Готовый перевод История Королевы Эльфов / The story of the Elf Queen: Глава шестая. Первая тренировка Героя Королевы Эльфов

Chapter Six. The First Training of the Hero of the Elf Queen

* * *

For exactly one second there was a sincere surprise on Diantrel's face, but then the elfess became standard-unperturbed again. She said in a calm and thoughtful voice, keeping her violet eyes on Cyril:

"Quite unexpected. I thought it would require at least a few lessons."

The young man looked up from the system message he had received and shrugged:

"Well, the first level should be the easiest. Besides, I got some experience when the honorable Fiorel told me about the Royal Palace and the life of the Forest. Plus the mission accomplished. And your tests added to my experience as well."

Nodding, Diantrel said:

"I understand, honorable Cirial. May I ask you to refrain from choosing the gifts of the Soul Tablets immediately and wait for the arrival of my mentor?"

"Yes, of course! In turn, can I rest a little for now?"

"Of course."

He sat down on one of the free chairs at the table by the wall of the training room, where the magic wands had been placed before, and sighed with relief. His mentor's inspections had worn him out quite well, even though he hadn't experienced any physical exertion. It seemed that he was only practicing magic, but he felt as if he'd had a good workout in the gym, and then he'd been on the treadmill for an hour or two. I wondered if practicing magic would help me lose weight.

While Cyril was talking about the possibility of losing excess weight through magical practices, Diantrel contacted the Elder Enchantress, had a quick word with her, and approached her apprentice:

"My mentor will be with us shortly. For now, you may rest and, if you wish, satisfy your hunger."

"With great pleasure," Cyril willingly accepted the last offer.

She moved a pitcher of water, a glass, a couple of utensils, and a silver dish covered with a lid. Underneath it was an assortment of sliced fruit and slices of meat, apparently chicken. Thanking Diantrel, Cyril began to eat. Having sent the first slice of apple into his mouth, he was surprised to feel that it was not only sweet and tasty but also saturated with neutral energy. Just a little bit, but it was quite noticeable. Concentrating, the young man switched to magical vision. That was it - all the food and water was saturated with magical energy. Turning to his mentor, he inquired:

"Is this special food for the gifted?"

The white-haired elfess nodded briefly:

That's right. This water is taken from a magical source of spring-type, which also feeds the fruit grove where the fruit is taken from. The same water was used to grow the grain that was used to feed the poultry. Due to the fact the energy of that source is extremely neutral and has a stable-low concentration, the food grown with its help is perfect for restoring the strength of novice-gifted ones.

Once again appreciating the degree of the elves' care for his person, Cyril started to eat. He doubted very much that all novice wizards were fed so well in this world. As he munched on the fruit slices one by one, alternating them with meat slices, he could clearly feel that the almost completely used-up reserve was beginning to recover a little faster. By the time he had finished eating, the Elder Enchantress had arrived in the training room, dressed in a beautiful navy blue dress with a triangular neckline on her chest and embroidered with silver patterns. After greeting her student, she leisurely approached Cyril, who had risen to his feet, gave him a brief nod and said:

"Congratulations on your first success, honorable Cirial. Like Diantrel, I did not expect you to rise to the first step so quickly."

Slightly embarrassed, the young man shrugged and smiled awkwardly:

"Well, the first level is always the easiest.

"If our archives are to be believed,” the Elder Enchantress nodded as she continued to gaze thoughtfully at the young man, ”I assume you have already chosen what knowledge or attribute you wish to acquire?"

"I have my eye on something, yes. And I would like, as we agreed, to discuss it with you."

A barely noticeable smile touched the elf's lips:

"A smart decision."

You bet. The last thing Cyril needed was to screw up his pumping by taking some garbage skill. No way! He had experience in one computer game based on the DnD board game, where he played as a mage character. And until the very end, his wizard character missed all his spells on all enemies, even the ones that hit squares. Because of this game turned into one continuous pain. And the reason was simple. It turns out that I had to take the skill “marksmanship”. Marksmanship, Carl! For the mage! How he then swore at the developers ...

It is clear that this is not a game, but he still did not want to screw up his build. Therefore, before taking any skill, property, or knowledge better to coordinate it with the mentors. In general, Mirael approved of Cyril's choice, which fit into the concept of development. With a mental command, he invested a free talent point, confirming his decision.

Knowledge gained: "the basics of magical dueling techniques with combat wands."

Knowledge added to Player status.

As soon as Cyril confirmed his choice, new knowledge began to pour into his head, and he was involuntarily glad that he had not had time to move far away from the table. Literally collapsing back into his chair, the young man grabbed his head with both hands. Shit, in the future it would be better to improve the level lying in bed. The array of information was pouring into the mind, and it was not just “downloaded”, but also supplemented the existing knowledge. The most synergy was with the “basics of working with basic amulets and artifacts”.

When the download was finished, Cyril sat for a few minutes with eyes closed listening to himself. The knowledge he had gained, like the previous ones, felt like an integral part of himself. It was as if he had been practicing for several years, mastering the wielding of the battle rod under the guidance of the same Diantrel. Yeah, for some reason he had a suspicion that the students of the local Hogwarts would want to do something bad to him for such cheating. Or rather, why suspicion? Complete fucking certainty! One already did, for fuck's sake!

Cyril was distracted from his unpleasant thoughts by the voice of the Elder Enchantress, who was watching him with her student:

"Honorable Cirial, are you all right?"

Realizing that people, in the sense of elven women, were actually waiting for him, Cyril opened his eyes, rose to his feet, and nodded:

"I'm all right, honorable ones. The new knowledge has been absorbed without any problems. You can see for yourself."

Cyril picked up his magic wand of light wood from the table, grasped it with a classic “duel” grip and stood in the same classic attacking stance. At the same time, he formed the weave of a “magic arrow”, which was lit on the tip of the rod, ready to snap from it at any moment at Cyril's will. And all this in an instant, without a single unnecessary movement or the slightest hesitation. Even taking into account the fact that “magic arrow” was an extremely simple spell, such a thing was impossible without long practice. Or without the System.

Yes, Cyril had known before which end to hold the magic wand, and how to use it to send spells, which he had demonstrated to Diantrel. But now he understood how to do it “right”. There were no unnecessary movements, and coordination improved. There was an understanding of how to better and more accurately direct spells with the help of the wand. The knowledge gained could be considered analogous to the basic principles of fencing for a “Warrior” class. After waiting for a couple of seconds, Cyril changed his attacking stance to a defensive one, forming a slightly convex circle in front of the tip of the wand instead of a magical arrow, slightly larger than an ordinary wooden shield. After changing his stance and grip a few more times, he extinguished the created weave in the same honed motion and lowered the wand. The two elven women who had been watching him closely looked at each other briefly, and then Mirael spoke:

"Very impressive, venerable Cirial. Once again I am amazed at how much the Tablet of the Soul can bestow in such a short time."

Diantrel nodded in agreement:

Indeed. If you, venerable Cirial, were my student, then after today's check, I would, with a clear conscience and without the slightest twinge of conscience, sign you the patent of the Adept of the First Degree of the General Profile.

"Thank you for such high appreciation," Cyril was a little embarrassed, in general, already imagined from conversations with the same Mirael, the “Table of Ranks” of the local gifted.

If used a very conventional analogy with his native world and his education there, he was now a first-year student at a university. The kind of student who didn't skip lectures and attended seminars, who had passed his exams and written his term paper. An Adept of the First Stage was not even close to being a full-fledged Master of Magic or even a specialist in any particular field. But not a simple student either. With such a patent, Cyril could easily find a decent job in any of the major cities, ensuring his place in the ranks of the local “middle class”. An adept of the Broad, or more precisely, General Profile, would be willingly hired by representatives of trading houses and local noblemen.

Of course, he couldn't get the position of a court magician for a Duke, but a baron from a not-so-great barony would be very happy to have such a courtier. As well as a solid merchant or a group of medium-sized adventurers. However, without a serious patron, he would probably find trouble on his own head first. Because rabbits aren't just meat - they're also valuable fur. In other words, a gifted adept is a very valuable resource that can always be used by stronger mages. It may very well be that the young specialist will not survive this “use”. Especially if he tries to realize the “American dream” by opening his own business. Nobody and nowhere likes competitors, no matter if it is Earth or another world with dragons and sorceresses.

"This is not a high, but a fair and accurate assessment of what I saw today,” the white-haired elfess shook her head, ”Of course, you still have a lot to teach, but even what you showed me today... Let's just say it's very impressive considering that a couple of days ago you had nothing to do with magic at all."

"I completely agree with you," Mirael supported her student.

Turning to her, the Elder Enchantress continued:

"I assume that your lesson for today can be considered finished?"

The white-haired elf nodded briefly in response:

"Of course. I have seen everything I was interested in and now, I can see the further learning process. Honorable Cirial needs to rest and recuperate. Self-recovery," the last phrase was especially emphasized by the mentor, looking carefully at the young man.

