Готовый перевод Общий файл / Does Force Bind to Responsibility?: Глава 18

Chapter 18
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*Spy*

Spy rushed off to do his master's bidding. He was very proud of the honor of accompanying the Perfect Being, and he always tried to follow his orders exactly. Sometimes it was difficult, and Spy didn't always grasp their real meaning. He just silently accepted his role - the eyes, ears, and dagger of His Holiness.

From the beginning of this strange journey, he felt himself between two fires.

The Lady of the Storms questioned him about literally every move they made, and His Holiness was clearly unwilling to waste time explaining anything. When Illadria asked what the Overlord wanted to achieve by a particular order or action, he had nothing to say. And Spy considered it sacrilegious to pester His Holiness with questions, distracting him from his lofty thoughts. The Lady of the Storms had hinted softly that Spy would be in for a very sad fate if he didn't do as she commanded. To which Spy replied bluntly that in choosing whom to anger, he would certainly not choose His Holiness.

He wouldn't tell Illadria about the disrespect the locals had for his lord. The lord had not mentioned his thoughts on the matter, and Spy himself, on some reflection, had decided not to mention it until he was asked about it substantively. It wasn't as if His Holiness was seeking to incur the wrath of the senior vassals against the natives, and that would inevitably happen if they knew what had happened on the lord's journey.

If he still had to make a different decision, he was ready to suffer the punishment he deserved.

This time the order was quite clear, even to him. Spy was generally familiar with the situation in the Dawn City. The senior vassals were all confused, for the first time without direct guidance from the Lords. They needed guidance from His Holiness, confirmation that something they were doing was right.

Overlord left the city, leaving them without the highest presence. It was a heavy blow. And if he left them without his attention, even by long-distance communication, without explaining anything, they would fall into despair.

His Holiness decided not to let this happen while he was fiddling with his new pets, and Spy was well aware of the significance and importance of the mission entrusted to him.

As he climbed the steep slope of the edge of the plains, he was inwardly glad that the abominable fog did not overwhelm his senses. Smells, sounds, and tones flooded his perception again. Spy quickly 'clung' to one of the boulders and retrieved a scroll [message] from his pouch.

"Lady Illadria, this is Stalker Spy."

"I was expecting the report earlier, what's the delay?! Where is the Prophet?!"

"His Holiness told me to tell you to inform the other vassals that he will contact you later than usual."

"Where is he now?"

"His Holiness is exploring the cursed territory as planned. Lady Illadria, I was under orders to report the situation to you and return to His Holiness immediately. Permission to interrupt?"

"Go."

The Lady of the Storms was clearly far from pleased. But to keep Spy out of touch, to delay him and thereby disrupt His Holiness's plans, she did not dare.

The elf breathed a sigh of relief. He feared the lady would not let him go so soon. As he was about to head back, Spy sensed an extraneous presence. He couldn't tell what the creature was or where. That circumstance alone said a lot.

Spy froze, contemplating what to do. Apparently, the unknown man could not determine his position either, and a kind of parity was maintained.

Spy could stay in an ambush for many days without moving, without sacrificing his fighting potential. Still, he couldn't afford it now - his Holiness was waiting for his servant's return. And a report of the probable threat should have been made as well. Delay was inexcusable. Spy was anxious to call for reinforcements or to report his situation to the Lady of the Storms. But there was no way he could have used the communicating scroll without being noticed.

Spy hesitated for a while and then decided to risk raising the alarm to the lady. To use the scroll and whisper a word once overheard from the Lords that had an unambiguous interpretation. 'Shuher' - that sound combination had always entailed active action by the entire Guild.

Still, he didn't make it in time. As soon as Spy moved his fingers to retrieve the scroll from his pouch, he felt slight dizziness. It passed quickly, but his intuition told him he wouldn't be able to contact anyone anytime soon. Spy, discarding caution, jumped aside, hoping to get out of range of the effect, and drew his curved daggers.

Woe to him who underestimates the stalkers of the Dawn by their unsightly appearance... He saw the stranger at once. The man had stopped hiding, too. He was a short, elderly man, wrapped in a cloak that was a little too big for him. He had a neatly trimmed beard and short, well-combed hair with noble graying. Attentive, lively eyes in his wrinkled face were not at all suited to the circumstances of the meeting.

The stranger studied Spy closely for a few seconds, and then he spoke:

You're good. You're really good. I'd like to ask you a few questions if you don't mind.

"I don't have any business with you."

"Good answer, but wrong. I'm sorry, I can't let you go like this. For too long I had hoped there would be no such encounters. Answer my questions, and maybe we'll go our separate ways. Or even be friends."

Spy pondered tensely what to do. He had no orders for this kind of thing. Ignore, attack, or make contact?

There is no way to ignore it. This man has the ability to hide in such a way that Spy, as one of Dawn's intelligence elite, could not determine his position before he stopped hiding. So he is at least as well trained as Spy himself. Turning his back on something like that without finishing the conversation was a bad idea. Spy had a pretty good idea of what a backhanded stab meant. He was a big expert on the subject.

Attack? There's no guarantee as to how it would end. It is likely that one of them will be severely injured or killed, perhaps both of them. There is a possibility of not returning to His Holiness, an unacceptable development.

Make contact? It's a waste of precious time, and besides, he's not facing an ally, and therefore a likely enemy.

Spy chose the lesser of two evils.

"Ask."

"Are you the master, or the puppet?"

"I don't understand the question."

"And with that, you answered unequivocally," the stranger tilted his head slightly to the side. "But let me get this straight. Do you have a master?"

"I have overlords."

"So a puppet. Well, that's good and bad all at once. What's the name of your guild?"

"There will be no answer."

"As expected. I had hoped otherwise, of course. One last question - your master, I mean, the real master, the all-powerful absolute being, and so on. Is he one or are there several?"

"There will be no answer."

Damn, I forgot how stubborn puppets can be. You know, the thing is, I'd like to... To be friends with your master. We can be enemies too, but it would be a disadvantage for everyone. Tell him what I said. I'm sure he'll find a way to contact another... player if he knows he's not here alone. And tell him he'll be here for a long time. Forever, from what I know. That's all.

The stranger turned away for a split second, and Spy immediately lunged at him. He hesitated just until the man said he was ready to be Dawn's enemy, and then he just waited for the right moment to attack.

The attitude of the Lords of the Dawn toward their enemies has always been unequivocal. Destroy them without a shadow of a doubt, every chance you got.

Spy realized almost immediately that he had overestimated himself. The man had been too attentive-or just expecting something like this. One curved blade only grazed the stranger's arm, piercing through the surprisingly strong cloak and leather lining. The other pierced just air.

The next moment Spy felt sharp, cold steel penetrate his stomach, followed immediately by a crushing blow to the jaw. He fell on his back and wanted to jump to his feet, and realized, with wicked surprise, that his body was disobeying him. A chill spread throughout his body from the wound in his abdomen, chilling him to the core.

The stranger, kneading his wounded arm and wrinkling, leaned over him, looking into frozen eyes.

"Your master will bring you back to life, I know. Then tell him so. As a gesture of goodwill, I am willing to forget his puppet's first mistake."

With these last words, the man stabbed a short dagger into Spy's throat without a swing.
+ + +
*Emperia Baharut*

Among the nobility of the Baharut Empire, an invitation to the highest audience of His Imperial Majesty was considered a very bad sign. The emperor was renowned as an extremely shrewd, very far-sighted, and utterly ruthless ruler. In his office, very modest by the standards of the former rulers of the empire, the fate of the one who attracted the crown's attention could lay a very, very steep turn.

In the year of the twelve-year-old boy's ascension to the throne, a great many Noble Houses placed their bets on the intelligent and very understanding young man. The heads of houses had no idea what kind of monster they were putting on the throne. And when they did, it was too late.

The blond-haired boy with clear eyes seemed like an angel but turned out to be a devil in the flesh.

Zirkniv el Nix seemed to know everything about everyone. There wasn't a single secret he didn't know about. There was no one he could not read like an open book. Skillfully playing on people's heartstrings, he fractured the upper classes of the nobility. And while the noble families intrigued and sorted out the relationship between them, the young emperor united the fragmented knightly orders into a united army.

Few people paid any attention to the young 'puppet' emperor's fascination with knights. It was normal for a boy his age to admire armor and weapons, so everyone thought.

And then came the Red Year.

Not a day passed without an execution in the main square of the Capital. The scaffold welcomed everyone - commoners and nobles. Not a week passed without news of another massacre on a private estate. The nobility tried to unite and fight back, but the moment was hopelessly lost. The Emperor executed strictly according to the law of right and duty. Any conspiracy failed - no one knows how the Bloody Emperor knew about it almost before it was committed. The nobility stopped trusting anyone, even within their own families. And the knighthood was rapidly consolidating, lavishly gifted with confiscated lands and castles.

