Готовый перевод История Королевы Эльфов / The story of the Elf Queen: Глава пятая. Первые успехи Героя Королевы Эльфов

Chapter Five. The First Successes of the Hero of the Elf Queen

* * *

Mirael herself carefully loaded Cyril, who had regained consciousness, onto a stretcher floating in the air. She loaded him, of course, with magic. The sensations of levitation were very unusual, probably something similar to those experienced by astronauts in orbit, but Cyril could not fully appreciate them, as he was still very weak. When the head enchantress of the elves laid him on the stretcher floating in the air, they immediately went smoothly to the local medical center. To be more precise, to the healing wards. During the flight in Mirael's company, Cyril could only stare at the ceiling above him.

He felt disgusting, not only because of his physical and energetic weakness but also because of the young man's shame and anger at his stupidity. How did he manage to do that, out of nowhere, damn it! Mirael walking beside him, noticed this and ordered him in a stern voice:

"Please calm yourself, honorable Cirial. There is no need for unnecessary excitement in your condition. You'll come to your senses soon enough."

Cyril honestly tried to fulfill her request-order, and not to fidget unnecessarily. It didn't work very well, but fortunately, it didn't take long to get to the healing chambers. There, Cyril and Mirael were already waiting. A young-looking elf with a flawless aristocratic face, dark thick hair, gathered in two tight buns, and bright green eyes. She wore snow-white clothes that looked like a classic doctor's robe and a sorceress's robe at the same time. They also perfectly emphasized her slim waist and high breasts. In addition, they were embroidered with bright red foliage patterns. On her forehead, the elf was wearing a silver tiara with different gems, designed to enhance magical vision, as Cyril now knew. In her hand, she held a long rod made of light wood, also decorated with precious stones and covered with fine carvings.

At the appearance of Cyril and Mirael, she bowed politely to the latter and greeted her:

"Mentor."

The head enchantress responded with a polite bow and greeting to her as well:

"Geatral. This is Cirial, I told you about him. He's..."

"Serious magical exhaustion, medium physical exhaustion, cause of excessive outflow of magical energy," having not listened to the mentor said the elven woman approaching the hovering stretcher with a young man.

At that, her green eyes, like the stones of her tiara, began to glow, and Cyril physically felt the elf's gaze sliding over his body. Or rather, over his subtle bodies. The sensation was generally very pleasant as if a warm ray of spring sunshine was sliding over his body.

"No damage to subtle bodies, no traces of hostile or simply extraneous magic."

Turning to Mirael, the healer furrowed her thin eyebrows over her aristocratic face and asked:

"How did this happen?"

In response, her mentor looked meaningfully at Cyril, who wanted to fall through the stretcher and the floor somewhere deep underground and said:

"Cirial saved all his reserve into the amulet-storage device, and when his powers ran out, he immediately went to sleep out of fatigue and exhaustion. Without breaking the channel of connection with the amulet."

The healer's expression remained completely impassive. But the look she threw at the unhappy young man... Cyril wanted to fall through the ground even more.

"Put him on the medical bed, mentor. I don't see any permanent damage. His powers are already recovering, but it will take several hours. If it's not too much trouble, prepare him while I work on the restorative compounds."

"Of course."

Turning to Cyril, Mirael swung her staff-cane briefly, and the young man was lifted into the air again, parallel to the floor. In the next instant, his arms straightened, and his long nightgown slipped off, leaving the unfortunate chosen one completely naked. Cyril tried to cover himself on reflexes, but he couldn't move. He was clenched on all sides by an invisible force, not at all rude or hostile, but it held the young man very firmly and securely. Almost immediately, however, he was girdled by a loincloth that flew through the air, covering his groin. One more swing of the staff-cane, and Cyril was smoothly lowered onto a very soft and comfortable bed. It seemed to adjust to the young man's body so he could lie on it as comfortably as possible.

Once he was more or less settled on it, Mirael's apprentice came over to him and held out two small glasses. One was a colorless liquid like water, the other something thick, like mashed potato soup. In an unobjectionable voice, Geatral ordered:

"Both to the bottom."

Cyril obeyed without complaint. Luckily, the liquids didn't taste bad at all. The first one was slightly sweet and resembled diluted syrup. The second was slightly salty and very thick. Having drunk both glasses, Cyril felt that his hunger had slightly receded, and the reserve, which had been in the level of one-tenth all this time, began to replenish a little faster. When the healer took the glasses, she nodded with satisfaction and said:

"Now, try to relax completely and do not tense the subtle body in any way."

Cyril nodded silently and made himself comfortable on the medical bed. Geatral took off her robe, leaving her in her pantaloons and shirt. Rolling up her sleeves, the elf took a small vial from her desk, moistened her palm with its contents and, to Cyril's surprise, began to massage him, starting with his chest, right above his heart. Before he could ask anything, the young man felt the fire of magical energy that had appeared inside him thanks to the System start to burn a little stronger. The healer with a completely nonchalant face running her palms over Cyril's chest was very carefully injecting her energy into him.

Just a little bit at a time and very carefully. It was unexpectedly pleasant. The healer's magic felt like something very tender and warm. The association with the rays of the spring sun once again appeared in his head. Having injected a little of her power into him, according to Cyril's sensations about a tenth of his current reserve, Geatral began to move her palms all over his body, running it through the energy channels and energy nodes. Which also felt quite pleasant. Both energetically and physically. For a moment, honestly relaxed and enjoying himself, Cyril was even afraid he might embarrass himself. And in the best traditions of Japanese animation heroes, to show the two sorceresses an involuntary boner!

However, everything turned out all right. As they say, it was not all luck, but misfortune helped. In the sense that the body, which had almost been destroyed, unambiguously sent the governing organ far away and for a long time, directly stating that there was no strength! While the healer was putting Cyril in order, methodically running her energy through his thin bodies, Mirael made herself comfortable in one of the free chairs and said sternly:

"I must tell you, honorable Cirial, that you gave us all a fright. I had no doubt there would be trouble and accidents in your training. No true gifted person's training has been without it. But I had no idea it would happen so soon and be so serious...."

In response, Cyril mentally slapped his forehead once again. He was ashamed of his own stupidest mistake and very upset at the same time. Especially because, thanks to even the little knowledge that the System had given him, he could have easily avoided it. He should have avoided it! But instead, he almost killed himself on the spot. He knew that the channel through which he was feeding the ring with his reserve was somewhat analogous to a medical catheter. He knew that it should be removed, or at least closed after use. But because of his haste, first, he spent too much energy, and then, because of the sudden loss of almost all energy, he could not think of anything.

