Готовый перевод История Королевы Эльфов / The story of the Elf Queen: 4. Глава четвёртая. Первые неприятности Героя Королевы Эльфов

Chapter Four. The First Trouble of the Hero of the Elf Queen

* * *

Cyril stared at the inscription that appeared before his eyes for a moment. All the fatigue and sleepiness after a long day seemed to be removed as if by hand. He had chosen the system modifier “ System Assignment I” on the advice of the elves, to speed up the experience gain. Yes, other options gave a good bonus to gaining experience for peaceful ways of pumping or killing enemies. But the queen provided some excerpts from the archives. If to believe them, and there was no reason to doubt the vast accumulated experience of the elves, the tasks given out by the system would be more useful for Kiril specifically. Peaceful ways to pump - in the case of his class, this led to artifacting. Aggressive ways to pump up for the time being were also rejected, as Cyril still had a long way to go before the nearest battle, which the elves warned him about at once. First, he needed to get used to his powers. And Cyril was in complete agreement with them. It was not enough to kill himself on some goblin of the first level, or any other stupid way to die. He'd already screwed up once, and he didn't know how.

So, the option of getting assignments was probably the most optimal in his case. Of course, in theory, he could be offered something too dangerous, but, if the same elven archives were to be believed, he would have to grow in levels for such a thing. And the offered assignment can be refused without any serious consequences. All you have to do is wait a week for a new assignment. But if you fail, the penalty is doubled, and you will have to wait two weeks for a new assignment. But if you successfully complete it, you will get a new assignment in three days.

So Cyril, without a second's hesitation, accepted the new message and read the lines that appeared right in his mind.

System assignment (small) received: store at least one of your full reserves in the storage amulet until dawn.

Reward: one-fifteenth of the experience scale; minor facilitation of amulet-storage amulets.

I see. Well, here was his first assignment, as it should be for a hero of the first level, quite simple. Although, if you put your hand on your heart, Cyril still had a faint hope that he would now be given a global quest to save the world. Or restoring the shaken world balance? Well, in general, something significant. And preferably with a marker on the mini-map, which would be given in the set. And with an appropriate reward, of course. All right, well, we'll work with what we've got.

Cyril got out of bed and put on his finger one of the gold rings with a large emerald he had taken off before going to bed. He was able to tune in to it without any problems at all, thanks to the knowledge he'd received about “the basics of working with basic amulets and artifacts". As well as the fact that this particular ring was made specifically for him. Concentrating, Kirill began to pour his reserve into it. And almost immediately, he realized two things. The first was that he had completely misjudged the capacity of the rings he had been given. There was no question of “a few” of his current amount of energy. There's like, not all of a dozen and a half! Even his most basic knowledge bestowed by the System was enough to realize. This is VERY cool! Many gifted people would pay any money for such a ring, and if they didn't have enough of their own, they would borrow or sell a kidney. Or the kidney of a relative/friend/colleague. Or a relative/friend/colleague's full body. Not to mention the option of banally killing the owner of such an amulet, because you need it more!

This is a creation of the level of a full-fledged Master of Magic, which absolutely most Adepts, not to mention Apprentices, can only dream of. Unless, of course, their father/mother is a local Rotenberg. It was very nice to see another confirmation of how much the elves appreciated him, that they had given him two such amulets. He would have to thank the queen for them again. However, all these thoughts flashed in the back of Cyril's mind, only to be immediately lost there.

The second thing he realized as he began to infuse his energy into the amulet was that he had miscalculated his strength and, out of habit he had poured two-thirds of his reserve into the ring in one fell swoop. From such a sharp loss of power, his body instantly became cotton. If Cyril hadn't been sitting on the edge of the bed, he would have fallen to the floor. Abruptly cutting off the channel of energy transfer he sat motionless for several minutes, closing his eyes and breathing deeply. His whole body felt woozy, his ears began to rumble, and a cold sweat broke out. Belatedly, he realized that spending too much and too fast was not the most pleasant or useful thing. Especially not for the gifted beginners.

Licking his parched lips, Cyril realized his mouth and throat were dry. Fortunately, an enchanted carafe of water and an equally enchanted goblet had been left on the bedside table. Cyril filled it with his trembling hands and drank the unusually tasty and cool water greedily. It suddenly made him feel better. A little better. His tiredness returned, and he wanted to crawl under the blanket and sleep... But Munchkin's greed made him open his eyes and grit his teeth. We have to finish the job! I don't want to fail my first quest! And such a simple one at that.