There was a time when the masters of the United Orders also tried to pressure the Emperor, wanting more power and wealth. It was then, too, that they learned what it was to oppose the Bloody Emperor. Some died suddenly of sudden illness, some were mauled by a bear while hunting, and some were slaughtered drunk in a brothel by a nameless vagabond. And some met the scaffold. For the same conspiracy and treason, in strict accordance with ancient law. There was no way to nail the Emperor quietly.

And to do it through rebellion... For the Emperor stood Luther Paradin. The strongest wizard in the Empire and the world. No one knew exactly what the boy had bought the completely indifferent to the mortal world wizard. The fact was that the most destructive force known in the world had taken on the role of a chain dog to the throne.

And at the same time the cunning, shrewd and cruel ruler proved to be fair. Having given his word, he did not break it. He implemented order everywhere, which he himself also followed. In general, the order was very simple to understand - work for the good of the country, obey the law, and do not intend evil. And over time, the rules of the game were accepted by all.

Zirkneef el Nix watched out of the corner of his eye as the visitor disappeared through one of the doors, wiped his handsome face with a slightly damp silk napkin, and glanced at the to-do list. Not that he needed such a list. The Emperor by nature had a great memory, which, in addition, he trained very carefully. He planned to take stock of such to-do lists in the distant future.

Yes, and there was something pleasant about celebrating a job done.

His office was extremely modest by the standards of the former rulers of this country. No statues, no lavish chandeliers, no candlesticks that cost an entire city. A wide desk with no excessive decorations, sturdy shelves with numerous books and scrolls, and a dark red carpet. A large, extremely detailed map of the empire adorned the wall opposite the table.

At the high window leading to one of the inner courtyards stood the second man visibly present. A short, slightly slouching old man with a sad face and a large nose. He had a thick pale gray beard down to his waist, a large robe, in the depths of which were hidden dry hands with tenacious fingers. The old man stared out the window with an absent look.

The Emperor put the list on the table and clapped his hands. The door to the study opened and two beautiful girls dressed as palace servants walked in. One was carrying a tray with a small teapot and two cups, the other was carrying a thinly sliced cake.

The Emperor leaned back in his chair. One girl stood behind him and began to massage his shoulders, the other ducked under the table. She knelt, took off Zirkniff's slippers, and began to massage his feet. The Emperor exhaled contentedly. The old man at the window was still unconcerned.

"Paradin, what's the matter?" Zirkniff asked with a note of dissatisfaction. "You haven't said a word in an hour."

The old man, without turning around, covered his eyes and bowed his head.

"Your Majesty, I have repeatedly expressed my disapproval of this venture with the elves. I neither understand nor approve of the fact that you do business with them," came an unexpectedly strong, low, and husky voice.

"Because they cannot be trusted and will betray at any moment. I know."

"Since you know, why should I waste words."

"Paradin, you of all people should understand the meaning of long-term investments."

"It makes sense to invest in something that won't fall apart in a decade or two. And you are investing quite a lot of resources in support of a people who have been and will remain hostile to you and humans in general."

"Don't you still understand why I'm doing this?"

The old man was quiet, and then he answered.

"I get the point. You support this nation financially to eliminate the possibility that Theocracy will take over. But don't you realize that no one will be grateful to you? No one but their leaders knows your role. You are hated and despised as much as any other people."

"So what? The important thing is that the theocrats can't pull their troops off the borders when I start invading Re-Estis. Supporting the Elves in their war against the Theocrats costs me far less than if I were to fight the Theocrats myself if they were to intercede for the Kingdom."

"And you don't care about the consequences if the secret gets out? The supply chain is too complicated and vulnerable to be a true secret. I'm sure the head of the Guild has known what the game is for a long time."

"So what of it? The Guild has been around for more than a hundred years and has never gotten involved in politics. I don't see any reason why it should happen now. And even if the secret of the elves' endless resources is revealed, I don't see why it would happen now. A diplomatic scandal in which I would deny all accusations. Oh, so awful."

"If the elves can win..."

"Elves? Defeat the Theocrats? - The Emperor chuckled. - How do you imagine that? Even if there were a miracle, and they started pushing those fanatics around, I'd just hold back the supplies, and the Eared Ones would have nothing to fight with."

The old man was quiet, and then he said.

"Your Majesty, you are a talented ruler, but you are only twenty. You are too young to understand how long-lived people see the world. It will pass."

"Oh, here we go. Let's have some tea."

The girl, who was kneading Zirknif's shoulders, broke away from her task and poured the fragrant hot drink into cups. Afterward, the emperor waved his fingers lazily. The two girls bowed and quickly left the room.

The old man reclined in the easy chair by the window and beckoned the cup to him with his finger. It rose above the tray and floated into the old wizard's hand.

"Paradin, I realize that you may not like the things I find useful. You didn't like it when I poisoned my father and slaughtered my brother, you didn't approve of the purge I've set up in all estates. And look now which of us was right. The country is prospering. My power is unshakeable, my coffers are full of gold, and everyone is equal before the law. The nobles are terrified before me, working hard for the good of the country. The common people pray to me, they have ceased to starve and fear for their lives. The army will jump into the fire at my command. Organized crime has ceased to exist. Your Academy is at its peak. Do you think the end did not justify the means?"

"Perhaps you are right. Perhaps. I was wrong about you at the time, that's why I didn't approve. I did not and do not care about blood and death. I only feared that it might degrade you as a person, make you a bloodthirsty fool. I admit that I was wrong about you, and yet I don't think you are as blameless as you think you are."

"That is why you are my most valuable advisor. From now on, please, Paradin, don't make me beg you to give me your opinion."

"Very well, Your Majesty. I'll do my best."

"I hope so."

The Emperor picked up a stack of papers from the table and flipped through them, then gently pushed the carved silver bell on the table. The door opened, and a respectfully bowed elderly man peered through it.

"Is Sir Pallon here yet?" Without looking at the servant, the Emperor inquired.

"Yes, Your Imperial Majesty. Shall I invite him in?"

"Do it."

A moment later, a man dressed in ornate armor entered the office with a chiseled stride. The Emperor stared at him for a moment. He knew that his cold sapphire eyes made people nervous. The black-haired, slightly swarthy man with a slanted scar across his face showed no outward signs of excitement. Though Zirkniff could see perfectly well what was going on in the man's soul.

Baron feverishly went over the list of his sins in his mind and wondered about the reasons for the invitation to an audience. He pored over the list of possible questions and answers, wondered where the thugs of the imperial guard were hidden and were glad that he had not been asked to surrender his weapons. It was a good sign.

"Baron Pallon." Zirkniff leaned back in his chair and, with a cool smile, pointed to a chair nearby. "Will you sit down?"

"Your Imperial Majesty, I would prefer not to violate etiquette. It is bad form to sit in the presence of the Emperor."

"As you wish. I have invited you, Baron, for the following reason..."

A slight panic flashed through the Baron's mind. His father, Orem Pallon, had been one of those who had been purged in the Red Year, and for good reason. His son had understood even more than where the wind was blowing and had stood up to his father, who was leading his family to extermination. Thanks to this he retained his title and privileges, although he lost his lands.

"As I'm sure you know," the Emperor went on as if nothing had happened, "our eastern borders have been a source of much anxiety lately. There's an invasion of creatures like ogres, goblins, and other monsters coming from the Forest of Tob into the Empire. This could be a problem, and I want it handled by men who have proven their loyalty to their country. Men like you, Baron. I want you to take command of a small army, march to the Frontiers, and beat the greenskins into thinking that the Empire can be disturbed with impunity. Succeed, and you will take possession of the conquered land. As the owner of that land, you'll get a government loan for improvements, building a fortress, hiring laborers, and so on."

"I will succeed, Your Imperial Majesty."

"I have no doubt. I will order you to have a hundred knights and squires who wish to show their valor. They will have everything they need. Any further questions or requests?"

"I dare to clarify, Your Imperial Majesty. May I enlist the Academy's mages in the campaign? I would like to be able to confront the green-skinned shamans without suffering unnecessary losses."

"Paradin?" The Emperor turned to the old man, who was already standing by the window again, his back to the Emperor.

"It won't be a problem to equip a few interns. Although it can be quite costly..."

"Oh, don't worry," the Emperor smiled. "The treasury will reimburse the costs. And the Baron, who possesses promising land, will be able to return everything in time, I'm sure of it."

"Absolutely." Pallon bowed.

"In that case, Baron, tomorrow you will be given an army and a document allowing you, on behalf of the Emperor, to quarter in any castle from the Capital to the eastern borders. Once you have them, go immediately to the Fortress of Arrang, it is the closest to one of the problematic sections of the border. Subdue the greenlings and prove your loyalty to the Empire."

"I will do everything, Your Imperial Majesty."

"Off you go, Baron. The Empire is counting on you."

The baron bowed deeply and walked out, his back to the front. The Emperor could see that the man was enthusiastic and inspired, having received an assignment with a tempting prospect instead of a trial.