But perhaps the most frustrating part wasn't that he didn't have to risk it, but that he didn't have to risk it at all. While Geatral was tidying him up, methodically massaging every part of his body, periodically lifting the young man into the air and turning him over on his stomach, Mirael, who should have been called the Elder Enchantress, asked Cyril about the details of the assignment he had received. After listening to the young man, the experienced sorceress immediately asked: why didn't he call Fiorel at once? He would have contacted her, and she would have helped Cyril fulfill this assignment without the slightest risk of any damage. After all, according to the terms, he didn't have to fill the artifact storage device with his reserve. He would simply be taken to one of the palace sources, from those that are weaker and just intended for beginners, and he, having connected to it, would quickly and without problems fill one of his reserves into the ring.

When Cyril heard and realized all this, he wanted to fall through the medical bed and the floor beneath it again, from his stupidity. He shamefully confessed this to the Elder Enchantress, who was watching her student as she carefully tidied Kirill up. Actually, it was the process of treatment that made up for this unpleasant situation caused by his stupidity. Gentle, but at the same time surprisingly strong palms of the healer slid over Cyril's body. From top to toe, along his spine, down his arms and legs. Thanks to the “basics of management and control of internal energies”, he could easily feel her palms running his energy through his energy channels, stimulating the restoration of subtle bodies. At first only a little, and very carefully, so as not to harm the patient's already damaged immaterial body. But gradually, she began to include a part of Cyril's recovered reserve in this process. Slowly but surely, the young man's subtle body began to fill with power again and literally come to life.

In the end, the entire recovery process took several hours, with breaks for a very short snack, a trip to the bathroom, and a few more healing potions. Toward the end, he was already concentrating on his own, under the watchful eye of the two spellcasters, and was running a small wave of energy through his subtle body. From his chest, where the hearth was, to the tips of his fingers, toes, and head. Then back again. At first very slowly and carefully, so as not to overstress any of the energy channels or energy nodes. Then a little faster and in a little more volume. A couple of times he made a mistake, but then he was backed up by two sorceresses at once, preventing him from hurting himself. But by the end, he was able to run the wave through his thin body quite well, even managing to synchronize it with heartbeats, which made the process much easier.

His heartbeat and the waves of energy that swept through his thin body resonated with each other, enhancing the restorative effect. It was not too strong, but still perceptible. Cyril informed both sorceresses about it. They looked at each other in surprise but did not have time to say anything, because Kirill suddenly yelped in surprise. The reason was another system message.

Knowledge of “fundamentals of management and control of internal energies” upgraded to “developed fundamentals of management and control of internal energies”

Changes have been made to Player status.

"Whoops,” Cyril said quietly, interrupting the exercise and reading the lines imprinted in his mind.

"Honorable Cirial? What happened? There was genuine concern in the tense Elder Enchantress's voice, and Cyril hastened to reassure her.

"It's okay, it's good! I've been promoted! I mean, not a skill, but the knowledge of controlling internal energies...."

When he finished explaining everything, the elven women exchanged a glance, and Mirael spoke in a polite voice:

"Well, I'm glad that the accident was not only a lesson for you but also a gift of new knowledge. However,” her voice became stern again, ”that is no reason to stop the exercise. You have at least another hour before you are fully recovered. Proceed."

"Of course, of course!"

Cyril closed his eyes and concentrated his energy, which he began to run through his subtle bodies, gradually accelerating it to synchronization with his heart rate. He didn't notice the glance of the two elven women.

As a result, Cyril spent several hours in the Healing Chambers and came out of them far after noon. He had fully restored his reserve and felt good, except for a loud rumbling stomach. During this time Cyril swore several times to the Elder Enchantress and her apprentice that such nonsense would not happen again. When he received a new assignment from the System, he would inform either Fiorel or one of his mentors about it. And they would help him to fulfill it, or give him advice on how to do it with the least amount of effort. risks if the assignment requires him to do it alone. The young man, who was found to be in full health, was met at the door of the wards by Fiorel, and after a polite greeting, he was taken to his assigned quarters. There he was met by a couple of maids and a set table, which Cyril was glad of, as he was already hungry. After saying goodbye to the young man, the queen's trusted servant left him in the care of Gata and Armin, reminding him that Kirill's training began tomorrow and that he would come for him in the morning.

Having politely said goodbye to the elf, Cyril, as soon as the doors closed behind immediately started to eat. But this time the choice of dishes was much more modest than before. As the maids explained, tonight's dinner and tomorrow's meals had been prepared for him by the Elder Enchantress, who had chosen the dishes best suited for his recovery. However, Cyril was quite satisfied with the food offered. While he was happily eating a soup puree of some vegetables and chicken, both girls also considered it their business to scold him a little. True, if the same Mirael was more of her words more like a strict teacher reprimanding a misbehaving pupil, but Gata's and Armina's words were more like a mother's concern. Listening to the story about how they were frightened when they found him in such a state that only a more beautiful one could put in a coffin, Cyril felt ashamed of his stupidity for the umpteenth time that day. He even apologized to them, which immediately embarrassed both girls. At his perplexed question, Armina and Gata looked at each other and, even more embarrassed, answered almost in chorus that their master should not apologize to his maids for anything. It was for them to apologize to him for not keeping him safe.

Such an answer already embarrassed Cyril. It was still very difficult to perceive two pretty girls as his maids. To drive away all sorts of thoughts generated by watching various masterpieces of Japanese animation, Cyril decided to turn the conversation to another topic and asked the girls to talk about themselves. Because he, to his shame, knows nothing about them except their names. Gata and Armina willingly agreed and told Cyril their stories.

Both girls were born here in the Forest, and, as they pointed out with marked pride, belonged to two very old dynasties of the lesser races that had dwelt with the elves for centuries. Both of them had begun their apprenticeship as maids as children, during which they had shown themselves to be of the best qualities. As a result, they had both been sent to special courses in the Secret Guard. When Kirill asked them cautiously what they had learned there (how to kill hapless шыулфш with a single needle prick?), both girls were a little embarrassed at first, but then, looking at each other, laughed and shook their heads. They explained to Cyril that the training of future agents-killers in the elves, is a completely separate story, in no way related to them. They do not know the details, of course, only the most general points.

Their specialized training in the Secret Guard had a different focus, in that they were taught things that a maid should know, not just a mere servant, but the personal servant of a high-ranking Firstborn. Who, in particular, might need to leave the Forest. And the list of those things was long. It included the ability to work perfectly with various amulets: combat, communication, protection, healing, searching, masking, and household amulets of all kinds. As well as knowledge of basic alchemical compositions, their effects, including side effects, methods of their preparation, and how to recognize them or, on the contrary, hide them. Inspection and search of rooms for hidden magical traps or tracking devices. Ability to speak, read, and write in several languages. And of course, the etiquette of different countries, because if the maid has to accompany his master on a long journey, she can not disgrace him with his unworthy behavior.

