Now it seemed that with a little rest, they could walk at the same pace all night.

It could be considered good luck, or an unexpectedly increased skill. That's what she thought at first. The opinion changed after the unforgettable battle.

The magic used by this man was unbelievable. It was simply unreal. Once upon a time, as a seminary student, Era had read through all the available literature. It was hard to remember if she had ever seen anything like it. But she remembered.

Lannius the Inspirer, a descendant of the first Heroes who lived centuries ago, used something similar during the war with the elves. Warriors under his command gained unprecedented strength and skill in battle. Except that Lannius had to beg the blessing of the Celestials for almost twenty-four hours, and it did not always work. But Taler clapped his hands, and there he was. And it is one thing to read a legend of dubious veracity, and another to experience what it is.

She was terribly tempted to jump at Taler with questions, to ask him to use that magic again. And she wasn't the only one. Even the poker-faced Bryce could barely bring himself not to extort this blessing for training. But Taler had given up on those attempts back then, saying that this spell was costing him too much.

And that wasn't the only unique spell he'd used in the time they'd known each other. The way he healed Daimon's body with just a whisper or two was also amazing. No long prayers, no complicated spells, no lights, nothing typical of healing magic.

Era was sure that, if he wasn't lying, there was something he wasn't telling her. And the further they went, the stronger she became of this conviction.

Taler clearly learned something about the Plains when they first descended into the deadlands. Something important. It was obvious - the way he moved his fingers over the ground, the way he pursed his lips, indicated an understanding. And he was obviously nervous after they'd entered the Deadlands - though he'd been a model of confidence and composure before the Plains.

Then it turned out that he knew the writing of the Heroes. Of course, he denied it, but Era was not blind. Taler could read heroic writings, and the Church had gone to great lengths to make that knowledge a privilege of the chosen few.

Incredible magic, impenetrable calm, indifference to any hierarchy, knowledge of the Heroes' speech. And at the same time - unskilful secrecy and even some kind of timidity in communication did not fit in the head.

Ere never understood what had happened in that chapel. She saw Taler just lying down on the stone floor, as if very tired, and the next moment she felt very dizzy and completely confused.

When she came to her senses, she knew from the behavior of the other guys that this had happened to all of them. Daimon, sword and shield at the ready, looked around fiercely, searching for the cause of the problem. Bryce, as usual, had ducked behind the first obstacle he saw.

And Taler... Surprised me again.

He had lost weight and dried out as if he had spent a couple of years in the penitentiary. The luxurious robe hung on him like a mop on a rag. Deep shadows were visible around his eyes, and his whites were streaked with red. A dried-up crimson streak under his nose completed the oppressive picture.

After waiting a few moments, this normally quiet and polite guy ordered in a harsh commanding tone:

"Get out here, now! Questions later."

Era took what he said seriously. Generally speaking, when a healer tells you to run, you should run without talking. Especially when the healer is as powerful as their companion.

To her surprise, Daimon hesitated.

"Thaler, I..."

What he meant to say, Era did not know. Thaler extended his arm sharply in his direction, saying only:

"Sleep."

And Daimon, without finishing his sentence, closed his eyes and settled to the ground.

Era was frightened. The strangeness of their companion instantly ceased to seem like mere strangeness. And considering that he had rendered the practically indestructible Daimon unconscious with a single word... Unusually tense and collected, Thaler walked swiftly toward the body - Era retreated at the same time, figuring out what she could defend herself with. Something she could do faster than she was told to sleep.

"Era, I'm sorry, there's no time. We have to get out of these plains before dark, it's very important. Trust me, please."

He leaned over a little, grabbed Daimon by the edge of his steel breastplate with his skinny hand, and threw the big man onto his shoulder with no apparent effort.

"Bryce!"

No one responded to his call. Thaler, barely noticing the weight on his shoulder, looked back at the bleak landscape.

"Bryce, I know you're there and you can hear me. I know how this looks, but... To hell with it. If you're looking for death, keep hiding. Era, are you coming?"

After a moment's hesitation, Era nodded. Thaler narrowed his eyes, stared off into the distance, and pursed his lips. Then he grimaced, shook his head, and walked briskly toward the edge of the plains.

Era could barely keep up, occasionally jogging as Thaler, once again become an intimidating stranger, was unusually quick for his physique. After a moment's intense movement among the hills, Bryce appeared. He looked grim and almost aggressive. Thaler merely nodded, noting his presence without slowing his pace.

They walked in silence for a couple of hours, and Era was beginning to exhaust herself. The fact that Bryce took her bag of equipment did not help much. Thaler, frail and haggard-looking, meanwhile, showed no signs of fatigue at all. Even Daimon, no small man in heavy armor, whom Thaler carried on his shoulders, didn't seem to be bothering the healer much.

/What an absurd situation. He should have broken as soon as he tried to lift the leader. What's going on?

Era glanced over at Bryce. The sullen boy, plowing through both his and her bags, pointed a glance at the dagger on his belt. Era shook her head, /Don't even think about it.

Thaler, though he was acting rather strangely now, was still a very advanced healer. Much more advanced and knowledgeable than he obviously wanted to appear. And if such a man saw a serious danger, it was better not to argue. Relationships could be clarified a little later.

Although, they will have to say goodbye anyway.

+ + +

Talik was ashamed of the ugly scene he had made with the elf. He didn't blame himself, though. His hands were still trembling from the fear he'd felt upon awakening.

And it was not good with the guys. He'd hoped they'd listen to him right away; he'd earned some prestige during the quest. Alas, Daimon was not the sort of guy who would give up leadership right away. And with all Talik's respect for other people's privacy and opinions, it was an extreme situation, and the delay could have cost him his life.

Talik could not say with certainty that something was threatening them right now - there was no prerequisite. The creepy visions didn't include the cursed plains. But his intuition told him to expect trouble.

And he wasn't sure how his 'servants' would react to not contacting him at the proper time. Especially if they could not contact him themselves. There would be more than just a spoiled mood.