Silence reigned.

"Paradin, pick interns from among the least promising."

There was no reply; the old man was still standing at the window, staring into the unknown distance.

"Paradin?" The Emperor turned grudgingly to the old mage.

The magician seemed like a frozen statue. The lug of the cup slipped from his finger, near his lips, and the dear little thing shattered with a melodious clink on the polished granite of the floor.

"Paradin!"

Zirkniff had never seen the old wizard like that. He jumped up from his chair, walked quickly over to Paradin, and turned his face toward himself.

The old man's lips twitched slightly, his faded blue eyes were wide open and his pupils dilated.

/Poison! A terrible thought flashed through the Emperor's mind. Who dared, how?!

Massage girls are excluded. Zirkniff would have known that. He always knew what people in his presence were thinking.

"Hey, Grandpa," Zirkniff shook the mage again. He was moving his lips, clearly unaware of what was going on around him. "Guards!"

As soon as the 'u' sounded, the room exploded. The stacks burst open, and warriors in shimmering magical armor, with large armor shields and swords at their ready, poured out from behind them. A dozen or so warriors instantly surrounded the Emperor and the mage in a ring, bristling with sharp blades. A moment later, the front door swung open, and Baziwood Lightning flew into the room.

The mighty warrior, holding a broad two-handed sword with one hand like a reed, looked around at what was going on.

"Medic, quick! It looks like poison!" The Emperor roared, laying the wizard gently on the carpet.

Baziwood moved a little to the side, and an older stooped man with an imposing leather bag ran into the room.

Baziwood's voice sounded like the roar of a waterfall.

"Seal off all entrances and exits to the Palace! All guards to arms! All guests and servants stay where they are!"

The doctor was let through the ring of shields, and the old man hastily examined Paradin.

"It is not poison, Your Majesty."

"Then what?!"

"I know for a fact that it's not poison and it's not a disease. Master Paradin is healthy, it's just a shock. It will pass soon."

"You'd better not be wrong," Zirkniff rumbled."

"I've been at court for four decades," the physician answered grudgingly. "Master Paradin must be placed in a chair and allowed to rest."

Zirkniff could hear the roll call throughout the Palace, the slamming of doors, the ringing of armor steel, and the barking of dogs. Attempts on the Emperor's life had not long ago been commonplace, occurring almost every few days. Even now, the guards worked like a well-oiled machine. Quickly, efficiently, and without the slightest doubt.

Paradin closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The Emperor, watching him closely, slowly began to calm down.

"Paradin, are you all right?" Zirkniff asked with alarm in his voice.

"Yes... Yeah. Sorry about thatn. I... I need some privacy."

Zirkniff waved his palm, and the guards retreated to their recesses behind the shelving doors. It was impossible to imagine the commotion that had raged there just a moment ago. The physician, having received silent permission, departed as well.

"What's happened? Grandpa, you scared me."

"Magic. I felt magic. A magic so strong I'd never felt before. Zirknff, boy, you know how I feel about it. I need to get over there now. I need to see it for myself."

"I don't like it when you call me a boy in the office, Paradine. Where do you want to go?"

"I have to get ready to go. It's somewhere on the other side of the Kaz Plains."

The Emperor hesitated for a few moments. Was it worth letting the old wizard go into the unknown? On the other hand, it was impossible to keep him anyway. The old man was compliant in things he didn't care about, but when it came to magic, he was as unstoppable as a wild buffalo and as stubborn as a donkey. Which, given his power, could have been disastrous if anyone had interfered with his goal.

The Emperor stepped back, letting Paradin get up.

"All right, Paradin. Do as you please. But when you come back, don't shut yourself away in your tower for weeks at a time, and tell me everything you've seen and heard first."

+ + +
*Dawn City*

"Lady Illadria."

The junior wizard bowed and held out his hands. Illaldria, barely noticing his presence, held out her staff and cloak. The junior sorcerer accepted them, bowed again, and departed. Illaldria was left alone.

After the 'event,' Illadria had taken to this place as her personal quarters. Two rooms occupy the penultimate floor of the tower, and a large hall crowns it.

The bright, spacious hall, with its vaulted ceiling and walls of stained-glass windows, was at the top of the tallest tower in her groves. It is not known why the Lords erected this tower. It had been empty for as long as the elfess remembered this city. There were several such structures in the city. When the Lords created these structures, they visited them only once or twice.

The sorceress hesitated for some time, not knowing whether to occupy the tower without a direct order. Then temptation overcame fear. The place reeked of ancient and serene power, and Illadria was drawn to it as if by a whirlpool. She risked asking the Prophet's permission to practice there, and he allowed it, without even going into the substance of her prepared petition.

/What tower? Oh, that one... No problem, take it.

Remembering that conversation, the elfess walked up the marble staircase to the top. She still wasn't used to the place, and it was breathtaking every time. Illadria walked over to the stained glass window and ran her fingers over the carved surface. Rays of sunlight shone through the intricate patterns of the glass, reflecting off the rings and bracelets. Illadria smiled at the play of small sunbeams and pressed the two symmetrical pieces of the pattern in the center of the stained glass. It split in two and opened like a door, revealing an exit to an ivory balcony.

This way you could open and close all the windows in the room. The view was breathtaking. On one side was a city of people. The palace, the central lake, the temples, the aqueducts, and the dwellings. On the other side were her groves of towers and great trees. From here you could also see the trees, in the crowns of which she had set up a nursery for griffins. In the distance, beyond the groves, the top of the city wall was partially visible, and beyond it, the mountains.

Although the beautiful view was only an adjunct to the main feature of the hall. Prophet told her of its properties, which she was not slow to try out the same day. From within it was impossible to damage by any kind of magic. Its walls and glass were immune to either direct or indirect magic. Whatever magic was going on here, the world outside wouldn't even know about it.

Illadria closed the glass wall, went down to the living rooms, and opened the door to the impressive closet, scrutinizing its contents.

She was going to visit Wilhelm. She herself did not fully understand why they saw each other every night. Wilhelm was harsh, rude, narcissistic, and stubborn as a jackass. During their conversations, he always stressed his superiority and irritated her with his strange ambitions.

And yet every time she came to visit, she listened to him. Behind his bravado and braggadocio, she saw more than a man of great power. She saw the character, an inflexible backbone, and a confident adherence to his intended course. After the Prophet left for the outside world, the perfect life in the city began to falter. Problems began to emerge that no one had even considered before. From complicated pregnancies to clogged sewers, from quarrels among the inhabitants to disrupted logistics.

Wilhelm almost drowned in a flood of complaints and requests. Nevertheless, he managed to organize all the processes in such a way that he also had time to deal with the construction of the new road.

In his presence, Illadria noticed that her heart began to beat faster.

Whenever he mentioned his vision of her role in the future, she felt a little bit bitter. No, she did not think it was a bad thing to become the Prophet's wife; on the contrary, she rather dreamed of it. It rather hurt her that Wilhelm spoke of it so easily. It was as if he felt nothing at all. And now it was a matter of honor to make him interested in her as a woman.

/Stupid jackass. When are you going to notice that I'm not just a comrade-in-arms...

She was distracted from these thoughts by the signal of [message]. Illadria was in constant contact with her scouts, and it was not unusual.

"Talk."

"Lady Illadria, this is the observer on the west side of the valley. I detected a group of unknown creatures, 89 units. Some kind of beastmen, their levels against the rest of the creatures are impressive, 20-25. You can see the city walls from their position. What are your instructions?"

"How could they get here?"

"I couldn't know. I would have guessed from one of the tunnels we found earlier if I hadn't known they were all blocked up."

"What are they doing, where are they going?"

"They seem to be hunting. They're chasing a short humanoid. They're heading for the edge of the valley, and if nothing changes, they'll run into Necropolis."

"Leave it as it is for now. If they try to leave the valley, prevent it. If there is no other way, capture the leader, kill the rest."

Illadria interrupted [the message] and tried to contact the Prophet. The spell did not find an addressee, and the elfess became worried. She tried to contact the bodyguard assigned to the Prophet and failed again.

The enchantress' heart skipped a beat. The Prophet's ways and plans are a mystery behind the unbreakable seal, but for a bodyguard not to answer is out of the question.

Illadria hesitated about what to do. She was tormented by the anxiety that Wilhelm had planted in her soul. If they lost the last of the Lords... Despair and fear weighed heavily on her heart just thinking about it. Illadria estimated the time of the Prophet's usual contact. Still, there was time yet.

/Should we leave it as it is? The invaders will fall into the clutches of Marius, and no one will ever hear about them again. On the other hand, if they have communication magic, they can pass on information about what they saw to others, which would not be good. Or if they catch their victim before they reach the Necropolis, where will they go next? Maybe just capture them and then deal with it? But the Prophet prescribed aggression only in retaliation, and these creatures have done us nothing wrong yet. Is it worth risking a decision on our own? I'd hate to disrupt the Prophet's plans. Wish I knew them... I understand Marius now.

