Готовый перевод История Королевы Эльфов / The story of the Elf Queen: Глава восьмая. Необычное занятие Героя Королевы Эльфов

Chapter Eight. The Unusual Occupation of the Hero of the Elf Queen

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As Diantrel had promised, the first session with the staff and ritual circle on the fifth range was really just a warm-up. A light warm-up, a kindergarten. But the real training on ritual magic began for Cyril the next day. And not on the fifth, but on the seventh polygon. It was a huge flat field, overgrown with grass, resembling a soccer field, surrounded by a dense wall of trees. The seventh range was located somewhere in the forest, not near the Royal Palace, like the fifth range. Cyril and his mentor got there through a portal in the form of a tall tree arch, located in the inner garden of one of the palace buildings.

It was a very interesting construction at the crossroads of druidic and classical spatial magic. On the first day, Cyril even stayed in front of this portal for a long time, interested in the structures of its weaving. Diantrel did not object and willingly answered his questions. However, the young man quickly realized that his “advanced skills in creating the basics of magic weaves” were not enough to understand its structure. It was necessary to raise the basics to at least advanced or take specialized knowledge. No, in theory, if Cyril was serious about it, he would understand portal weaves, and maybe he would be able to form such a weave himself. The amount of reserve and his power would be enough for such a thing.

Not the first time, of course, but with practice, he could do it. But without the material basis of the portal arch, such a weave would probably be a waste of energy. To create a portal at least a long distance, for the sake of which it made sense to bother with it, with the help of a single weave, was the level of a specialized master of magic, at the very least. A solid Master of Magic. In his case, he'd probably just waste reserve, and at worst, he could form a patch of unstable space connecting the two points. And an unstable portal is the surest way to commit suicide in a very painful and unpleasant way. The latter was explained to Cyril in detail by Diantrel, while he was looking at the tree arch with his magical vision. She also added that if Cyril was so interested in the School of Space, they could switch to it. However, she suggested they take up that relatively complex area of magic later when Cyril became stronger and gained more knowledge. To which he fully agreed.

This, in fact, was the end of his first acquaintance with the School of Space, and his acquaintance with ritual magic continued at the seventh training ground. Cyril quickly realized why his mentor had chosen this particular place for training. There was much more room to go wild here, and one could not restrain oneself too much for fear of breaking something. That, given the power of the weaves, based on the ritual circles, was necessary. However, Cyril was not allowed to destroy everything and everyone around him at once. Instead, Diantrel began the lesson by showing and explaining to him a number of new weaves related to elemental schools of magic. Some of them, like the textbook fireball, Cyril already knew. Others, such as earth magic weaves aimed at strengthening or loosening the earth, were new to him and needed to be practiced.

When Cyril had mastered them without much difficulty, thanks to the already available knowledge and increased characteristics, he began to form the ritual circle under the supervision of his mentor. First, with the help of barriers and new weavings of earth magic, he cleared a platform on this very ground, cutting off the top layer of turf. Then he loosened and sifted the soil under it, making sure there were no stones or other foreign objects that could interfere with it. Then he compacted it again and further consolidated it to almost rock hardness. It turned out to be such a good, almost perfectly level ground in the middle of the polygon. And already on it Cyril diligently drew the usual classical pentagram. As Diantrel said, it would be quite enough for the first lesson.

As a fuel material, the elf gave Cyril a sack of powder already familiar to him. Carefully pouring all the contours of the pentagram making sure to avoid both sagging and overconsolidation, Cyril placed additional storage crystals at the tips of the star's rays. All of them shimmered faintly from the magical energy overflowing from them. After evaluating the results of his labors, the mentor nodded with satisfaction, made sure there were no mistakes, and started the next stage of training. The elemental magic weaves shown to her earlier could, of course, be used in their pure form, for example, by blasting the enemies with reinforced fireballs. But such straightforwardness was not always appropriate in all circumstances. Small changes in the structure of the weave allowed him to achieve completely different effects. That Diantrel clearly demonstrated to Cyril.

As a result, the young man spent several hours mastering new techniques under her guidance. The simplest weave the basis of fire magic created fire he successfully used in different modifications. For example, it was possible to rain natural fire from the sky on a fairly large area to immediately cause massive fires. And it was possible, combining the weaves of air and fire magic, to cause a fire tornado, rapidly burning everything in its path. Or to form an ordinary air tornado, but beforehand loosened the top layer of soil in the desired place, so that it was a dust storm. The same ground, having been loosened properly, at least to the depth of one shovel bayonet, could then be flooded with water, causing rain and thus turning the land into an impassable swamp.

Or, by loosening the earth in a certain area and to a medium depth, with the help of dense barriers, which were used as excavator buckets, it was possible to quickly create a simple earth fortification. In essence, an ordinary trench with an embankment. But this embankment could be further strengthened, reinforced, compacted, protected by the same barriers - and here in the middle of the seventh polygon, there was a small, primitive, but quite effective fortification, behind which it was easier to keep the defense. Another, in fact, classic technique, was to flood the area where the enemy would be advancing with water, and then strike it with lightning, increasing the striking effect.

Diantrel explained it all to Cyril in detail and lucidly, showing in her example how to form and combine the necessary weaves to achieve this or that effect. The young man listened attentively and diligently repeated everything after his mentor. At the same time, he was quietly amazed at how serious an opponent a gifted person could be if properly prepared. The power of the spells he cast on the seventh range was an order of magnitude greater than the ones he'd used on the fifth. If even he, with his still relatively low level of strength, could produce such a thing, what would any full-fledged magic master, let alone a master, be capable of? Especially if he would be standing not in the middle of a clear field in a primitive pentagram, but on top of a magical tower built on the source of magic. It's scary to imagine!

But Diantrel immediately brought him back to earth, reminding him that not many adepts could afford a staff made from the wood of a hundred-year-old white birch tree grown on a specially selected natural magical source. It was made not by a simple artifactor but by a real expert in this field, with many hundreds of years of experience and practice. Not to mention the fact that not many adepts would be allowed to burn a whole bag of crystalline magic powder in a ritual circle during one training session. Because although it is a relatively common reagent, it is not the cheapest. Especially a quality reagent like the one they use in Cyril's training. It gives off virtually no negative or garbage energy byproducts when burned. Only the very wealthy can afford such an expense.

The image of Scrooge-McDuck with elf ears sitting on a mountain of gold coins, making sounds reminiscent of the angry swearing of another duck, who was Donald, appeared in Cyril's mind again. After that, he listened with redoubled attention to Diantrel, who continued to explain the nuances and subtleties of various weaves of elemental magic, their combinations and the possibility of using them with ritual magic. As a result, Cyril started training only in the afternoon, after a short rest and a break for lunch. Before that he had completely “worked out” his ritual circle under the supervision of his mentor, perfecting the shown weaves and their combinations.

When they returned from the break, the mentor checked Cyril's equipment, gave him fresh supplies, and led him to the entrance to the training ground, but did not allow him to enter. She stopped the student, took the communication amulet in her hands, and briefly commanded:

"Third option. The usual one."

Cyril didn't have time to ask what she meant because a moment later the seventh polygon seemed to come to life. The young man only groaned quietly, feeling a wave of magical energy of enormous power sweeping across the ground and underground, against which he was like a flashlight against the spotlight of an air defense system. Had it not been for the staff, the young man might not have been able to stand on his feet, as the ground around him began to shake, and the polygon number seven itself began to change. If before the beginning of Cyril's classes, it resembled a soccer field with its evenness and perfection of the lawn, then the same field, but after the bombings, now it turned into a variant of the obstacle course he was painfully familiar with. Only on a larger scale. Hills of different heights rose up, embankments of different lengths and curvatures appeared, and ditches were formed, both dry and filled with water. In some places, small trees and bushes grew before the eyes of the amazed young man, forming areas of thickets of varying degrees of passability.

And all this happened in just a minute. For a few seconds, Cyril stared at the transformed polygon. What a power... He wondered how much effort and time the elves had spent to create this place. Druidic, earth, spatial, and some other magic are clearly used here, and at the level of not even masters of magic, but full-fledged masters. How much does it cost to maintain and use it? The image of Elf-Scrooge-Duck, hissing, sputtering, and beating his fist on the table with stacks of gold coins in a wild tantrum, immediately reappeared in his mind.

However, that image immediately slipped from the young man's mind as Diantrel standing next to him, announced:

"So, let's get to the training. You need to get to the fourth point, take a defense there, create a ritual circle, and hold it until the enemy is completely destroyed. You have three minutes for that, honorable Cirial. Time is running out."

The white-haired elf said the last phrase with a charming smile. But it made Cyril feel uncomfortable. The young man shuddered, grabbed the staff, and ran towards the specified point. He managed to get there, but it was impossible to prepare the ritual circle in the allotted time. Or rather, to prepare it properly, so it would not cause unstable resonance, which would ruin the formed weaves. With the most unpleasant consequences for the wizard. He had to improvise, sticking the staff into the ground and using it as a support to create a barrier around the small patch of land where he was to keep the defense. The place was not the most convenient, surrounded on three sides by earth mounds of different heights, and on the fourth side by a small pond, beyond which he could see an open space.

When the first wooden golems appeared, Cyril was finishing drawing the pentagram on the cleared and prepared area. It was necessary to fill it and place additional crystals-storage devices under the attacks of enemies. And this time they hit not only with magic arrows, but also with ordinary arrows, using some strange crossbows. Or were the crossbows, not arrows, but bolts? Shit, what did it matter what they were called! What was more important for Cyril was that they were also enchanted! And as if that wasn't enough, he was also hit by disposable magic amulets, local analogs of grenades. He had to simultaneously finish the ritual circle, maintain his defense which was rapidly sagging under the multitude of blows, and hit the enemies in return. It was not easy at all, and the latter did not give Cyril a break, attacking from the passages between the embankments, from their tops, and even through them. And also covering themselves with their magical shields.

By the time the ritual circle was ready, the young man's reserve had sagged by a third due to the fact he was constantly having to expend energy to maintain and strengthen his defenses. But as soon as the circle was ready and he took a place in the center of it, things changed dramatically. Pulling his staff from the ground, Cyril began to form one weave after another. Strengthen the defense, break it into several stages and segments, and power it directly from a part of the storage devices. Yes! Now we can deal with the opponents. Those who are in the line of sight are enough magical arrows. Those hiding behind mounds or their tops will be covered with a rain of fire. We can add a vortex of air around his position to deflect arrows and disposable throwing amulets. Bingo! That's it!