"Of course, I remember everything. You can't abuse magical sources and energy reserves," Cyril nodded quickly.

"Glad to hear it. In that case, I'll expect you to train tomorrow without delay. I think it can be held at the fifth training ground?"

"Fine,” Mirael nodded in agreement, ”just don't torture the honorable Cirial too much."

"Of course, mentor."

Somehow her voice and look didn't seem to please Cyril.

"And here's one. Please, take this, honorable Cirial."

In one elegant movement, Diantrel pulled up the belt holster for the magic wand lying on one of the tables near the wall. She held it out to Cyril and said:

"It is yours, as is this wand. Wear it with honor and handle it with care. A battle wand is not a toy, honorable Cirial."

"Of course."

Taking his belt holster, Cyril easily secured it, then tucked his new wand into it. Making sure they did not interfere with his movement he snatched it a few times and put it back in place. It worked out pretty well. Of course, he wasn't the fastest marksman in the Wild West, but it was a good start.

"If you have no questions, you may be dismissed, honorable Cirial. Fiorel is waiting for you outside and will escort you to your chambers."

Wincing, Cyril turned to the Elder Enchantress:

"Actually, I have one question for you, honorable Mirael."

"I'm listening."

"I'd like to talk to you in private, if you don't mind."

She nodded understandingly, looked him carefully in the eyes, said a brief goodbye to her student, and gestured for Cyril to follow her. Leaving the training room, she exchanged brief words with Fiorel, who was waiting for them, after which she took the young man to her office. They seemed to be moving through the common corridors of the palace, but somehow it happened they hardly met anyone.

The Elder Enchantress' office, contrary to the fantasies of some people, was a very ordinary office. No artifacts, mysterious devices, or cauldrons of mysterious liquids. Because all of the above belong in a laboratory. The latter, as Fiorel explained to Cyril, are either in the basement of the palace or in separate buildings. In order to avoid possible... incidents. So the workplace of the Elder Enchantress was almost a classic office of an important boss. A large desk with writing utensils and an artifact mirror. Cabinets along the walls. A couple of armchairs for guests. Of course, all the furniture was above reproach, as was the size of the room. In fact, it seemed to Cyril that even the smallest room in this palace would be bigger than his own apartment. When the tall doors of Mirael's office closed behind Cyril's back, she pointed to the guest chair and sat down at the desk.

"Please, sit down. What you wanted to talk to me about, honorable Cirial?"

"Well, you know,” the young man made himself comfortable and took a few seconds to try to formulate his question as precisely as possible.

"You said that part of my memory was stolen by this Master....."

"That's right,” the Elder Enchantress nodded, looking at Cyril carefully.

"I've been thinking about it at my leisure and... Well, you know, I don't feel like I've forgotten anything. There are no gaps, no dark spots... I don't know how to phrase it exactly... Well, it seems I remember everything up to the moment of arrival in your world....."

Stopping him with a smooth gesture of her palm, Mirael said in a calm and slightly sympathetic voice:

"You don't have to feel them, Cirial. You see, our memory is a very complex structure. It cannot just be projected onto an artifact mirror, in the form of continuous and sequentially changing images, and then looked at, rewinding back and forth, looking for the place where a fragment is missing. It is made up of many parts. Images, knowledge, sensations, impressions. Some of them are clear, some of them are vague, and some of them we forget over time without any magic. The latter is especially difficult, because of how to understand whether the memory was stolen or you forgot about something yourself. And was it something at all?"

"I see," Cyril said slowly, thinking over what he had heard, "Tell me, honorable Mirael, is there any way not to restore my lost memories, as you have already told me, but at least to understand what exactly this Master stole from my memory? Well, besides the memories of being in your world?"

The elfess looked at Cyril sympathetically for a few moments, then said softly:

"As I said, in your case, it will be very difficult to recover what you've lost. Even, most likely, impossible, unless you get the artifact that Master used. But even that will not give a guarantee, because he could simply dispose of your memories, as unnecessary images are erased from crystals to imprint new ones in their place. However, if you are so concerned, I can ask my colleagues, who are knowledgeable in such matters, to check your memory more thoroughly. They won't be able to give you your memories back, but in theory, they will be able to figure out what Master stole from you. However..."

Here Mirael looked at Cyril very carefully:

"Personally, I would refrain from letting someone into my memory. It's one thing to make a general check of your memories, which we subjected you to when we discovered you out of banal logic and necessity. It's quite another to have a thorough and detailed memory analysis."

Cyril could hardly keep from swallowing. Somehow he imagined himself lying on a medical bed, with dozens of elves around him, and the air above him projecting the image of what he did sometimes at night, sitting at the computer and visiting websites for adult boys. Including those that featured masterpieces of Japanese animation that depicted elves too. Or rather, elfgirls. Fuck that! Cyril gave himself the most serious and thoughtful look he could muster and nodded slowly.

"I see your point, honorable Mirael. And I think I agree with you. In that case, I dare not detain you any longer and take up your time."

"Oh, well, I was happy to help you with advice."

After parting with the Elder Enchantress, Cyril, accompanied by Fiorel, returned to his chambers. It was already dark outside the window and night had fallen on the Forest. A modest dinner was already waiting for him in his chambers. As it turned out, the maids had been warned that Cyril had refreshed himself after the last inspection. Having quickly eaten in the company of Gata and Armina, Cyril almost immediately went to bed. After all, the inspections were quite tiring. Before going to bed, however, he remembered to hang his protective medallion on the headboard and set it to remote mode.

* * *

The lights were still on in the queen's study despite the late hour. Her desk artifact mirror reflected a tall, haughty dark elf. She sat on a huge dark wood throne decorated with spider-themed carvings. The thing was clearly very expensive, not only was real wood in the Underworld worth a lot of money, but here you could see the hand of a very skilled craftsman. The dark one's bright violet eyes glittered unkindly in unison with the gems set in a magnificent tiara made not of simple silver, but of pure mithril. Like the throne, the tiara was adorned with filigree ornaments of spider-themed designs. The dark elf's perfectly combed, thick, and straight silvery hair fell down her back and shoulders in a silken waterfall, down to her very substantial breasts.

In fact, her hair was the only thing that covered the dark one's breasts properly. All her clothes were just thin ribbons of silver spider silk wrapped around her body to emphasize the prominent shapes and seductiveness of her figure. Looking at them, it felt as if they were continuously slipping and flowing over the elf's dark skin like silver streams of water. Perhaps that was the case. Or perhaps, it was only an illusion, caused by the properties of a very expensive material like spider silk. But considering who the dark elf was, and what kind of magic she practiced, Sivila was inclined to believe the first option. She wasn't wearing any shoes, the dark one was sitting on her luxurious throne barefoot, putting one foot on the other, showing not only their straightness and slenderness but also a perfectly executed pedicure. However, a pair of sandals made of white patent leather, as if not a wild predatory albino lizard, costing a huge amount of money, was lying in front of the throne.

However, the Matriarch of the Great House of Shaalas, Cialana, also known among her kin and not only as the Silk Spider, could afford a greater luxury, like the skin of an exotic and rare predator that lived in the distant southern jungle. And she regularly afforded it, being the most powerful person not only in her Great House but in her entire hometown for centuries. However, neither her wealth nor skill as a full-fledged Magister of the very rare Silk Web School could help her right now, and the powerful dark elf was not in the best of moods. She curled her luscious lips, painted with silver lipstick, in a disgruntled tone:

"Nydira's squad could not be found. As soon as we received word from the Forest Council, I organized a search and pursuit. But too much time had passed, and the trail had gone cold. The Hunter teams I'd assembled were able to follow it to the Neutral Territories, but it broke off at the border with the Wild Territories. It's impossible to say where they went next, but they were originally heading north, as far as surface directions go in the Underworld."

With a barely perceptible tightening of her lips, Sivila mentally cursed. They missed it! She should have reported the information she'd gotten from Philip to her dark kin. Perhaps, it would have been possible to get on the tail of Master's puppets, and through them to get to him. But no, we delayed, thinking about how to use this information better, and as a result, they missed another trail.

"Is it possible to organize a search for them in the Wild Territories?"

Cialana looked Sivila carefully in the eyes and smiled broadly:

Large-scale - no, and you know it very well. The Wild Territories are called Wild Territories for a reason. There aren't many who can work there confidently without the risk of being lost forever. However, I can organize a small search party of professionals. It's just a question of price. And the fact that it would be a random search. The Underground is a great place to disappear without a trace. Especially in the Wild Territories. This means results, no matter how expensive, are not guaranteed.

Well, it was expected, and Sivila was ready for it.

"And how much would the help of your best Hunters be worth, Cialana?"