Cyril sat down and spent a few minutes trying to get himself in order. The spent reserve was already replenishing itself, but only weakly. He could start meditating to speed up the process, but he still needed to sleep. So Cyril carefully took control of the rest of the reserve and began to pour it back into the ring. This time he was extremely careful, strictly controlling the amount of transferred energy. It was easy to create a channel of the required bandwidth, and maintaining it was practically effortless. The energy slowly flowed from Cyril into the ring, with almost no losses. That once again spoke about the quality of the artifacts given to him.

Cyril made himself comfortable on the bed and tried to breathe deeply and slowly, watching the reserve gradually empty. At the same time, he felt the fatigue growing more and more, and his body was becoming sluggish again. But he was determined to finish the assignment and get the reward. When the reserve still showed the bottom, Cyril held on almost on stubbornness alone. And as soon as the system message came, about the successfully completed task, he immediately literally collapsed back into bed. Victory! Mentally congratulating himself, Cyril managed to crawl under the blanket and cover himself tightly. His body was shivering, and the thought flashed through his confused mind that he should have prolonged the filling of the ring at least for a few hours.....

"Master Cirial? Master Ciriall"

From somewhere far away, through the warm sleepiness, came concerned voices. Cyril blinked and opened his eyes to see the concerned faces of two girls directly above him. After a couple of interminably long moments, it dawned on him that they were maids. His maids.

"Good morning,” the young man said sleepily.

Well, he tried to say it. But it came out something like “'ood monin'” His tongue was suddenly sluggish and slurred. What the hell? Trying to sit up, Cyril was surprised to find that he felt completely shattered. His whole body was stuffed with absorbent cotton, and there was no strength at all. He could barely move his fingers. Fear flashed across the faces of the maids, and they instantly developed a flurry of activity. Armina, pulling out a communication amulet from somewhere, called loudly for someone. Gata pressed her palms against Cyril's face and forced him to look into her bright yellow eyes, in which a fire naturally burned.

"He's suffering from severe magical exhaustion! He needs immediate help! Call the healers, I'll do my best to support him!"

"Already! They're coming! Put the protective amulet on him! Why did he take it off in the first place?!"

"Damn it, his powers continue to dwindle!"

"How so?! Do you see any damage to the aura?!"

"Nothing... The ring!"

Cyril listened to all these shouts as if through thick glass. The words barely penetrated his brain but did not reach his clouded consciousness. He wanted to sleep, just lie there, and do nothing at all. And not even think about anything, because thinking was too hard. But Cyril was not allowed to fall into a blissful slumber, he was constantly breaking, asking something, saying something. At some point, it became wildly annoying. He even wanted to shout to get away from him, but then a vaguely familiar face of the elf appeared in front of his eyes. Her luminous gray eyes seemed to attract the young man's gaze. And then Cyril felt as if he was doused with ice water, which swept not only through his physical body but also through his subtle body. Fatigue and drowsiness were washed away in a flash, his head became clearer and he sat up sharply in bed, as if he had been electrocuted. For a few moments, Cyril stared at the several elves and his maids crowded around him in bewilderment. The closest to him was a visibly tense Fiorel, and next to him was the local chief enchantress.

She was holding her staff in her hands, pointing it towards Cyril, and the tiara on her head glittered with precious stones. Her gray eyes sparkled in unison with them, and she looked at the young man very intently. And this look was not kind, which made Cyril immediately become uncomfortable. He literally felt it physically on himself, as it was groping his delicate body, sending small waves of energy through it.

"All right. I've stabilized his condition and restored the minimum reserve. Give him a few minutes to recover and then take him to the healer's chambers. He should be fine by tonight,” Mirael said, lowering her staff and extinguishing the glow.

After which, her beautiful face took on an extremely stern expression, and she said in a stern voice:

"Honorable Cirial, as I recall, you and I agreed that you would refrain from unauthorized experimentation with magic."

Licking his lips, the young man, who had a sudden urge to be somewhere else, managed to get something out of his parched throat:

"What... what happened to me?"