Cyril listened to all this with considerable interest, and then the conversation somehow unnoticeably turned to him. Including his homeworld. Both girls were surprised when they learned that Cyril was eighteen years old, in fact, he had never worked anywhere but was only studying at the first year. When they learned he knew literacy and numeracy, as well as a little knowledge of such sciences as geography, history, biology, physics, and chemistry (in the last two very roughly), they asked with interest: what family was he from? Merchants or aristocrats? When they found out that Cyril's parents were neither of them and such things were taught to everyone in his world, at least in his native country, they were really surprised.

And immediately they pounced on him with doubled questions about the world where Cyril had come from. And they listened to his story with genuine interest. However, it was obvious that many of the things Cyril told them about made them noticeably skeptical. Like stories about huge stone houses, several dozen stories high, where hot and cold water flows through pipes made of !metal!. Most of these houses were not the palaces of the noble rich. Self-propelled metal wagons that could go faster than a horse. Winged ships flying through the sky made of metal were able to circumnavigate the world in less than a day. About cohesive amulets naturally at each person, which, in addition, could also capture not only static images but also in motion. And all this without any magic. None at all. Just science. At this moment Cyril especially regretted that he was without his smartphone, so he could show the girls pictures of his hometown. And if there was also access to the Internet... Yes, dreams-dreams.

The three of them spent the rest of the evening talking. Cyril told them about life on Earth. Gata and Armina about life in the Forest, and the rest of the world. Though neither had ever really been outside the land of the elves. And, as they both admitted, they had no desire to leave the Forest at all. On Cyril's cautious question why, Armina told him that each of the representatives of the younger races, who was born in the Forest, upon reaching adulthood, are given the opportunity to travel outside it. So that the younger generation could see with their own eyes how their kin lived. And, if they wished, could stay with them. The elves did not forcefully hold those who expressed such a desire and even sent them on their way not empty-handed.

But there were only a few of them. Most of them when they saw the big world preferred to go back to the Forest. The banishment from the Forest was considered a severe punishment. Armina, when she told about her visit to the nearest human city, shuddered at the memory of the slums she'd seen there.

"No, those with money don't live there so badly. The rich certainly don't. But when I saw the Lower City of Morgrave... I thought I was going to vomit, even though I was looking at it from the height of the fortress wall... Brrrr...."

"How do your tribesmen live, Gata? And where?" inquired Cyril of the cat woman.

She wagged her luxurious tail and shrugged:

"Beast folks live in many places, honorable Cirial. Some families or clans live in human cities, others live separately. Some clans and tribes dwell on the southern continent, some in the northern lands, and some in the east. Some of them are quite savage, and closer in essence to beasts. Others are more like humans, planting bread, herding cattle, and practicing crafts. Then some feed themselves, as it is said, by fang and claw. Some of them go under the hand of human or orc chieftains, and others form their own packs. My mentors told me that even in the southeast, in the lands beyond the warm seas, there are tribes of beastmen. They're wild, though."

Taking a sip of water from her glass to wet her throat, Gata continued:

"But to be honest I've never really cared much for it. My clan is small, but we have lived in the Forest with the firstborn for generations, and have proven our loyalty and usefulness."

"Can you completely turn into a cat?" Cyril asked with interest the question he had been asking for a long time.

Gata smiled slyly, feline-like, and while her lips stretched in that smile, she was transformed, so the young man's eyes darted around in a daze. Because just now, across from him sat, albeit with cat ears, a human girl. And then, in an elusive instant, her face was transformed. A pair of fangs lengthened, her features changed, and a long whisker grew around her nose. In addition, she showed her palm, which had good claws instead of fingernails. Clearly pleased with the effect, she purred naturally:

"I can transform completely, but I don't like it, it's very exhausting. And if you don't take the dress off beforehand, it will tear. And even if you take it off, then before putting it on, you need to wash it properly, because after transformation the whole body is in the wool. If not transform completely, then there are no such problems."

With those words, Gata's appearance changed again in an elusive instant, becoming fully human. Except for the tail and ears.

"Wow,” Cyril could only say, ”Listen, is there anything else you can do as a cat? Can you see ghosts or magic? In my world, cats were believed to be able to see the beyond."

"That's right,” Gata nodded, ”Many catfolk have a predisposition to this sort of thing. As my mentors used to say, it's called heightened sensitivity. There are some of my kin who can see most weaves without any amulets, and they can literally feel them. Even the subtle and imperceptible ones. I'm not that good at it, but I can recognize magic pretty well too, even without magic sight. I also have very good hearing."

Gata confirmed the last phrase by wiggling her cat ears defiantly. Cyril wanted to ask something else, but at that moment, the clock hanging on the wall of his chambers emitted a quiet melody. Turning to them, the young man noticed that it was already night. Now they were talking! The two maids had also gotten up:

"Oh, forgive us, sir, for keeping you so late! You need to get some rest, you have a big day tomorrow and you can't be late. Mistress Mirael does not like tardiness."

Quickly removing the rest of the food from the table, the girls bowed and left Cyril, leaving him alone. Having undressed, the young man climbed into bed. Before going to bed, he checked his unfortunate storage ring, which, along with the rest of the amulets he had been given was still lying on the bedside table. Gently taking it in his hand, he listened to it. Almost two and a half reserves! Though, no, more like two and a quarter. Two and a fifth even. Well, well done.

Cyril put it aside and climbed into bed, hanging the protective amulet he'd been given over the headboard. Which, for a moment, could also save him. And at the same time raise the alarm, registering a threat to Cyril's life. For this purpose it was not necessary to go to bed with it around his neck, it was enough just to hang or put it next to him, and set it to the passive mode of protection of the owner. And the “basics of working with basic amulets and artifacts” were more than enough for that, there was nothing complicated in such a setting. Mirael said all this to Cyril several times while he was being cleaned up.

After making sure the amulet was working normally, Cyril went to bed, with a firm determination to start conquering the world tomorrow! But as soon as he closed his eyes, he was suddenly overwhelmed. New knowledge, granted by the System, began to pour into him, becoming an integral part of him...

* * *

This road through the forest was considered relatively safe among the inhabitants of the surrounding villages and hamlets. It was not a full-fledged tract that led to the eastern shore of the Middle Sea, along the great rivers, but it was passable and often used by peasants to reach the nearest small town. It was only relatively safe, however, compared to the more remote paths and roads that led into the wilderness. Beasts or monsters that could pose a serious threat to organized and armed people had not been seen in the forest for a long time. It was much more likely to meet with two-legged predators. Therefore, the peasants preferred to travel along this road only in groups, gathering small caravans of several carts. and carrying axes and pitchforks. Or even real spears and bows.