The smile on the dark elf's face grew even wider:

"My services are very expensive, you know that very well, Svilal. But I can give you a good discount if you give me that very thread."

Not a single muscle on the queen's face flinched. But to herself, Sivila growled softly. Well, who would have doubted it? There was no hope of hiding the story of how the damned demonic creature had bargained for its freedom. Too many witnesses. Nothing. She had a long memory and an eternity ahead of her. Sooner or later, she'll get to that thing. And then that lustful infernal scum will know that even demons can suffer. Out loud, of course, that's not what Sivila said:

"It's possible. As for the random search, we're working on it, and I really hope we'll have a result soon. And once that happens, I need your Hunters ready."

"I am glad to hear that. In that case, I will wait to hear from you, Sivila."

"And one more thing, Cialana."

The queen looked very carefully into the dark one's violet eyes.

"I do not doubt your talent, skill, experience, and ability. For otherwise you would not have been the Matriarch of your House for centuries. And so I especially implore you not to make a mistake that could cost you everything."

Leaning forward a little, Sivila said with a push:

"Don't think you can negotiate with him or even catch him in your web. You can't even imagine the power he's got. I'll just say that the best Masters of Magic in the entire Forest had backed me up while I was communicating with him through his puppet. I guess you know how that ended, or you wouldn't have asked for that thread."

Cialana endured the queen's gaze completely calmly. She bowed her head slightly and said in a polite voice:

"I thank you for your sincere concern, Sivila. And I assure you, I've never been arrogant. Otherwise, I wouldn't have survived all those bitches who wanted to take my place."

"I'm glad to hear that, Cialana."

After politely saying goodbye to the dark one, Sivila extinguished the artifact mirror. Making sure Cialana's reflection was completely extinguished, the Queen allowed herself an infinitely tired sigh. She really wanted to believe that Cialana would actually have the sense to refrain from trying to negotiate with Master. And in her case, there was a good chance of that, as the Silk Spideress was extremely cautious and suspicious, which was why she was still the Matriarch. But in the case of the rest of the dark kin, not to mention other members of the lesser races the queen had no such confidence.

Leaning over the enchanted map of the Middle Sea region, where the surface overlapped with the known territories of the Underworld, Sivila gazed thoughtfully at the numerous markings. In particular, the small line that led from Cialana's hometown roughly north. Learc-An-Sardan was roughly under the western tip of the Southern Continent, where there was a relatively narrow strait between it and the Northern Continent. Relatively close to Westmark, where Master's lair was. He might have set up a hideout in the Underworld, not far from his laboratory. After all, as Cialana rightly said, it is indeed very easy to get lost there, and thus to hide. Especially in the Wild Territories of the Underworld. Dangerous, yes, but it was something Master could pull off, given his power. Okay, that's enough for today, it's time to go...

For the sake of the First Tree! The artifact mirror came to life again and emitted a quiet melody as it received a new call. Seeing the emblem-symbol of the caller reflected on the mirror surface, Sivila sighed tiredly and doomed. Third. She'll have to answer it. The queen quickly gave herself a proper appearance and accepted the challenge. A moment, and in the artifact mirror reflected in the head of the Secret Guard, which was unchanged-unperturbed, only in the eyes read fatigue. Nodding to him, Sivila said briefly:

"I'm listening."

"How was your interaction with Cialana?"

"We can consider it a success. The trail of the Master's puppets, as we suspected, has already gone cold, but she agrees to help in the search for them for a reasonable price. However, without a clear direction, it will be a blind search. A very dangerous search."

Third nodded in agreement:

"Of course. Mirael and the rest of the mages are working on getting a rough direction. Can I count on Luaval's help in the search when they give it to us?"

"Sure, but not for a couple of weeks at the earliest. After the events in Iyastar, he's had a certain... problem that could affect his effectiveness."

"Please convey my condolences to him."

"If by condolences you mean another highborn dark slave, he will gladly accept them,” the queen looked meaningfully into Third's eyes.

"Such an option is being worked on,” the Head of the Secret Guard replied nonchalantly.

"Glad to hear it. Any more news on Master from our agents or allies?"

A shadow of emotion ran across Third's face for the first time since the conversation began. It seemed to be tired irritation, but Sivila could be wrong.

"So far, there's no real news. He was well prepared before the Iyastar operation, and after it failed, most of his tails were cleaned up. Our allies managed to find a few puppets Master used for resource extraction, but they're all small fry. He used them in the dark, and they didn't even know it."

"That's odd. I was expecting more results after we announced Master to the public and more people joined the search,” the queen said thoughtfully.

"Oh, there's plenty of results. Only, as always in these situations, they're not the results we need."

Third made a brief gesture with his hand. His reflection was replaced by a long text. A very long text, written in painstaking calligraphy. Sivila blinked and stared at it, perplexed, reading the smooth lines.

Seven lycanthrope-type werewolves ...

Eleven lesser vampires...

The two higher vampires, along with their entourage...

Fourteen individual demon worshippers ...

Two small demonic cults ...

Nine organized gangs of mid-level Slavers…

Eleven organized gangs of mid-level robbers…

Four underground laboratories of unlicensed alchemists...

Seven gifted practitioners of dark schools without licenses and patents...

Two unlicensed necromancers...

Two minor cults of followers of the Lord of the Depths…

Forty-nine artifacts of medium danger...

Six high-risk artifacts…

That wasn't the whole list, only the headlines. Under each of them was a dry description of what and how it was discovered during the total raids by representatives of all kinds of secret, temple, and guild guards literally all over the world. Often with the active assistance of representatives of the Night Guilds. And from what Sivila had seen, that was probably not the entire list of what had been found during these raids. There was probably a lot more, but some of it was turned a blind eye. Yeah.

"Impressive,” was all the queen could say as she read the description of what she had found.

"It's the usual story,” Third shrugged, ”It's always the same. If a big city does a major raid on a visiting high-ranking vampire, there's one thing you can be sure of. They won't find the vampire, but they'll uncover a coven of dark witches, an underground slave market, and an illegal alchemical drug lab. And then everyone will wonder what to do about it. Since the main witches in the coven are the wife and daughters of the town head, the market uses the services of all the local nobility, and the laboratory is patronized by the strongest magician in the city."

"Humans,” Sivila sighed philosophically.

"Speaking of them, our "hero" took the first step."

"I'm aware of that, I was informed immediately. Can your people predict the speed of development based on this data?"

"Look..."

* * *

Whether it was because the test had exhausted him so much, or whether it was the stress and turmoil of the past few days, today's dreams were incredibly colorful and realistic. And what was unusual was that every time he observed himself as if from the outside. First Cyril found himself dressed in a gray robe and the same gray pointy hat, desperately holding the defense at the turnstiles of his native subway station. And a crowd of outraged people were trying to break through them! All of them were shouting something, talking about some qu-codes, demanding something, yelling that they had to go to work, but Kirill clearly realized one thing: “THEY MUST NOT PASS!” Waving his baton, he tried desperately to keep them out, but the crowd kept pushing, pushing and pushing, the turnstiles gave in, and then...

Then Cyril found himself standing on top of a huge mountain, with the same wand in his hands, with which he was hurling fire and lightning at the hordes of obviously demonic creatures. They were climbing the slopes, floating in the air, and in place of each killed two new ones appeared. Diantrel stood beside Kiril, folding her arms on her noticeably grown chest, and sternly reprimanded him with a stern face. As if she was taking some kind of exam. It was impossible to understand what the mentor wanted from Cyril, because around them on the top of the mountain, some strange guy was running in circles, dressed in some strange, like savage, clothes made of ribbons and feathers. However, these clothes literally reeked of such power that they could be cooler than the artifacts given to Cyril. The power was strange, not quite magical. Or rather, not monolithically magical. The guy's clothes and jewelry reeked of polar winds, and the heat of the earth's interior, and the poison of tropical plants, and who knows what else. Plus, in one hand the guy held a mallet and in the other a big tambourine, which also reeked of magical power. And to top it off, between his shoulder blades he had a natural dragon wing. Only with feathers. The strange young man was running in circles on the top of the mountain, hammering the tambourine and shouting wildly that he had seen such joint assignments in the grave.

A little away from Cyril, on the very edge of the peak, stood someone else, who was impossible to see because his appearance was constantly changing. He, as well as the boy, smelled of magic power, but it felt completely different. It felt like “will.” A will that could command and impose itself on others, hard and irresistible, but at the same time deceptively soft and insidious. He was flanked by a female version of Hulk the Crusher, with a huge two-handed axe in her hand, and a very pretty Asian woman in black tight silk, holding a pair of daggers. of daggers of some kind. Like the kid with the tambourine, the strange man was yelling at the top of his lungs that he'd seen a joint assignment like this in the grave. And he would not sign up for such an adventure again for any promised rewards, anything in the world, or under any guarantees. Especially in the company of such brainless idiots, who brought everything to the present situation! Cyril had a strong conviction this man was the culprit in the current situation...