/What was it that I saw?

Two simple questions were keeping me awake. Such weakness in a healthy body could not have arisen on its own. Talik saw two of the most likely explanations.

The first is a peculiarity of the avatar himself, the body he became the owner of. Some hidden event caused him to switch off and catch predictive hallucination. Talik really wanted it to be that way.

The second is outside influence. Someone attacked or influenced in such a way that the level 100 character was deprived of all desires and powers. And even though this hypothesis did not clarify the origin of the visions, it did not make the danger any less dangerous.

/That's too bad if that's the case.

Talik had a pretty good grasp of the in-game magic system. An exactly in-game system, which contained detailed text descriptions and numbers. Which had visual displays and other paraphernalia. In this case, that knowledge was of little use. There were no icons, no logs - nothing, just a memory of sensation. That is, if it was magic, Talik had no idea what kind and how to resist it.

/Although, based on game logic, it's more like a CC

CC, or crowd control, is a type of debuff that takes a character out of combat for a while. Paralysis, sleep, hypnosis, or any other effect which removed when taking damage. Designed to neutralize dangerous opponents at key moments of combat. A mage going into a stupor in the middle of a cast of something particularly debilitating is a very nasty blow to any plans. A healer who falls asleep for a few seconds at a critical moment is a guaranteed failure for the whole team. Or a melee player who stops covering a rag because of such a freeze.

The CC required a mastery of the situation in any dynamic combat. A missed with something massed ally or a timed enemy would very quickly negate the effectiveness of the tactic.

/And that's how I was locked in control by those assholes who came for Eye. LadyLilim knew very well how and with what I defend myself, and set up Malikriss as a torpedo specifically for me.

In the game, once in the CC, the player was simply deprived of the ability to control his avatar. At most, the image and in-game sound were turned off, but it had no effect on communication through the talker and even less on the player's consciousness at all. In these circumstances, everything could have changed, because he is not just controlling the character, but he is the character.

/So, on my return, go through all the descriptions of the control spells. And go to Malikriss.

Logic demanded that he test her control spells in his new body. If something in the mentalist's arsenal had the same effect, it would become clear what had affected him. Or at least it would narrow it down.

Still, Talik was very reluctant to meet her in person. He was simply afraid of her. Much more than all the other 'servants'.

All the 'servants' he met became what they were according to the story written for them. Characters, goals, life experiences - everything matched up to the smallest detail.

This means that Malikriss is now a power-hungry, mean-spirited, cruel witch who acknowledges only power. A witch whose specialty is power over other people's minds, and who has a highly specialized but very powerful arsenal of spells and rituals.

If this witch looked into Talik's soul, what would she see? An all-powerful and all-knowing Prophet? Doubtful. More likely, she would see there an escapist loser, an impostor.

An unfamiliar irritation stirred inside.

/And why on earth would I be an impostor? I've been running the guild for the last few years. I'm the author of half of the projects that have come to fruition in the guild. The world isn't a game anymore? Okay, I'm really glad. Did the guild stop being a guild? NO. And I'm still the head of it!

Talik pondered and wondered about his thoughts. He had always made a very clear distinction between game and reality, characters and people. Having a reputation in some gaming circles as a calculating, petty and vindictive asshole, and in others as a tyrannically meticulous pro, he remained himself in the real world. Part of the system was a common man for whom 'I' was the last letter in the alphabet.

Having accepted the new reality, he perceived it as a philistine, wary of the gift of power. And now a demanding voice of the gamer rose in his soul.

/If she gives me problems, I'll delete her.

The feeling of rightness and power was fresh and new.

/Can I get used to it? And do I have to? I want to be really cool, but is it worth it to stop being me?

The other question, what he saw while he was out, required no less scrutiny. Preferably in peace and without the nagging sixth sense stubbornly promising trouble.

+ + +

Deep in the cursed lands, where the deadening mists reached even into the clouds, a high mountain pierced the sky. In the old days, when the Valley of a Thousand Wars was not yet called the 'cursed plains,' this lone granite block of unimaginable height was called the Broken Spear. It was indeed shaped like the fractured tip of a Falk spear. First a natural landmark, then a place of worship, and later a giant altar, the Broken Spear was like moss, overgrown by several settlements and later by an entire temple city.

When the Falks fell under the onslaught of the elven armies, they began to call the mountain simply Black Mountain. The elves scorched everything that could burn near this mountain. Even marble was devoured by the sorcerer's flames. The cinders of the greatest conflagration in history rose for almost a year, giving Broken Spear a new name.

Later, the Sovereign came here. The name seemed so symbolic to him that he did not give it another. His numerous followers, acolytes, and disciples also saw a certain poetic meaning in it. The mountain remained Black, as long as there was someone to pronounce the name.

For the last couple of centuries, there hadn't been anyone for whom the name mattered -there weren't any living here. Or rather, there was only one creature who cared. The mountain had become a citadel - the indefatigable undead, at the behest of their masters, had cut through the solid granite, turning the mountain into a veritable fortress. Thicker stone held barracks, workshops, warehouses, and laboratories. Countless passageways united them.

Diterios Kadari, one of the Sovereign's most loyal servants, sometimes wondered about the fate of this citadel, his brainchild. He felt a little sorry that such labor would not be appreciated by those capable of realizing its true greatness. No admiration, no horror, no glory.

The Sovereign himself, who had crossed the next step to the coveted power two hundred years ago, had also lost interest in such things. He became rational and indifferent. Practically stopped appearing anywhere in the flesh. Diterios secretly thought that his lord had not benefited at all from death. But, of course, he kept his opinion to himself.

The Sovereign possessed such knowledge and power that little things like life and death served only as tools for him. And it is not for Diterios, who was born a mortal, to judge the choice of an absolute being.

Now Diterios stood on a terrace, skillfully carved at the very top of the cliff. The arch behind him led to the observation halls. In scale and beauty, they resembled a temple complex, though they had a different purpose. And, of course, there was no room for gods. From these halls, Diterios would oversee the rituals that had long ago begun, oversee the work of the servants, and the development of new sorcery practices. From here, too, the armies would be commanded when the Sovereign decided it was time.