This was usually enough to avoid most problems. To drive away a pack of wolves, or to discourage thieves from laying claim to a hard-earned harvest. But a lone and obviously well-laden wagon, with only a couple of adults, risked much more. The neighbors, when they heard that Fjold and his wife were going to go to the nearest town by this road, tried to talk him out of it. But he was adamant and categorical. He said that we would get there, and he had no time to wait for them to gather themselves! They tried to argue with him, but not for long because it was useless. Fjold had a large family, two married sons, and four more were growing up, not counting his daughters. On the former he left all the work for the time of his absence, promising to strictly ask for all his household. And his household was strong and good, if it were not for his simple and too-stubborn character, he would have been a headman long ago. He had a good house, stables, and a cowshed. There were three horses alone, and a dozen dairy cows, not counting little things like chickens and geese. To prove something to such a man was not a thankless job, because he knew everything better himself! Well, the neighbors waved their hands: if he wanted to find trouble for himself, let him find it!

And trouble was found. The observer of the small band camped at the edge of the woods, noticed the lone wagon on the way up, and quickly gave the news to the others. Eventually, the wagon, well loaded with bales of grain, baskets of eggs, and other food, and drawn by a pair of fine horses, was skillfully stopped at the next bend. A party of five men of definitely unkind appearance surrounded it on all sides, and two of them at once seized the horses by the reins. Fjold and his wife sitting on the horses only twitched, but when they saw the spears pointed at them they could do nothing. The wagon turned to an inconspicuous offshoot of the main road that led to a long-abandoned hunting lodge. But it did not reach the camp, for as soon as the main road disappeared from sight behind the trees and dense undergrowth, the bandits, overjoyed at their good fortune, decided not to wait and to start the fun right on the spot. Of course, the fun included the active participation of Fjold's wife.

None of the five bandits paid attention to the hooded figure in the wagon. Even Fjold and his wife were unaware of the fact that they were carrying another passenger. In the end, the unfortunate peasant, biting his teeth helplessly, was tied up and put under a tree to watch the entertainment of his wife. And there was plenty of fun to be had, Gelda was a real village beauty in her youth. Big, good-looking, and strong. Not like the city's half-dead nags, who, after the first birth, do not die only with the prayers of the Giver of Life. She could give birth to a dozen healthy children without any divine help!

Gelda, not being a fool, did not disdain the Fertile One's favor, and therefore not only bore her husband almost a dozen children during their life together but also retained some of her former beauty and health. Yes, numerous births and hard peasant labor had left a strong imprint on her, but still, by the standards of the villagers, she was still quite good. There was something to see and hold.

And lately, some of the villagers had noticed that Fjold's wife had grown prettier. The neighbors immediately came to the verdict that Gelda had persuaded her husband to buy a very expensive, by the standards of the villagers, witchcraft alichimia, which restored beauty and youth. Well, how else to explain that the posture became better, the big chest looks not so saggy, and wrinkles on the face clearly became less? You sure did, you lucky asshole. She was lucky to get such a good husband in time!

And if the neighbors had seen Gelda now, when she had been thrown to the ground on the road, her cloak placed under her, the skirt of her dress pulled up, and the collar of her dress opened, exposing her large breasts, they would have howled with envy. And they would have believed that Fjold had spared no expense for his wife's sake to hire a real healer, the kind that lives in big cities with big lords, for sure! It's not just alchemy!

Because how else to explain the smoothness and purity of the skin, the newly plumped juicy and firm tits, which you could not say that they had fed more than a dozen children? And the woman's face has become wildly better-looking, in her eyes again appeared that shine, which she used to charm more than one guy when she was young! Now you can't say that she has already passed the third decade! At most, just beginning to get close to it!

The robbers appreciated Gelda's beauty to the fullest extent, not shying away from expressions and comments. And they were fascinated by her, paying no attention to anything. Finding out the answer to the question “Who is the first?” almost resulted in a fight, but somehow very quickly everyone decided to draw lots. In the end, the youngest of the robbers, recently taken into the gang by an older relative, was the first to “ test” the sluggishly resisting woman. The boy, having thrown off his pants and ready for action, pounced on the moaning woman, entering her without much ceremony. Biting Gelda's neck and beginning to roughly paw her tits with one hand, he simultaneously began to move his hips rapidly. However, he did not succeed in demonstrating how to treat women properly. Under the loud laughter of his companions, the young guy suddenly very quickly poured into her. To the loud and vulgar jokes about his incredible speed, the young robber, who was quite handsome by the standards of the villagers, somehow got off the woman and moved aside, giving way.

He didn't put on his pants, and he didn't even try to cover his shame. In general, he looked as if he were a little drunk, flushed, and breathing heavily. But none of his buddies paid any attention to this. The next bandit took the place of the first and immediately began to fuck the helpless victim rather roughly, moving his hips powerfully and sharply. Every now and then he pulled back to slap Gelda's flushed tits, causing her to shriek loudly. He lasted longer, making the woman let out a loud moan before he poured into her, eliciting applause from his companions. The rapist grinned as he got to his feet, and without putting on his pants, he waddled to the cart, where he rummaged around for something to drink and eat. He, like his predecessor, looked visibly exhausted, flushed and sweating. His gait was a little sluggish. He found a basket of supplies among the peasants' belongings and greedily gulped down a jug of compote.

Behind him, the fun continued in full swing. The third of the bandits had taken over, making the unfortunate Gelda moan and scream without even trying to restrain herself. So much so that the whole forest must have heard her screams. And someone did hear them.

"What the fuck are you fucking doing here, you brainless assholes?! You're out of your fucking mind."

A loud shout, full of righteous anger, was cut off abruptly. A figure in the dark and obviously good-looking hooded robes favored by the Night Guilds approached the scene. It was clearly a female figure, though not lavishly shaped. At the sight of her subordinates' blatant violation of the rules of secrecy, she was furious and was about to lash out at them, but she stopped short. Her brown eyes widened, her mouth opened, and she realized she couldn't move a finger. In the next instant, the Senior over the small gang was embraced and hugged from behind by graceful female arms. Her hood was pulled off, and a low whisper came into her ear:

"Shh, honey, don't let the kids have fun. Let them enjoy it. Let them enjoy it."

The whispering was accompanied by the graceful hands of what were clearly teenage girls as they slid smoothly over the paralyzed Senior's body, penetrating beneath her dark robes and skillfully removing everything from her body. Like a pair of very short but no less deadly stiletto knives. And a couple of simple, but generally good amulets, one of which was supposed to protect the wearer, and the other carrying a small, but very dense charge of lightning. The Senior could not move a finger, but breathed heavily, and felt the horror of it overwhelming her. Meanwhile, the hands that had been searching her slipped under her dark clothes and began to frankly grope the Senior's body. First the small, almost boyishly flat breasts. Then they went lower, under the belt of her pants. Sliding over a small triangle of dark hair, thin female fingers reached the pussy, traveled over them, but did not penetrate them. The inspection was accompanied by a satisfied purr and comments:

"Not bad, not bad. Such good stuff... Mmm, just lovely....."