Illadria hesitated for almost a minute, and then made up her mind.

"Observer, you say they are chasing a humanoid. How soon will they catch him?"

"It's hard to tell. Both the creatures and their target don't seem to navigate well in daylight. I give it half a day. They will reach Necropolis sooner."

"I will send a junior sorcerer, he will make a snowstorm. Use this to kidnap the beastmen's target. Disorient it and deliver it to the chambers of the royal palace. Another scout will lead the pursuers on a false trail, let them wander in the mountains for now."

"It will be done."

+ + +
*Akuro*

It was noisy around the fighting pit, as usual. Akuro was used to it and paid little attention to the snarls and laughter of the monsters who acted as spectators. It was ironic - in a normal world, monsters fought for the amusement of humans, not the other way around.

Although the world has long been upside down.

Akuro made a stabbing lunge and then leaped backward in catlike strides to escape from the falling stick from above.

The monsters, or as they called themselves, 'orcs,' despised his way of fighting. He had learned them well in the days he'd spent in the pit as a gladiator. Their ethos was one of the swift and desperate onslaught. And Akuro took advantage of that, fighting battle after battle, looking for opportunities to counterattack. Just like now.

The orc growled, tapping his club nervously on the tilled ground. Akuro counted down the seconds, with the same catlike stride, circling him. Exactly four seconds between unnaturally fast spurts.

Akuro's timing was correct. After the expected time, the orc darted toward him, simultaneously uttering a terrifying roar and swinging his cudgel.

If you don't get out of the way in time, that roar stuns, throws you off, and disorients you. And after a blow with a club, there's only half a bone left in the body, if not less. Akuro had felt it firsthand. Many times. And that's considering that the creatures had never really tried to kill him.

Unlike him.

Akuro ducked under the blow with a U-turn. It was a very risky maneuver, a fraction of a second wrong, and either the shoulder would turn into mincemeat or the orc would have time to make another one that would be impossible to dodge.

The cudgel slammed into the wall, and Akuro's sword slashed the orc beneath his knee. There was a shriek of rage, and Akuro barely had time to jump back. Where he'd been a moment ago, a club hit the ground. If the monster's injured leg hadn't failed, it would have been over.

Akuro immediately staggered forward, and, literally feeling his tendons creak, put all of himself into a new lunge. The blade pierced the orc's arm at the elbow. The blade reluctantly ripped through wood-hard skin and muscle.

He knew for a fact that the orcs could not be exhausted. Their wounds healed with supernatural speed, and they seemed to know no fatigue at all. Every advantage had to be built on, without giving them the slightest respite.

The orc tried to swing his club again and dropped it. Akuro calculated his blow very precisely. The severed tendons at the elbow robbed the green monster of its right arm for some time. Akuro used the momentary lull while the creature was trying to get its bearings as best he could. He made a false chopping lunge, diverting the monster's attention to the oblique swing of his sword, and lunged straight for the orc. The monster still got his bearings and slammed his left fist into Akuro's head.

And yet Akuro made it.

Many days had passed since he had been questioned by the mysterious faceless man. All Akuro knew is that it has been more than a week and less than a month. Fighting day after day for the amusement of the monsters, he lost track of time.

In normal life, such fights don't happen every day or even every month. But Akuro fought to the death from dawn to dawn. For the first few days, he suffered defeat after defeat. At first, he fought teenagers, creatures of quite human proportions. They proved to be formidable fighters nonetheless and to begin with they beat him within seconds. The savage strength and incredible speed were astonishing.

Every time he fell to the ground with broken bones, severed limbs, an open chest, and a split face, he expected the end. And each time, the creatures gave him a disgusting salty potion to drink. When he was unable to drink, they simply doused him. And the worst wounds would heal in less than a minute, leaving only pale scars. And he had to fight again. Without respite, without stopping, hour after hour, day after day.

The pain of wounds and injuries became his constant companion. It drove him mad and drowned his mind in despair and fear. At one point, he nearly broke down. And then it came.

Sober rage. It consumed his mind and heart, easily displacing fear, thoughtless anger, and self-pity. He accepted his world as he saw it. He stopped hoping it would ever end. There is him, there is the enemy, and there is the fight. Everything else has lost its meaning.

The instant calculation was added to his hard-wired reflexes and the hereditary gift of Heroes. The speed of monster combat no longer seemed so unbelievable to him. He began to notice details. Instantly analyzing the direction and timing of a strike. His body stopped following his self-defense instincts, completely giving control to his mind.

That day was the first time he'd ever defeated his opponent. He didn't have time to kill them, they were too hardy after all, and the fact that Akuro was stronger didn't make them weaker. He was no longer put up against teenagers. Now he fought adult orcs.

He now realized quite clearly that if that orc in the woods had wished him dead, he would have easily been killed on the spot.

Again and again, he was turned into a bloody cutlet. But now Akuro wasn't just fighting, he was learning. His body was becoming more responsive and obedient. His mind grew sharper, his reflexes more refined. Each new day made the battles longer, and orcs no longer beat him with impunity. Victories were costly to them.

Yesterday he got a draw. Both he and his opponent were unable to continue. And today - today will be his triumph.

The orc's cast-iron fist slammed into Akuro's skull, crushing and crumpling his brow. The eye burst, splattering to the side. And Akuro's blade plunged straight into the orc's mouth, penetrating the inside of his skull, slicing through the soft brain.

Akuro flew aside, crashing into the wall of the pit. And the orc swayed and fell to the ground. The sword stuck in the bone, leaning to the ground, slowly tilted its head to the side, and a look of lost rage and life fell on Akuro.

Through the throbbing rumble in his head, Akuro felt satisfaction. He had made it. Defeated the monster. Even if only one of the countless horde. But he, Akuro, had confirmed the human's ability to defeat any inferior creature.

Fading consciousness noted the flickering in the pit. The onlookers jumped into the pit and did something to the body and himself. The numb spot of the blow suddenly became sensitive - the same potion had been poured on it. His head cleared up, and his lost eye with its signature itching was restored. Blinking, Akuro saw the face of another orc right in front of his face. He was standing right in front of him.

"You killed Bar-Tos. It is not good to kill in the Pit. The Creator said so. Why did you kill him?"

"I just wish I could," Akuro gritted through his teeth.

"You have broken the will of the Creator. You will regret it," growled the orc.

Akuro spat in his face instead of answering. He would have hit him if he could have, but his body still didn't listen well after hitting the wall.

The orc grinned widely.

"That's a good attitude. I respect that. You killed a common shirt. Try killing a Nob."

He waved his hand somewhere to the side, and a bottle of the abominable potion fell in front of Akuro. He broke the seal without taking his eyes off the orc in front of him and slowly drank. The salty nastiness slipped habitually into his stomach and was absorbed into his bloodstream. The muscles were quickly gaining sensitivity, and the fatigue was gone. The pit was already empty, except for this orc and Akuro himself.

The man got to his feet and stretched his shoulders. Nearby, a sword fell from above and plunged to the ground. Akuro drew it at a brisk pace and did a warm-up figure-eight. The orc, still with the axe on his belt, stared at him with his hands at his sides.

"Come on, hero. Show your strength. Show you're worthy to spit in the face of a Nob."

And Akuro learned a whole new dimension. The orc didn't even take up arms.

This time he was not given a potion to continue the fight. The broken body was thrown into the 'living' pit and left like that.

For the first time since he'd been here, he desperately wanted to die.

+ + +
*Dawn City*

A short conversation with the stalker dispelled Illadria's anxiety a little. Just a little. Something was clearly going wrong.

[message]

"Stalkers 4, 8, 9, A, D, F. Immediately head for the point... Stalker Spy's last known location. Find the bastard at all costs. Report every little detail."

The elfess even accepted treachery on the part of her subordinate. She dared not directly violate the order not to interfere. But she directed the elite of intelligence so that they were a stone's throw from the Prophet's route. Just in case. And it seemed that the occasion had come.

The vassals, except Marius, took the information given by Illadria hard. They wanted to hear the Prophet in person, as they had done before. Especially Draga. The elfess had the feeling that in a fit of rage the demoness would have attacked her if she had been around. Warboss promised to 'put an eye on her ass' if anything went wrong. Marius simply said he accepted the information and cut the connection.

It was difficult to translate words that did not convince even her. It was painful to hear Wilhelm, literally in a frenzy. The King of Men yelled, cursing himself for letting the Prophet go.

"His place is here! Here and nowhere else! Where is he? Where did you get the message? I will go there immediately and bring the Prophet home!"

The heavy marble table, leaving a plume of sheets of paper, crashed into the wall.

"You're not going anywhere! This is against a direct order!"

Illadria closed the front door, determined not to let the furious King out to do something foolish.

"An order that was not voiced by Him! I don't believe it!"