Standing in the center of the ritual circle, Cyril successfully repelled the attack of the opponents and went on the counterattack, knocking out one group after another. They quickly changed their tactics, and now tried to hit from different sides and only from behind cover, without getting hit directly. He had to use a ritual circle to enhance his magical vision, which allowed him to see the enemy's positions through the earth mounds. He destroyed several groups of enemies with almost orbital strikes, creating a weave based on fire magic, filling it with reserve, then projecting it at a distance from himself and dropping a fiery inferno from the sky vertically downwards directly on the enemies' heads. When the last cluster of glow visible through the mounds was destroyed by the impact of the meteor strike analog, Cyril allowed himself to exhale contentedly. But only to scream in surprise almost immediately!

Behind the embankments, five clusters of enemies appeared almost instantly in places where no enemies had been visible before. But now they were quite visible with the help of magical vision. The enemies simultaneously unleashed a volley of disposable amulets on Cyril's position, which resembled ordinary balls of incomprehensible material, about the size of tennis balls. The air vortex, designed to deflect the projectiles, could not hold them back. Moreover, once they were in the air currents, the structure of the weave that made the vortex swirl and protect Cyril destabilized, losing its integrity. These amulets absorbed magic like a sponge absorbs water disrupting the protective spells. As soon as they fell to the ground near his position, runes-symbols flashed on their surface, and the barriers began to rapidly lose energy!

In the meantime, the enemies did not even think of easing their onslaught. They went on the attack. While some showered him with magic arrows and enchanted crossbow bolts from the tops of the mounds, others went head-on, covered by several hulks with reinforced shields. Cyril tried desperately to hit back and maintain his defense, but his reserve was already less than half full. The crystal powder of the ritual grits was almost all burned out and needed to be refreshed, and the storage crystals were almost used up. Realizing he couldn't hold all the enemies, Cyril panicked for a moment desperately trying to think of a way out. But he didn't have time. Another point attack of the enemies, who got too close under the cover of a special large golem with a powerful magical shield, broke through the barrier. A reinforced magical arrow struck Cyril precisely in the chest.

His personal defenses had worked, at the cost of discharging several of the protective amulet plates embedded in his vest, but it still felt like he'd been punched in the chest. The young man fell onto his back, gulping air with his mouth in pain. At the same second, a sound like a bell was struck, and all the opponents froze. After a few moments, their magical glow faded away, turning them into mere wooden dummies. Diantrel, who had gotten up on all fours, came up to Cyril, who had inexplicably appeared from nowhere. The white-haired elf helped him to his feet, looked at her student with an attentive look, and whispered something. In the same second, he felt a wave of healing magic sweep over him. It was weak, but it felt good. The pain from the blow immediately disappeared. Diantrel checked that he was all right, and then said in a calm voice:

"I must admit, honorable Cirialle, I was sure you would have prepared at least the bare minimum of defense and attack spells in your staff beforehand so you would always have them at the ready. It didn't require much effort on your part and would allow you to spend less time creating defenses around your position at the beginning of your training. As well as delaying the first enemies, buying yourself some extra time."

"The heavy-breathing young man leaning on his staff only bashfully bowed his head in acknowledgment of his mistake:"

"Guilty as charged, honorable Diantrel. I'll be sure to correct that mistake."

"I'm glad to hear that,” a faint smile appeared on the elf's face.

"But that wasn't your main mistake, it was that you wasted too much energy."

"What do you mean?"

With a graceful gesture, the elfess lit up a bird's-eye view of the range next to her in the air. Just above Cyril's position at the moment he was hitting the opponents hiding behind the mounds. Or rather, it turns out that he thought he was hitting the clusters of enemies with fire from the sky. In fact, only his first attacks really hit the clusters of enemies. All the rest of the attacks were on single dummy statues that imitated the magical emanations of a group of enemies. While the real enemy units were accumulating elsewhere, under the cover of camouflage. Watching him passionately shooting at nothing, Cyril bit his lip in frustration and couldn't find anything to say. The mentor, however, took Cyril's blunder quite calmly:

"I suppose you now fully understand how important reconnaissance is when working on an enemy beyond the line of sight, honorable Cirial?"

"More than that,” the annoyed young man nodded.

"Then why haven't you used any of the search weaves you know of?"

"Somehow I hadn't thought of that..."

"Really?"

"Or rather, I relied too much on my golden headband."

"That's more like it. So now take a break, regain your strength, and then we'll continue the training."

And they continued until the evening. Only this time, before the start of the round, Cyril had carefully prepared several defensive and attacking weaves, carefully inserting them into his staff. The prepared spells “fell” into it without the slightest problem, like bullets into a clip. In addition, he took the time to create a separate complex weave to prepare the site and draw out the basics of the ritual circle. It was already more complicated, but Cyril managed to do it. Diantrel watched carefully to ensure he did not make any mistakes in the formation and the combination of weaves. And he did it by himself, his mentor did not give him much help, only a couple of times pointed out weaknesses or not the most successful knots. Before going to a new round, Cyril tried out this new complex weave several times at the entrance to the training ground. The effect was more than satisfactory. One blow with the tip of the staff on the ground, and in a few seconds there was a flat, well-tamped ground two by two meters in front of him, with the outlines of a pentagram drawn on the dense surface.

After practicing this technique a few more times to make sure there were no mistakes, Cyril resolutely went on another run. This time he successfully managed to take the position indicated by his mentor between two hills, organize the defense there, prepare a ritual circle, and meet the enemies. As a result, the attack of the wooden golems was successfully repulsed, despite the enemy's attempts to enter from different sides, camouflage, and send false units. Cyril was vigilant, conserving his strength, and before each serious blow, he made sure that where he was hitting, there was an enemy. For this purpose, the young man did not rely only on his magic headband, but also actively used all known to him variants of search and scanning weaves.

A simple but effective analog of radar, only magical. Weak, but covering a large area with elemental magic, like a rain of fire. Or a hail of equally weak but numerous magical arrows, more like bright sparks. They were unable to damage the enemies, but they were quite effective at cutting through their attempts to disguise themselves. When the last group of enemies who had tried to hide in the deep ditch separated from Cyril's position by a crumbling mound of earth had been destroyed, he breathed a sigh of relief. He had only a third of his own reserve, the pentagram was almost completely burned out, and the storage crystals had been drained dry, but victory was his. Diantrel, who appeared next to Cyril, praised him for successfully completing the round and called a break.

When Cyril regained his strength, they continued the class. But to some surprise the young man, instead of chasing him to another round, Diantrel decided to tighten his skills of magical search. The mentor began to explain and show him how to conduct magical reconnaissance with the help of various search weaves based on the ritual circle. These were variations of magical vision in different spectra, suited to certain types of disguises. She also showed in more detail how to use the magical analog of radar. How best to send a search wave or a pulse of magical energy in the desired direction, and depending on the response determine whether there was something in that direction. She explained how such a search could be deceived and how to use it in order not to give away one's position to the enemy.

In particular, she clearly showed how it was possible to project several search weaves at a decent distance from oneself with the support of the ritual circle, which, having released a simultaneous impulse, allowed to determine the enemy's location quite accurately. If they will be under cross-scanning. A kind of magical direction finding. The use of such projected weaves at a distance search minimizing the involvement of the ritual circle in the direct search significantly reduces the risk of illumination of your main position. Mastering and practicing these techniques took Cyril the rest of the training day, and he was not able to shoot at the enemies again. But in the end, Diantrel was very pleased with the way her student mastered the new techniques. He managed to find all the enemies who, under the guidance of his mentor, were trying to hide on the range in one way or another.

However, she warned him that such techniques would not be enough against strong opponents or really good hideouts. Sometimes it was necessary to do a pinpoint search with a noticeably larger amount of reserve. Or he might be able to detect the fact that something is camouflaged but not be able to figure out what it is. But this is a separate topic for the lessons, and in general, Diantrel was very satisfied with the past training, even though Cyril had not reached the eleventh level. Although he had gained about a third of the invisible, but clearly perceptible scale of experience. But after the training was over as if waiting for this moment, the System sent him a new message.

Warning. The knowledge of “basic methods of magical search” has been added to the Player status. The changes will be made automatically.

Attention! Knowledge of “basic methods of magical search” is upgraded to “advanced methods of magical search”! Changes to the Player status will be made automatically.

Attention! The knowledge “basic fundamentals of common elemental magic weaves” has been added to the Player status. The changes will be made automatically.

The two pieces of knowledge, one of them developed, almost made Cyril fall to the ground. Luckily for him, his mentor must have expected something like that, because she immediately took him under her arm and helped him to the observation platform at the entrance to the training ground. There Cyril sat for a few minutes while the knowledge he had gained was downloaded and installed. Fortunately, it didn't take as long as the advanced versions. Thanks again to the knowledge he already had, the new knowledge quickly overlapped with it, supplementing and deepening it. Cyril had an idea of how to create the same textbook fireball or throw lightning, but now this understanding had grown stronger, and the ability to create them had sharpened, as well as the understanding of how to do it correctly. It was as if he had worked long and hard to perfect all those general fundamentals of elemental magic that other adepts spent a year of study on. Or even more than one, depending on one's luck.

The methods of magical search for hidden things were even better. The techniques and weaves shown by the mentor were certainly not super complicated, but they were not ordinary. Such techniques were hardly taught to beginners unless they were purposefully molded from the first steps into a specialist in this profile. However, the techniques shown by his mentor synergized with the advanced knowledge he already had. As a result, the System, in fact, formalized them and fixed them in the consciousness at once at the advanced level. And it did it, as well as everything that the System did, so well, as if Cyril had been practicing them not for one lesson, but for half a year! Yes, it could be said ten times that without the existing baggage and such a skillful mentor, it was unlikely that he would have developed knowledge at once! Not at the first levels for sure.

This knowledge, which alone, without taking into account the rest, made Cyril's CV for entry into the service of either the Secret Guard or the Night Guilds, he had obtained in what seemed like hours. Hours! Well, not in hours, but in a few weeks, if you take the whole pumping as a whole, but in any case, it's not even months! Once again it was left to marvel at how imba this System is! And how much the local gifted students would be burned if they found out about such cheating. And not just them. Sitting on a chair after receiving new knowledge Cyril threw a glance at his mentor. Curious, how does it feel for Diantrel to be watching him? The elf was always exceptionally polite to Cyril and even showed some concern for him. But she must have been practicing for years, years, or even centuries, to reach her current skill. And here he had gained so much knowledge in less than a month. And you can't ask openly...