What was the end of the battle on the top of the mountain, the music box that woke the young man up prevented him from finding out. When he opened his eyes, he lay in his luxurious bed for a few minutes, staring at the ceiling, trying to understand what the hell it was. Everything turned out to be too vivid for a normal dream. But then Cyril realized he had his first serious training today, so it was better not to lie down. His reserve was full, his mood was high, and it was time to conquer new heights of magic! Full of determination Cyril got out of bed and began his movement to the honorable title of archmage with water procedures. Taking a snow-white robe from the closet, he visited his bathing room and properly refreshed himself. The elves had no problems with hot water and its supply, which was a relief. Somehow he doubted that everyone in this world could afford hot water at any time and will.

Being properly invigorated and refreshed, Cyril quickly dried himself with a special household wand and returned to his bedroom, dressed only in a robe. And found Gata and Armina there, almost finished making the bed. Both girls, dressed in their immaculate black and white dresses, immediately curtsied:

"Good afternoon, master."

"And good luck to you... So, where are my clothes?"

"We took your costume from yesterday to clean it, master,” Catwoman replied, straightening the blanket.

"It is not proper for such an honorable mage to wear the same clothes for several days,” Armina supported her, fluffing the pillows.

"Plus, we've been informed that your training with the honorable Diantrel begins in earnest today,” Gata continued.

"That's why we've prepared new clothes for you, suitable for such activities,” Armina finished.

Cyril, who was listening to this dialog, looked carefully at the girls who had finished making his bed in four hands and asked:

"Be honest. Have you practiced saying that on purpose?"

"Of course not, master,” the maids replied in perfect sync.

And then they smiled simultaneously, flashing straight white teeth. Cyril couldn't stand it, and quietly chuckled. Then he went behind the screen to the closet, where he really found new clothes. Unlike his previous costume, which was a mixture of a conventional Thranduil and a Victorian gentleman's outfit, these clothes looked more like the ones Diantrel had worn yesterday. High boots, tight pants, a wide belt, a shirt, and a vest with many pockets. It was all dark green in color and fit Cyril perfectly. Could it really have been made to fit him?

After changing his clothes, the young man hung the holster with the magic wand he had received yesterday on his belt, put on the artifacts he had received, evaluated himself in the mirror, and was satisfied with what he saw. By this time the maids had finished with the bed and were now waiting for him in the next room at the already set table. They smiled at the young man's appearance:

"You look beautiful, sir,” Armina smiled.

"You're a real Forest Guard wizard,” Gata said, wagging her fluffy tail.

"So these are the uniforms of elven warriors?" Cyril asked, sitting down at the table.

"You could say that. There is no uniform standard for the gifted, often they choose their equipment individually, depending on the peculiarities of the gift or the school they have mastered."

"I see..."

After a quick breakfast, Cyril said goodbye to the girls who had started to clear the table and left his chambers. Fiorel was already waiting for him outside. After greeting the queen's trusted servant, Cyril accompanied him to the fifth training ground where Diantrel had scheduled today's training. Which turned out to be located on the street outside the palace. On their way to it, they occasionally encountered locals, mostly servants. There were a couple of elves, but the latter were clearly in a hurry to get to their work and only exchanged brief greetings with Fiorel and his companion.

The range Cyril was brought by the queen's servant was the size of an average soccer field and from the outside looked like a mixture of a maze, an obstacle course, and a shooting range. At least, that's how Cyril saw it from the observation platform under the canopy located at its entrance. There, Diantrel was already waiting for him and Fiorel, dressed in the same white and green robes as yesterday. She nodded to her kin and greeted Cyril:

"Good morning, honorable Cirial."

"Good morning, honorable Diantrel."

"How do you feel?"

"Fully rested and full of energy."

A barely perceptible smile touched the white-haired elf's lips:

"That's good to hear. Today we're going to begin our full-fledged training. And we'll begin with the Forest Guard's beginner martial arts exercises. Please put on your protective gear."

With those words, the white-haired elf pointed to a small table beside her. There was a pair of elbow-length gloves of thick, dark leather with metal inserts on the back of the palms. Nearly a dozen of the same small plates, with runic symbols engraved on them, lay separately. Cyril recognized these plates as reusable protective amulets. Putting on his gloves, he easily tuned into them. So, what do we have here? Yeah, the principle of the weave is pretty clear. A mental effort, and a round, slightly convex translucent magic shield appeared around Cyril's left hand. From the outside, it resembled ordinary round wooden shields, which Cyril had seen in abundance in pictures of medieval soldiers and Vikings. Only this one was magical, and it didn't weigh anything. The young man quickly reconsidered his first impression after evaluating the effect of the amulet's activation.

The plates were not so simple, and the weave in them allowed not only to activate the defense but to customize it. It took a few seconds to figure out how to adjust the area and density of the shield and how to change its shape from round to rhombic or rectangular. It was also possible to project it not at his hand but a short distance away from himself to protect someone else. Diantrel nodded in satisfaction as she watched him do this.

"Not bad. I see you understand how these amulets work."

"Pretty sure,” Cyril nodded, extinguishing the magic shield, ”Are these plates spare?"

"Some of them. The rest you need to insert into the compartments of your vest and set them to trigger automatically. Usually, there are a couple of them in the front and back. If you want, you can also put a couple of them in these side pockets on your hips to protect your legs. One amulet must be placed in front of the heart. There have been rare cases when shrapnel or an arrow was stopped not by a discharged magical shield, but by the metal of the amulet itself. Yes, into this slot here. And also here. Now set them to work automatically."

It took some more time to figure out how to do it. No, it wasn't difficult to switch the amulets-plates into this mode, and Cyril managed it without difficulty. But to set them in such a way that they did not work all at once - it was a bit more difficult. I had to connect them first into a single weave and manually set the order. He also had to divide them into back, front, a pair of legs, and side, delineating the zones of defense. Not on the first try, but with the help of his mentor, Cyril figured it out. As Diantrel explained, some newcomers, not having the opportunity to get a normal magical education, as well as people unaware of magic, sometimes make similar mistakes. They use several protective amulets to increase their safety but don't set them up properly, as a result of which one single attack by an enemy can discharge the entire defense. Deantrel also helped him adjust his defense medallion so it wouldn't interfere with his training, putting it into the equivalent of passive mode. She then helped Cyril choose the right mode of magical vision for his golden hoop. When the young man's mentor was satisfied that he had gotten it right, she nodded in satisfaction:

"Okay, you're ready. Now, your first training will be shooting and defense practice. No complicated weavings. Just magic arrows and a shield today. You will take up a position on the range and will have to hit the training dummies. They will attack you with weakened versions of magic arrows. Your task is to destroy them while avoiding return fire. Being hit by dummies' magic arrows won't hurt you, even if you use up all your defenses. But it is quite painful and unpleasant. This is done on purpose so those practicing will not relax. Also note that some of the dummies will also have defenses, and some will be camouflaged. To detect them, use your headband and magical vision. Is that clear?"

"I guess so."

"All right, then. In that case, let's get to practice. Take position number two. That one!"

Nodding, Cyril walked into the range and stood on a small platform to the right and slightly ahead of the entrance, from which most of his territory was visible. Taking out his magic wand, he formed a weave of a magic arrow, created a magic shield around his left arm, and stood in a stance.

"Are you ready?" The mentor's voice was amplified with magic and could be heard throughout the entire training ground.

"Ready!"

"Here we go!"

Diantrel made an elusive gesture with her hand, and in the same instant, the entire training ground was suddenly transformed. Some of the wooden walls and partitions that formed the maze and obstacle course moved, causing the surrounding space to change almost completely in a matter of seconds. It was completely unexpected, so Cyril missed the first attack. In his defense, he could say that the mannequin that attacked him, in the form of a wooden humanoid statue, appeared on the left behind him, almost at the entrance. Where before there had been a blank wall of timbers and nothing else.

In one hand, the dummy held a short, obviously disposable magic wand made of simple wood. On the other hand, he held the same wooden but obviously enchanted round shield. Cyril saw and saw all this after the magical arrow hit him in the back, passing the shield formed around his left arm. One of the protective amulets immediately activated, forming a magical shield, and the young man did not even feel the impact. He only noted that the energy reserve in one of the back amulets had dropped by about a third.

Cyril cursed and kicked himself mentally. In a single movement, he moved a little to the side, moving out of the direct line of attack, and immediately responded with his magical arrow. The arrow successfully hit the statue, but it hit his shield. The latter withstood the blow, and he had to add another magical arrow, at the same time repelling the second attack of the dummy with his magical shield. Cyril's second attack reached its target, piercing the shield and the dummy behind him crunched loudly. A noticeable crack formed in its torso, which smoldered faintly at the point of impact. The young man rejoiced at his success for only a second, because almost immediately he was attacked by another dummy, this time appearing about halfway across the range from behind another lowered partition. He couldn't dodge its magical arrow, but he managed to take it so well on the shield that it went tangentially which made the amulet lose less energy.