William, already dressed in his black and blue armor, was approaching her.

"You will make a very big mistake with this willfulness! I will not let you go! Not me, not Marius!"

"We'll see how you hold me and my troops back!"

"Wilhelm, come to your senses. Are you willing to start a war within the Guild to disobey orders?"

The King froze and exhaled noisily.

"If I have to, I will do everything I can to get the Lord back where he belongs. I cannot rely on an order passed through two mouths. Think for yourself. Just imagine a world without our God in it!"

"I believe in the Prophet, Wilhelm. Do you?"

"I will prepare for the campaign. My faith requires action, not waiting. If there is no news by morning, I will leave the city with my army and sift through this world with a fine sieve, but I will find Him. And you..." The King almost touches her with his index finger. "You decide for yourself. Are you ready... To betray us all by your inaction."

"All right, Wilhelm."

Illadria walked out, closing the doors. She leaned back against them and exhaled with her eyes closed.

The angry stubborn man frightened her. She had never seen him like that before. Even in desperate combat, he'd always been calm, focused, and sure of himself. And now... Now he looked like an uncontrollable madman. For a moment, Illadria thought he might actually attack her to get out of the office. He was beginning to remind Draga of his obsession.

/Prophet, please come back. Make it stop. Let things go back to the way they were before.

+ + +
*Talik*

Talik was the first to climb the high ground that bordered the cursed plains. Bordering the cursed plains before - now there was little in the verdant lowlands that resembled the aftermath of a terrible necromancer spell.

He climbed up and froze.

Near a large boulder nearby lay a dead body. The moon peeked out from behind the clouds, as if by order, and illuminated the face.

It was Spy in a pool of scruffy blood.

"Fuck."

Talik didn't hesitate to buff it into defense. The universal set of spells, tried and tested in the fiercest battles, was servilely invoked in the memory.

The air around me shimmered, humming and ringing. A shimmering thread swirled around him, braiding his clothes. Pale green runes glowed in the air, on the ground, and above his head, and his skin turned white, the color and hardness of meteorite metal. Hundreds of bright little lights rose in the air around him and swirled like a whirlwind.

Daimon, who immediately followed, recoiled, stunned by the sight, and clutched his sword.

"What is this?"

Bryce shook his head and patted him on the shoulder.

Whatever it was, it all pales in comparison to the way the wraiths were blown away.

Era, was the last to come up. Thaler was already bent over Spy's corpse. The adventurers approached the literally glowing healer.

"Is that an elf? But from where?" Era was surprised to see the dead one's ears and distinctive slit of the eyes. "Whose is he? And why with a weapon?"

Talik turned around and threw back dryly:

"Mine. Don't distract me, please."

[command channel]

"Illadria, this is Thallarius. Spy is dead, I need reinforcements. Right now... Very good, you did well. You stay where you are and don't leave the City."

"Wilhelm, check the combat readiness of the army. For the time being only check, do nothing."

"Warboss, go back to the camp near the City now and wait."

"Draga, can you sense where I am right now? Come to me now."

"Marius, can you open a portal at my coordinates? That's fine. Make a double-crossing, from the necropolis to the outer forests, from the outer forests to me. Don't go through it yourself, send something as survivable as possible. Yeah, a pudge will do. Yeah, that's what I thought... Wait till I get back."

The adventurers watched the Talik speaking to the void intently.

/I guess I look a little weird from the outside... Whatever.

"Guys, I promised to explain everything when the adventure is over."

Everybody nodded.

"Well, it's not over yet. But it will be soon. Please don't be surprised by anything."
* * *

*Gazef*
There was a knock at the door. Gazef pushed the drowsiness away with an effort and opened his eyes a little.

"Captain?" A voice was heard from behind the door.

"Come in."

The door opened and a lieutenant entered the half-darkened room. Gazef noted in passing that his armor was off and his wounds were bandaged. He didn't even try to get out of bed, just lifted his arm.

"Report."

"The boys reported that they had collected everything of value. The theocrats had great boots, I'll tell you that, and great amulets. The armor was worse; almost everything had to be repaired. There are no survivors among the enemy. So says the lady adventurer, and the corpses confirm it. Many corpses, captain. I've seen them, and I don't even want to know what she did with them. The messenger should be on his way to E-Rantel by now."

"What's the bad news?"

"Siban and Vatas... That's it. The wounds are too grievous."

"Altogether, that makes nine good guys. The Slaine bastards... That's it?"

"For now, yes. I'll let you know as soon as I have any news. Shall I change your bandage?"

Gazef moved his head with an effort, assessing the condition of the bandage. His entire body was neatly wrapped in strips of fabric. Most of it was scarlet brown, but overall the wounds didn't seem to bleed anymore.

"It's not necessary yet. It won't get any worse. Better make sure we don't lose anyone else."

"It will be done, Captain," the lieutenant bowed. "It just bothers me to think that... We might have lost you."

"Come on. We've had worse on the Wild Fjords."

"Yes, and we were much younger then. Now you wounds don't heal in a day. I don't recall you ever laying down after a battle like that back then."

"No one's getting younger," Gazef snorted, and then grimaced painfully. "By the way, you were relaying the words of that woman, the adventurer. Is she here yet? I asked that she be sent to me at once."

"Uh..." the lieutenant hesitated. "She's here, but... In a terrible mood. She told me not to disturb her and locked herself in the common house. Captain, if you insist, of course, we can..." The lieutenant paused for a moment of uncertainty.

Gazef wondered. He needed to know how the fight with the instigator of all this carnage had ended. Draga was clearly the kind of person who wasn't shy about declaring her successes. And since the boys said she was in a bad mood and wanted privacy, it hadn't gone well.

"Is she injured?"

"I wouldn't say that. If I hadn't seen the aftermath and heard what the guys were saying, I wouldn't have believed she was fighting anyone at all."

"Leave her alone for now. There's no need to piss off so gifted person. Have you searched the place where the ringleader was?"

"With all thoroughness, Captain. There... There's no certainty as to what happened there. It was like a hurricane through the woods. We found remains there, lots of them. But there's no way to identify them."

/The more I hear, the more I want to cross swords with her. There were no worthy partners in arms after I defeated Unglas. What could have gone so wrong there that this arrogant lady was unwilling to boast of victory? Worst of all, if that damn Nigun managed to get away with it

"Make sure all the dead are buried. The priest of E-Rantel will chant them a little later."

"Maybe just leave them in the woods?" hopefully clarified the lieutenant. "The beasts can do the job just as well as the priests."

"No need for beasts and monsters to get used to the taste of human meat. Go on, get on with your work, I'm tired."

The lieutenant bowed briefly and walked out, leaving Gazef alone. The warrior-captain of the kingdom tried to think for a while longer, and yet surrendered to drowsiness.

He woke up in the evening. The short rest had done him a lot of good - his wounds were already beginning to heal. Gazef moved his shoulders to check it. The skin tugged the pain receded becoming merely an unpleasant background. The next few days weren't going to be good for straining his body in the way he was used to, but otherwise, he was fine.

/At twenty, I would have been fresh and full of energy. Although at twenty, I probably wouldn't have survived it.

He tweaked the improvised bandages with his finger. The fabric was already crusty, which meant it hadn't been changed.

/That's a good thing. It would be unpleasant to know that I might not wake up during the bandaging

He went out of the room into a large room. The headman's house was small in comparison to Gazef's, but it was adequate for a headquarters. Two of his boys were sitting at the table by the door, and there was a look of obvious relief on their faces when their captain appeared in the doorway.

"Get the lieutenant. How long was I asleep?"

One of the guys rushed to the exit, the other one answered:

"Not long, Captain. A few hours. The lieutenant said not to disturb you."

+ + +
*Draga*

Draga sat on her knees right on the floor. Her hands were interlocked. She rested her forehead on the cursed steel of her knuckles. She did not remove her armor, seeing any need to do so. On her way back to the village, she saw many of the fighters taking them off, and she didn't understand why to do it. Even if their armor was frankly pathetic, Draga knew she could easily tear that metal apart with her bare hands. But after all, their bodies are even less sturdy.

/Miserable worms.

In the woods, when she ran into her tentative allies, she could hardly keep from outbidding them all without sorting out who was who. She saw everyone as the same. Weak, fragile pieces of meat, the only difference between them being an iron wrapper. If she hadn't regenerated her body at that point, at the expense of those she'd killed earlier, she might not have been able to hold on.

/I have to be a hero. I should be. But I... I don't understand. Who are heroes, how do they become heroes? Do they kill villains? I've killed villains. But I feel no gratitude. The villagers say thank you to me, trembling with fear. The soldiers show me respect by holding their hands to their weapons. As if it would help them... There is fear all around.

She could feel the beating of hearts for dozens of paces around her. She knew how each of the people outside that dark room felt. Everyone felt fear of her. It wasn't unpleasant in itself but rather the opposite. Draga would have had great fun if she had her hands free. She banished from her mind the sweet images of the massacre she was so eager to stage.