Throwing a very expressive glance at the rest of the elves and Cyril's maids gathered around the bed, the head enchantress said in a lecturing tone:

"You poured all your magical power into one of the storage rings given to you. But even when your reserve was empty, you continued to feed the ring, pouring your own life force into it. You were saved from complete exhaustion only by the fact in sleep the reserve is restored faster, and the replenished crumbs of energy reduced the drain of your life force."

Leaning forward, Mirael asked in a polite voice that sent shivers down Cyril's spine:

"May I know the reason, honorable Cirial, why you nearly killed yourself, bringing you to the point of total exhaustion?"

Licking his lips, Cyril stared at the head sorceress for a few seconds, unable to take his eyes off her and desperately trying to realize her words. In addition to the growing panic, there was a single thought in his head. What the fuck?! And then the knowledge given by the system suggested the answer, which made Cyril want to smash his head with the palm of his hand. Feeling like a complete idiot, he managed to squeeze it out of himself:

"I didn't cut the connection..."

Mirael, who had been watching him, arched an eyebrow demonstratively:

"Excuse me, what?"

"I got a system assignment yesterday! I had to store one of my full reserves in the amulet-storage device until dawn... So I... a little underestimated my strength... And then I was so tired that I almost immediately passed out and didn't cut the channel I used to drain energy into the ring...."

There was silence in Cyril's bedroom. The gathered silently looked at the Chosen One, who had almost killed himself on the spot. Again. The main enchantress had a particularly expressive face, and she sighed heavily.

* * *

"It was risky,” Sivila said slowly, watching the reflection of Cyril's bedroom in the artifact mirror.

Standing beside her, Third, unperturbed as ever, shook his head:

"It was a fully justified and controlled risk. His condition was continuously monitored by our healers. He was in no danger, and they wouldn't have let it happen. But now we can make the most of this incident. For one thing, it'll teach him a lesson that he won't do anything rash or willful again. You know as well as I do that no child knows what's hot until he's been burned. Secondly, it will increase his trust in us and make it easier for him to work with us in the future."

"I agree. But what if his patroness informs him that we've been following him from the beginning?"

"This is unlikely, according to our archives. As a rule, such entities do not often have direct contact with their favorites after they have sent them to the other world. But even if they do, we'll just honestly tell him we did it for his own good. Judging by my experts' assessments of his character, he should take it well."

"Okay, let's say. How long before he recovers?"

"By tomorrow morning, he'll be perfectly fine and able to start his scheduled training."

"Good. Any problems with his magical arts mentors?"

"None, the honorable Mirael has well selected her best students."

"I'm glad to hear that."

Turning to Sivila, Third inquired:

"How was your visit to Andarial? Did you learn anything from her?"

The queen shook her head, remembering yesterday's visit to the Forest's best clairvoyant. Andarial was only a couple of centuries younger than Sivila, and she had spent her entire conscious life painstakingly perfecting her very rare gift. Working with the unified information field was one of the most difficult areas of magic. Specialists in this field could literally be counted on one's fingers. If you mean real specialists. All kinds of fortune-tellers, soothsayers, and street prophets were not that there were a lot of them, but they were found in almost every major city. And among the mass of all sorts of charlatans regularly were really gifted able to predict something or see. However, the limit of abilities of many of them was predicting the weather for the next week. However, this was also very much appreciated, especially in the villages.

The main problem of working with a unified information field was that it was very difficult to see exactly what one NEEDED to see. The second, not the least problem, was to correctly understand what was seen. Often the images received by clairvoyants and soothsayers of all sorts were extremely abstract, blurred, or at first glance unrelated to the request. And sometimes they were really unrelated to it. All this, combined with a relatively rare predisposition to the gift of clairvoyance, made even an average specialist a very valuable person. Andarial was not even close to average. She was one of the few clairvoyants who could see exactly what they were asked and understand what they saw. She had honed her naturally strong gift through centuries of hard work.

For the same reason, Andarial was one of the most valuable resources of the Forest, which the elves guarded and protected in every possible way. Perhaps she was almost the only one whose whims, sometimes quite sudden and expensive, the Supreme Treasurer satisfied without any arguments or discussions. Even if they exceeded the already considerable budget for her upkeep.