The clouds below seemed like an anxious white sea. They, along with the mists, completely obscured the citadel from view. Both the regular and the wizard's eyes were obscured by an impenetrable veil.

Diterios, contemplating this sea, pondered intensely. He was faced with a difficult choice.

When the dark lords summoned the Sovereign and reported on the strange occurrences, the darkest left general but quite clear instructions. The responsibility of Diterios he had fully fulfilled. The cultists of Zuranon had received the long-promised knowledge and resources. Very soon they would expectedly manifest themselves. Pestilence, doom, and otherworldly breakthroughs will occupy the full attention of the powers that be, and in the meantime, other phases of the Plan will be in motion.

The Sovereign wants the souls of the new Kings. This is what it's all about. And if you present him with Kings, you can expect a generous reward. The Master of Darkness has never been stingy in rewarding loyal service - Diterios received everything he asked for and much more during his apprenticeship. Great power, immortality, knowledge, resources. Revenge. Everything a heretic once dreamed of.

And now was the ghostly chance to fulfill the wish of the Sovereign.

The agents kept him informed of changes in the balance of world power. Though the speed of information exchange was far from ideal, Diterios was aware of the emergence of people 'out of nowhere'. Very strong - though not as strong as one would expect from the words of a lord. Dieterios believed that the Kings had sent their servants to infiltrate society.

Smart move.

And this move gave Diterios a chance to prove himself. A chance to capture and interrogate a servant of Kings, giving his master a source of valuable information. No other adept could afford such a thing. Strangers could wield the magic of communication. Capturing one was fraught with detection, and if the Kings really were that powerful... There would be serious problems. And Diterios could afford it - the Plains of Kaz suppressed any known communication magic.

All that remained was to make sure that the servant of Kings went into the plains himself. There was no problem with that. Diterios's agents had set it up as a regular mercenary assignment, and the servant took the bait without a second thought. A little inspection showed that his choice of target was unmistakable. The undead he sent were strong enough to tear apart the frontier manor and slaughter all the living. And yet, the undead creatures were wiped out, virtually unscathed.

To lure an outsider into the plains territory was already a matter of routine. The trails, properly arranged by a loyal assistant, led the target to the cursed land. The trap, disguised as a holy place, worked perfectly. Though the Kings possess divine power, power alone will not protect them from everything. Especially against the sorcery of the Sovereign himself, created just against such creatures. The foolish servant did not realize his mistake until the end.

Diterios knew at once when the mighty spell struck an unseen blow. At that moment, the soul of the servant of Kings should have begun to reject the body, plunging the target into unconsciousness on the brink of death. It was now possible to take it with bare hands. Diterios sent some Wraiths there.

Soon, however, the plan began to hint at failure. The shroud of the curse that suppressed the magic of the mind stirred, struggling to hold back the flow of power. Someone very powerful was trying to contact the world beyond the Plains. The Servant of Kings was clearly conscious and capable of magic.

Diterios immediately initiated a search ritual, and made sure that the servant of Kings was alive and sober.

Diterios looked out at the rebellious white sea and was torn in doubts. Should he let the servant go and his chance to distinguish himself, or risk capturing him?

The Wraiths, frozen halfway through, awaited orders.

+ + +

"The Council is waiting for you, Sir Nigun."

The temple guard nonchalantly opened the high arched door in front of Nigun. Nigun inwardly gathered himself as if he were about to jump into cold water.

The highest authority in the state wanted to hear about what had happened. From the speed with which they gathered, it was clear that the case was viewed as critical. Less than a couple of hours had passed since Nygun's appearance at the cathedral.

No wonder thought Nigun. It's not every day that a full squad of Scripture is lost.

He was healed and disarmed almost immediately. At least it wasn't in reverse order. The cathedral's armory was well worthy of temporary storage of relics. After handing them over and requesting an immediate audience with the Council, Nygun retired to the chapel and there carefully reconstructed the course of events in his mind.

The Holiest do not like confused speech and confusion of details.

It didn't take long to get the call, and here he was.

The round hall, flooded with light, greeted him with coolness and tranquility. Near the edge of the room, the floor rose a large staircase. On this elevation were six large, stiff armchairs, on which sat older, bearded men in white robes.

The most powerful men in the country, each one denied his name, kinship, and manhood by accepting the ministry. The mind of the man in charge of the state must be pure of worldly vanity.

After his failure, Nigun could not look into the eyes of these men who had sacrificed everything for society. He felt no right to do so. He sank to one knee, waiting to be allowed to speak.

For half a minute they just studied him with glances, and Nigun could feel the testing eyes on him. Finally, the Scribbler, head of all the Scripture squads, spoke up.

"Sir Nigun, the Council is sure that you know what this is about and that you are ready to answer. So let's get right to the point. Sir Nigun, you and your squad have been entrusted with an important mission. Significant resources have been allocated to guarantee its success."

Scribner's soft, deep voice was briefly silenced. Nigun was grateful for the respite - each word literally pressed him to the floor with a weight of guilt.

"Your return is far from a triumphant march of victory. You were transported to the cathedral crippled, on the verge of death, and you do not have your squad with you. The Council believes you have not succeeded, is that so?"

"Yes, it is."

"And what didn't go according to plan?"

"In the final phase of the operation, when I provoked Gazef Stronoff into a duel, he sent another warrior instead. It was unfortunate, even though the plan called for it. This warrior was... disproportionately stronger than one could imagine."

"Sir Nigun, the Council believed that the relics entrusted to you would enable you to deal with any possible adversary. Was the Council mistaken?"

Nigun took a deep breath. For the first time in his life, he was about to contradict the holy ones. His heart was relentlessly picking up the pace. A thousand needles pierced his head. The damned heretic had literally torn his face off at the last moment. No healer's efforts could bring it back to normal, only partially replenishing the missing flesh. Such skin could not sweat, and the body's attempts to respond in its usual manner caused suffering.