And all this was happening just a few steps away from the cart, next to which the bandits continued to rape Gelda, who was not even trying to hide her loud moans. The moans were not of pain, but of pleasure, which only made the rapists more and more excited, causing more and more laughter and comments of varying degrees of lewdness. Having finished groping and searching the helpless Senior, the fragile girl wrapped in a cloak took her by the arm and led her away. Her victim followed helplessly, despite her literal animal terror. The older woman was led to the tree under which Fjold was sitting. The peasant was no longer bound. The man simply sat under the tree with his back leaning against it, free from the ropes and without pants. With his mouth open, he watched his wife being fucked by the bandits one by one, breathing heavily and clenching his cock in his fist.

"Daddy, I have a present for you,” the voice of the young girl in the cloak that captivated the Senior was full of such love and care that it would melt the hardest heart.

After removing her victim's dark jacket and dress shirt, and relieving her of her boots and pants, she sat the Senior on Fjold's lap and cooed affectionately:

"You take care of her, Daddy, and I'll check on Mother. Don't get too carried away!"

With a detached expression on his face, the man lifted the helpless Senior with both hands and brought her onto his cock. As soon as Fjold was fully inside her, he finished immediately, spewing out all his accumulated arousal and tension at once. For a few moments, the cumming peasant sat motionless, breathing heavily, and then he pulled the Senior back against him. Grasping her small breasts with his hands, he began to knead her tits monotonously and methodically, as if he were preparing dough for baking. And he wasn't just pawing her. Fjold didn't realize it but somehow he knew exactly how he should knead her tits. How to do it properly. He wasn't aware of what was happening around him at all. The peasant's mind was completely fixated on one goal. He had to squeeze those miserable pimples to make good, good buns.

Just like his wife, who had completely dissolved in carnal pleasures. Like the bandits who attacked them, who had already gone for a second round. And then the third. Only three made it to the fourth. Only the youngest of the five, the first to start and the first to finish so shamefully fast, managed to complete the fifth round. Only now it was no longer a young and quite handsome guy. Above the flushed and even more beautiful woman, who was soaked and out of breath, but did not look tired, a decrepit old man was grunting. A skinny gray-haired old man who moved his hips with all his might. Only his eyes were still alive, with a crazy light in them, staring at Gelda's tits. But as he cummed for the fifth time, pouring into his victim's cunt, the last of his strength left him, along with the last drops of his seed.

With a wheezing sound, he collapsed on his side and twitched briefly. Then the last sparks of life left him. A young girl, who had long ago shed her cloak and remained completely naked, was leaning over the lifeless body. She was a very pretty girl slender, well-built, with noticeably rounded breasts, smooth skin, and a clean face. Her long, straight blond hair to her shoulder blades was neatly combed and obviously well taken care of, as well as her hands. You could tell it wasn't from peasant women accustomed to labor, but noble women who had never held anything heavier than a spoon. Only three things spoiled the angelic image. A thin, long, and very flexible tail, starting from the tailbone and ending with a small arrow. A pair of barely noticeable red horns on his forehead. And eyes. Yellow eyes with red crosses-transparent. The girl scratched her tongue and without the slightest difficulty dragged him away from the road leading to the farm, a little farther into the forest. There were four similarly dried-up old bodies lying in a heap.

She closed her eyes for a second, listening to something inside her, and then silently whispered a short call. Despite the distance, it was heard, and a pack of wolves rushed to the pile of dead bodies. The feast was waiting for predators. They knew it. The call of someone who once knew very well how to communicate with the forest and its inhabitants reached their gray ears and directed them to the right place. Smiling contentedly the girl returned to the road. In doing so, her bare feet left no traces on the damp forest ground. And the mud didn't stick to them at all.

When she reached the road, she stopped beside Gelda still lying on the ground, breathing heavily and looking up at the sky. Squatting down beside her, the girl caressingly ran her palm over the peasant woman's body, from her pussy to her breasts. Not a drop of seed was visible on the woman's pussy and thighs. Sweat and love nectar were abundant, but the pussy had absorbed all of the man's seed. Which to knowledgeable men and non-humans alike would have said a lot and brought on some not-so-good thoughts. Squeezing the peasant woman's left breast, the girl clucked her tongue. What a shame. So much power is wasted. But she has to make do with the crumbs because otherwise, the new and fresh body won't hold up. And so he had to keep up his disguise, renewing it daily. Ideally, it should have been allowed to grow normally and fully. But she doesn't have at least a dozen years to spare. Not even a couple of months to prepare her puppet for the birth of a new vessel!

Old Mayer's bloody bloodhounds are already looking for traces of her puppet, no doubt about it. And most likely, they're not the only ones. To hope that she's managed to completely cover her tracks is a fool's errand. This means we must get lost as soon as possible, preferably far away from here. And the best place to get lost is a city. A big city. But in cities, there are bound to be temples, with god's cursed slaves. And she has to be very careful there because if they smell her she'll have to run away again.

Which means she can't overload this body. Not even using a spacer in the form of her dear “mommy”. Especially since she and “daddy” will have to be cleaned properly, so as not to leave even the slightest trace. What a shame... Damn elves! Everything was so great, but they had to ruin it. Although she has to admit, it was pretty funny with them. She wished she could get to know that mysterious weaver who managed to thread his thread through the cherries and pearl of the Queen of the Eared One herself. That would be very interesting...

Remembering the arrogant elf bitch's face when she'd yanked her by that string, the girl licked her lips. Eh, how nice it would be to leave that thread where it was, then grab it and start weaving her own web... How wonderful it would be... Dreams... Dreams....

With a sad sigh, the girl rose to her feet and headed for the tree under which “Daddy” and Senior were sitting. She, too, had changed, but in a much better way than the late bandits. She had not been pretty before, her face was more like a boy's, like her hair. And not a kind face imprinted by the need to survive in the brutal world of criminals. Now she could be called pretty and noticeably more feminine. Her short dark hair seemed to have grown a little thicker and thicker. But most importantly, if before she could be easily mistaken for a young man, thanks to her almost flat chest, now Fjold was methodically kneading a pair of not-too-big, but quite noticeable tits. Size B for sure.