Sometimes Sivila envied her in that respect. But every time the queen remembered the price the clairvoyant had paid to strengthen her already noticeably above-average gift the envy immediately disappeared. Even complete loss of sight for some special reason, when the eyes cannot be restored, is not an insoluble problem for a strong gifted person. There are many ways to perceive the surrounding world and navigate it with the help of one's gift. And some ways allowed to do it as if not better than with ordinary eyes. But Andarial's case was different. She voluntarily, with the help of a special ritual, sacrificed any possibility of seeing the world around her, forever immersed in total darkness, which was broken only by her visions. But with this sacrifice, she further enhanced her talent.

So many of Forest's victories had been achieved thanks to her. It was hard to escape the gaze of her completely blind eyes. More than one or two elves who were captured or kidnapped, it was she who managed to find them. Many things that the enemies of the Forest had thought were safely buried, it was she who had managed to see through long past years and sometimes decades. Sure, there were ways to keep something or someone from the clairvoyants. But there were also ways to open the defenses against the gaze of the third eye. And Andarial was very good at them, and most of the time she was able to find answers to the questions asked. She was able to look into the past, even very long ago and seemingly safely buried. She could find out what was happening to whom on the other side of the continent right now. And even the future sometimes revealed its secrets to her, though it was the most difficult to work with, especially at serious distances, and her foresight was the most vague.

Because the future is unstable and constantly changing. It is not without reason that among those specialists who study all kinds of prophecies, one of the main and primary tasks has always been the need to understand whether a prediction is true or false. And, as the best clairvoyant of the Forest herself said, it is best to predict the past that has already happened. That way there is less chance of mistakes.

But Andarial's gift had one important limitation. Like so many clairvoyants, she needed a point of support in order to see anything properly. Something to push against. Something to push against. Very few practitioners of clairvoyance in one form or another could do without any support. And those seers who could, often were not delighted with the accuracy and specificity of their results.

After the destruction of the Master's laboratory, Andarial was almost immediately involved in the search for him. But it was understandable that no one in their right mind would let such a valuable expert access the potentially lethal things of an enemy like Master. Only after some of his belongings had been thoroughly checked and deemed safe was the seer given access to them. And everyone was waiting for Andarial to give them if not a clear answer, at least some direction. However, the clairvoyant surprised everyone very unpleasantly.

None of the artifacts or trivial household items from the Master's laboratory that had fallen into their hands were suitable for work. It did not provide a point of support. The reason was quite disturbing - the memory of the past of all the objects that had fallen into the hands of the elves had been stolen. According to Andarial, it felt as if none of them had a past at all. Any attempts to see anything based on them either did not yield any results or, according to the seer, led her into the void. At the same time, it was necessary to take into account that she acted with extreme caution, with all possible precautions, because there were ways to harm the clairvoyant that tried to see you or your past. Deceptive visions, trap visions, illuminating visions - there were plenty of techniques. And, considering who the elves were facing, there was no guarantee that among the knowledge acquired by Master there were no ways not only to defend against clairvoyants but also methods to actively counteract them.

Of course, the elves did not want to lose such an invaluable resource that Andarial was for the Forest. But they couldn't give up just like that either. That's why Sivila, sacrificing a few hours of her sleep, visited the clairvoyant in person the day before, in her luxurious residential mansion located in one of the most protected places of the Forest. They had a difficult conversation, and at first, Andarial refused the queen's offer. But in the end, Sivila persuaded the clairvoyant to try.

The reason for Andarial's reluctance was that any really serious divination required an equally serious effort. Seeing the weather tomorrow was one thing. But to know what was going on in the tent of the Great Chief of Chiefs, in the midst of his equally Great Horde, was, as the halflings say, two big differences. After each serious divination, Andarial needed a rest, sometimes quite long. And the work of the best clairvoyant of the Forest never ceased, requests to her are scheduled almost for years in advance, and the appearance of Master on the horizon has ruined the plans of many.

It is not surprising, therefore, that at first Andarial refused the queen's idea of using Sivila herself as a point of support for divination. Since she, albeit through a puppet, was still in personal communication with Master. In theory, this could have provided a clue that would have been the fulcrum for the divination. But in the end, for lack of anything better, Andarial agreed. For nearly two hours, she and Sivila sat motionless in the ritual circle, holding hands and trying to “feel,” as the clairvoyant put it, at least something. And in the end, they even succeeded. But the result was not what they had hoped for.

"With great difficulty, she managed to fumble with just one vision. The usefulness of it was questionable, though."