/Heroes don't do things like that. What do they do? How do I do Your order? Is this a test? I'm on the verge of failing... It turns out that just killing villains isn't enough. What else must I do? The Prophet gave me a task and gave me the freedom to do it without instructions. Does that mean I have to figure it out on my own?

Muffled irritation was slowly turning into anger. Draga knew the result she had to achieve, and she saw no way to do it. On the one hand, she felt an acute desire to kill. On the other, she knew that she couldn't do it just now.

/I also missed the enemy.

At the thought of this, she clenched her hands so tightly that the metal of her gloves rattled.

/I'm going to find you and kill you, you bastard. I will tear little pieces of meat from you until you are dead. Then I'll bring you back to life and do it again, and again. I remember your smell, I remember the taste of your flesh. You can't escape.

Draga could no longer succumb to mad rage at the thought of it. At least not to show it in any active way. Only, against her will, there was a hateful grin on her face.

/Anyway, it's a failure. I hope the Prophet doesn't turn his back on me because of this...

Time dragged on slowly. The fear of the Prophet's possible censure for her mistake and the hope that He would forgive her and show her the way to make things right were fighting within Draga. The uncertainty literally tugged at her nerves, growing stronger by the minute.

At some moment an alien mind touched her consciousness, and Draga flinched.

"Prophet?!"

"No, it's Illadria," a melodious voice rang in her head.

"What do you want?" Draga almost hissed out loud.

"The Prophet told me to tell you he would delay his message."

"You... You insolent bitch, do you mean to tell me that... The Prophet gave YOU permission to speak on His behalf?"

"I understand how that sounds. The state of affairs is this - the Prophet has told me to inform all the elder vassals that he will contact us later than usual."

"Illadria, there is a limit to everything. There is a limit to my patience and there must be a limit to your impudence. I don't know what you're up to, what you're talking this nonsense for. I give you one last chance to save your worthless life - stop this ridiculous lie."

"I am not afraid of your threats, Demon. In any case, the words of the Prophet I conveyed to you. I'm done."

Illadria's voice was gone. Draga felt devastated. It was as if her heart had fallen into a bottomless abyss.

/If she's not lying... Is this punishment? Does he no longer wish to speak to me personally because of my failure? Not again... Although, the elf was talking about having to deliver this message to everyone, couldn't everyone but her have screwed up... Or could they?

Her torment was interrupted by a change in the environment outside the room. The fear and anxiety of the people in the village began to subside. Draga turned her head slightly, listening.

/Yes, that's definitely that man.

Gazef Stronoff. A man with a weird name, the only man Draga had ever met in this world who she did not despise. She never understood why that was. He evoked mixed feelings. Respect for someone who, being born a wimp in a world of wimps, was able to rise up and not lose himself. Fearless, yet cautious and judicious. Unconditionally loyal to his ideals, yet not a fanatic.

His footsteps and heartbeat indicated that he was heading for her room. Draga was kind of glad to have someone to distract her from her distressing thoughts. She outwardly relaxed, and when the man was about to knock on her room, she said:

"Come in."

The door behind her opened ajar.

"Thank you for the invitation. How are you?"

"Better than you."

"That does you credit. You dealt with the main enemy, while I was nearly overpowered by his subordinates."

Gasef went into the room and stopped, unsure of how to position himself. Draga was sitting on the floor, and to sit on a stool might have seemed impolite. He hesitated and remained standing behind her.

"I wanted to talk to you about that. One cannot say that you have failed, and one cannot say that you have succeeded."

Draga gritted her teeth.

"I killed everyone but their leader. At the last moment, he managed to escape. I held him with this hand, and he just disappeared."

"I would be glad of details, Lady Draga. We have an agreement, and I need to know how it went."

Draga wondered for a moment what to tell him and what not to tell him. She wanted to brush it off, but then she remembered the deal. The order would have to go through the damned Guild. Somehow, something had to be said, or the whole promotion thing would be a waste of time.

Details? Hmm... I rode to where they were waiting for me. I took out two of the bodyguards. Their leader, Nigun, drove the others out of the way. He had some kind of shield... It wasn't easy to penetrate his defenses. He summoned some sort of magical creature, like those angels, and I was hit with magic, but that was all. By the time I had my enemy by the throat, he was gone. I'll find him later, it's personal... Then I fished out the others. That was all.

"You are a very skilled warrior. I am glad we are on the same side."

/Don't be deceived, Draga thought, but didn't say anything. And then a fresh thought occurred to her.

"It looks like you're the only one who's happy. Gazef, tell me. Are you a hero?"

"Huh, at least I'm considered a hero in my homeland. To the theocrats and imperials, I am very much a villain."

"I don't understand. You're a hero and a villain at the same time? How is that?"

"It's obvious. You can't be good for everyone. You can only be a hero to those you protect. You can never be a hero to those you fight with. Why do you ask?"

Draga saw a certain sense in this. /And for whom should I be a hero then? It's obvious, though. Since the Prophet sent me here, it means for those who live here.

"My god told me to be a hero, and I want to figure out how to do it. I can't do it yet. Can you teach me how to be a hero?"

Gasef was confused for a moment.

"It's a bit of a surprise, I'm flattered. I've never thought of such a thing. Well, I'll do my best to support you along the way."

Draga's spirits brightened. Until now she had acted on instinct and a general understanding of the matter. Now she would have someone who could explain why she was surrounded by fear rather than reverence. Teach her to distinguish properly between this wretched meat into enemies and allies.

"I appreciate it. When do we start?"

"Well... Right now we're in a godforsaken village, not a good place to be. I suggest we postpone this conversation until we arrive in E-Rantel. I have a house there with a training ground and everything we need."

"I think you misunderstood me. I'm not looking for training."

"The first lesson, Lady Draga. A hero is a role model, someone to whom thousands look up. Thinking you are superior, stopping to test and develop your body and spirit, degrades you. This is a bad example for those who look up to you."

"...Maybe. I hadn't thought of it that way. Good. When I'm done with my business in E-Rantel, I'll find you, and we'll get back to it. What do you want in return?"

"The benefit to my homeland from your deeds will be a worthy payment. Well, I'll stay here with my unit for a few days. After that, we'll move on to E-Rantel. Then I'll place the order as we discussed. Wait for us, or find me in town, it won't be hard. If nothing happens, I'll stay there for a couple of months."

"It's a deal. Now I want to be alone."

"Gasef exhaled contentedly and walked out. Drega went back to her own thoughts."

/Is this the right thing to do? I don't know, it's disgusting to have to deal with all this... Prophet, give me a sign, am I on the right path?

As soon as she thought about it, a hurricane burst into her head. Other feelings, emotions, and... His voice.

"Draga, can you feel where I am?"

How could she not feel it? The first sound of his voice was enough for Draga to pinpoint its source more accurately than any compass.

"As my life, Prophet."

"That's great. Get over here now."

"I will rush faster than any wind."

The Prophet spoke to the rest of the vassals as well; Draga didn't care about anyone else. She stormed out of the room like an arrow. The nightmare was already waiting at the entrance to the house, and Draga jumped on his back. The two soldiers at the front door barely ducked before they were struck by the galloping stallion's hooves.

+ + +
*Diterios*

In the domed hall, with its walls riddled with runes of power, Diterios prostrated himself in front of a small podium in the center. Sovereign designed to listen to his account of what had happened.

Waiting for the great Necrarch to arrive, Diterios shivered nervously. As a living man, the Sovereign knew no mercy or pity, punishing anyone who violated his plans. In death, he became even crueler. Except that he was more rational and fair, and as a result, his decisions were not always predictable... Diterios did not know what to expect.

/I took a risk to please him, and I bet wrong. Truly, the power of Kings is far beyond anything I could have imagined.

The runes on the walls glowed a pale green light. But the darkness only grew more intense. For a moment the blackness was impenetrable, and then it gathered in a thick cloud on the dais. There was a brief faint flash, and a fuzzy, blood-curdling ghost descended from the dais. Through the translucent body, wrapped in shimmering, shaky clothes, I could sometimes see the cracked bones.

"Happy to see you, my Sovereign," Diterios said obsequiously, not taking his forehead off the floor.

"You know why I'm here," came a raspy, dry voice in response. "I'm going to look at the storage. You can tell me what happened on the way."

Sovereign sailed through the air toward one of the corridors, and Diterios followed. The necromancer gathered his courage and began to explain in a dry manner pleasing to the Sovereign.

Believing one of the Kings to be merely a servant, I lured him to the plains and led him to the trap prepared for you. The trap worked, and I sent the Wraiths to capture the intruder. I had no idea of his strength. Based on my experience fighting Demon Lords two centuries ago, I underestimated him. At the moment, the Wraiths are disembodied, and the curse on the edge of the Plains has been substantially damaged.