Okay, he would think about that later. Having fully recovered after downloading the information, Cyril and his mentor returned to the palace through the portal arch, where Fiorel was already waiting for him. The queen's trusted servant habitually asked the young man how the training had gone, if he was alright, or if he had any requests. Having assured him that everything was fine, Cyril said goodbye to his mentor and returned to his chambers in Fiorel's company, where he was already met by Armina and Gata. The girls had a nice dinner ready for him, but he needed to freshen up after the training. Having thrown off his dusty training suit Cyril with the cheerfully purring Gata and just smiling Armina, who also quickly got rid of their black and white dresses remaining in only thin shirts, visited the bathing room.

Today's session was not as exhausting as the previous ones, but he was still tired, so he was happy to let the maids take care of him. The girls first washed him in four hands and then laid him face down on the massage table. Cyril closed his eyes and enjoyed the pleasure while the women's hands carefully massaged his back, moving along his spine from the tailbone to the neck. Having relaxed and rested a little, Cyril carefully turned over on his back, and Armina, who understood him without words, in one movement threw off her thin shirt and immediately saddled him. Unwillingly admiring the maid's precise body, Cyril could not hold back a smile. Even though Armina did not have such outstanding forms as Gata but she still looked very seductive. Especially when her whole body was glistening with massage oil.

With a sly smile in return, the maid made herself comfortable on the young man. Putting his arms around her waist, Cyril closed his eyes and began a smooth energy merger. Simultaneously, he directed his palms upward, and when they reached the girl's breasts, she covered them with her palms. At that moment the slender bodies of the young people united, and they exhaled with pleasure and stood still for a few seconds, enjoying the doubled sensations. Then Armina began to gently move her hips while Cyril began to methodically caress her breasts. Despite the pleasure that came over him, the young man habitually noted that the reserve began to replenish noticeably faster. In the back of his mind flashed a thought, and maybe it is worth taking the girls with him to training to speed up the process of regeneration of forces? But he wonders how the mentor would react if he offered to educate her about tantric practices. In order to enhance the effectiveness of the training, of course? To set a personal example, so to speak?

Cyril's mind involuntarily conjured up an image of himself lying naked on the school desk with Gata sitting on top of him, dressed as a Japanese schoolgirl. Black and red plaid mini-skirt, white blouse, bursting on the chest, black stockings - gorgeous! And next to him stood Diantrel, wearing a strict teacher's outfit, but with an ultra-miniskirt that allowed a view of her pantyhose-clad legs and high-heeled shoes. Holding a pointer in her hands, the elf showed her to the blackboard, where there were detailed pictures of people copulating, with numerous explanations. The picture was unexpectedly arousing, which, combined with the double portion of pleasure from Armina riding on top of him, resulted in a logical outcome. With a chorus of groans, they finished simultaneously. The maid stood still for a few seconds, then smoothly lowered herself onto Cyril, kissing him affectionately. Embracing Armina in return and running his palm over her back, he lay with her for several minutes, lazily kissing and enjoying the closeness of the hot and so pleasant female body.

But alas, he could not lie like that indefinitely. The time was late, and he had to eat dinner. Reluctantly, Cyril carefully broke the fusion and left the bath in the company of maids. They returned to the dining room in their robes, where dinner was waiting for them. The enchanted dishes kept the food hot and fresh for quite a long time. Refreshed and with a noticeably restored reserve Cyril headed for his bedroom with Gata. Armina stayed behind to collect the things scattered on the floor.

But instead of going to bed at once, Cyril took the time to check his equipment. In particular, he was not lazy and prepared several volleys of magical arrows and a couple of protective barriers, putting them into his staff. He also set his music box alarm clock for a slightly earlier time. In the morning he would have to prepare a complex weave to create a field ritual circle. Having finished all these things, Cyril climbed under the blanket and pressed Gata purring softly to him. Soon Armina joined him from the other side, comfortably nestled next to him. Ah, what a life!

But before falling asleep in the company of his lovely maids, Cyril took the time to distribute the talent points Aurial had given him and the one he had received for the tenth level. There were no questions with the meta-skill, Cyril put it straight into System Assignment I, upgrading it to level two. Thanks to his mentor and the highest level of training, he literally in a matter of days outgrew the first level of this meta-skill, which at the first level could issue almost only minor assignments. He had only two of them, and the second one Cyril had done in passing, without even noticing it, gaining only a little experience. Now minor assignments, which were confirmed by the System reference, would not give him any experience at all, at best he would be rewarded with some consumables. Which thanks to the help of the elves he didn't need at all.

The upgrade to level two has improved the situation a bit. According to the help, now he will be offered medium assignments a little more often, which will still give him experience. And maybe some valuable rewards. Ideally, of course, it would be worth bringing this skill, as well as “Intensive Development II” to the third level. Combined, it was supposed to increase the flow of experience decently. But there was only one free talent point, and the other had to be spent on some property. After hesitating for a while, Cyril chose “Intensive Development III” as more profitable in terms of gaining experience, bringing it to the temporarily available maximum. He trains every day but he only gets assignments once every three days. The choice of properties was much more complicated. The System offered a lot of options, but at the same time, a lot of them were connected with some restrictions. Cyril would prefer to avoid the latter in order not to ruin his build.

Although many of the properties were very tempting. Especially those that appeared after acquiring the tenth level and belonged to a clearly higher category than those offered at the first level. The same “Affinity with Fire”, which he was offered from the beginning, was changed to a more significant version of “Fireborn” This property multiplied Cyril's predisposition to fire magic, changing his subtle body and the overall shade of energy. All fire magic would be given more easily, require less strength, be better controlled, and become more powerful overall. His physical body would also change, the heat would become easier to bear, he would have almost no chance to burn in ordinary fire, and weak magical fire would do him much less harm. Plus, as another bonus, he would automatically be granted the knowledge of “Advanced Basic Fire Magic Weaves”. For some ordinary gifted person, especially without strong patrons, or a profiled adept of fire magic, or even a master of it, this would be an incredible help!

But in Cyril's case, this property would almost completely block him from water magic and complicate his work with air and earth. Which he was not happy about. Eh, what to choose? So many options, all so tasty, but at the same time, the better the option was, the stronger, as a rule, it had disadvantages. After much deliberation, Cyril still opted for the “Small Strengthening of subtle bodies” Compared to the same “Fireborn” or “Stormborn” it gave a very small strengthening. But, it did not have any negative restrictions. It simply, as the name made clear, strengthened the subtle bodies, making them more resistant to stress and possible damage. Which, given his intense training, was not unreasonable at all. And for any apprentice or novice adept, such strengthening would be a great help. Having confirmed his last system choice for today, Cyril yawned and finally fell into sleep, holding Gata sniffling peacefully, closer to him.

* * *

On a huge space station stood a well-fed guy in N7 armor with a visor on his contented and chubby face. Opposite him stood several armed Azari paratroopers with assault rifles, shotguns, or shrouded in biotic fields. The alien warriors ranged in color from sky blue to dark purple, but they were all slender, with near-perfect figures. Their tight armor did not hide it but emphasized it. Behind them stood the Azari matriarch, dressed in a tight dress with a deep neckline on her huge tits, looking at the fat guy with a haughty and disgruntled look. What she was going to say to him remained a mystery, as he threw his hand up in the matriarch's direction and shouted something painfully familiar to Cyril: “ASSuming Direct Control!”

A golden glow enveloped the boy's hand, and at the same moment, the eyes of the powerful alien also flashed with bright yellow light. With a blank face she said in a voice devoid of any emotion: “Yes, my sovereign Stepan” Then, in front of the amazed paratroopers who turned to her, she tore down the collar of her dress, exposing her big light blue tits. Before any of the alien warriors could do or realize anything, the matriarch's dark blue nipples glowed with the same bright yellow light. And their owner, having squeezed her natural melons, began to play with them smoothly, raising and lowering them. A few more seconds passed, and all the paratroopers, with completely blank faces, lowered their weapons and watched their matriarch's breasts swaying. Then simultaneously they began to remove their armor. Behind them, a fat guy in N7 armor, which was noticeably too small for him, with a manic smile, was almost dancing on the spot with delight.

And behind him, some distance away, stood Commander Shepard, facepalming. Next to him stood his red-haired female version and Liara looking at the fat man who had begun to pull off his armor, their faces twisted in horror. They turned to Shepard and began to argue with him in two voices, gesticulating vigorously. The commander took his palm away from his haggard face, where the renegade scars were visible, and growled something in response, also pointing at the undressing man. Cyril caught only a fragment of a phrase: “... then find him those fucking neko-girls! At least twenty, and with various fur!”

At this point, the space station disappeared replaced by a room more habitual to Cyril. It was a spacious bedroom, with a huge double bed, a couple of armchairs, and closets. In addition to the obviously expensive and good furniture, the whole room was filled with various things. As if the owner of the room had robbed souvenir stores somewhere in Africa, Asia, and the Middle East, and brought all the stolen goods home to himself and put them wherever he could. Huge amounts of carved or clay figurines, all sorts of dream catchers, or just pendants made of feathers, bones, and stones. A lot of bizarre amulets, masks, and whatnot were placed and hung wherever they could.

They looked like trinkets, but Cyril felt the power invested in them. Or rather, those to whom that power belonged. There were practically no pure amulets, but there were plenty of all kinds of abodes for spirits. For the most part, the inhabitants of the immaterial plane were airborne spirits of all sorts. Cyril could hear the wind singing, the cries of steppe birds, the endless sea of grass, and the roar of a hurricane sweeping away everything. But it was not these that attracted Cyril's attention, but the women in the room. In a good armchair next to the bed sat an old slanting woman with a wrinkled face and completely gray hair, dressed in a light blue robe embroidered with gold patterns and decorated with bird feathers. The same feathers were in her hair, which was very thick despite her age.

And despite her venerable age, she had a solid amount of magical power. The level of a strong magic master, at the very least. With a stern face, the old woman, her arms folded across her chest, looked at the young and rather pretty girl, with slightly less slanted eyes and generally more European features. In her, as in the old woman, one could sense a magical gift, but still relatively young. As far as Cyril could tell, the girl was maybe a little stronger than he was now, it wasn't easy to understand, as she wasn't a pure sorceress, but rather a shamaness. She was also the owner of a pair of rather long, slender, and straight legs. And a very seductive and firm ass. The latter was clearly visible to Cyril because the girl was lying on the edge of the bed, with her shirt pulled up, and belly on the lap of another woman.

A middle-aged woman, with the slanted face of a pure-blooded Asian, and long thick black hair. She was dressed like the old woman, in a light blue robe embroidered with gold. And here she literally reeked of magical power. She was stronger than both the girl and the old woman. She was somewhere on the level of Cyril's mentor. It was hard to say for sure because she was not a sorceress, but a shaman. And now this mighty shamaness, with a flushed and crying face, was slapping the girl's naked butt. The girl's face was also covered with tears, and her long dark hair was disheveled. But she did not resist, only sobbing softly each time the woman's palm made contact with her ass. The woman accompanied the execution, from which both buttocks of the girl had already turned crimson, with a loud and, to be sure, selective profanity.