After hitting it with an enhanced magical arrow, and immediately penetrating the shield of the wooden dummy, Cyril immediately switched to the next one, attacking it exactly in the head, bypassing the wooden shield. And then the next one. And then two more. And another. The real hunting excitement completely absorbed the young man. He moved continuously at the indicated position, quickly realizing that standing still was a futile endeavor. New dummies appeared almost continuously. They grew right out of the ground, hid in the recesses of the walls, and hid behind partitions. He had to keep his head spinning to keep the whole range in sight and react to new threats.

And still, it didn't save him completely, new and new opponents appeared constantly, and the defense, despite all Cyril's efforts, slowly but surely sagged. The biggest problems were with those dummies that were disguised. Moreover, the opponents disguised themselves in different ways. Some of them were covered with camouflage illusion, which made it hard to see them with normal vision, and he missed several blows before he realized where the magic arrows were coming from.

Switching to magic vision, Cyril easily hit the camouflaged enemies, who were not too bright, but clearly glowing against the background of the walls and partitions of the polygon. With the help of the golden hoop shooting the enemies was much more fun, the magnificent artifact of the elves literally allowed him to see the enemies through the obstacles, illuminating the weaves embedded in them. And why hadn't he activated it right away? Some of the dummies Cyril hit even before they fully emerged from their hiding places! And then he was literally hit in the face by a magical arrow from a wooden dummy that appeared right in front of him, only a little ahead of him. But this didn't show up in his magical vision at all. This blow knocked the young man out of his thoughts for a moment, but he was immediately spurred on by the voice of his mentor, who was watching him:

"Don't forget your normal vision! And don't get distracted! There's not much left!"

Cyril mentally kicked himself and continued shooting the enemies. Cyril continued shooting enemies, including another mannequin that appeared next to another displaced wall and did not shine in his magical vision. There were no more surprises, and Cyril hit another ten enemies with magic arrows quite successfully, missing only two attacks from the enemies that appeared behind him.

"Time!"

The loud voice of his mentor made the young man freeze in place, with his wand raised in his hand, another magical arrow glinting at the tip of it.

"The exercise is over. Return, honorable Cirial."

Exhaling, the young man carefully extinguished the weave and put the wand back in its place. Ufff. Cyril realized only now that he was soaking wet. His heart was pounding rapidly in his chest, he wanted to drink and rest, like after a good exercise class. Wiping the sweat from his forehead, he returned to the platform at the entrance to the firing range. From it, he had an impressive view. Several dozen statues, of varying degrees of integrity, were smoking faintly all over the area. As he approached his mentor, Diantrel looked at him carefully and asked:

"How are you feeling?"

Cyril almost inertly replied “normal”, but he hesitated in time and honestly said:

"I'm a little tired. I had a little more than a third of the reserve left, my throat is dry and I'm very thirsty. I also want to sit down and rest for a while."

The elfess nodded in satisfaction and pointed to a vacant chair near one of the tables. There was a pitcher of water and several glasses:

"That's okay. For your first time, you held up pretty well. There are some mistakes, but we'll fix that. Drink some water, it'll help you regain your energy."

Cyril didn't refuse, and while he poured himself a full glass of cool water, Diantrel continued:

"What are your main mistakes? The first one is that you form too big magic shields. To successfully repel such attacks requires a quarter less area and a third less energy. Because of this, the energy consumption of the defense amulets is more than required. Your second mistake is that you neglected your magic vision at first, and then focused too much on it, losing sight of your opponents, who did not stand out in it in any way. This is a common mistake of beginners, it is eliminated by regular training and practice."

"To be honest, I thought my headband should light up all my opponents, considering how good it is." The young man tried to justify himself as he finished drinking the cool water.

Like yesterday's, it was saturated with magic, but only a little. And with each sip, Cyril could feel it becoming a little better. Diantrel, who was watching him, nodded briefly and explained:

"Undoubtedly, your headband would overcome the masking of all the targets available on this range. But I specifically set it up before training so that some of the opponents would not stand out in any way. You shouldn't rely on magical vision alone. Many opponents in the world can hide their magic very well. And if you get used to relying only on magical vision, it is very easy to miss the enemy who stands literally in front of you. Even if he is not disguised in any way at all."

Taking a step back, Diantrel made an inviting gesture:

"Put your headband into normal mode and try to look at me."

"One moment..."

Standing up, Cyril returned the headband to its original mode and then looked at his mentor. He was a bit taken aback. In the magical vision, Diantrel was really impressive! The elf was literally glowing, from the tips of her ears to the tips of her toes! If the mannequins on the firing range could be compared in brightness to the light of a handheld pocket flashlight, then his mentor in her brightness was like a good headlight of a modern truck. Her aura was so bright that Cyril could hardly distinguish separate energy channels and energy nodes, all thin bodies of Diantrel merged into one luminous female figure. It was a very pretty female figure...

When he regained his senses and chased the obscene thought away, Cyril reported:

"You're glowing, honorable Diantrel."

The elfess nodded faintly and asked:

"And now?"

Cyril's mentor didn't even move, continuing to stand motionless, but in just a couple of seconds, her glow became dim, then completely faded away. The young man had to admit that he couldn't recognize the elf as a gifted person standing in front of him. She hid her aura perfectly. Which he informed her of. Diantrel nodded slightly in response and explained:

Good control of internal energies allows you to mask your subtle bodies. It can also be done with the help of certain protective amulets. In general, there are plenty of ways to hide one's magical potential. And they possess not only reasonable gifted but also many monsters, the higher undead, as well as inhabitants of immaterial plans. In general, to openly shine their auras for any strong and skillful gifted person is akin to walking naked in public. In addition, it can give the enemy unnecessary information about himself.

"I see. And how do I look from the outside now?" Cyril suddenly realized, which caused Diantrel's face to show a barely perceptible smile.

"That's pretty decent. But seriously, your protective medallion also disguises your subtle bodies very well. From the outside, you look like a gifted adept who has just reached this stage. Which is quite normal for a novice wizard. Later we'll do some exercises to control internal energies. Right now, restore your strength with the help of your storage ring, but not more than two-thirds."

"Good..."

Having tuned to the unfortunate ring, where there was still about one and a half of his current reserve, Cyril concentrated and carefully, taking care not to overload the energy channels, began to absorb energy from it. In a few minutes, he had brought his reserve up to two-thirds of full. Taking into account that the ring contained his own energy, the restoration of power and its assimilation went without any difficulties.

Diantrel quickly recharged the exhausted protective amulets, and it took the elfess just a touch and a couple of moments to energize them. After ensuring Cyril had set and adjusted them correctly, the mentor asked him for a magic wand and in just a few seconds infused a considerable amount of energy into it. Having returned it to Cyril almost fully charged, Diantrel explained:

"This time, use the wand's reserve. Try not to waste your own power. Keep an eye on the amount of energy used for shields. Now the exercise will be more difficult. You'll have to move from one point to another. Is that clear?"

"Yes."

"Then back to baseline. We'll start with the first position."

When he returned to the training ground, Cyril took his place and prepared for a new training session. He felt good, the fatigue from the first exercise was gone, and although his reserve had not yet fully recovered, he was quite confident on his feet.

"Let's start!"

As soon as the mentor gave the command the range was in motion again. To his credit, this time Cyril spotted and hit the first enemy before he could attack him. For a few minutes he successfully held the first position, hitting his enemies and either avoiding or deflecting counterattacks. At the same time, he honestly tried to keep track of how much energy he was spending on creating magical shields.

"Transition! Third position!"

Spurred on by his mentor's voice, Cyril rushed in the right direction. The third position was in front and to the left of the entrance to the range and was a platform just below the general level. The distance to it was small, but as it turned out, to reach it was not easy! As soon as Cyril started to move, two dummies appeared behind his back and attacked him at the same time hitting one of the rear protective amulets with a solid blow.

"Move faster! Don't stop in one place! Watch out for the shields!"

Diantrel's sharp commands and shouts drove the young man, forcing him to move quickly between the walls, partitions, ditches, and individual pits of the training ground. The thought flashed through the back of his mind, how much does it cost to maintain and operate such a training facility? The elves obviously have more than one. It must be very expensive. But these thoughts appeared and disappeared, knocked out by a lucky hit of another magical arrow, which came from a camouflaged dummy, which not only did not stand out with magic vision but also blended perfectly with the surrounding timbers that formed the wall.