Taking a small storage crystal with the imprinted image from a pocket on her belt, the Queen held it out to Third.

"All Andarial could find was an image of some kind of northern forest. The image had the vibe, as she put it, an echo of many years gone by."

"Not too much,” the head of the Secret Guard said slowly, taking the crystal from the queen's hands.

"Surely this image can't be used as a prop for further insight?"

"In theory it was possible, Andarial herself had said so. But not before a few days, as she was very tired."

"Who would doubt it,” said Third, who knew as well as the queen how capricious Andarial could be.

"Perhaps we should appeal to the Supreme Hierarchs of the Theocracy?" Sivila suggested cautiously. "I think they might agree to provide us with at least part of the artifact that...."

"We already asked. Their answer, or rather HIS answer, was no. It was said politely, but firmly. However, they told us that they plan to use the remains of the artifact as a basis for the search for Master. And if they managed to get on his trail, they would inform us immediately."

"I would very much like to believe that,” the queen sighed tiredly and turned to the huge map on her desk at the same time as Third.

There were dozens, if not hundreds, of different markings on it. The vast areas around the Middle Sea, some of the lands of the Fallen Kingdoms of the North, and the area east of the Forest to the borders of the steppes were painted a disturbing red. And in the center of that area was a large letter “M” and a question mark.

* * *

"Mmm, perfect fish chowder! It's delicious! You have a marvelous cook, my dear Celestina."

A large, if not downright fat woman, with a cheeky and ruddy face, blushed embarrassed by the praise of her hostess's dear guest and, bowing politely, retreated into the kitchen. She had a wide and satisfied smile on her face. It's nice to be appreciated for your work. The guest of her hostess was eating a full pot of steaming fish chowder with obvious pleasure. But Celestine de Kleban, wife of the late honorable Baron Vincennes de Kleban, a vassal of the even more honorable Duke of Darmond, was not in the same good mood as Chloe, her chief cook.

There were several reasons. Though really, there was only one reason. The very dear guest sat next to her at the table, on her right hand. Who was not really a guest, but a natural invader, who had appeared literally out of nowhere in her measured life as a well-to-do widow. It was because of him Celestina was sitting at the table in a completely inappropriate state. Her brown hair was loose and unbrushed, and she wore a nightgown, the kind of nightgown she wore only for her late husband or her dearest lovers. And with breasts on display that had grown two sizes larger in the past few days, with large brown nipples that had become noticeably more sensitive. It was because of him Chloe's teenage son, that idle rascal and lazy, instead of helping his mother in the kitchen, sits under the table and polishes her bud with his tongue. He polishes it too well, having already made Celestina sprinkle his face with love nectar twice during the leisurely breakfast. He's in a hurry, the damned bastard because he knows that the number of times he makes her cum, the number of times she'll have to thank him later.

The widowed Baroness de Kleban was well aware of the impropriety, inadmissibility, and unnaturalness of what was happening. She was well aware that she and all the other inhabitants of the mansion had been subjugated by evil and powerful magic. She was aware of it, but could not do anything about it, helplessly and unconditionally fulfilling all the whims of her enslaver. He clearly enjoyed her condition and showed it in every possible way. He did not leave the other inhabitants of the mansion, mostly servants, to realize what was happening. For example, all of Celestina's household considered it normal for their mistress to walk around her house in her underwear, or naked. Or the fact that she had been sleeping with the new inhabitant of her mansion every day since the arrival of that damned bastard, having already made several servants and one bodyguard happy.

Good thing he'd put her with the prettiest ones so far. Maybe she just doesn't remember otherwise. Maybe she'd already been fucked by that hog Geyde, whom she kept just because he was an excellent stable man. Or that nasty, lusty old man Feydian, who she inherited as a steward from her late husband. Although, he was a really good steward....

Her captor, who was happily continuing to eat Chloe's rich fish chowder, turned to Celestina and grinned:

"Not at all, honorable Celestina, I did not compel you to share a bed with any of your household that you detested. Only with those for whom you had sympathy. Even if you will never admit it to yourself."