Cyril did not understand most of the words, but from the expression on the mighty shamaness's face, it was not difficult to guess she was not praising the girl. Though some phrases like “stupid khayatalka”, “twice in a year”, “you want my death” and “shame of the whole great steppe” he understood. But the incomprehensible phrase “khao-seahar anur” was especially common. Or “jose khanur,” to parse the speech of a slanting woman giving spank after spank to a girl's naked butt was difficult. She also said something about the “duty of life,” if Cyril heard correctly. The old woman sitting in the chair intermittently inserted a few words, but Cyril could not understand any of them, as she spoke only in a language he did not understand. He wondered what she was talking about. She looked exhausted and tired as if she had just experienced a flood, a fire, and a hurricane at the same time. And behind the bedroom door, Cyril suddenly saw, as if he had moved as an observer to another angle, a well-fed man in obviously expensive clothes. Pressing his ear against the door, all pale and wet with sweat, he flinched every time from behind it came slaps and incomprehensible swearing. But the man didn't risk going inside, preferring in the end to tiptoe away.

At the end of the corridor, a crowd of people were waiting for him, mostly obviously servants, but there were a couple of equally richly dressed European-looking men. There were also a couple of slanted Asians in equally expensive clothes. They all started asking the man something, but he just waved his hands and disappeared into the darkness. Together with him disappeared and an incomprehensible trio of slanted women, their bedroom, where the execution was carried out, and the people who were waiting for its outcome. Instead, a luxurious multi-story mansion, lined with white marble and richly decorated with bas-reliefs of statues, appeared in front of Cyril. The young man looked up at it from the roof of a neighboring building standing on the opposite side of the street. The street was very well-lit with magical lights and relatively wide, so despite the deep night, it was quite bright here. In addition, the street was carefully paved with stone and very clean. No piles of horse shit or other trash. It was very clean and orderly.

The mansion that appeared in front of Cyril was surrounded by a high stone wall, behind which the courtyard and a well-kept garden with numerous beds of flowers were visible. It was obvious that it was carefully and carefully looked after. Cyril also noticed that some of the flowers and plants were obviously not ordinary, but belonged to magically active species. Or maybe they were artificially treated with druidic magic, turning them into elements of defense. The mansion had quite a decent defense! In addition to the enchantments on the walls, Cyril felt and saw numerous strands of signal webs that covered all the entrances and windows. In addition, the entire territory of the mansion was surrounded by a closed field, starting from the top of the fence and closing at the top of the spire. There were also dormant barriers that covered both separate entrances and entire sections of the walls. Solid, very solid. And the neighboring buildings on this street, if they were inferior to the mansion in size, beauty, and degree of protection, then not much. This was clearly the center of some medieval fantasy city.

It was definitely a rich place, where wealthy and respectable citizens lived. Very rich, because, as Cyril remembered from his school history lessons, every inch of land inside the city walls in the Middle Ages cost a hell of a lot. And here, almost every mansion had its own little yard or garden. Plus, many houses had armed guards at their entrances, and a dozen patrol guards in real armor marched down the street before Cyril's eyes. And not just ordinary armor, but enchanted. In addition, each of the guards had a protective amulet on their chest, attached directly to the armor. And their weapons were shimmering faintly, infused with magic. Seriously.

The guards at the front entrance of the luxurious mansion in front of which Cyril appeared were even more impressive. A dozen and a half armed men were also dressed in good quality armor, which felt just as good quality protective magic. But for some reason, Cyril was sure their armor was more expensive and of higher quality. In addition, each of the mansion's guards carried several amulets. Some were attached directly to the armor, and one was necessarily embedded in the helmet. It is an analog of Cyril's golden headband. Plus, they weren't holding enchanted cold weapons, but serious battle magic wands. Not as good as Cyril's, but not much worse.

They were joined at the main gate by a pair of large dogs with white hair and fierce muzzles. Each wore a spiked collar around their neck, with some sort of protective spell. The beasts themselves were not simple beasts. There was a touch of magic in them as well. And it was obvious that the guards were not just doing their shift, but keeping watch. The older man regularly used the link amulet to check in with the other posts. And there were plenty of them. In addition to those at the main gate, other guards patrolled the courtyard. They walked in pairs, but always with one dog, just as white, healthy, and fierce. On the roof of the mansion, Cyril also noticed several guards on duty. The senior guards at the gate and on the roof were clearly gifted. The one on the top was equal in strength to Cyril, but the commander at the gate was noticeably stronger. He wonders who lives here.

On its facade, right above the entrance, and on the main gate, there was a coat of arms of some kind. The same emblem was embroidered on the cloaks of the guards. Some aristocrat's city estate? A branch of some trading house or guild? Cyril didn't get an answer to this question, but he found out who lived in this mansion when a huge carriage pulled by four horses and accompanied by several riders arrived at the front entrance. Or rather, it wasn't a carriage, but a freaking horse-drawn magical tank! Seriously, judging by the amount of enchantments and amulets put into it, Cyril could sit in it for a whole round at the training ground without straining. Well, at least most of it.

The riders accompanying the carriage were no less impressive. They were clad not in plate armor but in chainmail, but they were clearly superior to their counterparts at the gate in the quality of their enchantments. In the magical vision, the newcomers literally shone, as did their horses. Each held a powerful battle staff in one hand and a shield amulet in the other. Serious, very serious. The senior guard at the gate saluted briefly, and his men quickly opened the gate before them, and the carriage drove into the courtyard of the mansion. Cyril noticed that as it passed them, a wave of powerful scanning magic passed through it, designed to uncover any lurking enemy.

As the carriage pulled up to the door of the mansion a servant who appeared out of nowhere immediately opened the door and helped an attractive woman of about thirty-five, with dark red hair gathered into an elaborate hairdo. She was dressed to match the inhabitant of such a place - in a luxurious dark maroon dress with a deep neckline. In addition, Cyril suddenly clearly saw a lot of gold and silver jewelry on her. Including a gold medallion with the same symbol as on the mansion and the cloaks of the guards. He also noticed the glow surrounding the woman, created by the jewelry. There wasn't much magic in the woman, maybe one and a half times more than in Cyril. But the jewelry she was wearing had plenty of it. With a barely perceptible nod to a senior servant, she and the guards went into the mansion. Cyril watching the whole scene from the roof of a neighboring building, had time to notice how a dark shadow appeared near him out of nowhere, with outlines similar to a female figure. But he had no time to understand anything else, as the melody of a music box broke into a strange dream. A new day and new training awaited Cyril.

* * *

To his surprise, the next two weeks of training were much more relaxed than the first. But it was not because his mentor had taken pity on her student, but because ritual magic and haste do not mix well. Yes, there are situations when it is necessary to create a ritual circle right now, quickly and in an unprepared position. These situations Cyril practiced for two more days, as well as on the first day, occupying the specified position, hastily organizing the defense there, repelling enemy attacks, and calculating their hidden positions. At the end of the third day of such exercises, when Kirill reached the eleventh level, Diantrel announced that she was satisfied with his results and could be sure that if necessary, he would be able to organize an acceptable ritual circle in the field.

After that, they moved on to training more suitable for mastering ritual magic. Every morning, as before, Cyril with his mentor arrived at the seventh training ground. And each time he waited for him in a new form. It could be a small cave surrounded by dense thickets of trees and bushes. An island in the middle of a swamp. A high hill surrounded by sharp rocks and scattered stones. A steep bank of a small stream. The possibilities of the seventh polygon to create this or that terrain amazed Cyril more and more each time. As did the realization of how much such a thing must cost. But these thoughts, as well as the image of a raging elf-scrooge-duck, he carefully drove away from him, concentrating on his studies as much as possible.

And there was a lot to learn. Every day Cyril, with his mentor, took a position on the training ground, where he diligently prepared a ritual circle under her supervision for the first half of the day. When the preparation was over, after a short rest the practical part of the training came. Relying on a well-prepared ritual circle, Cyril had to fulfill the task set before him. And now it was not reduced to simple destruction of opponents. Sometimes it was necessary to find only a few enemies, but very well hidden. Sometimes it was necessary to prevent the enemies from entering the occupied territory undetected. Sometimes it was necessary to identify the enemies hiding on the range and destroy them all in one single, concentrated, and extremely powerful blow. Without the right to a second attempt.

Diantrel had many variants of tasks for Cyril, and every day she added more and more new details to complicate his task. Of course, it concerned not only the opponents but first of all the ritual circles. They had moved away from the simple pentagram on the first day of their new training, moving on to more complex variants of the figures. Multi-contour circles, with additional small circles outside the outer limit, serve as a support for the main one, with specialized nodes-beams-centers. There was a lot of nuance in ritualistics. Diantrel patiently and thoroughly explained them to Cyril, helping him to create more and more complex figures. A couple of times the creation of the necessary variant of the ritual circle took the young man most of the day, especially when in addition to the general contours forming the circle, he began to add specialized figures designed to strengthen a particular type of weaving. For defensive ones, for attacking ones, for searching ones.

It was not easy to draw them even with the help of magic, because it was necessary to keep in mind the general structure, to make sure that there were no distortions or bends in the general picture of the ritual circle. If place too close two conflicting types of energy elements it will be very sad to the one who at the moment of activation will be in the center of the ritual circle. His mentor also showed him an example of such an example, when attacking elements incorrectly placed in the rays of the star came into conflict with the protective elements resting on the central circumferential circle. The explosion turned out to be good when all the crystal powder detonated at once.

But all this labor was more than repaid when it came to the actual training. At that moment, standing in a carefully prepared position, Cyril felt like a commander of a warship, commanding dozens of guns of various types. And time after time he was convinced how dangerous an opponent could be a ritualist fighting on his own territory. According to his very modest estimates, with comparable personal strength and skills, the ritualist, having prepared a good circle, was worth at least three gifted. Of course, as everywhere in this business were a lot of nuances, starting from the type of ritual circle, the correctness of its execution, fuel, and the skill of the ritualist. But! But! If all these aspects are performed at the proper level, then, perhaps, another adept even not every master of magic easily smokes out of the position.

Cyril even began to understand his colleagues, who, having reached certain heights in the magical art, entrenched themselves in some tower built on a magical source and practically never came out of there. When you have such a workplace at hand, which makes you many times stronger and more dangerous, without it you somehow immediately start to feel naked. And it's not cozy at all when you can't at the snap of your fingers bring down thunder and lightning on the enemy, wiping them into powder. And Diantrel confirmed these assumptions of Cyril, saying that many strong gifted really prefer not to leave their homes, and strengthen them in every possible way. It was not uncommon for a gifted family nest to grow stronger over the generations, becoming more and more impregnable.