"Well, that's how." The Sovereign commented.

The corridor led them to a room that the Sovereign had called a storeroom. It was the same rune-lettered hall as the last, only in the center of it was a gaping hole fifty paces in diameter. A cylindrical shaft, with perfectly smooth walls that reached down to an immense depth, gleamed with silent purple lightning. Somewhere deep down there was a shard of the god's heart. One of the artifacts known to Dieterios absorbed the life force stolen by the plains.

The Sovereign moved his hand in the air, and the signs on the walls glowed brighter. Hundreds of thousands of invisible threads, woven into a complex web, obediently vibrated, transmitting to the Sovereign the necessary information.

"The damage is not that significant. I expected worse." The spirit swam toward the next corridor. "How many power surges were there?"

"Only one."

"One spell broke the fabric of the curse and disembodied the Wraiths. Interesting. Something general-purpose, and, judging by the effect, of a high order. An irrational approach. Later, you'll have to examine the place in person and take an energy print, and it's best not to wait too long. Surely that sly wreck of a Paradine is in a hurry to get there, too. I have a hunch about what it could be, and I want to be sure. This is important."

"Yes, my Sovereign," Diterios bowed as he followed his lord.

They entered the ritual rooms. The temple of a long-forgotten faith, desecrated by a Sovereign in times immemorial. There were still echoes of the fury of the fallen deity.

A long rectangular room with a crumbling entrance arch framed the inner row of columns. Chained to each one were the ever-decaying remains. There was an indistinct echo of screams and groans of souls doomed to rot with their bodies indefinitely.

Diterios inwardly grimaced. Somewhere in here, his predecessor had fed his misery to the Sovereign's insatiable magic.

Sovereign floated up to the half-destroyed altar. Diterios stopped behind him.

"You never did like this place, did you?" Sovereign inquired in a sly voice.

"I cannot deny it, Sovereign," Diterios bowed deeply.

"I see. The previous supervisor still isn't used to it either, and that's for... Remind me again, how long have you served me?"

"Three hundred and four years, my Sovereign," the necromancer answered in a low voice.

"In three hundred and four years, right. Oh, whatever."

Sovereign took a pause, and Diterios fought the trembling in his hands.

/I knew he brought me here for a reason. But... After all, he told me to look at the place where the wraiths had been slaughtered. It can't end like this.

Diterios, you are a diligent student. The most diligence I have ever had. You have always pleased me with your ability to learn, to develop skills. Reasonable initiative. I expected so much from you, especially now that so much is at stake. What happened to your ability to think before you do?

"I have no excuses, my Sovereign. This is entirely my fault. Let me fix everything..."

"Fix everything? It's not going to be easy. You probably don't realize what you've done, do you? Let me enlighten you. A new King of Greed has come into the world. Slaves and children of another world, who have traded shackles and canes for limitless power, the limits of which they cannot see, even when they are above all. They are all-powerful, uncontrollable, and virtually invulnerable. They are served by invincible, fanatically devoted creatures. It is impossible to share the same world with them - and I do not wish to do so."

"However, they can still be defeated. They are foolish and naive, and their power makes them careless. Therein lies their weakness. To defeat them, you must convince them that they have no equal in this world. Learn their characters, their abilities, and their secret desires. Yes, even in conditions of absolute superiority, some desires may remain hidden... And then, sow distrust and enmity between them and finish off those who survive."

"And now we come to the most interesting part. Diterios, do you know how many Kings have arrived? Do you know their characters and abilities? Do you know what artifacts they possess? You don't know? That's unfortunate. After all, I don't have the exact data either. What I do know is that they'll be on their guard. A king under the curse is doomed. If they lose one of their own, they'll know they have recourse, too. They will use all their considerable powers to find and eliminate the threat. So, with an unacceptable probability, the initial plan has gone to waste. Now, my apprentice, tell me. How would you fix it?"

"I... I would fake the source of the curse. Create a fake enemy capable of doing such damage, and divert attention to it, then lay low and cover my tracks."

"Hmm. I guess your predecessor will be bored for a while without decent company. Come, I prepared something for you."

Diterios stepped closer with a wooden step. Sovereign moved his hand over the altar, and the book was left lying on the scratched stone.

Diterios swooned. The book, in its worn leather binding, had no patterns or inscriptions on the cover. Nevertheless, it was unmistakable. It reeked of the nerve-racking, painful energy of death.

This is your punishment and your reward, Diterios. I know you are stubbornly trying to keep your useless life. We've talked about this before, and your desires mattered until this failure. Now it is obvious that your mortal nature makes you unreliable, and I am no longer willing to put up with it. It's time to give up that burden and move on to the next step. This book will make you truly perfect.

"...As you command, my Sovereign. May I... wait with this?"

"Do you reject my gift?"

"...No, not at all. Earlier, you told me to go to the place where the King used his magic and study the traces of the spell. I suppose that's best done while I'm... Alive. This spell is most likely of a light nature. I can't be sure what effect this magic will have on me after... Read it. Especially since you mentioned that it's worth hurrying to get ahead of Paradin."

"Sounds reasonable and balanced. If I trusted you less, though, I would have thought it was like trying to escape. And I'd certainly be wrong, wouldn't I?"

"Yes, Sovereign. It would be foolish to try to run away from you, and I see no reason to run away from power. It may not be exactly what I wanted, but I don't think many creatures in the world have been blessed with such knowledge. I will yield it to no one."

"Good answer. Go on, don't hesitate. I'll be here until you return. The Kings are building a portal, an opportunity not to be missed."

Diterios bowed deeply and quickly left the dilapidated hall. Heading to his rooms, he knew exactly what he was going to do. At the same time, he did not allow a single fully formed thought in his head.

He was not sure that the Sovereign could not read other people's minds. He could not allow the Sovereign to understand the real depths of his discontent.

Diterios had long assumed that the Sovereign would, one way or another, force him to turn undead. There was no point in protesting - the conversation was clearly taking place there for a reason, where there was a clear example of how arguments with the Sovereign ended.

Diterios had long assumed that the Sovereign would, one way or another, force him to turn undead. There was no point in protesting - the conversation was clearly taking place there for a reason, where there was a clear example of how arguments with the Sovereign ended.

He entered his personal chambers. Restrained luxury, perfect order. Racks of books and laboratory diaries, half of which he had written. From inside, at the entrance, a personal servant was on constant duty, bowing deeply at the appearance of his master.

Diterios stared at the bent figure of the dead man.

/No desires, no aspirations. There are only goals laid down from the outside in an obedient mind. Am I going to be like that...?

With an effort, he tore his gaze away from the lich and headed for his bedrooms. The dead man stopped bowing and followed. As he approached the mirrored closet doors, Diterios stared into his reflection.

/It is so symbolic. Life and death. The present and the future.

The reflection looked at him, a lean, wiry elf in a gray and gold robe. A hooked nose, thin features. The tips of his ears peeked out from behind the soft ashy hair slicked neatly back. Women had liked him a lot when he was young, and there were many fond memories of that time. Which Diterios was eager to add to with new experiences someday.

And slightly behind him, wearing almost the same robe, stood a skeleton covered in shriveled skin. There were gaps in the nose and eyes, a mouthless grin. There was no skin on the hairless head, and there was bone.

/What is the point of such power? Power without purpose or meaning. I wished to possess the power of magic for the sake of having the goods of life. For the pleasure of learning new things, of wealth and influence. Books, women, comfort, and fine food. And in the end, what? Though the Sovereign is happy with everything and has kept his will... Maybe there's something in it. We'll have to find something in that.

Obeying the gesture of his hand, the lich opened the doors of the closet. Diterios saw a considerable number of clothes. Some of them had been presented to him by the Sovereign, some were "inherited," and some he had sewn himself. He lazily glanced over the variety and sluggishly pointed to the lich's leather-embroidered hiking pants, high boots, jacket, and cloak. The dead man fidgeted as he changed his master's clothes.

Diterios almost deliberately procrastinated. He double-checked that everything fit tightly and comfortably, and took a long time to choose a bag, writing utensils, and tools for energy measurements. Carefully chosen amulets and rings. After thinking about it, he took one of the staff from the weapons rack. He twisted it with his wrist - the heavy carved wood obediently rattled the air he was dissecting.

At last, the possibilities for even such a slight delay were over, and it was time to leave Black Rock.

/The surrounding area looks much different from below. Those were beautiful places.

At the gap leading into the bowels of the mountain, picturesque ruins spread out. Temples, aqueducts, dwellings and houses of various assemblies, the ruins of statues and fountains. Even the passage of time had not erased the traces of the fires.

[Phantom Creation - Phantom Stallion]

The image of the spell in the memory triggered a chain of reflexive mental efforts. The otherworldly force obediently took the necessary form and merged with the material world. The spirit of the fallen horse became embedded in the sand and air, and a translucent stallion appeared before Diterios. All unnecessary memory had long ago been erased - all that remained was what made the horse a transport.