At the approaching possessed woman, the Senior in the band of robbers looked at her with eyes full of terror. If she could, she would have screamed. Or rather, she would have shouted prayers to all the gods she knew, including the ones she had never prayed to. The possessed woman smiled broadly and knelt in front of her so that their faces were on the same level. She caressed the older woman's cheek with the palm of her hand, and in a voice full of motherly concern, she murmured:

"It's no use, my dear. They're all too high up. It's hard to hear the voices of people like you from there. No one will hear you, no matter how you call them now. And even if they do, they don't care about people like you."

Bringing her face almost close to the Senior, who was staring at her with eyes full of horror, she whispered, almost touching her lips to hers:

"So now, it's just you and me here, my dear. Just you and me..."

Iurlad Laghan Akal

The possessed woman was paralyzed just as she had paralyzed the Senior before. Her new body-vessel froze before she could kiss her last victim.

You disappointed me

Gone was the forest, gone was the road, the horse cart, and her three helpless toys. All gone. All that was left was her and that voice. A voice that was sweeter than honey and bitter than ashes at the same time. A voice that only needed one word, one sound, to intoxicate her better than any wine, or to make her squirm in pain like the strongest of poisons.

Did you really think that I would forget about you?

The voice enveloped her. It was as if she were slowly sinking into a warm lake of pure molasses. It easily penetrated into her very core, to the place where her innermost, most precious, and cherished things were kept. It flowed like honey into her mouth, eyes, ears, and pussy. With invisible palms, he clutched her on all sides, arms, legs, neck, and of course breasts. While some were holding her down, the fingers of others were squeezing and slightly pinching her nipples. Tickling their tips along her feet and armpits. They penetrated her upper and lower mouth.

Did you really think you could fool me?

The honey that flooded her became bitter and disgusting overnight, and her palms became clawed paws, ready to tear her helpless flesh to shreds with their sharp claws. And tear out all that she had so long and hard collected. So carefully nurtured and cherished. Several claws pressed against her defenseless throat.

Terror and animal fear broke through the enveloping sweet bitterness of the voice. No! No! Their pact stands! She has broken nothing! She remembers everything! She'll do anything!

Really

One of the clawed paws that had penetrated her very core turned back into a palm and began fingering her treasures. Touching them made her shiver helplessly, with a mixture of agonizing pleasure and helpless fear. Just as the mortal male puppets trembled in her own hands when she held them by their innermost parts and they didn't know what they were going to get. Excruciating pain or incomparable pleasure.

You promised me them

The palm continued to sort through one treasure after another.

But now you don't have them.

The paws that clutched her body clenched slightly, all at once, threatening to tear the thin skin with their claws.

You lost them

She hasn't broken the treaty! She can replace them! She will replace them! She'll pay! The contract allows it!

The pressure of the paws holding her from all sides eased, but only a little. And the palm that had been going through the hard-won treasures she'd gathered had squeezed some of them. Especially the ones she loved and cherished. The ones she would need so badly now.

Then pay

Not now! She needs time! She needs them! She'll pay! She'll pay! But she needs time! Just a little time! She'll fulfill the contract!

Time has a price.

She totally agrees and is willing to discuss it! Who does she need to corrupt? How many does she need to corrupt?

The paws that had been clutching every part of her body became palms again, stroking her all over again, digging their fingers into every orifice of her body, and tearing her from the inside out. The palm that had been holding her most intimate parts suddenly left her treasure alone.

You'll pay for your time with something else

Those words made her immediately wary. If they didn't ask for the most intimate things, the only things that mattered to them, then she would be asked to do something to get them. Something very serious, complex, and dangerous. But she had no choice.

You'll find someone for me

The voice disappeared as suddenly as it had appeared. Blinking and exhaling, the possessed woman realized that she was still kneeling in front of the captured toy, almost kissing it. The toy was staring at her with horrified eyes as Fjold continued to fondle her tits, paying no attention to anything. Nothing has changed on the forest road. The whole conversation took less than a moment. The only thing that changed was the possessed woman herself. A blood-red large symbol-print surrounded by lines of text appeared on her body-vessel, on the smooth and white skin of her back between her shoulder blades. She didn't need to see herself from the back to clearly know every line, every letter, every curve of this mark that was imprinted not only on her body-vessel. Grinning, the possessed woman rose sharply to her feet. She'd have to rethink her plans. And this new toy might come in handy for her...

Jerkily lifting the squeaking girl to her feet, the Possessed One smiled broadly and purred:

"Well then, let's get to know each other properly. Sister..."

* * *

The night passed quietly, and the new knowledge granted by the System was assimilated without any problems. Cyril woke up not only rested but also with a new understanding of how to manage his internal energy. He lay in bed for a few minutes, yawning and stretching and realizing the information he had received. Then, Gata and Armina knocked on the door of his quarters, informing him that breakfast was ready and he should hurry up so he wouldn't be late for his first training session. So he had to leave the bed and head to the restroom first, and after the shower, start getting dressed. After breakfast, Cyril was picked up by Fiorel as promised and escorted to the right room of the palace where his training was to begin.

The young man expected to find himself in an auditorium, like a university or school auditorium, but instead, the room looked more like a medium-sized gym. A lot of empty space, with several concentric circles on the floor in the center, and a couple of tables and chairs against one of the walls. There they were met by an elf woman, with unexpectedly short, almost white hair, a stern face, and intense violet eyes. She wore white and green robes and knee-length leather boots that looked more like, to Cyril's eyes, an exotic hunting or outdoor training outfit. She looked like a textbook elven archer, but not the kind of sorceress one would expect to see in a robe, or at least a dress. The only thing that made her look gifted was the tiara on her forehead and the silver wand holstered on her belt. Nodding to her kin, she said in a calm and even voice:

"Thank you, honorable Fiorel, you may be free."

The queen's trusted servant nodded and left the room, closing the doors behind him. The elven woman turned to the young man and bowed her head slightly, introducing herself:

"Greetings, honorable Cirial. My name is Diantrel, and I will be one of your mentors. My mentor, the Honorable Elder Enchantress Mirael, has explained to me in detail the specifics of the upcoming training. Therefore, in your case, I will emphasize practice rather than theory."

"I rely entirely on your expertise, Honorable Diantrel,” the young man nodded.

Indeed, in his case there was almost no point in studying textbooks, banally because he would get the necessary knowledge thanks to the System. And that means practice, practice, and more practice!

"That's good to hear. In that case, let's not waste any time. Right this way, please."

The elfess led Cyril to one of the tables, on which a dozen magic wands of different lengths, but generally within fifty centimeters, were spread out. All are made of wood but of different species, from dark to light. Except that none of them had much energy in them. Pointing at the wands with a graceful hand, Diantrel explained:

"These are wand concentrators, the classic version of them. They are designed to strengthen your spells and reduce the energy used to cast them. Our artifact masters have prepared ten variants for you, trying to make them as neutral in terms of energy as possible. For now, they do not carry any additional features like pre-embedded weave templates. In the future, as you learn, you will be able to customize your wand concentrator if you wish. Take one of them in your hands, and carefully use it to form the weave of an illumination spell."