Upon reaching the third position, Cyril immediately appreciated how much less favorable it was compared to the first. It was a level below the surrounding plots, open on all sides. No matter how hard the young man tried to keep spinning around, very quickly the dummies, who were now attacking him two at a time, forced Cyril to press against one of the stable log walls and go on the defensive. He had to form several small but densely reinforced magical shields, using his mentor's reserve infused in his wand. Under their cover, he managed to repel the attacks of the dummies, but he had to constantly monitor the strength of the shields, regularly recharging them. This, in turn, quickly used up the reserve that Diantrel had put into his wand. He had to reduce their area a bit more and make them movable, making them vulnerable to dummies' attacks from all sides but the back.

It was much more difficult to control three shields at once and to counterattack at the same time, than to simply shoot the dummies. At first, the young man even went completely on the defensive, allowing himself only rare attacks. Especially since the dummies were not standing still now! Wooden dummies appeared, made a few shots, and disappeared again behind their hiding places, not giving a good aim. But gradually Cyril got used to it and began to hit the dummies one by one with confidence. A few minutes passed like that, and then the mentor commanded:

"Change of position! Point six!"

Cyril cursed in his mind and ran in the right direction, supporting three small magic shields in the form of circles floating in the air around him, and somehow managing to attack dummies that appeared in the most unexpected places now and then. Well, it's clear that thanks to the “basic fundamentals of dueling techniques with battle wands”. Without the knowledge received from the System for taking the first level, he would probably be able to sit only in defense under protective barriers, with almost no chance to counterattack. And so the game is going though not in his favor, but at least not in one goal. Damn it, he jinx it!

Cursing because he was again distracted by unnecessary thoughts, Cyril missed another pair of lurking dummies that didn't stand out in his magical vision. And with them, a couple of magical arrows discharged one of the front protective amulets. Diantrel, who was watching him closely, reacted immediately:

"Don't get distracted! Pay attention to your surroundings!"

"I'm trying,” Cyril exhaled, jumping over a small wooden partition.

The sixth position, unlike the third, was essentially a long and not-too-wide corridor, with a couple of side rooms along its length. The point where Cyril needed to be was exactly in the center. And almost immediately it became clear that it was much more difficult to hold it than the previous position. Because the enemies were now hitting from two opposite sides, forcing a constant rotation of one hundred and eighty degrees. They appeared at the opposite ends of the corridor, in the side rooms, and now they were always two at a time and from different sides!

The reserve in the wand was gradually decreasing, as well as in the protective amulets, but the onslaught did not weaken. At some point Cyril simply created one reinforced shield, which blocked the corridor, making it safe from one side. This allowed him to confidently hit the enemies on the opposite side but while dealing with them, four dummies appeared on the other side and began to shower his reinforced and heavily stretched shield with combined blows. The reserve to maintain it began to rapidly dwindle, and Cyril had to urgently switch to a new direction. No, this would not do, and he would not last long! Blows to the forehead quickly sagging reserve ...

In the forehead... The image of a tank from some documentary that Cyril had watched on TV not so long ago appeared in his adrenaline-fueled mind. There the presenter told in detail how the positioning of armor at a certain angle increased the chance of ricochet and thus reduced the risk of penetration. Enlightened by the new idea, Cyril, having stopped holding the magical shield that was cracking at the seams, quickly formed a new weave. With a loud crack, the barrier blocking the corridor disappeared, and a new fusion of four dummies rushed forward. But the magic arrows instead of Cyril struck a new magic shield, which he infused with additional energy and made as dense as possible. And that blocked the corridor not with one solid barrier perpendicular to the walls of the corridor, but with two, which converged in the center of the passage at an angle of ninety degrees, directed towards the enemy. As a result, all the magical arrows ricocheted, hitting the log walls of the corridor, and the strength of the magic shield sagged a little.

Ha, that's another matter! Cyril, visibly cheered up, quickly formed another similar barrier on the other side. He had to use up the entire reserve of several protective amulets, but now he had a very well-protected position. The dummies' magic arrows hit the shields on both sides, but did little damage to them, ricocheting off into the walls of the corridor and knocking splinters out of the massive timbers. The young man took a moment to catch his breath, intercepted his wand, and prepared to strike back. But it became clear that it was impossible to do so through the solid barrier. I had to spend time forming natural holes in the magical shields. This required changing the structure of the weave. It didn't work the first time, and Cyril almost collapsed the entire defense. But then he managed to rearrange the magic shields in the right way, and the process of shooting the dummies became much more fun. It was like a shooting gallery or a computer game!

The opponents continued to hit with magic arrows, but the dense clots of energy ricocheted helplessly off the angled magic barriers. Cyril, however, was able to hit his enemies without much difficulty. He even managed to make the loopholes “open” strictly at the moment of his attack, preventing the enemies from taking advantage of the gap. A few minutes passed, the energy in the wand was almost exhausted, but there was only a little more than half of the amulets left, and Kirill could stay in this position for quite a long time. Especially if to take into account that he didn't waste his own reserve, if not to count those crumbs of energy that went to the initiation of the process of formation of the weave. But when the next dummies cracked with a loud crack from his attacks, his mentor's voice sounded over the training ground:

"That's enough! The exercise is over. Return to your original position, honorable Cirial."

After extinguishing the barriers, the young man put the almost completely empty wand into his holster. This time he did not use his magic powers, but still, the exercise exhausted him, as he had to run a lot, plus the constant creation of weaves and their maintenance also required effort. Climbing over the obstacles and bypassing the defeated dummies, Cyril returned to the observation deck, where Diantrel was waiting for him. The white-haired elf met him with an attentive and thoughtful gaze.

"How do you feel?"

"A little tired, but overall okay. Didn't spend much of my reserve."

"Good. Get some rest and recuperation."

Nodding gratefully, Cyril sat back down and poured another glass of water. Apparently, the jug was enchanted to keep the contents fresh and cool. When he had quenched his thirst, Diantrel inquired:

"Did you figure out how to form the angular barrier on your own, or was this knowledge given to you by the Soul Tablet?"

"I guessed it myself and knew how to do it thanks to the System... I mean, the Tablet."

"That's commendable,” the elfess bowed her head slightly and nodded approvingly, ”This defense is good against dense and concentrated magical attacks, like the same magical arrows. But against elemental attacks, you need to use a slightly different weave structure. For lightning, the optimal structure is the one that will ground the attacking charge. For fire attacks, especially liquid fire, as well as for acid attacks, a multilayer structure of the shield works well. The first layer takes the impact, and then you can collapse it, along with the attached fire or acid."

"Got it,” Cyril nodded, listening attentively to his mentor.

"Tell me, honorable Cirial, how much did today's two exercises bring you closer to the second step of elevation?"

"Uh, just a second."

Only now the young man realized he hadn't paid attention to the experience scale since the morning. And it was, in fact, half full and even a little over half full! And if to believe the internal clock granted by the System, both trainings took a little more than an hour and a half. It wasn't even noon yet!

"About half of the level, I mean step, has already been taken!"

And, according to Cyril's feelings, he was given the most experience just when he guessed to form angle barriers.

"Wonderful,” a faint smile appeared on Diantrel's face, and her mentor's violet eyes gleamed strangely.

And something about that glare and smile didn't please Cyril.

"Now rest for a while, regain your energy, and then we'll continue training."

"All right. Uh-huh. What time do we have to study?"

"Today we have training on the range until the evening, with short breaks for recuperation and meals,” the smile on the mentor's face grew a little wider, ”My mentor and I have come to the conclusion that in your case the best way to learn is to train as intensely as possible, honorable Cirial. To help you gain strength as quickly as possible."

Well. The inner voice delicately informed Cyril that he seemed to be in trouble, and now he would have to work off his allowance to the fullest...

* * *

As it turned out, the inner voice lied to Cyril. Because it turned out that he wasn't “a bit screwed”, but he was FUCKING SCREWED AS HELL! In Cyril's life, there was a case when his relatives brought unchopped firewood to their dacha. A whole fucking truckload! Some cubes, for the whole fall and winter. And they had to chop them all in half a day, drag them to the shed and stack them. Because at night they promise heavy rain! The eleventh-grader and his aunt's husband worked so hard that by the evening his whole body was buzzing. Even those parts of his body that Cyril had no idea about, although he had never skipped anatomy lessons and had a B in biology. He was barely strong enough to drag himself to the bed and collapse with a pillow in his face.

Cyril remembered that incident for a long time because he had never exhausted himself as much as he did that day, neither before nor after. Not until today. Because Diantrel took him seriously and thoroughly. After a rest, she again drove Cyril to the training ground, where they began to practice forming various variants of magical shields and barriers. Monolithic, segmented, stationary, mobile, multi-layered, reflecting and absorbing, full or partial. The options were unexpectedly numerous. Diantrel showed Kiril a new type of weave, explained what situations it was best suited for, and then waited until he could repeat it. If necessary, the mentor helped Cyril, but to his credit, most of the magical shields and barriers shown by the elfess, he was able to form on his own, without her help.