As the necromancer climbed up the saddle, he felt the enchantments of the shackles inside the mountain stirring. Something very strong was trying to get out of the enclosure.

/The Sovereign seems to have succeeded in intercepting the spatial keys.

He listened. The shackles were under increasing strain, and at one point they were at nearly a third of their maximum capacity before the captive essence began to fade. /I wonder what the Overlord caught, Dieterios thought as he spurred his steed.

He wanted to think about many things, preferably away from the Sovereign.

+ + +

Talik sat on one knee over the dead body and did not know what to do. There was a very real corpse in front of him. The corpse of the guy he'd spoken to just a few hours before. He was already used to being surrounded by the real world. And he wasn't used to real corpses yet. It wasn't like that in the game.

Tension hardened on Spy's face. The blood from the terrible wound on his neck had curdled, accentuating the cut edges unsightly. Talik tried not to look there - it made him sick to his stomach to look at the open wound.

/It's too much... Too much. What can I do?" - he touched the dead man's cold cheek. "I could try to resurrect him. Or rather, I would certainly try. Absurd in terms of my usual reality, but it might work. Except there's no mana. And it doesn't feel like it's recovering. It's so easy to get killed here. That village in the early days. The manor guard. Even the guys were really ready to find and kill a man without trial.

Although, when to think about it, how am I better than that? I gave people who had done nothing to me personally to be torn apart by a psycho-vivisector. I sent a horde of murderers to war. Even though I didn't do it myself, I killed a lot of people, and worst of all, I don't feel any guilt. How many villages like this have come about because of me... And I don't know if I could have done otherwise. The local greenskins mutilated and almost killed one of the men who thought I was their patron. If I had not to fight back, how many more victims would there have been on "my" side?

I don't want people to die because of me. It doesn't matter what they look like, what their ears are, their skin color, their height. But how to avoid it... I don't know. To lock myself in the City and keep my head down, to isolate myself from the world, so that it doesn't harm me and those I am responsible for now? As if there would be less death and suffering. Yes, I won't be responsible for them. I'll just be the dude who does nothing, looking at the shit that's going on.

It's even worse than... Being guilty of murder. I guess so. And when they get me out of there, it's still only a matter of time. I'm not counting the fact that I have no HP and no mana, and I have a dead bodyguard in front of me./

Daimon came up from behind.

"Thaler, I don't know what's going on or what this dead elf has to do with you. I know for a fact that it's time to get out of here; you insisted on it yourself recently. What are we waiting for?"

Talik reluctantly turned around.

"My reinforcements will be here soon. For someone I might have stepped on the tail the distance we manage to travel before then means nothing. It's like hiding under a blanket. Moreover, now I have at least to some extent secured the area around."

"You mean those fireflies? How can they help? I've seen what you can do, but this isn't impressive."

"They won't allow the *real* enemy to approach unnoticed. I don't think that will comfort you, but I guarantee that I won't let you get hurt while I'm around. You'll just have to wait"

"Okay, I'll believe you. I'll pretend, at least."

"Don't make a favor out of it, man," Talik said. - When I met you, you seemed like a pretty fucking sane dude. And now that sane dude is gone, and instead, I see a fuckhead who starts pumping authority in a very dangerous situation. On these fucking ruins you started arguing and I dragged you on my hump all the way, saving your life. And now you're back with your very important opinion. You know what? Fuck you."

Talik took a breath and wanted to continue, but changed his mind. Daimon silently played with his cheeks and left for the rest of the group.

/Maybe I shouldn't have been so rude, but I really got it. A noob with a claim...

His thoughts were interrupted by a startled cry and the sound of a falling body. Talik jumped up, turning around.

All three adventurers were face down on the ground. Above each was a stalker. The elves pressed the guys to the ground with their knees, holding their hair and putting knives to their throats. Daimon and Bryce watched tensely, watching the blades. Era turned white as snow. Her lips were trembling finely.

Three more stalkers took a knee right in front of Talik.

"Hey," Talik said cautiously, confused by the scene. "What's the problem?"

"They have angered you, Your Holiness. What would you have me do?"

"Let them go."

The stalkers stepped away from the adventurers. Daimon helped the panicked Era up, and Bryce spread his arms wide, showing that they were unarmed.

"Hey, guys, take it easy. We didn't mean to hurt anybody. Can we just get out of here?"

The stalkers stood silently at a distance of the blade lunge.

/Yeah thought Talik. And I thought I couldn't ruin the relationship anymore.

[message]

"Prophet? I'm sorry to interrupt, but I'm sure you'll find it interesting. The Pudge I sent to you has, in some unknown way gone to a completely different place. I can't control him, or even trace his location."

"I see. Keep an eye on his condition. If, or rather when, he "dies," let me know. Also, contact me in half an hour anyway. Tell Illadria to contact me now."

"It will be done, Prophet."

Talik cut the connection. /They did intercept. Well, let's see how fast they cut up the fatty. I still have plenty of Pudgs. I've never saved mana on [messages] before.

[message]

"Prophet, you wished to hear me?"

"Yes. Illadria, how many stalkers did you send to help me, and with what subclasses?"

"A dozen. Equal numbers of Assassins and Rangers. The Rangers are camouflaged in the woods near you. The rest are still on their way, so can I use the portal to transport them?"

Absolutely not. Leave one ranger, send the rest to find out who killed Spy. I don't care how they do it, I want to know who it was. If they're discovered, let them run away. Only engage in combat when there's no way out. As soon as you get results, let me know right away.

"It will be done. They will begin the search immediately. What more can I do for you?"

"For now, just keep me informed of the results."

Talik broke the connection, collected his thoughts, and approached the wary "companions". Era shrank into a lump as he approached, Daimon covering her.

"Guys, I apologize to you. Especially you, Daimon. I shouldn't have said all that. I was just so nervous. I... I really don't want to hurt you. I know how it sounds now, and I'll understand if you don't believe me. There's somebody else coming soon, and we're going to head out toward E-Rantel. If you come with me, I swear there won't be any more misunderstandings."

"You mean we can really go the other way?" Bryce clarified. "And your friends won't cut us into belts?"

"That's right. I would prefer that we go together, just because I can protect you from trouble along the way. But I won't force you to do whatever you want."

"We'll go our own way, Thaler," Daimon said slowly. "We're not good company for each other. And Era doesn't really trust elves."

"As you wish. Shame we didn't get to be friends. If there's anything you need, just say the word. I don't want to leave on a bad note."

"Honestly, we could use some gold," Bryce interjected, dodging Daimon's hand. "Nothing helps a good memory like spending money with gusto."

Talik smirked, reached behind the lapels of his clothes, and pulled out several bars from his "inventory," like the ones he'd given Bryce the last time.

"Take it. I don't have a lot of coins, so I'll keep them. Is that not a problem?"

"Of course not. And I've always wished I had a knife as your boys," Bryce said curtly, shoving the gold into his pockets and ignoring the boiling Daimon.

"You're such a bugger," Talik grinned.

"Insolence is second happiness."

Talik held out his hand to the side. The closest stalker silently unclipped the dagger scabbard and put it in his palm. Talik, in turn, handed the weapon to Bryce.

"Take it. They don't make such here."

"And your word is worth something," said Bryce incredulously, accepting the dagger.

He took it on three fingers out of its sheath, gazed into the blade, and shook his head.

"I just had a hard time fighting the urge to give it back. My life is much cheaper than that blade."

"It's a gift. You can sell it later if you want."

"I'd rather kill myself. Thank you, Thaler. We're going to step aside for a while, okay? In case whoever you're waiting for isn't in the mood either."

Talik just waves his hands. All that was left was to wait for Draga.

/With a tank like her, there's nothing to worry about.

The adventurers were quietly conferring about something on the sidelines. From the occasional remarks, Bryce urged the others not to split up with Talik. Daimon disagreed, and Era, now almost recovered, did not participate in the discussion.

In the distance, Talik noticed some movement. He looked more closely.

/There she seems to be.

The moonlight was enough to see the rider galloping at full speed. In less than a few minutes, the massive stallion stopped in front of Talik, blasting the ground with its hooves. Draga slid off the saddle and dropped to one knee in front of him.

"I'm here. Give me an order."

"I want you to guard me on the way out. We'll have to walk part of the way, and it might be dangerous, even for me."

"Those who have become your enemies will greatly regret it."

"Also, it looks like we're going to have company. These three, too, will have to be protected."

Draga looked back at Daimon and his remaining companions as they approached. Her gaze lingered on Era a little longer than the others, and she squinted unkindly for a moment.

"As you wish."

She got to her feet, straightened up, and was about to say something else when she suddenly froze, staring at Talik. Her gaze was one of surprise, disbelief, and something else.

"What happened?" Talik asked.

The illusion in her eyes immediately dissipated.

"I'm sorry. It's nothing. Let me take care of you."

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