Nodding, Cyril carefully took the first of the offered wands in his hands. It fit perfectly in his palm, and the young man carefully formed a weave, passing the energy through his hand and then the wand. Having learned from his bitter experience with the ring, he carefully watched how much energy he was expending. According to his estimates, it should have been a small light, like a cell phone flashlight. But the energy flowing through the wand resonated with it, and instead, a good-sized ball of light flared up at its tip. Closing his eyes, Cyril reduced the flow of energy, weakening the glow. The ball shrank to the size of a pea and the brightness of an ordinary light bulb. Just like a classic “lumos”. He only lacked a scar on his forehead and an evil-evil wizard who could not be named.

Oh, crap, he's already got the last one! Then only a scar on his forehead, but that's not critical. Having waved his wand several times, which he had firmly associated with a magic wand, Cyril asked his mentor:

"Honorable Diantrel, how do I know which is more appropriate?"

"This will be seen in the degree of resonance and energy expenditure. Each gifted person has unique features that determine the predisposition to this or that material. However, in most beginners, they are very weakly expressed, because of which for them wands-concentrators are made, as a rule, as neutral as possible."

"I see. So, in a way, they're choosing me, too?"

The question, inspired by associations with one of his favorite childhood book series, made the mentor look questioningly at Cyril:

"Of course not. There are only a few artifacts that can choose their owners. As a rule, they are masterpieces of magical art. And almost all of them can or simply pose a serious threat to the owner. Another thing is the banal compatibility with this or that material."

"Got it."

Having put the first wand back in place Cyril picked up the next one.

"Tell me, honorable Diantrel, why not staffs?"

"Wands are better suited for quick creation of simple but effective weaves usually used by the gifted actively involved in battle. Staffs, on the other hand, are better suited for longer and more complex weaves due to their larger size. As a rule, they are used by the gifted who prefer to act in a pre-prepared position, with a delineated ritual circle, prepared energy reserves, or even a whole source of such. Of course, this is not an axiom, but only two basic, one could say classic schools for martial artists. There are many intermediate variants, as well as combinations of techniques. We will consider them later."

“As you say,” Cyril nodded and lit a new flame on the tip of his staff.

So we'll be cosplaying a British high schooler with a complicated fate and an equally complicated psyche, not a pensioner who won't let anyone over the bridge. Although, no, fuck it, especially if we remember the last book, as well as numerous fan theories.

"Not bad, but the resonance is weaker with this material. Try the next one and try to use the same amount of power."

His mentor's voice banished extraneous thoughts, and Cyril concentrated on the local wands. One by one, the young man tested all the wands, spending less than a tenth of his reserve. Toward the end, he learned not just to light up the light, creating an ordinary glowing ball, but to form a directional beam, like a powerful flashlight. In the end, it turned out that his energy resonated best with a wand made of a light wood that was longer than all the others. Very pleasant to the touch, it was covered with skillful carvings that formed a foliate pattern running from the hilt to the tip. With a satisfied nod, Diantrel pointed to the center of the room:

"That's good. Now, I'm going to ask you to demonstrate your knowledge and skills to me. We'll start with the simplest of weaves. Use your new wand to form them."

“As you say,”

Taking a place in the center of the room, inside one of the concentric circles that were the boundary of the magic barrier, Cyril, at the elf's command, began to form simple weaves one by one. He lit a small, cheerfully dancing fire. He lifted a few objects given by his mentor into the air and carefully moved them from one place to another. Created a small breeze in the room, making the air move in circles. I froze some of the water in a container in the corner of the room. Then melted the ice back. Then Diantrel scattered some dark powder on the floor, poured one jug of water on it, and ordered to collect it and then clean it. Which Cyril also did without difficulty. First, he collected all the water that dissolved the powder into one ball. Then, he raised it in the air, formed a small purifying barrier under it, and began to carefully pass the water through it. As a result, the water became clean again, but the powder clumps remained on the barrier.

Diantrel, who had been watching his manipulations from the side, nodded thoughtfully and reservedly praised Cyril:

"Pretty good. A bit lacking in practice, but otherwise everything is great. Now, let's move on to more serious tests."

Taking her wand of silver (or just silver metal) in her hands, the elfess with one swing moved a wooden mannequin of a humanoid head, torso, and shoulders into the center of the room. Activating the outermost barrier circle and standing behind the young man, she spoke:

"Now, Honorable Cirial, concentrate properly and attack the dummy as hard as you can. You can use any weave you know, pure energy or elemental magic. Just take your time, and be careful."

"Okay, I'll try not to break anything."

"I meant you, not the surroundings. This room is specifically designed for training. Don't try to put more energy into the weave than you can control."

"Got it."

After several deep inhalations and exhalations, Cyril stood up comfortably and pointed the wand at the mannequin. Concentrating, he began to form the weave of a classic “magic arrow” on its tip. In essence, a clot of pure, extremely neutral, concentrated, and dense energy. He managed to do it easily and without any problems, and a small, but bright white light lit up at the tip of the wand. There was no problem in keeping it under control and directing it in the right direction. But when Cyril started to infuse it with additional reserve, it started to burn. through the wand, energy began to resonate more strongly and it became not so easy to hold the formed weave. The fire gradually became bigger and brighter, and when Cyril realized that he couldn't hold it any longer, and it was about to snap, he “pulled the trigger”. The magical arrow flew off the tip of the wand with great speed, whistling in the air no worse than an ordinary arrow. It flew past the mannequin, barely missing its edge, hitting the activated barrier behind it, and then exploded with a loud crack, spraying sparks in all directions.

The mannequin remained in place, with only a small charred line on its wooden side, where the magical arrow had barely hit it. Exhaling, Cyril assessed the result of his labors. Yep. He had spent about a fifth of his reserve on this spell. However, Diantrel, who was standing behind him, came up to him and stood at his side and said:

"Not a bad arrow, pretty powerful for a beginner. But you lacked the control to hold it and set it in the right direction. Try again, honorable Cirial. Use less power and try to aim it more accurately."

"Okay."

Once again, Cyril formed the weave of the magical arrow and began to pour additional strength into it. But this time, barely feeling his limit, he stopped and struck the dummy. The magical arrow hit exactly in the center of the chest, splitting it into pieces. The upper part ceased to exist. Smoking and burning splinters splattered in all directions, but they all hit another barrier formed around the dummy at the moment of impact. All that was left was the lower torso, smoking and with many splinters sticking out.

“Very good,” the mentor nodded.

"Now let's try with moving targets."