The widowed Baroness de Kleban was about to reply wryly, but at that moment Chloe's son, the bastard, nibbled the pearl of her bud with his lips and began to tease it with the tip of his cursed tongue, making Celestine moan. The captor sitting next to her grinned again and turned to look in the other direction, where they had already finished breakfast. On the right side of the table Celestina's son, Detrian, who was a couple of months older than Chloe's offspring, was fucking the widowed Baroness de Kleban's sister off her back. Completely rid of pants and underwear, he was in a shirt, tightly grasping his aunt by the waist, quickly moving his hips and breathing heavily, flushed and wet. Celestina's sister was wearing, as was she, only one special nightgown, and it was from the widowed Baroness's stock. Her breasts were also on display.

Sermina, who had dropped in on her sister and her son at such a bad time, stood helplessly with her legs spread wide and leaning on the table. Her face was flushed, and her hair, a little lighter in color than her sister's, was visibly disheveled and sticky with sweat. But unlike her nephew, who had only pleasure on his face, she looked at her sister and her captor with a face full of anger. Like Celestina, she was left with the ability to be fully aware of what was happening, yet unable to do anything about it. In addition, unlike the widowed Baroness, she had been markedly reduced in her ability to speak by their tormentor. The guest looked at Sermina for a few seconds, then shook his head with a grin:

"Not at all. I did not instill any thoughts in your nephew. I merely removed, so to speak, moral inhibitions and restrictions. You see."

Sending a piece of the puffy bread roll into his mouth, having previously dipped it in the chowder, he continued:

"...the young future Baron de Kleban had once unwittingly witnessed his sweet mother having fun with one of her lovers. The sight of his mother naked and being violently penetrated by another man not much older than himself made an indelible impression on him."

Celestina opened her mouth and goggled in surprise at what she heard, and her sister gave her an angry look.

"It resulted in what the scholarly men and women of the Neirat Academy called the Eriopus Complex. But to desire his mother was too inadmissible and immoral for him, the underlying prohibition did not allow him to do so. Which, in turn, resulted in him transferring his forbidden desires to you, as his mother's sister."

Sending another bite of fresh bread roll to his mouth, Celestina's captor continued in his most mundane tone:

"So I didn't have to compel him. Everything he does and will do with you is entirely his fantasies and desires. I just removed all the inhibitions and restrictions in his head."

At that moment Detrian sped up sharply, thrusting his hips, and then exhaled hoarsely as he pressed himself against Sermina and poured into her. The sister of the widowed Baroness exhaled loudly through clenched teeth and gave her tormentor another look of helpless anger. He grinned again as he watched his nephew pile onto Sermina's back. He wrapped his arms around his aunt's breasts and began to squeeze them, kissing her neck, which was already full of hickeys. After the last bite of the bread roll, Celestina's captor chewed it thoroughly and asked, looking at Detrian with amusement:

"So, do you like your dear auntie?"

Celestina's son broke away from kissing Sermina's neck and nodded with a happy face, not realizing the impropriety and obscenity of his actions:

"A lot! Thank you, Aunt Sermina is beautiful! I like her very much!"

Chuckling, the tormentor of the dowager baroness leaned back in his chair and asked in the same cheerful voice:

"I'm glad to hear it. Wouldn't you, Detrian, like to change anything about her appearance?"

The young man hesitated for a moment, then took a step back, finally coming out of his unhappy aunt's pussy. He pulled her to his feet and turned her around to face him, unashamed of her nakedness. Taking a step back, Detrian looked at the flushed Sermina from head to toe with a serious face, droplets of seed dripping down her legs. Celestina was well over fifty years old, Sermina was a few years younger than her, but both women looked thirty at most. The good alchemical cosmetics and the services of mage healers they could afford had almost completely negated all traces of their advanced years. So both women looked quite attractive. Detrian turned to their tormentor and said honestly, quite sincerely:

"I like everything about her, thank you. Except, uh."

Turning back to Sermina, he reached out his hands and squeezed his aunt's breasts, beginning to knead them with his fingers.

"You could make her boobs bigger....."

He paid no attention to his aunt's angry look. But their tormentor let out a short laugh and shrugged cheerfully:

"Why not? Enjoy."

He took the cane hovering beside him, more like a shortened staff and pointed it at Sermina. She opened her mouth in a mute scream, was lifted into the air, arched, and her tits began to enlarge. In just a few seconds, they had added a size, if not a size and a half.

"Is that better?" Celestina's captor asked with a smile.

"Wow, that's great!" Detrian exhaled in delight, immediately recognizing the change in Sermina's appearance.