"Sinless Council... You were mistaken."

He froze, expecting anything. That lightning would come down from the ceiling and incinerate him on the spot. That another squad of Scribes would burst in and drag him to the pyre.

Nothing happened. The Scribner's soft voice only put more pressure on him.

"Go on, Sir Nigun."

"It was... An adversary who surpassed the power of the relics. I know how it sounds, and I am ready to suffer any punishment. But I swear with all my being, it is the truth. I was under the influence of all the prescribed potions and scrolls, and could not fully keep track of the enemy's movements. My most trusted men fell faster than they could realize their doom. I was struck with such force that even the Aegis could not contain it. It was pure defeat without a chance. The Aegis should have returned the damage a hundredfold of what was inflicted on me, but the enemy only came to rage at it, while my bones were broken. I believe this enemy possesses relics of similar power. He... Broke a beautifully crafted sword during the fight. And then, out of nowhere, he pulled out another of incredible workmanship. And with one blow of that sword, through the Aegis, turned me into what I was when I found myself in the cathedral."

"Out of nowhere? Can you be a little more specific?"

"Sure. The opponent made a pass with his hand in the air, away from himself. That's the gesture of removing a weapon from a rack. And in the next moment, there was a two-handed sword in his hand."

"So..."

Nigun knew he was telling the truth. But with every word he spoke, he literally felt the absurdity of the words coming out of his mouth. It was excruciatingly embarrassing. The Council continued its questioning.

"Sir Nigun, you did not mention your actions during the fight. You are a great swordsman. Couldn't you reach the enemy?"

"It was impossible. My arm would be cut off if I tried to attack back. The only chance I had of winning was for my opponent to mutilate himself."

"The Council wants to know the fate of the Mithrael crystal."

Nigun's heart skipped a beat. The question was inevitable. And the answer was not the one he wanted to give.

"The crystal of Mithrael... I used it when I couldn't fight. Angel, Mithrael... Has fallen. He cried out to the heavens to incinerate the heretic. I heard a terrible scream, and then... This monster in human form killed Mithrael. In one blow."

There was silence. You could probably hear the nails growing. Nigun pulled himself together and continued.

"After this terrible murder, the enemy was still on his feet and able to fight. I should have died there. But I fled the battlefield to save the relics and report back."

There was silence again. After a while, the Scribner asked:

"What about your squad?"

"The mercenaries are most likely killed. Even if not, they know nothing of value. As for my men, they will fight to the death. If they are captured, they will kill themselves before they get to the executioner."

"Sir Nigun, the Council needs time to consider what you have said. You will be escorted to the quarters. There you will state what happened in as much detail as possible, on record. A decision on your fate will be made later."

"I obey."

Nigun bowed and left the hall with his back to the front.

As the door closed behind him, a golden streak of silent charms ran through it.

The Scripter turned to the others, who were frozen in thoughtful poses.

"It all sounded unbelievable. And yet, I believe what was said to be true. I did not sense a lie, and the circumstances are in the speaker's favor."

"The kingdom has a new rabid dog? I'm surprised we haven't heard of him before," the Archivist grumbled hoarsely.

This man was in charge of absolutely every piece of information that ever came into the Theocracy's possession. From spy information to scientific treatises of the known world.

The Censor, legislator and supreme judge, continued:

"We will have to reconsider many plans. The expansion of our influence in the kingdom involved the absence of Gazef."

The others nodded. The Censor continued:

"We cannot plan for the future without knowing the present. Archivist, do you have any idea what we are up against?"

The Archivist replied:

"I have a hunch, but I can't be sure of its truth." He stroked his beard. "Almost exactly two hundred years ago, the borders of the states took the form they have now. The invasion of foreign hordes contributed to this in no small measure... I'm sure you're aware of that, and of the strangeness that accompanied it, and its results. And two hundred years before that, there was the invasion of the demonic gods. Two hundred years before that, our ancestors, the Heroes, appeared. And two hundred years before them, the Kings of Greed. I can't be sure, but something tells me the bicentennial interval and what Sir Nygan says are somehow connected. I'll find out all I can. To summarize - I believe that the coming collision of historic proportions is bound to happen. In the very near future."

The others nodded. The Censor continued:

"Scriptor, if an invasion of the invaders becomes a reality, do you have anything to answer with?"

The Сonsul turned to the head of the armed forces.

"It will be possible, but I will pray to the Heroes that such a thing will not happen soon. The issue of the elves is still unresolved. A large part of our forces are guarding the borders, if we pull them away from there, we will lose at least three cities within a couple of months. The castles haven't been built there yet. Knowing the attitude of the lesser races toward us, nothing good awaits the people left unprotected in such a case. It's not a good idea to count on Scripture squads alone. For them to stand alone against an enemy on the level of Heroes or Kings of Greed, it would require the unsealing of almost every Reliquary. In this case, the loss of each fighter would greatly weaken us and strengthen the enemy. If Nigun had fallen and left relics to the enemy... You don't need to explain the magnitude of the disaster. And losses of this level would be inevitable if we fight exclusively with the elite."

"I see," summed up the Consul. "Then we'll need troops. We'll have to make concessions for the boy emperor to get them."

"If my guess is correct," replied the Archivist. "Then we don't have much choice. We will have to use all available resources. Greed can cost far more than generosity."

"Praetor, then you do the propaganda. On the eve of a possible war with unknown forces, people must be united and their spirits firm. Let the people see in the looker the guilt of the heretics of the kingdom."

"The task is clear. What will we do if the Archivist is wrong? Significant resources will be involved..."

"If the Archivist is wrong, we will all breathe a sigh of relief. We'll redirect the effort in a different direction. Finally, let's fight the Empire and the Kingdom for real."

+ + +

The group of adventurers climbed another hill. Talik's heart ached uncomfortably. He had hoped so much that the view of the rocky rise would be revealed. Every time he climbed another hill, he hoped the edge of the plains would be revealed. And each time he was disappointed to see the same dreary hills.