When Cyril asked her if she had a tower of her own, she answered, unexpectedly calmly, that she did not. There weren't many towers in the Forest at all. But in the mansion of her clan, she has a personal laboratory, in addition to the general one, where all the gifted members of her clan train and practice. He had been learning more and more about his mentor over the past few days, asking Diantrel about her in between training sessions. And for some reason, he was not surprised to learn that she had been one of the best teachers for young elven gifted who had chosen to serve in the Forest Guard for centuries. When she said that, Cyril couldn't help but try to imagine Diantrel as the legendary Sergeant Hartman. It was both funny and a little scary at the same time. The uniform of the American military of the last century looked very strange on the elf. And she had a very ominous expression on her face.

But what wasn't funny at all was the noticeably decreased amount of experience. After getting the coveted tenth level, even with the meta-skills taken, it took three days to fill the invisible, but very well-perceptible scale of the new level. And it is still necessary to say thanks to the proposed system assignment. Cyril received a message about it just when he had just arrived at the seventh training ground with his mentor before the new training session.

Attention! You are offered a system assignment of medium complexity!

Draw a three-circuit concentric star-beam ritual circle with four additional support points outside the middle and central contour. The outer contour makes a basis for mobile protective barriers. Make the middle contour the basis for a segmented protective barrier. Make the center contour the basis for a solid protective barrier. Make the star rays the basis for elemental attack weaves. Use additional support points to power the defense barriers at your discretion.

Performance conditions: normal - complete the assignment without assistance; good - complete the assignment on one attempt; perfect - complete the assignment in the allotted time (two standard hours)

Reward: normal - one-fifth of experience to the next level; good - one level increase in core knowledge; perfect - one free talent point.

Of course, Cyril immediately voiced the system message to Diantrel. She only looked at her student carefully and said briefly:

"Go ahead."

The mentor didn't say anything else and Cyril, having exhaled, confirmed the acceptance of the task, and then started to work. He knew how to draw the necessary circle. But only to imagine and to realize in practice - these are two slightly different things. Especially since there were enough requirements to fulfill. In the end, as he often did in the same computer games Cyril's limited time let him down. Remembering that he had no right to make a mistake, he tried to think carefully about each of his next steps. And the timer was ticking! In the end, at some point, Cyril realized that with such a pace he would not be able to finish the circle in two hours, but he decided not to take any risks.

As a result, Cyril completed the assignment in two and a half hours, gaining well-deserved experience and upgrading from “basic fundamentals of creating and using ritual circles” to “advanced fundamentals of creating and using ritual circles”, which was not bad either. However, I had to sit on a chair for almost half an hour after completing the task, waiting for everything to load into my head. But in the end, his mentor was pleased with him, praising him for not taking risks and chasing the extra reward.

After which they continued practicing. And the next day, too. All in the same pattern. The first half of the day, preparing the ritual circle. The second half of the day is its application. And every day Deantrel used more and more ingenuity. If at first Cyril only played from defense, then later his mentor began to arrange for him to storm fortified positions. He especially remembered the capture of a small wooden fortress built on a hill and surrounded by a moat. The elves had done their best to prepare real, even if not very large, buildings for him. Protected by magic as well. Cyril had to assess the enemy's defense, find a vulnerable place to suppress the enemy-gifted one, which was a wooden golem, and then finish off the garrison of the same golems. He was given limited time, limited resources, and only one attempt. Such a kind of mini-exam.

And Cyril tried not to make a mess of it, having prepared the ritual circle properly, and trying to probe the fortress' defenses as much as possible. He realized that all the wood was impregnated with some kind of alchemy that made it harder to burn, and on top of the central tower-donjon. There was a reinforced stationary battle wand. Another hotbed of magic could be felt somewhere at the base of the donjon. It appeared to be a source of energy powering the barriers supporting the walls of the fortress.

And this was not counting the garrison of dummies on duty on the walls armed with battle wands and crossbows with enchanted arrows. Having thought it over, Cyril decided to bet on one verified and maximally powerful blow. An unexpected blow. Having finished his preparations at his position on top of a small hill on the opposite side of the range from the fortress, he unleashed a hail of fiery arrows on it. He fired volleys and canopies. Of course, the effectiveness of such a fire was small. Not only was the wood of the fortress treated, but also the protective barriers above the walls were bursting every now and then so the magical fire fell into the moat instead of on the walls or in the courtyard of the fortress. Plus, from the top of the tower, his position was also being fired back with reinforced magical arrows. These attacks were not harmless. If they hit accurately, they would noticeably sag the outer defense contour. And the accuracy of hits of the dummies shooter was increasing.

But the fire arrows were only a diversion, designed to conceal the preparation of the main attack. And he was going to do it using a long-range projection, from the opposite side of the fortress from the one where the fire arrows were fired. This required a noticeable amount of effort and concentration. First, the attacking weave had to be formed, infused with energy as much as possible, and then stabilized so it wouldn't go off prematurely. Then, using the ritual circle as a base and support, put it into a pre-prepared knot, and then project this knot to the maximum possible distance. This was an ersatz portal for spells.

It's a favorite technique of ritualists, allowing them to unleash attacks on the heads of unsuspecting enemies from a very long distance. And it's quite effective. It's also quite spectacular, which is something to be recognized. In the air, a short distance from the fortress, on the opposite side from the part attacked by his fiery arrows three concentric shining circles appeared in a cone. Flaring brightly, they struck an extremely concentrated beam precisely at the base of the Donjon tower. The source of magic that powered the fortress' barriers was located there. Cyril put more than half of his reserve into this blow, and, in addition, he strengthened the weave as much as possible with the help of the ritual circle, which caused it to burn out by a third at once.

And it was a good hit! The base of the tower, despite the fact it was heavily fortified, was pierced, and the beam detonated somewhere inside. Cyril heard and saw the rumble, the flash of fire, and the debris of wooden timbers flying up into the sky, even at the other end of the range. The tower-donjon tilted sharply and then collapsed with the gunner on its top. And the fortress was at once deprived of its protective barriers. Exhaling, Cyril wiped the sweat from his forehead. His own reserve was a little more than a third, but the circle was still holding, and so were the additional storages, so he continued the attack. Given the fortress was wooden and had no other source of magic, he didn't try to be sly and just rained fire on it. The protective alchemy held for a while, but then the whole thing went up in flames. It was a gorgeous, huge pyre, and Cyril even admired it.

This mini-exam gave him noticeably more experience than the relatively normal training. As a result, in two weeks of training focused on ritual magic, Cyril reached level fourteen and managed to upgrade from “Basic Fundamentals of Common Elemental Weaves” to “ Developed Fundamentals of Common Elemental Weaves” at the end of the first week without investing any talent points. What an awesome synergy the combination of already existing knowledge, an excellent mentor, and active practice provided, making it incredibly easy to pull up new knowledge. In fact, he had invested a talent point for level eleven into this knowledge as well, bringing it up to 'Advanced Fundamentals of Common Elemental Weaves'.

Which led to an unexpected incident. The next morning after the new knowledge had been assimilated, when Cyril came to the training ground with his mentor, he asked her to delay the start of the training. He was eager to try some of the new skills that had expanded his arsenal of elemental magic. Really, really, really wanted to. Diantrel gave him an interested glance and didn't bother him. Moving away from the elf, Cyril stuck his staff into the ground. He didn't need it for what he had planned. Standing up, he shook his palms several times, formed the necessary weave, and then, with a slightly mad expression, threw both hands forward, spreading his fingers.

Several branching bolts of lightning snapped from their tips and struck in different directions, snaking and crackling. Cyril wasn't aiming anywhere in particular, just shooting lightning at the range and laughing loudly, feeling the energy flowing through him and spilling out. What a thrill! It was stupid, but what a thrill! However, having spent almost a quarter of his reserve on this childishness, Cyril stopped, looking at the result of his labors. A few dozen smoky patches on the lawn and a couple of small fires. And also a well-electrified puddle, which turned into a good trap for whoever stepped into it first. Diantrel watching him from the side, approached silently and diplomatically inquired:

"Decided to practice elemental magic?"

Cyril turned to the elfess and shook his head, unable to hold back a smile:

"More like a childhood dream come true! I felt like a real Palpatine!"

"Is this some wizard from your homeworld who emphasized mastering lightning?"

"No, it's... it's... it's... it's..."

"Cirrial! Cirial!"

Cyril shuddered and stared at his mentor's face in bewilderment. Diantrel was standing almost close to him, her palms around his head. She was staring intensely into his eyes.

"What you... what the..."

"Calm down, your condition is stable, I've already called for help. We're going to take you to the healing chambers now."

"What the..."

In that instant, something went into his mouth. What the? When Cyril pulled away from his mentor, he found his nose was bleeding. And, to all appearances, it flowed seriously, as it stained his chin and the vest on his chest. What the hell?! At that moment Cyril, who did not understand anything, was taken under the arms of two elves in gray clothes, who appeared out of nowhere, and through the portal arch, they quickly brought him to the local hospital. There he was met by the familiar Geatral. The elven healer laid him down on a special diagnostic bed in the center of a complex (now he clearly understood it) multifunctional ritual circle and gave him a thorough examination. Her bright green eyes glowed faintly in unison with the jewels of the tiara on her forehead as she scrutinized the young man. She paid particularly close attention to his head. At some point, Cyril did not notice how he fell asleep, warmed by the caressing warmth of the healer's energies. And when he woke up, Geatral gave the following verdict:

"It was a consequence of the removal of a significant amount of specific memories. As far as I could make out, it was the memory of a story. Perhaps a legend, or a fairy tale, I couldn't tell without a deep memory check. The main body of memories had been deleted, but indirect fragments related to it remained. Such fragments can be compared to roads or signposts leading to nowhere. Because of this, a temporary stupor may occur. The consciousness will try over and over again to remember what it is no longer able to remember."

Turning to Diantrel, who had been present beside Cyril the entire time, Geatral continued:

"There is no threat to his health, the most that the honorable Cirial can expect is a slight headache. His condition is completely stable now, and I have adjusted his protective medallion to prevent such attacks."

The mentor nodded satisfactorily and said:

"Nice."

Turning to her apprentice, the white-haired elfess smiled:

"In that case, let's continue our training."