After he managed to create another defense and stabilize it, Diantrel demonstrated its advantages and disadvantages to the young man. Lightning, streams of ordinary water and pure ice, liquid fire, magical arrows, clots of acid, stones lifted by telekinesis, and throwing projectiles directed by him. The mentor's principle was extremely simple. First, she showed against which attack this or that defense was effective, and then she demonstrated against which it was better not to use it. And why. When Cyril had more or less memorized the weaves demonstrated by Diantrel, the exercise began.

The mentor taking a position opposite him called the type of defense, and Cyril had to form it as quickly as possible. It was not as easy as one might think. And in case of a mistake, it was also quite painful. At some point, he made a mistake with the weave, and instead of multilayer armor created a segmented one. The mentor's attack, in the form of a reinforced version of a magic arrow of increased density and concentration, broke through a separate segment of the magic shield and hit Cyril in the chest. The protective amulets worked, but they couldn't absorb the charge completely, and Cyril felt as if he had been hit in the chest with a good fist. The young man staggered backward, gasping for air. But he managed to stay on his feet.

The unperturbed Diantrel came up to him and touched him gently with the tip of her silver wand, and the pain quickly subsided. As if nothing had happened, the mentor advised Cyril to be more careful and warned him that the real battle would be much more painful. Cyril couldn't resist asking what would happen if he didn't live to see a real battle at this rate. And immediately regretted his long tongue. As the mentor, smiling politely, informed him that she knew perfectly well the methods of first aid and emergency medical aid. But if Cyril doubted, she was ready to demonstrate her skills to him right now and give him a lesson on the basics of healing magic. And all this was said with such kind eyes that he somehow had no doubts - she would. Right here and now. Cyril politely refused took his initial position and continued practicing his defenses.

This continued until the young man's reserve was almost at the bottom, and all the protective amulets were completely discharged. By this point, Cyril was soaking wet, so exhausted that he could hardly stand upright, and had missed a few more blows. His suit was torn in several places, and it was pretty smoky. Diantrel healed several bruises and minor scratches and told him that he would also practice healing magic, but not with her, but with the honorable Geatral. Cyril listened inattentively, dreaming only of reaching the observation deck and getting some rest.

Alas, his mentor had other plans. A short break, during which he had a snack and regained some strength, and then back to the range. Diantrel recharged his wand and protective amulets again, ordering him to use up their supply to let the reserve recover. As it turned out, it was a common practice for elves to alternate the use of their own powers and the accumulated ones during training. Thus, it was possible to practice longer, and in addition, to train not only magical skills, but also to develop reserve. However, Cyril was not much consoled by this.

But what really consoled him was that at the end of the second exercise with barriers was an unexpected increase. “Basic skills of creating basic magical barriers”, after Cyril managed to form a mobile segmented shield, which successfully repelled a fan attack of several small magical arrows at once, turned into "Advanced skills of creating basic magical barriers".

And not only because it was a visible and tangible result of his torment. And first of all, because while he was getting new knowledge into his head, Diantrel gave him a break, and let him sit quietly on the chair with his eyes closed. The new gift of the System supplemented the knowledge he already had, including the knowledge his mentor had told him about today. Cyril strongly suspected that such an early promotion had become possible largely thanks to Diantrel, who had indeed very clearly shown and explained to him the principles of creating certain protective weaves. But anyway, this promotion, which consolidated and expanded the acquired knowledge, was incredibly pleasant and warmed his soul.

But the joy lasted only until the smiling Diantrel congratulated Cyril on another success. And announced that he needed to consolidate it, especially since he had more or less regained his strength, which meant that he could do one more exercise. Mentally, the young man groaned but still found the strength to lift himself from the chair and head back to the training ground. Mostly because he was afraid that if he refused, he would be teleported there. And they would say that it was a lesson in spatial magic.

Cyril regained a little more than a third of his reserves during the rest period, having used his storage ring again, and he felt exhausted. But Diantrel was adamant. Especially after he'd foolishly informed her that he didn't have much experience left to level two. In the end, the white-haired elf seemed determined to finish either the level or the apprentice. After checking Cyril's wand and amulets and ensuring they were charged, Diantrel continued the exercise.

But, to be fair after gaining new knowledge creating barriers and shields was much easier for Cyril. Now he really knew how to create this or that defense, did not confuse segmented and multilayer shields, acted clearly and without mistakes, following the commands and withstanding all the attacks of his mentor. Until he finally felt that incomparable feeling of taking a new level. When it happened, Cyril, who was exhausted to the limit, could not help himself and shouted at the top of his voice:

"Yes!!!"

He was not able to control the three mobile magical shields floating in the air. As a result, a magical arrow flew into the gap hitting the young man in the chest again. This time Cyril couldn't stay on his feet wheezing and collapsed backward onto the hard ground of the training ground. For a few seconds, he lay helplessly on the ground gulping for air and looking at the evening sky. Then Diantrel's unperturbed face appeared in front of him, and the cold metal of her wand pressed into his chest. The pain was gone again, and a pleasant warmth spread through his body making him want to lie on the ground and fall asleep.

"I assume the jubilation that caused you to miss my attack was because you were able to step up another step?"

"Right,” Cyril exhaled, continuing to lie on the ground and looking up at his mentor.

Maybe a miracle would happen and she would take pity on him and leave him alone. Unfortunately, or maybe for good, but none of the local gods showed their will, no miracle happened. Diantrel, without their intervention, nodded with satisfaction and helped the young man to his feet. When Cyril shook himself off and more or less put himself in order, the white-haired elf said in an unexpectedly serious voice:

"You've done well, honorable Cirial. That's all for today, you've more than earned your rest. I'll see you back here tomorrow at the same time."

"Good,” the tortured but very satisfied young man could only exhale.

Diantrel escorted him to the exit of the range, where Cyril was met by Fiorel. Without a word about the young man's appearance, the queen's trusted servant escorted him to his chambers. The way to them was another challenge, especially the damned stairs! Why don't you have elevators or portals between floors?! Out loud, of course, Cyril did not voice his grievances, nor did he show it outwardly, as he hoped. Having said goodbye to the elf, Cyril waited until the doors of the chambers closed behind him, and only then he allowed himself to groan. What a day...

There was only a tiny amount of reserve left, and it was practically unrecoverable. Both bodies, physical and subtle demanded one thing in unison: rest! But he couldn't just go to bed like that, he had to clean himself up a little. On the way pulling off his vest, Cyril tiredly waved away Gata and Armina, who had set the table, and wandered towards the bathing room. Closing the doors behind him, the exhausted young man simply threw all his clothes on the floor. After hardly waiting for the bath to fill with hot water, he climbed into it with great pleasure. What a kaayf...

Cyril closed his eyes, exhausted but still satisfied, and leaned back against the side of the bathing tub. He didn't want to do anything. Just lie in the hot water and give his body and mind a well-deserved rest. How great it was...

"I'm sorry, master, but we can't let you do that."

"Ah?"

When Cyril opened his eyes for the first few seconds he didn't realize where he was or what was going on.

"It will be bad if you catch a cold...."

Women's voices struggled to break through the sleepy veil. Vaguely familiar voices. And then someone's strong hands picked Cyril up under his arms and pulled him out of the water with unexpected force. Water that had long ago cooled down and had become unpleasant. What the hell?

"Come here, master."

The young man, who was dead tired, hadn't woken up, and didn't understand anything, was literally carried in his arms somewhere and laid down on something. What the hell was that? With a titanic effort, Cyril forced himself to gather his thoughts and lift his head. The first thing he realized was that he was drenched and not a little cold, despite the fact the temperature in his chambers was quite comfortable. The second thing he realized was that he was lying belly down on the massage table standing against the wall of his bathing room. And the third was that Gata and Armina were standing next to him, wrapped in nothing but towels over their naked bodies. Both girls were looking at him with grudgingly reproachful faces.

"What are you..."

Cyril was not allowed to finish. Armina said with a sly smile:

"Hush, master, let us take care of you."

The young man wanted to say something else but didn't have time. The girl put both palms on his shoulders, pressed her fingers at the base of his neck, and then ran them along his back to his tailbone. The warmth from her hands immediately spread through his body, chasing away the cold. The same warmth banished any desire to do anything, to speak, or even to think. He just wanted to lie there, do nothing, and enjoy the touch of gentle female hands, which in two pairs began to wash Cyril. His head and the rest of his body were soaped properly, and then they began to scrub him diligently with loofahs, periodically pouring warm water on him. A pleasant floral fragrance completed the process. It was true bliss, and the young man completely dissolved in it, just enjoying the process. He didn't understand at what point the washing was replaced by a massage.

Just in a moment, Cyril realized that someone was sitting on top of him, and gentle palms were running along his spine, from which an incredibly pleasant warmth was spreading in waves over the rest of his body. He wanted to dissolve in it completely. There was no reason not to do it, and Cyril gladly dissolved in this warmth, falling into sleep.