Daimon was still hanging on his shoulder like an unconscious puppet.

/A game avatar in a real-life setting is awesome.

In this involuntary marathon, Talik discovered many interesting qualities about himself. For example, he was not physically tired at all. The 'fatigue' parameter in the game only mattered in combat conditions and when overloaded. Considering that the carrying capacity of a level 100 character even without putting points into it was about a quarter of a ton, including the inventory, there was no problem with dragging a large man in armor on his shoulder. Except that it wasn't very comfortable.

He was tired, except mentally. For several hours there was nothing to catch his eye. The grayish-red succession of hills with occasional fragments of bones of unknown creatures stretched on endlessly.

Talik turned back. Era and Bryce were climbing the slope, breathing heavily.

It was a much more difficult march for them. Bryce held on, but Era, though accustomed to the hiking life, was not ready for such a march. She didn't complain and tried to keep up the pace, but she was the first to stumble, and she even fell on one of the hills, stumbling at one point.

Talik had to use his arsenal of low-level spells. Once every half hour he used [good walk]. This spell raised the group's payload in the game and was almost entirely useless. Now its usefulness was impossible to overestimate. His companions became fatigued much more slowly.

Bryce climbed the crest of the hill and silently cursed.

"Thaler, are you sure we're going in the right direction? I'm hinting that it might be a good idea to...Thaler, are you sure we're going in the right direction? I'm hinting that it might be a good idea to... Wake up Daimon, he knows his way around here."

Watching Bryce help Era by pulling her to the top Talik sighed heavily and looked down at the big man on his shoulders.

"I don't want to waste my time trying to figure things out. We'll get to a safe place, and then I'll wake him up."

"The healer is dragging our guide and the main fighting force, so we don't have to waste time bickering. This world has gone mad," Bryce scratched his dusty neck.

Era said nothing, glancing indifferently at the two guys.

"That way," Talik waved toward one of the hills farther away and moved forward.

Talik wasn't even sure if they were headed in the right direction anymore. He only trusted that Spy wasn't wrong. Talik always climbed the hill first, and Spy would show him the next waypoint.

A whining irritation on the edge of perception kept him uneasy. He had felt something like that before, at the 'customer's' manor. At that time, the source of the irritation had been the undead. Talik then concluded that this is how his 'light side', defines the enemy within perception.

This time the irritation was much stronger and spoiled the already unhappy mood. Either there were more of them, or they were higher up. And by all accounts, it looked like they were being overtaken. Though Talik couldn't even estimate the distance.

The clash was very much to be avoided. The specifics of his class made the game uncomfortable when there were no resources. For example, he could not normally restore magic power with potions and amulets. Their effectiveness tended to be little different from zero.

/I wish the interface were here now. Well, let's put it this way. Woke up with a conditional zero, two overflows it's a total of +200 mana. Messages, 14 each, Hundreds plus Spy, that's 98. [Good walk], ten casts, that's another hundred. Regen, with the stats I have now, is about 11 per hour. Total is about 57 mana, and how much HP I have at the moment, no idea. How many overflows will be enough, and whether even one will be enough, it is also unclear. Only one mid-ambusher to back me up. Just right for a fight with who knows who.

Talik was already tired of berating himself for his mindless journey. He was very fond of this kind of adventure in the game. Only where is the game and where is he now. There, at worst, you'll resurrect in a safe zone with the loss of several levels in a random class. A couple or three days of grind high-end zones and all is restored.

/Except that was the game. Even there, death was a very unpleasant thing, and I don't even want to think about what will happen here. And it's also a big question whether I'll come back to live here after this...

Talik longed to be in the Dawn City again. To feel that blissful comfort and incredible cleanliness again, to see the sun-drenched, tidy streets and the Great Tree of the Elven Quarter. Even the crowd of madmen who lived there ceased to seem a significant inconvenience.

/I'm going back there and I'm not going over the walls again. No way. There are plenty of things to do, even just sitting there. Exploring the physics of the world, inventing, eating everything, diving into debauchery, after all. And it's all for free. I can do everything I never dreamed I could do, so why the fuck am I here?

Thoughts of what he had seen in his delirium crept unpleasantly into his inner monologue. Talik chased them away, figuring there was no point in spoiling his mood any further.

As he climbed to the top of another hill, he lifted his dusty face to the whitewashed sky. It was darker than the last time, and the worm of anxiety was even more active under his heart. Talik didn't want to be stuck here until dark, and something told him that if he didn't check in at the usual time, there would be trouble.

This hill was higher than the previous ones, with a large, relatively flat top, and the view was quite far. Far ahead, a long-awaited rocky rise was visible through the fog. He looked back at his climbing companions.

"It's almost out, guys."

Era and Bryce stood up and stretched out at the top of the hill, exhausted. Bryce mumbled something unintelligible. Talik pondered whether to let them rest or cast the spell again and continue on their way.

The sooner they leave this place, the better, that's an undeniable fact. But a new spell means a new mana expenditure, and that's a catastrophic shortage. He listened doubtfully to his senses - the feeling of the enemy was still there, though it hadn't changed in intensity. Talik looked toward the edge of the plains again. It wasn't long to go, a couple of passages ought to do it. Though they probably wouldn't make it before dark anyway.

/If I leave the guys behind, I'll get there a lot faster. But who would I be after that... If I leave Spy as a guard, that's not much of an option. If it's an ambush, I'll be empty and without cover.

He looked at his exhausted companions and decided to give them a little rest. As gently as he could, he laid Daimon down and said:

"We have a quarter of an hour, would you like to rest?"

Bryce raised his palm sluggishly, not even turning over, and Era silently pulled her hood tighter. Taking this as a sign of agreement, Talik left them, and, glancing in that direction, headed to the other side of the hill. Making sure the boys weren't following him, he snapped his fingers silently. An unsightly boulder nearby changed shape, and a figure in a dusty cloak bowed to Talik.