And they continued. There were no more such attacks, not even when Cyril was trying to remember who Palpatine was, and why he associated him with lightning bolts. Damn it, damn Master, damn it! Well, he'll thank him for it. And the elves will help him with that, no doubt about it. They have a lot of questions for him, too. These thoughts of revenge even increased Cyril's motivation in training. Although, gaining new levels and knowledge was also quite motivating.

He invested his talents for the twelfth in magical search, bringing it up to “advanced methods of magical search”. Oh, it made it much easier for him to find enemies who could disguise themselves on the range. With such a skill, he would be welcomed with open arms by any Night Guild or Secret Guard. They would have interrogated him, asking him where such a young man, or rather half-elf, had learned such a skill. However, the mentor immediately diversified the types of disguises of the enemies encountered on the range. Diantrel began to add magical hiding places and caches, which he also had to search for with the help of the ritual circle. It was good that no magic traps had been added. Although Cyril had a suspicion that this was due to the fact that he was still practicing ritual magic, and did not run around the range. But then... For some reason Cyril had a vague suspicion. Not good suspicions.

His talent for the thirteenth level was invested in the control of internal energies, making them “advanced basics of controlling and controlling internal energies”. This knowledge did not expand his arsenal of weaves, but it significantly reduced the unnecessary expenditures on the formation of weaves. Now Cyril spent on most of the simple weaves exactly as much power as he needed. No more, no less. With more complex weaves, or simple ones that required significant power, there were still energy losses, but they were reduced noticeably as well. And that meant he was less tired in training. Which meant he was making more progress and gaining more experience. And what he had also tried the same day he had gotten this knowledge, merging energies with Armina and Gata had become much easier. Which was also very satisfying.

At the fourteenth level, Cyril spent a talent point to increase his magical barriers to “advanced skills of creating basic magical barriers”. Of course, he wanted to increase other knowledge, but for that he literally physically felt that he needed to bring “Power” to the value of ten. Well, or pull up the “Source” and “Control” to seven. But where could he get even one free characteristic point? He highly doubted that they would offer such a thing for average assignments. Why can't his patroness give him some bonuses? As compensation for his captivity and who knows what else. This injustice makes him resentful! Surely somewhere in other worlds, there's some isekai of my mom's friend, whom the System Goddess throws pianos from the bushes. And all he's gotten so far is two free talent points. Why is that?!

However, Cyril had a faint hope that he would get some kind of bonus at the fifteenth level. There wasn't much experience left until then. In today's training, if he tried hard, or if they gave him a new task, he might be able to get it. Immersed in these thoughts, Cyril, accompanied by Fiorel, did not notice how they came to the training hall, but not to the portal arch leading to the seventh training ground. A little surprised, the young man habitually bid farewell to the queen's trusted servant and went inside. There, his mentor was waiting for him in the company of an elf woman he didn't know. The guest was dressed in an elegant tight-fitting dark blue dress, embroidered with silver on the edges. It perfectly emphasized her slender figure and high breasts. It left her back almost completely open, and her hips were slit all the way up, allowing her to see part of her stockinged legs as she moved. Her long straight hair fell in a loose waterfall of black silk down to the middle of her back. A thin silver headband was visible on her head.

The unfamiliar elf was talking to Diantrel, standing half-turned to Cyril and gesturing vigorously. She was explaining something to the mentor or telling her, and the mentor, with her hands folded on her chest, listened to her attentively and nodded thoughtfully. However, at the sight of Cyril, the guest abruptly stopped talking and turned to him, looking at the half-elf with azure eyes with interest. Her face, like all the firstborns Cyril had seen, was pure and young, not allowing even an approximate estimate of the elf's age. A beautiful face. And not only that. The young man's gaze slid for a split second to the neckline of the dress where there was something to see. And it was not only about the tits but also about a gorgeous silver necklace decorated with precious stones. When Cyril approached them, the unfamiliar elven woman asked in a melodious voice:

"Dia, is this the new apprentice you've been telling me so much about?"

The mentor, as if only now noticing Cyril, blinked a few times, looking at him thoughtfully, and then nodded quickly:

"Yes, that's him. Honorable Cirial, meet my longtime acquaintance and fellow magical arts practitioner, Alatrael. Alatrael, meet my new apprentice, Cirial."

"Pleased to meet you, honorable Alatrael,” Cyril performed a polite and, as he hoped, flawless bow.

"The pleasure is mutual, honorable Cirial,” the elfess bowed her head slightly in greeting as she continued to gaze at him with interest. "Dia has told me so much about you that I couldn't wait to see you in person. Especially knowing how picky Dia was in choosing her apprentices. You had to be something truly outstanding for her to choose you."

The elf's azure eyes gleamed slyly at these words, and an equally sly smile appeared on her face, making Cyril a little embarrassed.

"And I have to say, I think I can guess why she agreed to take you on as an apprentice,” at these words the guest threw at Cyril's mentor a look that he would not be afraid to call playful.

Diantrel only rolled her violet eyes and sighed heavily. This behavior threw Cyril a little off balance. His mentor had always been extremely polite to him, answering all his questions, and patiently explaining if he didn't understand something. But she never allowed herself even a hint of familiarity, was always extremely collected and very demanding. The other firstborns he'd interacted with had treated him with respect and courtesy, but never even a hint of familiarity. Alatrael literally did not hide her curiosity about him, she looked at him with interest, and in general, she seemed... More lively and at ease? As if she were an ordinary young girl, not a hundred-year-old elf who only looked like a young maiden.

"Such a charming young man with a fair share of first-born blood, and so talented in the difficult business of mastering the art of magic,” the guest continued to praise the young man, keeping her azure eyes on him.

Embarrassed even more, Cyril bowed his head slightly and said politely:

"Your praise is very gratifying, honorable Alatrael, but it is excessive. All my successes are due solely to my mentor. Without her, I would not know a tenth of what I know now."

His words caused the elfess to smile even wider and laugh very pleasantly. Turning to Diantrel, she said in a melodious voice:

"He's also polite and modest. He's so cute! Where did you find such a treasure? Dia, I'm tempted to steal it from you, if you don't mind."

The mentor only rolled her violet eyes again, then turned to Cyril and said in a calm voice:

"Please forgive her, honorable Cirial, my friend may seem overly emotional, but she knows her stuff. You'll be spending today's lesson with her. And I hope you will be as diligent and not disappoint or embarrass me in front of her."

At the last words, Diantrel looked meaningfully at Cyril, from which he involuntarily stretched.

"Of course, honorable Diantrel. I will do my best."

The mentor allowed herself a weak and satisfied smile, after which she slightly bowed her white-haired head:

"I'm glad to hear it. In that case, I'll leave you with it. I'll see you tomorrow, honorable Cirial. Alatrael, he's all yours for the day."

After saying goodbye to her apprentice and friend, Diantrel left. As soon as the doors closed behind her, the elfess folded her arms across her chest and said in a cheerful voice, taking a step toward him:

"Well, honorable Cirial, allow me to introduce myself properly. My full name is Alatrael of House White Grove, and I would be happy to share my skills and abilities with you."

She accompanied her words with a perfect curtsy. Cyril again involuntarily glanced at the neckline of the elf's dress. Her breasts were slightly smaller than Gata's, and the magnificent silver necklace emphasized them. Fortunately, he only stared at her for a split second, then managed to force himself to return his gaze to Alatrael's face. Straightening up, the elf paused and looked expectantly at Cyril. The elf paused and looked expectantly at Cyril, who, having guessed what she was waiting for, bowed his head slightly and said:

"You already know my full name, honorable Alatrael. And I look forward to having you as my mentor."

She nodded understandingly in response to these words and said with a noticeable touch of sympathy in her voice:

"I understand your parent chose not to officially reveal your parentage to him. It's sad, but judging by the fact that you are here now and Diantrel has taken over your education, he cares about you."

Cyril, remembering his legend, nodded politely in response:

"Of course, and I am more than grateful to him for such generosity and care."

"Him? Well, that's interesting. It is not often firstborn men pay such close attention to mortal women that they have children together. It's much more common with firstborn maidens whose beauty is legendary."

//“It's hard to argue with that,” Cyril thought, looking at his interlocutor. He hadn't seen many elven women during his time in the palace, but none were even “average”. The type may have been different but every firstborn he'd seen was a solid ten. At these words, Alatrael's eyes sparkled playfully again, and she took another half step forward, causing Cyril to smell the floral scent of her perfume. A rather pleasant scent:

"Don't tell me, honorable Cirial, your mother used love magic to seduce your father?"

From such a question Cyril staggered a little in surprise. But before he could answer his version of the legend, Alatrael laughed softly again, her eyes sparkling slyly:

"I can already see by the look on your face that it wasn't. How interesting. Your mother must have been a very unusual woman to be able to attract the firstborn man's interest..."

Before Cyril could reply, Alatrael suddenly clapped her hands together and said in a cheerful voice:

"All right, enough with the small talk. Dia has asked me to teach you a class, so let's not waste any time! If you'll follow me, please."

Alatrael turned around elegantly and walked with a confident stride toward one of the tables against the wall of the training room. Cyril followed her, involuntarily sliding his gaze down the elf's back and then a little lower. Diantrel was dressed exclusively in a training suit for all her training sessions, which was certainly to her liking, but it was still work clothes. Alatrelle, on the other hand, was dressed as if she were going to the Queen of England's ball right now, at the very least. The young man's gaze was literally drawn to her.

Reaching the table, the elfess pointed to one of the vacant chairs and spoke:

"Have a seat, Cirial. You can keep the staff for now, you won't need it. "

A little surprised, Cyril carefully placed it next to the table, shackling it with a simple but secure weave. As a result, his staff of white birch wood stood perfectly upright. As he sat down across from Alatrael, the elfess spoke:

"So, our session today will be entirely devoted to a topic that is extremely important to anyone gifted, such as safety."

"As you wish, honorable Alatrael,” Cyril nodded, ”I'll tell you right away that I know the basics of barrier magic pretty well, I know...."

To the young man's surprise, the elven woman sitting across from him laughed again, which was unusual. His mentor allowed herself at most a smile, but he had never heard her laugh before.

" No, no, no! I'm talking about a different kind of security, honorable Cirial. The safety of your thoughts and feelings."

From these words, Cyril immediately became extremely serious.

"Do you mean Mind Magic?"

"Right. And also all sorts of love spells, which are also capable of depriving you of free will no worse than classical mentalistic. They are sometimes called Love Magic, which in my opinion is not quite right. They should be called the Magic of Feelings, the Magic of Passion, if you like. But these are trifles, the essence is different."

Leaning back in her chair, Alatrel lit up two simple, glowing, schematic pictures in the air above the table with a single movement of her hand. One was of a heart and glowed pink, the other was of a head and glowed light blue.