* * *

"Isn't that a bit hasty?" Sivila asked hesitantly as she watched the human maid sitting naked on the isekai's back, massaging him.

Periodically, the girl leaned forward fully to run her bare breasts over his back. Her partner stood beside her, watching from the side and wagging her tail.

"Not at all, it was a very good moment,” Third shook his head, ”and it would be foolish not to use it. It would make it much easier for them to work with him in the future. I was surprised he showed so little interest in them at all. If we hadn't checked his memory before we awakened him, I might have suspected he'd be more interested in handsome butlers than maids."

"He was interested in them,” the queen shook her head, watching what was happening in the isekai's bath, ”and not only in them. Remember how he looked at Mirael and me during our first interaction? It's more a matter of lack of experience with girls, a little shyness, plus the peculiarities of upbringing. I suppose if he came from a family of noblemen in his world, he would behave differently with his maids."

Origin does not always play a role in such cases,” the Elder Enchantress said thoughtfully, "I took some time to check our archives for such ’sent' foreigners. There are plenty of examples of them who were commoners humble and lowly in their homeworld, but when they gained power in the new world, their heads, and morals were instantly blown off."

"We are indeed fortunate in that respect,” nodded Third, ”if Cyril or any other guest had been someone without the restraints of morality, he would have brought incalculable misfortune with the power of the tablet."

Sivila nodded as she continued to watch the maid rubbing her naked, oiled tits against Cyril. For some reason at that moment, she had a distinct and extremely disgusting image in her mind. She was standing there completely naked, with her lips open in an “o” shape and a face with an utterly stupid expression. Her breasts had become noticeably larger, just ridiculously huge, and her nipples were covered with massive rings of gold, on which some inscriptions, obviously in the elven alphabet, were burning with fire.

In front of her, a well-fed, if not obese, humas was kneeling. His face is disgusting and repulsive in appearance. With his mouth open and his tongue sticking out, with his face twisted with lust, he was using some enchanted stylus to write on her pubes the incomprehensible inscription “Great Lord Stepauron property! Fuck here!” with an arrow pointing to her pussy and clitoris. The same stylus had drawn numerous vertical lines on her thighs, crossed out by horizontal lines.

"Yes, but let me remind you that instead we now have our own humas who have gotten that power and used it that way,” Mirael said in a meaningful voice.

The words of the Elder Enchantress made Sivila shudder and shake her head, pushing away the disgusting vision. The damned Master and the thrice-damned infernal slut, and now they were the reason for all the filth in her head. Turning to Mirael, the queen asked:

"Speaking of him. How's your work coming along?"

"Gradually, but with great difficulty. All the artifacts that survived after the storming of the laboratory, which bears the imprint of his gift, are considered a priori as extremely dangerous. So it's a slow process, but we're working very hard. A couple more weeks, and we'll be ready."

"Try to speed up. Every day we lose could be catastrophic. Especially if my analysts' calculations about the speed of the Tablet's development are correct,” Third said grimly.

"We are doing our best, and as soon as the cast is ready, we will let you know right away."

"Good."

* * *

Apparently, exhausting training and level growth together gave an unusual side effect. Because Cyril couldn't explain his strange and unusually colorful dreams in any other way. Today he dreamed of some rather unpleasant fatty running on the first floor of some apartment building and shrieking in an exasperated voice: “WHY HIM AND NOT ME? This went on and on until the hysterical fat guy was dragged away by the scruff of his neck by a nonchalant Commander Shepard, who said something about the Reapers needing more biomass.

The Reapers, however, disagreed with this, and flew away from the brave commander in terror, trumpeting to the whole galaxy with their synthetic voices that they didn't want such a thing! And in general, it was arbitrary, not conventional, they would complain! But the savior of the galaxy was deaf to their pleas, just as he was deaf to the cries of the kicking fat man. Nodding goodbye to Cyril and saying the sacramental “I should go”, the commander raised his left hand and turned into a rainbow ray that flew into the sky.

The flow of surreal delirium was interrupted by a music box. Cyril opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling for a few seconds, trying to understand. What the hell was that? Shaking his head, he got off the bed. What a dream after an exhausting workout! At the memory of the past day, Cyril froze halfway to the closet with clothes. Strange. Despite the fact that yesterday he was exhausted to the limit, and thought that he would need to sleep for at least twenty-four hours, now he felt fully recovered and full of vigor.

"Good morning, master. Your breakfast is ready."

With a shudder, Cyril turned to see Armina entering the bedroom almost silently. With a nod to the maid, he said:

"Morning, I'll be rig..."

And he stopped halfway through. The bathhouse, the massage table, and the two half-naked girls came to mind. The expression on his face must have become extremely stupid at that moment because Armina looked at him anxiously and asked:

"Are you all right, master?"

"Uh... yeah, I'm... it's okay....."

"Are you sure?"

Taking a step forward, the maid frowned, gazing intently into the young man's face:

"You had me and Gata worried last night. It's not a good idea to fall asleep in the bathhouse. You could catch a cold."

"Ahem..."

The realization the nighttime bathing he remembered was not a dream, made Cyril's mind go into overdrive. His jaw dropped, and he squeezed out the words:

"So... Wait... We yesterday what....."

Armina, who had come almost close, smiled charmingly and said as a matter of course:

"You were so tired last night, you fell asleep in the bath. Gata and I had to take care of you, master. After all, it is the duty of a good maid to take care of the master in every way possible."

For a moment, consternation flashed across Armina's face:

"Or didn't you like it? I'm sorry if we disappointed you, master....."

"No! No, everything was fine!" When he realized it, Cyril was gibbering and shaking his head.

"It's just...I didn't...I didn't think....."

Because of the awkwardness of the situation, Cyril didn't know what to say, and that made it sound like bullshit. It was as if he had thrown away a Nat 1 on charisma in DnD... Shit, what the hell was going through his head?! Having given himself a mental kick, Cyril also mentally barked at himself: Fucking hell, get your shit together at last! Are you a man or what?! You'd think that in front of you some ugly lahudra, and not a blonde model looks! Coughing, Cyril pulled himself together and looked firmly into the eyes of the wary girl in a calm voice said:

"Please excuse me. I'm just still not used to being treated like this. But it was a pleasure, and I have nothing against further bathing together."

A mischievous smile appeared on the girl's clear face, and her light blue eyes literally sparkled:

"I'd be happy to serve you, sir."

* * *

Sunset leaned back in his desk chair and rubbed the bridge of his nose tiredly. On the desk in front of the staff mentalist of the Darendil-Twilight Task Force was a wide artifact mirror that showed the bedroom of the Guest. Where that very object was right now communicating with the agentess assigned to him as his maid. And what he had to do...

With a twitch, the elf in the gray robes of a Secret Guard agent abruptly cut himself off. It's all right! It's all right! Just normal, calm, routine work. He had nothing against helping his colleague to establish contact with the object under his care. With a little less shyness and a little more determination. It was a fitting assignment for a specialized agent-mentalist of the Secret Forest Guard, with many centuries of study under his belt and a great deal of real-world experience.

After the horror of the Iyastar operation, Sunset had made a firm vow to himself. Never. Ever again. Never complain. About the boring. Routine. NEVER!

Cyril's Status as of the finale of chapter six:

Name: Cyrill

Level: 3

Class: Wizard

Characteristics: (free: 0)

Talents (free): 1

Constitution: 1

Sensitivity: 2

Power: 8

Control: 5

Source:5

Spirit:1

Resistance: 1

Acquired Knowledge: Oral and Written: Classical Elvish, Free Cities, Northern Theocracy; “developed basics of managing and controlling internal energies”, ‘basic skills of working with external energy sources’, ‘developed skills of creating basic magical barriers’, ‘basics of working with basic amulets and artifacts’, ‘basic skills of creating basic magical weaves’, ”basic basics of magical dueling techniques with battle wands”

Acquired properties: “the blessing of harmonious magical development”

System Modifiers: “Issuance of System Assignments I.”

Special: Chosen One of Aurial the Magnificent, Supreme Guardian of the Balance of Worlds, Guardian of the Balance of Powers: Hidden Effects.

Author's Note:

Ugh... After Avada's awesome update, Brinar clenched his muse into a fist and forced himself to write a chapter in three days. I'm a long way from Avada, so it's only 86,000 signs. Please understand and forgive me.

Lemons were not, in fact, in this chapter but in the next ones, they will now be a regular occurrence, for Cyril is was sent off with a mental kick on the path of truth.

As always, my thanks to all those who correct typos (today on proofreading no more strength), comment, ask questions, like and click the likes! Thank you all so much and I'll try not to delay with the updates.

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

Переведено на Нотабеноиде
http://notabenoid.org/book/86674/580707

Переводчики: Camrad_RIP