"Spy, how long will it take you to run up to the hill and back?"

He squinted and assessed the distance and terrain.

"About ten minutes, Your Holiness."

"Okay. Go there and contact Illadria, tell her I can get in touch a little later than usual. Tell her to tell the others. And come straight back. Go on."

Spy nodded and disappeared into the thickening fog. Talik went back to the others.

Era appeared to have fallen asleep. Bryce was just taking a sitting position. When he saw Thaler approaching, he struggled to get up and walked toward him.

"Thaler, I don't mind resting, but are you sure you shouldn't push it? We should go out and rest. With your magic..."

Talik thought about it himself but dismissed the idea. He didn't want to get lost - it would be too easy to go astray without Spy. The direction was quite clear from here, but what would happen when they came down, and even more so in the dark.

"We'll have to wait, Bryce. My 'magic'... Has its limitations."

Bryce looked at Talik doubtfully but didn't object. He nodded, turned back to Era and began to shake the dust out of his clothes and shoes.

Talik watched with wistful tension as the sky faded before his eyes. Spy still didn't appear, though Talik was sure that ten minutes had passed. A thought flashed through his mind as to whether the NPC might have abandoned him, and Talik immediately dismissed it. If the elf had intended to leave him, he could have done so much sooner. Though, Talik allowed the possibility that something had changed.

/Maybe he got some new data. Or got in trouble. I wonder what's worse - the possibility that the NPCs might betray me, or that someone was able to cause trouble for the Seventy with the emphasis on invisibility?

Talik felt a great deal of anxiety and irritation, and did not immediately realize that these feelings had more to do with the absence of Spy.

/Son of a... How did I miss this?!

The feeling of the undead became so strong that it caused physical discomfort. As he worried about the absence of his faithful guard, he stopped giving importance to this peculiar radar, and now realized that it was very much in vain.

A sense of an ominous presence now approached from all sides of the hill. He could literally feel it with his skin; it was comparable to the intense stench his brain would have felt, not his nose.

/We rested, fuck.

He stood up and looked around quickly. Bryce caught the movement and came up, gripping the hilt of his dagger.

"What's wrong?"

"I'm not sure yet, but either way, there's a problem. Wake up the others."

"Daimon?"

"Give a good slap, or prick your finger. Any kind of damage, basically."

The fog in the twilight was even thicker than before. Talik out of the corner of his eye noted how Bryce was bringing the other companions to consciousness, and concentrated.

He had a rather impressive arsenal of spells, designed to confront all levels of the undead. And there was critically little mana to implement it. Something level one or three wouldn't be a problem. But from level four and above, there would be one thing to choose from.

Talik wickedly began to calculate the cost of the magic he was used to. He refused at once to give up the idea of relying on luck.

/I have no options, I need to burn my HP for overflow. The belt is supposed to protect me from going to minus. I used to go to such extremes a couple of times... The only thing left to do is not get hit. Great Random, let me squeeze out at least a thousand of mana.

+ + +

Era was more exhausted by the road than she had ever been before. She'd been dragging her feet for the last couple of hours, not even hoping it would ever end. Walking at this pace without rest was new to her, and Thaler surprised her once again. One light wave of the arm and her body stopped crumbling to pieces from exhaustion. Not that fatigue was gone at all. It was just that walking became much easier, the body became obedient and very light. When that lightness was gone, Thaler made another pass with his hand, and they continued on their way.

She looked with wonder and envy at Thaler's deceptively frail figure. Looking at him, silently and easily carrying the big man in armor, along with his backpack and weapons, it was doubtful that such a man was capable of fatigue at all.

/And is he even human?

As she walked, she had plenty of time to think. She tried to determine for herself how to perceive their strange companion.

At the beginning of the journey, he had aroused her dislike for his inept lies and intrusive sympathy. She thought that faced with the harsh realities of adventuring, he would break, just as Lias had done before him. Only Daimon's authority kept her from simply telling Thaler to go to hell in the first place.

Now she judged him completely differently. She realized that a wizard of enormous power was traveling with them. His spells broke all of Era's ideas about magic. They had unobvious, but enormous power. And the way Thaler used them was very different from Era's usual methodology. No elaborate gestures, no visible innovative components - just gestures and whispers.

She hadn't forgotten how frightened she had been at the ruined chapel, realizing the difference in strength. And yet, it did not prove to be an enemy. This opened up interesting possibilities.

Era was anxious to find out where he was from and where he had learned what he could do. Such knowledge and skills could change her whole life. In this short, skinny man of absolutely indefinable age, Era began to see the chance to become something more than a simple adventurer.

She liked her life - if you compare it to the one she had before. As an adventurer, she had learned what real freedom was like. She had never dreamed of such a thing when she was a seminarian, and Era was always grateful for the chance to escape, to see the world as it really was, and not through the lens of the Religious Dictatorship of Slane's Theocracy. Which turned out to be a monster itself, no better than those against whom she fought so fiercely.

But freedom was not all that Era sought. To maintain that freedom, she had to risk her life and health every day. To kill without the slightest doubt or pity. Her dream of learning the secrets of the world, of exploring its peoples, of developing herself as a mage came to a cruel ceiling: money and the only way she could get it. To kill people and monsters at the behest of other people. Who are sometimes no better than monsters.

In time, Era realized that the adventurer was not as free and independent as she first thought. You are free as long as you have money. And you have money as long as you do the work of the Guild.

Surely, it is better than being given to marry whoever the Circle of Inheritance chooses when she reaches the peak of her talent. It is better than the fate of a mother-producer living in a golden cage under the watchful eye of the priests.

Era was almost resigned to a life like this. The life of a talented underclass mercenary.

And now... Now the old dream was awakening in her again. About libraries, about scientific disputes, about laboratories, about comprehending new frontiers of being. She saw in Thaler the key to this, and despite all his oddities, she was determined to hold on to him with all her might.