"If extremely simplified, we can make the following division. The magic of the Mind affects directly the thought processes, the ability to think critically and objectively and to build correct logical chains. Love magic hits first of all on emotions, on feelings. If the first is a strict command that keeps the mind in check, the second is a passion that overwhelms everything."

Pointing her hand at the schematic head, Alatrael projected a trio of gears inside it, which began to spin briskly gradually accelerating.

A victim treated by a skillful practitioner of Mind Magic will follow his command simply because it is necessary, logical, correct, normal, and requires no explanation at all. Even if it's an order to give all the money for a bite of an apple or a request to sign a bondage contract. With a charm, it's a bit of a different story.

Turning her attention to the heart, Alatrael enlarged it slightly and made it glow brighter and beat harder.

The victim is completely consumed by passion for the object of attachment. She is swallowed up by emotions, lust overshadows the mind, and the thirst for approval from the object of admiration overrides everything in the world. For her or him, the spellbound person will do everything in their power.

With every word the elfess said, the heart in the air began to beat faster and glow brighter, flickering in time with the contractions.

"They deify their false love, the very thought of refusing or resisting it causes unthinkable pain, despair, and fear of disappointment. All these emotions cloud the mind. And the stronger the spell, the brighter and longer they are."

Making another gesture, Alatrel brought the two glowing images closer together, beginning to flicker in unison:

"Of course, this division is rather conditional. Many techniques affect both the mind and emotions at the same time. But for simplicity of understanding and explanation, this division is usually given. I hope I haven't confused you too much, Cirial?"

Blinking, Cyril shifted his gaze from the images lit above the table to Alatrel and hurriedly shook his head:

"No, everything is fine."

Smiling charmingly back at him, the elfess continued her lecture:

"Now that we've dealt with that, let's move on to the next general point. There are two basic types of impact. It is either fast and powerful, or slow and weak. In the first case, the bet is on a crushing attack designed to break through the target's defenses and subjugate it to his will. If it is a matter of Mind Magic or charms. In the case of love alchemy, it should be a killer dose of composition, causing an immediate effect in the form of an outbreak of uncontrollable passion or adoration. The nuances are not so important, the main thing is the general principle. A quick assault or a slow siege. You catch my thoughts, Cirial."

Cyril could hardly tear himself away from the images flickering in the air, but he turned his gaze to the elf sitting across from him. His gaze slid to Alatrel's breasts, lingering on her nipples, which protruded clearly through the fabric of her dress. He stared at them for a few seconds, then managed to tear his gaze away and shift it to the smiling elf's face. After a mental feat, he nodded slowly:

"Yes, in general, it is clear. A quick assault or siege. Everything is clear."

The charming smile on Alatrel's face grew even wider, and she nodded contentedly:

"What a pleasure to deal with such a bright student. Well, now that you understand these very general principles, my dear Cirial, I propose to proceed to the next stage."

With another graceful gesture of her hand, Alatrel surrounded the shimmering pictures of hearts and heads with a glowing circle. The same schematic glowing magic arrows immediately began to hit it and helplessly flew off to the sides.

"A quick assault is very rare, and good amulets are enough to protect against it. The real masters of these schools of magic prefer, with very few exceptions, to act much more subtly and cautiously."

The glowing images above the table changed again. The circle protecting his head and heart was suddenly not monolithic, but intermittent. These gaps in it were quite small, the arrows that hit it were still bouncing off. But here, a few tiny magic lights quietly slipped between the small gaps in the circle. They immediately began to swirl around the images of the heart and head, braiding them with thin glowing threads.

"They prefer to smoothly and stealthily sneak up on their victim, so that she until the last does not realize anything, does not notice that she is already caught in the web, that it is already wrapped around her arms and legs."

The lights gradually picked up speed, swirling faster and faster around the images of heart and mind, which were already braiding full-fledged cocoons.

"And when and if it happens, it is too late. There is nothing that can be done and one does not want to do anything. You don't want to leave such a nice and cozy cocoon. Don't you think so, honorable Cirial?"

The image abruptly went out, merging into a single bright dot that sparkled and disappeared. For several minutes Cyril stared at the place where such beautiful lights had just danced. Then, with a titanic effort, he shifted his gaze to the elf in front of him. Or rather, to her gorgeous tits and her equally gorgeous necklace, the gems of which shimmered so beautifully. Just like those lights. Beautiful. The elf's words came to him as if from a fog, and it was only with great effort that he managed to tear his gaze away from the necklace, raising it higher:

"…you don’t mind, do you, my dear Cyril?"

Trying to understand what the beauty sitting opposite him was saying was comparable in gravity to solving Epiphanes' theorem. Or was it Hyphoron's? Whatever, so as not to look stupid, Cyril nodded, returning to the contemplation of tits. And the necklace that sparkled so beautifully.

"That's good. In that case, let's go to you..."

Such a beautiful necklace swayed, disappearing from the young man's sight, but it was replaced by the charming face of a beauty with azure eyes that shone even brighter than gems.

"...my dear Ciri."

"Yes..."

Cyril was enveloped in the fragrance of incredibly fragrant flowers, which he immediately wanted to drown and dissolve without a trace. It was so delicious. He wanted to sink into those beautiful, fragrant tits and sink into them with his head. Some noise came from somewhere far away, as if Cyril was underwater, and someone on the surface was talking. The whole world disappeared, narrowed down to the shimmering jewel necklace, gorgeous tits, the divine beauty of her face, with eyes shining heavenly azure, and the sweetest fragrance of flowers. For a brief moment in this lovely circle, another face appeared beside them. A vaguely familiar face, that of some girl, with red hair and yellow eyes. Very briefly, but it appeared very close in front of Cyril. He saw it in the smallest details and felt a pleasant smell and no less pleasant taste. The face was very tasty, and Cyril enjoyed kissing it very much. And the more he kissed this delicious face, the more beautiful and stupid it became.

Before it disappeared, the red-haired girl's face became completely stupid, and her yellow eyes literally rolled back. But almost immediately the beauty with heavenly eyes reappeared instead of the girl. But he couldn't linger on her face, Cyril's gaze first slipped down to her gorgeous breasts. No, to view elven tits is the highest reward and privilege, which must be properly earned. And he wasn't worthy of it yet. The realization of these obvious truths was so obvious that Cyril marveled at himself. His gaze began to slide lower, lower, and lower, until he reached a bare foot, slowly swaying from side to side. On the big toe of the woman's foot hung a sandal of black patent leather, with a shiny buckle. It glistened and shimmered in time with the movements of the swaying foot. So beautiful, so elegant.

Yeah, that's exactly what's right for him right now. Something he's only worthy to behold. Only to behold, only to imagine the possible touch of such perfection. For the one who stands above birthright to agree to step on someone with only a part of the higher blood, he must try very hard. He must be very obedient. Very good. All this was so obvious that Cyril wondered why it even needed to be explained and spelled out.

That's great. Since he was such an understanding student, he deserved a small reward. The foot swung once more, and the sandal fell to the floor, exposing the elegant foot in all its splendor. Perfection. Unbelieving his happiness, Cyril leaned forward.

* * *

As she leaned back in her chair, Alatrael allowed herself a satisfied smile. The half-blood knelt before her and wrapped both arms around her leg, working his tongue diligently at the foot of her right leg. From time to time he held it up to his face and rubbed against it, only to start licking again or nibbling all the toes together or individually. Once satisfied that the fixing was going well, she shifted her eyes to cat girl. She was standing behind the boy's chair, holding her tail with both hands, her tongue sticking out, watching the tip of her tail. Her yellow eyes moved from side to side, clearly in time with her movements. Left-right, left-right, left-right.

The maid had no trouble with her; she didn't realize it when the boy returned earlier than usual to kiss her. She thought the gentleman had asked Dia to leave a little early to have some fun with her. And then the love alchemy applied to her lips and the ampoule she had just before the kiss had done its job. All she had to do was consolidate her success. The second maid was a little more complicated. The girl was in another room of the chambers, cleaning when she brought the boy in on a short leash. It was a good thing Alatrael had asked him beforehand and was prepared for her arrival, or it might have turned out badly.

As soon as she entered the living room and saw her master literally eating the catgirl, she froze in surprise, her mouth hanging open in surprise. A very small ball of very powerful love alchemy immediately flew in. And yet the damn thing almost had time to react. If the projectile had not been of such high quality, she might have spit it out. But Alatrael never skimped on the quality of her consumables, and the orb popped open as soon as it was in her mouth, releasing its contents. The pretty human girl had been rubbing the floor in the corner of the room with a rag for almost an hour, trying to wash away the stain. Not paying any attention to the fact that there was no stain there. Nor what was going on in the living room.

A nice parlor, by the way. As she looked around the chambers assigned to the half-blood boy, Alatrael felt a tiny twinge of envy. She wondered who among the queen's confidants was the boy's father, who had managed to get him such a luxurious allowance. Not to mention the artifacts that were obviously custom-made. He also managed to get him an apprenticeship with Diantrel, who had been very meticulous in selecting potential candidates since the day she got the right to teach the youth on her own. And money alone would not solve the problem. Looking at the boy, who continued to lick and suckle her foot, Alatrelle thought and looked at him again. Very young indeed, not rejuvenated by alchemy. But at the same time, the gift was already formed very well, and he must be diligent in his studies. Diantrel wouldn't take anyone else as an apprentice unless it was to pay off a very serious debt. As far as Alatrael knew, she had no such debts.

The honorable Gradiana was right to take notice of this half-breed. How did she know about him? Alatrael didn't even know about him, though she'd heard that the Forest Guard's top gifted mentor had a new apprentice. Well, she would find out later. The first step had been successfully taken, and it was time to call it a day. Pulling her foot away from the boy's face, who was bleary-eyed as he followed her, the pixie wiggled it in front of him:

"No, no, no, that's all for today. Did you remember everything I told you, Cyri?"

"Yes..."

"Good boy, now forget about it and don't remember it until you see you know what. Got it?"

"Yes..."

"All right. Now, come here. You too, come here."

A good boy, but inexperienced in some things. Taking three small vials from the secret waist pocket of her dress, she waited for the maids to arrive. Ordering them to sit on the table, pull up their skirts, and spread their pussies, she poured one vial into the opening flowers. She gave the third to the boy to drink. After which, she left the whole trio to amuse themselves. When she reached the door, behind her back the half-breed was already working his tongue between the legs of the catgirl, who moaned loudly and wrapped her legs around his head. Let him practice. Such a good boy should lick not only feet.