She only cast alternately angry and despairing glances at her nephew and her tormentor. The latter rose from the table and walked slowly toward them:

"Enjoy. You can take her to your room and do whatever you want to her in bed. Aunt Sermina won't deny you anything."

"Thank you! Thank you!"

Literally glowing with happiness, the young man, who received at his full disposal the object of his secret desires, as well as deprived of any moral prohibitions and restrictions, grabbed Sermina by the hand and dragged her to the second floor of the mansion. But at the last moment, their tormentor suddenly stopped him:

"Wait a second, though!"

Grasping his staff and cane, he poked the lower end of it into the pubes of the frozen woman, right in the center of a small and neat triangle of dark hair. Sermina's eyes darted open and a small but complex glowing magical symbol appeared on her pubes and quickly faded away, disappearing among the dark hair.

"It's done. That's it, you can enjoy your favorite auntie!"

The shining young man immediately took the helpless Sermina by the hand to the second floor of the mansion. Celestina, trying not to pay attention to Chloe's son, who continued to polish her with his tongue, asked in a hoarse voice:

"What did you do to her?"

"Mmm?"

Turning to her, her tormentor shrugged as if nothing had happened:

"It's just a little spell that guarantees your sister's pregnancy, and at the same time prevents her from terminating it without significant harm to the mother's life and health. At the same time, it will bind the father to her for the duration of the pregnancy, causing him to itch painfully if, as the poets say, his blade is out of its sheath for too long. I suppose you are familiar with such spells, are you not?"

Biting her lip as Chloe's son continued to caress her bud with his tongue, Celestina whispered:

"Why?"

"Why am I doing this?" Celestina's tormentor raised his eyebrows, “Just because I can and I want to!"

Smiling cheerfully, he approached the helpless Baroness, waving his staff-cane.

"You can think of it as payment for your relatively trouble-free and quite happy life. Don't you understand? And who helped you to be widowed so successfully? Who saved you from all the problems with your late husband's relatives who claimed his inheritance? Who covered your tits and your slit from the encroachments of those who wanted to get rid of you and ensnare the young and inexperienced Detrian? Hmm?"

Celestina couldn't make a single sound out of her shock, just dropped her jaw, staring at her, as it turned out, not only tormentor but also her secret patron. He grinned and said:

"Exactly! So relax and enjoy yourself. I won't stay with you for long, and I'll erase all your memories before I leave."

"MMMFFFF!!!"

"Pardon me, what?"

When he heard the loud and indignant mooing, Celestina's captor turned to a free-standing chair in the corner of the dining room. A tall, muscular, and unusually beautiful for her kind Orc woman sitting in it. Sermina's son, who was only a year older than his cousin, sat helplessly on her lap. Like Detrian, he was young and handsome enough, with a thoroughbred aristocratic face and well-groomed shoulder-length dark hair. But unlike his cousin, he was completely naked, with his hands tied behind his back and his legs spread wide. The muscular orc, fangs bared, played with the lady's savior with one hand, shoving it into the young man to the hilt. With her other hand, she held him by the shoulders and ran her tongue over the face of Sermina's helpless son. Though his face was twisted in disgust, his cock was stiff with blood. As Celestina's tormentor approached him, the orcish woman asked cheerfully in a powerful but pleasant voice:

"Master, give this pale-skinned little hussy to me! He's so sweet! I'll make him my girl!"

The young man made another loud mooing noise, which only made his tormentor laugh even more. She held him tighter with one hand and moved the other from the lady's savior to his cock. Against the palm of her hand, it was surprisingly small. Bringing her lips close to the helpless captive's ear, she rumbled:

"The women of my folk, who have chosen axe and spear over hearth and tent, are very fond of sweet hussies like you! They cut off everything unnecessary."

At those words, the orcish woman squeezed the cock of the desperately mewling young man.

"...and make girls. They keep their mistresses warm on long nights with their bodies. And when their mistresses have young sons, these girls help them to quench the fire in their blood that thirsts for feminine beauty."

Bringing her lips close to the ear of the young man tumbling helplessly in her arms, the orc woman whispered:

"Some female warriors prefer to bite off rather than cut off all the extra stuff from the girls. This makes them especially submissive....."

Chuckling, Celestina's captor who had been watching this dialog shook his head:

"It's a good idea, Basita, but alas, he'll be a burden, and we don't want any more traces."

"MMFFF!!!