Era understood that Thaler was a man. He could demand a lot from her. She decided for herself that she would give him anything he wanted. And she would make every effort to make sure that he opened the way for her to the world from which he had come. She was not afraid of a theocratic order in this world, or this country. Thaler's attitude toward people and social phenomena spoke directly to this.

The only thing left to do was to get out of the cursed plains.

After the incident in the chapel, Era tried not to annoy Thaler. He didn't want to be asked - she kept quiet. He didn't want to waste time stopping to rest - she, gritting her teeth, followed him as long as she had strength. Thankfully, Thaler provided plenty of that strength.

As she climbed the high hill, or rather the plateau, Era felt overwhelming fatigue build-up. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed that the magic that kept her strength was gone. She was relieved to see the edge of the cursed plains, and then she passed out.

Waking up was hard. It was as if sand had been poured into her head, and her body felt completely alien - docile, but somehow heavy, slowed down. She really wanted to stay down and do nothing. A drained, twitchy Bryce was leaning over her, covering the blackened sky that had already turned blue.

"How much sleep did I get?" Era asked, massaging her face with her palms.

"Not long, an hour. Can you do magic?"

Era habitually ran a spark of power from her heart to her palms. She was not happy with the result.

"Barely."

She tried to get up. It was a little harder than she thought. Every cell in her body howled with the tugging burning sensation that usually occurs when the body is exhausted.

"Ow..."

On the other side, Daimon knelt beside her. He hardly looked tired at all.

"Daimon, you're awake... I was worried about you." She tried to hug him and almost lost her balance.

Daimon gently supported her and helped her up.

"Bryce briefed me on the case. I..."

"It's fine."

He wanted to tell her something, but interrupted, glancing to the side. A soft, golden glow fell across his face. Era turned there, too, and saw Thaler.

The guy stood with his hands folded in a gesture of prayer and his head slightly bowed. That golden glow emanated from him. It was as if he had turned into a statue of white and gold marble that had been struck by a ray of sunlight. A stark contrast to the surrounding darkness.

He lifted his head, and Era was horrified. Thaler's eyes, nose, and ears were bleeding in thin streams. Bright, clear, so pure it looked like jewels - as if it glowed with a light of its own that shaded everything else. Thaler looked like a statue of some saint who had no place in these godforsaken hills.

He raised his hand warningly.

"I didn't want you to see this. Come closer to me, please. Now we're going to have to deal with some guys I didn't want to meet... It can be pretty complicated, and I wouldn't want you to get hurt by them."

Era was the first to step toward him. She decided for herself that she would trust this... creature, anyway. Daimon, with an unreadable expression on his face, followed her example and took up a defensive stance, covering Thaler. Bryce habitually disappeared from sight.

"Waiting for who, from where?" Daimon asked muffled, clanking his visor.

"I don't know yet, we'll see soon."

With an act of will, Era shook off her weakness, summoning her strength. The spark inside her reluctantly responded.

"Thaler, will you give us strength, like that time?" She looked cautiously at the healer

"Maybe. But I ask you one thing: don't try to attack. Defend yourself in every way possible. Avoid getting hit in any way you can."

"You have such a low opinion of us?" Daimon muttered from beneath his helmet.

"No. I am sober about your capabilities. Don't take it as an insult, please... Yeah."

Several silhouettes appeared at the edge of the hill. Era's soul went cold.

Tall, black-cloaked figures emerged, revealing the semblance of armor and dirty yellow bones. In place of their faces were horrible masks of rusted iron. Elbow-deep in the same rusty gauntlets, their braids oozed a pale, glowing bluish smoke. There were five of them. They weren't pacing, but rather floating through the air toward the Thaler-lit space from all sides.

Wraiths.

The monsters of the mournful legend of Ibenral. Five messengers of death came to this city at moonrise and left at sunset. Within an hour in a city of ten thousand people, not a single living soul remained. The Academy of the Gifted, the main Cathedral, and the School of Magical Arts - as well as all the teachers and students - were unable to counteract the attack.

The fallen gained non-life, and Ibenral, from the center of science and art in those days, became a breeding ground for nightmarish monsters, a terrible plague on the body of the country. A plague that only the legendary Luther Paradin uprooted when he was young. He unleashed a blaze of sunlight upon the city that flattened the once glorious city in seven days.

And here they are...

Era shook her head in disbelief. For all the notoriety of the Kaz Plains, what would such monsters do on their outskirts?

The wraiths didn't disappear. Era looked back at Thaler in hysterics. She knew Thaler was an amazing wizard, but such an enemy... It became clear to her who he was running from. And bitter that he hadn't.

Thaler, meanwhile, showed no sign of fear, only a concentrated frown.

/Does he even know how to fear?

The wraiths came within striking distance of the knife and froze as if stumbling against a wall. One of them, in a less rusty mask, reached forward with its gauntleted hand. There was a hissing crack, and the dead thing yanked its hand away with a muffled grunt. Thaler grinned crookedly, spoiling the association with the ancient statue of a saint.

"They know how to think. It's a little unusual."

"Thaler, I'd like to apologize for any time I may have offended you. You're the strongest wizard I've ever heard of," Era exhaled, watching as the legendary monster grunted, trying to shake something off his burnt hand. "Did you put up some kind of barrier?"

"Sort of..." Thaler stared behind the wraith's back.

"You... How long can you hold on to it?"

"I can't say for sure, it doesn't make much sense anyway."

Era smiled bitterly. Of course. What kind of barrier would keep critters like that in place for long? She understood what Thaler meant when he said to avoid the blow with all her might. If someone fell at the hand of a wraith, he would become undead - what could be worse than that?

"Thaler, I have a favor to ask of you," Daimon said dryly. "Do you have any spells that can kill? If I get hurt... Kill me. I don't want to be undead. I know it's selfish."

"Kill? Well, no." The healer's voice was full of bewilderment. "If you really want to do it, you can do it when we're done."

"You're either a bastard or an idiot," Daimon snapped. "I believe you can do it quickly and without pain. Do you really believe we'll get out of here alive? Or do you want to keep your hands clean and let us become... This?"