With a wave of her silver wand, she lifted a dozen small flat wooden plates into the air and set the dummy aside. Pointing to the new targets, Diantrel explained:

"Try to hit them using magic arrows, or some other attack weave. Don't use too much strength, it's not necessary now. Form the minimum density of weaves necessary. Is that clear?"

“Yes,” Cyril nodded and raised his wand again, aiming at the targets hovering in the air.

"Let's start!"

Another wave of his mentor's silver wand and the plates began a leisurely dance in the air. Cyril concentrated and, having formed a weave of a magic arrow, tried to hit the nearest one, but missed. On the second attempt, he almost hit it. On the third, he hit one of the plates on the very edge, but it fell to the floor. As he practiced and got into the excitement, he sent one magical arrow after another. Relatively weak ones that required almost no energy, thanks to the magic wand he had been given. Gradually, one by one, the plates began to shatter into small splinters. When there were four of them left, the mentor commanded:

"Complicating."

Another wave and the plates floating in the air accelerated a little, their trajectories became more unpredictable. This spurred Cyril's enthusiasm, and he continued to send one magical arrow after another at them. Not on the first try, but he managed to hit first one, then another, and now the last one was left.

"I'll make it a little more difficult. Do your best, honorable Cirial!"

Another swing of Diantrel's silver wand. The last plate starts moving even faster through the air, dodging Cyril's magical arrows at the last moment. After another miss, he bit his lip. No, this wasn't going to work. It would be like trying to shoot a sparrow with a gun. You'd have to be Arthur Morgan to pull that off.

The sudden association with firearms gave him an idea. That's right! Against a bird, you need not a bullet, but a buckshot! What if... Standing still, Cyril pointed his wand in the direction of the fluttering plate and thought. If you change the weave a little... Yes, just like this. Done, it should work! A short swing, and from the tip of the wand came not a magical arrow, but a sheaf of very bright sparks that flew forward in a widening cone. The saucer could not dodge it, and, having received several hits at once, collapsed to the floor. Exhaling, Cyril wiped the sweat from his forehead and turned to his mentor. She looked at him with an attentive gaze and said:

"Very good, honorable Cirial, especially the last shot. Quite interesting and not the most common type of magic arrow weave. How are you feeling?"

As he listened to himself, the young man suddenly realized he had a little less than a quarter of the reserve left. But he felt noticeably better than when he had charged his poor ring. Speaking of which!

"Not bad, honorable Diantrel. The reserve is about a quarter, but I have a prepared reserve."

Raising his hand, Cyril showed his mentor the ill-fated ring.

"I can use it, and we'll keep practicing."

The elf allowed herself a weak smile and shook her head:

"Come on, it's not training, it's just a test. Training starts tomorrow. First, I need to understand what to expect from you and what you are capable of, given your... specifics. However, I agree with you, regain your strength, and we'll continue the test. There are still some things I need to know. However, be careful. Remember, don't absorb too much power at once. Take a little bit at a time, and distribute it evenly throughout the subtle bodies."

Nodding, Cyril closed his eyes and focused on his ring, where his two reserves were stored. He was able to tune into it without any problems, and the stored power began to pour into it in a thin stream. Cyril carefully controlled the process, so as not to screw up again. As a result, everything went smoothly, and his reserve was restored to two-thirds in a few minutes. It was possible to restore it completely, but suddenly Diantrel stopped Cyril:

"Enough."

Looking at his mentor in surprise, the young man asked:

"But why, I can fully regain my powers....."

The elfess stopped him with a smooth but stern gesture and explained in a lecturing tone:

"You should not overuse external sources of energy. This can lead to what is called “source atrophy”. The scientific term for this defect is different, but its meaning is that if you regenerate too often and too much, using natural sources of magic or pre-accumulated energy, it can lead to partial or complete loss of the ability to regenerate on your own. This is unlikely to threaten you, given your specifics, but you should not take any risks. It is better to accustom yourself to self-recovery of energy from the very beginning."

"If you say so. Shall we continue with the test, then?"

"Of course. Go back to your original position."

Cyril obediently took the indicated position, and Diantrel stood opposite him, on the other side of the circle.

"We will now test your defenses. Form and maintain a magical shield."

It was done. One of the simplest, but no less reliable protective weaves was formed without any problems, although, unlike magical arrows, it required a bit more power. In front of Cyril, it was as if a wall of slightly cloudy glass had appeared, separating him from his mentor.

"Good. Now, hold the barrier. I'll use simple magic arrows. After each use, tell me briefly how much your defenses are down. And as soon as you feel yourself getting tired, tell me."

"As you say,” Cyril said, gripping his wand more comfortably.

Maintaining the barrier didn't require too much effort, thanks to the wand but it still gradually used up energy.

"Let's start!"

A wave of the silver wand and a magic arrow hit exactly the center of Cyril’s barrier, exploding with a loud crack. The defense held, but immediately sank by more than a third. By increasing the flow of energy Cyril restored the integrity of the barrier.

"More than a third. I have restored it. I have energy."

"Okay. Let's continue."

A new wave, and now two magical arrows struck Cyril's barrier. He managed to hold the barrier but with great difficulty. When the barrier was restored, he reported:

"Almost collapsed. I rebuilt. Still have power."

"All right. It's going to be two at the same time. Get ready!"

The barrier created by Cyril could not withstand the combined impact of two magical arrows and disappeared with a loud crack. However, it held the blow, leveling the energy of the attack. Diantrel nodded in satisfaction and said:

"Not bad. How are you feeling?"

"Normal. The reserve is slightly more than a third."

"Okay. In that case, today's final test. Create as powerful a barrier as possible."

"Got it."

Cyril concentrated, formed a protective weave, and according to the principle of previous exercises with magic arrows, increased the amount of energy infused into it. It turned out to be even easier, as the barrier was unlike them static and required less control for its maintenance. But the reserve of such a reinforced barrier was spent much faster. The wall appeared in front of Cyril again, but it was made of rather cloudy glass, which made the figure of the mentor seem blurred and indistinct.

"Get ready! I strike!"

Four magical arrows struck the created defense at the same time. The barrier managed to level the attacking energy but collapsed with a great rumble. Taking a step back, Cyril lowered his wand and raised his palm in front of him.

"Ugh, I'm done, honorable Deantrelle! I'm out of strength... Ouch!"

The mentor walking toward him tensed sharply:

"What is it? Are you all right, honorable Cirial?"

"Oh, yeah! Everything's great!"

Straightening up, the young man looked at his concerned mentor with a smile and explained:

I got the second level!

* * *

Внимание! Этот перевод, возможно, ещё не готов.
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Переведено на Нотабеноиде
http://notabenoid.org/book/86674/580525

Переводчики: Camrad_RIP