"What? Why? Why is your mother sucking your cousin's dick upstairs while your ass is being played with by Basita?"

Leaning toward the helpless young man, his tormentor threw contemptuously:

"First of all, because I wanted to. And also because, unlike you, he's a relatively modest and surprisingly shy young man. He's never even fucked one of the maids, only fantasized about your mother. But you, using your father's money, you've taken all the young girls in your house. Understand?"

"MMFFF!!!

"What? Oh, yeah? Let's check it out!"

The eyes of the one who had taken over the mansion glittered unhappily, and he made a brief gesture with his hand, sending out a mental call. A few moments later, a very young girl came running in, wearing a modest black and white dress. She was pretty, with long blond hair in a braid, gray eyes, a clean face, and a slender figure - just a cutie! Freezing in the middle of the dining room, she made a modest bow and froze, looking apprehensively at her master, who was helplessly tossing and turning in the Orcess's arms, and at his tormentor. The latter, smiling warmly at her, asked the girl:

"Tell me, sweet... Dana. Tell me, did you sleep with young Damien?"

The one, unable to lie and unable not to answer, immediately said honestly:

"Yes, Master."

"Did he use your body a lot? In what way?"

"Often, sir. Most of the time, I pleasured him with my mouth. Or he would pull up my dress and take me from behind."

"So that's how it is,” said the new lord of the girl and the whole Baroness de Kleban's mansion slowly, scrutinizing her.

"Did he get you pregnant?"

"Once, sir. I had no money and no means of protection. Mr. Damian didn't bother. When his parents found out, they forced me to terminate the pregnancy, and he was told off. He was very angry with me then, and he was very rude to me."

"Well... Take your clothes off. Completely."

Shuddering, Dana obeyed without complaint. When the girl was completely rid of her dress and undergarments, Demian's tormentor came up to her and examined her carefully, from head to toe. Smiling broadly, he intercepted his staff-cane and swung it briefly. The complex and unaccustomed weave came incredibly easily to him as if he had spent years perfecting it. The girl was lifted into the air and her body began to change slowly but noticeably. Another swing of the cane staff, and just like that, Demian was lifted into the air. For a few minutes, both bodies floated motionless in the air, while their captor walked around them, scrutinizing them with glowing eyes and making short strokes of his staff-cane, correcting the action of the weave. And then, a young girl and a young man lowered to the floor of the dining room.

A handsome young man, with long blond hair in a braid, clean face, and gray eyes. And an equally pretty girl, with shoulder-length dark hair, third-sized breasts with protruding pink nipples, slender legs, tight buttocks, and a completely wild expression on her face. A thoroughbred, aristocratic face. After enjoying the effect, Celestina's captor said cheerfully:

"Well, now you can find out for yourself how enjoyable and honorable it is."

Turning to the shocked young man who had just been a girl and was now examining his new body, he pointed at Damian. Or should I say, to Damiana now:

"Fuck him, I mean her. You can use all his holes, but at least use her rose once. Pick a flower, so to speak. You know where his room is. Oh, and one last thing."

Poking the tip of his staff-cane at the triangle of pubic hair on Sermina's now daughter, he cast the same spell on her as he had on the Baroness' sister. After seeing the girl on the verge of panic and the young man smiling predatorily, he chuckled contentedly. The incredible power he had gained, which he had not yet tasted, was more intoxicating than the most aged wine! He had to constantly restrain himself but couldn't help himself with this boy. It was so funny! Of course, it would be a clear trail, but that was okay, by the time they found him, he'd be long gone...

"Master! Trouble!"

Turning to the seemingly out-of-nowhere and clearly concerned Saya, he frowned and asked the slanted assassin:

"What happened?"

He was petrified for a moment as he listened to the former assassin of the Unseen Clan. Then his face contorted with unconcealed anger, and he literally hissed:

"Let's pack up! We're gonna have to leave Normgraf sooner than I planned."

His faithful puppets nodded silently and rushed to do their master's bidding. He went to the basement of the mansion, where he had set up an emergency shelter. Which, unfortunately, is not safe enough now. So he had to change his plans in a hurry. As he descended the stairs, he gritted through clenched teeth:

"That was mean, your majesty..."
* * *

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

Переведено на Нотабеноиде
http://notabenoid.org/book/86674/580385

Переводчики: Camrad_RIP