"Daimon, shut up and let me think. Or I'll put you back to sleep."

Daimon fell silent. Era wasn't happy about the prospect of becoming undead either, but she didn't want to bicker in vain.

Thaler certainly won't kill anyone, it's useless to ask. And he won't let anyone else either.

The wraiths were hesitant to cross the invisible border, and the adventurers were careful not to make any unnecessary moves to avoid provoking them.

The silence was broken by Thaler a few minutes later.

"Era, I take it you know about this kind of undead?"

"Not very much," answered Era, staring intensely into the sluggishly moving figures. "Legends and generalized testimonies of those who knew something. I'd be happy to share what I know."

"I used to think of them as solitary creatures. They only band together under the guidance of someone... Or something far superior to them. Do you know anything about that?"

Era pondered, going over the details in her mind.

"It is believed that they are messengers of Death itself. Where they appeared, there was nothing left alive for dozens of miles around. The appearance of Death is always seen as a metaphor. I cannot confirm or deny the idea that they are subject to any particular creature."

"Are you sure?" Thaler gave her a serious look. Her teary, translucent bloodshot eyes gave her the creeps. "If the boss is out there, it's going to cause a lot of problems."

"I'm not sure, I'm sorry. Are you sure we're not in a lot of trouble right now?"

"Now? You... Oh, I get it. I'm sorry." Thaler grinned distantly.

Eira restrained herself from telling Thaler about his arrogance. She wondered if he would surprise her this time...

Just as she thought about it, a wave of nerve-racking power spread from the healer, so strong it took her breath away. Thaler raised one hand to the sky and pointed the other toward the ground.

"Ichten Frann!!!"

The healer's loud scream hit my ears and echoed onward. The wraiths recoiled.

And at the same moment, a blindingly bright beam of light cut through the sky, turning night into day. The fog was blown like a hurricane far away from the hill. Cracks in the ground beneath his feet began to form in the bright light. And a moment later, a ring of white energy was spreading out from Thaler in all directions.

Era felt as if she'd breathed in fresh, mountain air after sitting in a dirty basement for a year. All her senses sang, and she was dizzy with lightness and euphoria.

The ground beneath was shredded as in an explosion, the dusty, dead earth scattered under the pressure of Thaler's energy. The ground beneath the feet was normal, clean, literally ringing with life force.

Wraiths vanished in a wave of energy, shrieking and screaming, turning to ashes at once.

Era looked around and couldn't believe her eyes. The daylight was fading, giving way to the night. All around her, as far as the eye could see, the earth was alive, as if it had shaken off its ashy plaque. Before her eyes, the shy sprouts of grass were sprouting out of it. In the deep, clear sky, the last rays of the setting sun were fading and the moon was rising.

And only miles away, miles away from that hill, a ghastly whitish fog lingered and continued to slowly melt. It was as if a vicious, cowardly creature was threatening revenge from a safe distance.

Era glanced over at Daimon and Bryce, who had manifested himself. She was speechless, and she could see the shock in Daimon's eyes through his visor, the confusion on Bryce's face as he crouched on the ground.

Thaler, on the other hand, headed toward the remains of the wraiths, as if nothing had happened. Somehow Era could sense that the creatures would not rise again. Three pairs of eyes stared intently at the slowly fading figure.

Thaler walked over to one rusty mask on top of a small pile of ash, wiggled it with his foot. Then to a second, sat down, and laughed softly.

"Guys, come here, please."

The adventurers hesitantly approached. Thaler moved aside, revealing to them the sword that had been left in the ash heap. The long, jagged, scraped blade, with its spiked guard and skull-clawed tip, was fearsome on its face. As a spider waited in its lair for prey, so this sword waited for someone to take it in his hands.

Thaler looked up.

"Do the legends say anything about such a weapon?"

Daimon knelt down next to him and reached out his hand, immediately pulling it away.

"That's... I've heard of it. A great warrior became undead and was slain in a terrible battle. One of the heroes who defeated him took this warrior's sword, exactly as described. This hero became the greatest knight of his time, but just a couple of years later he himself turned into the undead and carried out a massacre during the tournament, and there died for good. No one wanted the sword, and it seems that they had to force a slave to carry it. The poor fellow died in terrible agony a few days later. So through the slaves the sword was carried to the ship, carried out into the distant sea, and sunk along with the ship. I never thought I would see such a weapon in person."

"So," Thaler shook his head. "So it works here, too..."

"What works?" Era asked vividly.

"Item class initialization. It's a lot of explaining, I'll tell you later. Right now we have to get out of here after all. If this company had an owner, he must be mad as hell. And I still don't know who it is, so it's better to be safe than sorry."

He moved his hand over the sword, and the weapon disappeared. Era was tired of being surprised, and took it for granted. The energy from the explosion of light energy began to wear off, and the inexorable, leaden fatigue began to set in again.

Thaler glanced again at the dramatically changed terrain, nodded to something of his own, and whispered a spell to ease the way. It was time to move out. Only Bryce shook his head sadly:

"And no bastard would know we were here. No one will believe that we saw everything with our own eyes."

"I think it's for the best, for now," Era replied. "If Thaler's right and we've pissed off the master of the wraiths, I'd rather not be recognized."

As she continued on her way, Era enjoyed the fresh air and the smell of spring earth. Her thoughts were brightest. She hadn't felt such elation since she had fled from the seminary. She stared at the healer's back and was strengthened in her decision to go to his homeland at any cost. Even if it took many years, after all, he was clearly from afar. She had a new dream.

Let them call her stupid, or naive, it doesn't matter. Impossible things have happened before her eyes, and she would spit in the face of anyone who said her dream was impossible.

They reached the steep rocky ascent, encouraged, and reached it in less than an hour. Thaler listened periodically, but apparently saw no cause for alarm.

When they got uphill, they were in for a surprise.
+ + +

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Переводчики: Camrad_RIP