* * *

The dreams that night were strange again. Cyril dreamed of some peasant hut, where a very attractive middle-aged woman, with huge tits, wearing only a shirt, stood at the table with a lot of dried herbs. She threw her head back and moaned loudly and tried to say something, but instead of words she only moaned inarticulately. Only occasionally did she utter an incomprehensible “lashenka”. The reason for this state of the woman was a young girl who stood behind her. Also very pretty and not once lacking in shape, the girl was also dressed in a single shirt. With her right hand, she was fiddling with the first woman's breasts, which were clearly visible under the thin fabric of the shirt, but avoided the large and protruding nipples. With her left hand, she worked between her legs, clasping a small bud with two fingers.

The pretty girl's face was full of gloating. She pressed her lips close to the helpless woman's ear and literally hissed at her:

"I'm in charge now, Mother! I'm in charge of your clitoris! Whoever I tell you to lie down with! I tell you to spread your legs for me! And if I want to, you'll have a baby with whoever I like. Do you understand?! I'm in charge of the clitoris!"
Джей и Молчаливый боб.

The village hut and the strange lesbian family were replaced by a richly furnished bedroom, immersed in an intimate twilight. On a luxurious double or even triple bed sat a woman... of outstanding shape. The size of her tits even surpassed the previous one, not to mention her height and lush figure. At the same time, the woman remained on that very difficult-to-grasp borderline, when “there is something to grope” does not pass into fatness. The earthly embodiment of Rubens's ideal sat on the very edge of the bed, and on her lap lay a young man bound with silk rope, with a blindfold on his eyes and in a strict collar. Ah, no, not a human, but an elf.

The fully naked firstborn was struggling helplessly on the huge woman's lap, suckling on one of her big tits. She was holding his head like a baby with one hand, and with the other hand, she was methodically working on the sharp-eared man's cock. She looked at him with a mixture of maternal and feminine love, cooing softly. Speaking of babies, Cyril was somehow sure the size of the lady's belly was connected not only with her fullness but also with her late-middle-term pregnancy.

Then the frame changed, and suddenly the woman and the elf switched roles. Only now the bedroom was plunged into the darkness of the night, and the lady of outstanding size was sleeping peacefully on the bed, with her arms spread wide apart and her legs spread. Between her legs sat a completely free elf, who with an angry expression was rubbing with two hands some oil on the big tits of the soundly sleeping lady. At the same time, through clenched teeth, he was quietly hissing about a fat stupid sow whose ancestors had committed bestiality with bulls. How pigs combine with cows was not too clear to Cyril, as well as the fact despite the silent curses, the sharp-eared man clearly enjoyed the process, for a long time openly pawing the sleeping woman.

The frame changed, and Cyril went from the bedroom of the strange couple to some forest glade. There, on a carpet of meadow grasses and forests, a naked elf was lounging. She could be accused of bestiality because her slender and trained body was covered with a long but thin snake like an erotic bondage. The reptile was constantly in motion, constantly rubbing its scales against the elf's pussy, her breasts, arms, and legs. Moreover, after a closer look, Cyril realized that the strange snake was not just wrapped around the firstborn.

It entered the elf's mouth only to crawl out through her lower lips. It was unclear where the head of the snake was, where it started, and how long it was. But looking around, Cyril noticed that the snake did have a beginning. It stretched to the elf from the very edge of the clearing, from the hand of some female figure standing in the shade of the trees. Cyril could not see anything more precisely, because the dream was interrupted by the melody of a music box.

* * *

Cyril opened his eyes, yawning and stretching. He felt just fine, properly rested and asleep. The same sleepy Gata was curled next to him, and Armina stretched out from the other side. Ah, what a life...

Lazy thoughts of the delights of possessing two very pretty maids went out of his head as soon as he saw the wall clock. Holy shit, practice is just around the corner! We overslept! Damn it, we had fun the night before! In a panic, Cyril hurriedly got out of bed. There was no time to go to the bath, so he began to dress quickly. The maids immediately began to help him. Or rather, Gata began to help, and Armina rushed to set the table. As a result, Cyril came out of his chambers in less than half an hour. After greeting Fiorel, who was already waiting for him, he went to the training session. Outwardly Cyril was calm, but inwardly he was quite nervous. He should have forgotten to prepare his staff for the training day! Just a couple of spells! What would his mentor say when she saw such sloppy behavior? Okay, calm down, he would have time to prepare it, the active training would only start in the afternoon... Wait, what's this?

Only now it came to Cyril's attention that he'd had a system message hanging since this morning. What the...

Warning. “Basic Fundamentals of Tantric Energy Restoration Techniques” has been upgraded to ‘Advanced Fundamentals of Tantric Energy Restoration Techniques’. Changes to Player status will be made automatically.

Wow, what a binge the three of them had taken yesterday. It was only by an effort of will that Cyril didn't lose his step and didn't show that new arrays of system information had begun to be downloaded into him. And what kind of information, shit! It was no other miracle that Cyril managed to reach the training area without falling and stumbling. And without getting a boner from understanding the knowledge he had gained, though he had to thank the increased control over his internal energies.

We'll deal with that later. After saying goodbye to Fiorel, Cyril went inside the training hall, where his mentor was already waiting for him. He was a bit taken aback. The familiar room had changed, turning into a swimming pool. Shallow, somewhere knee-deep, but it occupied the entire central part of the room and filled with perfectly clear water. And near the edge of the pool, Cyril was waiting for Diantrel, dressed not in her usual training costume but in a swimsuit. Tight knee-length pants and the same sleeveless vest. All dark green fabric - nothing else. That's news. Cyril involuntarily slid his gaze over his mentor's trained body, lingering for a few seconds on her bare feet, noting the perfect pedicure.

The white-haired elf waited for Cyril to approach her and said a polite hello:

"Greetings, honorable Cirial. I hope you are well rested, as today we will begin a new type of training."

"Thank you, honorable Diantrel, I'm full of energy. And what are we going to do today? I can swim, if you want."

"I know this. Today we will work on the control of internal energies and their external manifestations."

With these words, as casually as possible, Diantrel turned around and... walked on the water. Literally walked on the water barefoot, without even leaving the slightest circles on the surface! Cyril's eyes darted from such a sight. Wow, how could it be so! Switching to magical vision, he tried to understand what kind of weave his mentor used. But as it turned out, Diantrel wasn't using spells in the usual sense. Cyril didn't notice any traces of weaves on the mentor's legs or in the water. But when she took a step, he could clearly see the entire surface of her feet was literally glowing with energy.

The mentor's bare feet looked incredibly charming in his magical vision against the slightly darker water. So perfect. So flawless. So gorgeous.

* * *

"The honorable Cirial? Cirial?"

Turning to look at her apprentice, Diantrel furrowed her brow. The young man, perfectly disguised as a half-elf, stood at the edge of the training pool, watching her closely. Or rather, her gait. He completely ignored her question about whether he understood the principle of controlling internal energies, which allowed direct influence without weaving. Something he had never seen before. In training, Cirial could, when he was already exhausted, allow himself some carelessness. But he always listened attentively to her, answered her questions and, if he didn't understand something, asked his own. All of this, coupled with the expression on his face, alarmed Diantrel.

She turned toward him and made sure he was staring at her feet. In her mind, the elfess sighed deeply. Was he not satisfied with the maids the Secret Guard had put under him? Or... Standing two steps in front of the young man, Diantrel folded her arms across her chest and said sternly:

"Honorable Cirial, would you be kind enough to pay attention to me and my words, not just my feet."

The young man flinched, blinked several times and looked up at his mentor. His face flashed with bewilderment, and then he stretched up sharply and blurted out:

"Pardon me, I...I was brooding."

Giving a meaningful look, Diantrel said in a stern voice:

"If you'd be so kind as to focus on the class. But if you are so distracted by my appearance, I will be forced to wear special swimming shoes."

Cyril flinched again, blushed, and shook his head:

"No need, my bad, it won't happen again!"

"I'm glad to hear that because just now you look like you're ready to fall to your knees right now and put your lips on it...."

Diantrel's last phrase was accompanied by a graceful sway of her right foot, just for the sake of her own comfort. Because it was easier to believe the boy was looking at her because of his own fantasies and fetishes than it was to believe that he'd been proceeding in the classic school of first-born seductresses. Considering who he really was, and how he was being guarded. So when Cirrial knelt silently in front of her and grabbed her ankle, Diantrel allowed herself a second's hesitation. She nearly fell backward into the water when the boy yanked her foot toward him and pressed it against his face.

Centuries of experience came to the rescue. After the first moment of confusion, Diantrel reacted with a lightning-fast series of actions. A pre-prepared weave flew into Cirial at point-blank range, plunging him into a cocoon of stasis. She was partially hit, however, and was forced to stand on one leg. While her other leg was clutched in petrified hands by Cirial's face. At the same time, the special alarm amulet issued specifically to work with him, and her protective amulets hidden under her clothes were activated. In addition, Diantrel shouted loudly to the three Secret Guard agents who had appeared in the room out of nowhere:

"I didn't do it! Somebody processed him!"

The trio of elves quickly approached them, wands at the ready, ensuring there was no direct danger, and then slowly looked at each other. Then, the senior of them took out his own communication amulet and spoke briefly:

"Third to Second Vigilant! We have a serious problem..."

Cyril's status:

Name: Cyrill

Level: 14

Class: Wizard

Characteristics: (free) 0

Talents (free): 0 (limited): 0

Constitution: 1

Sensitivity: 2

Power: 9

Control: 5

Source: 6

Spirit: 1

Resistance: 1

Acquired Knowledge: Oral and Written: Classical Elvish, Free Cities, Northern Theocracy; "advanced fundamentals of managing and controlling internal energies", "advanced skills of working with external energy sources", "advanced skills of creating basic magical barriers", "advanced skills of creating the basics of magical weaving", "advanced fundamentals of magical dueling techniques with combat rods", "advanced fundamentals of tantric energy restoration techniques", "advanced fundamentals of creating and using ritual circles", "basic fundamentals of tactics of conducting a magical battle", "basics of working with developed amulets and artifacts", "advanced methods of magical search", "advanced fundamentals of general weavings of elemental magic"

Acquired properties: “the blessing of harmonious magical development”, "minor strengthening of subtle bodies"

System Modifiers: “Issuance of System Assignments II”, "Intensive Development II"

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, 33 pages, taking into account the status. Well, in Kyryusha's measured study Elven-Femfatale broke in. She burst in with both feet. And now the next chapter will be fun for everyone (no). A lot of fun (not at all!)

Because how so?! (you'll see)

Uff, okay, Brinar is satisfied, Brinar goes to rest. Thank you all for reading, commenting, liking, and asking questions. :)

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

Переведено на Нотабеноиде
http://notabenoid.org/book/86674/581152

Переводчики: Camrad_RIP