Готовый перевод История Королевы Эльфов / The story of the Elf Queen: Глава двенадцатая. Успешное задание Героя Королевы Эльфов

Chapter twelve. Successful Assignment of the Hero of the Elf Queen

* * *

The stone wall of the underground hall shattered into pieces of varying degrees of size, and a moment later the adjacent ruins were swallowed up by the swirling impenetrable darkness, diluted by flashes of purple fire....

"Stop!"

The volumetric image projected above the semi-circular conference table froze the moment the Terror of Diyarten broke free. A tall elven woman with a long waterfall of perfectly straight sand-colored hair, sitting in the center of the huge conference table behind a luxurious chair made of light wood and upholstered in white upholstered fabric, squinted her amethyst eyes that glowed with magical fire. She was dressed in an old-fashioned gown, even by the standards of the firstborn. Flawless white, made of silky fabric embroidered with foliate patterns. It was tightly fitted, emphasizing her slender waist and ample breasts. On the one hand, it completely covered her back, shoulders and arms, but on the other hand, it had a more than frank neckline, allowing to fully appreciate the outstanding upper forms of the elf. And also hanging between them was a magnificent golden necklace, adorned with numerous emeralds that glimmered in the twilight of the meeting room.

As well as the gems in the elf's other jewelry, of which she had plenty. On each hand there was a golden ring with large rubies, on her forehead there was a golden tiara, decorated with a whole pleiad of semi-precious stones of all colors of the rainbow, on her wrists there were bracelets, also made of gold decorated with sapphires. Exquisite masterpieces of elven jewelry were worth a huge fortune, which few mortal lords could afford. Сonsidering that they were also masterpieces of artifacting, their price became simply unimaginable. But Alinarel, one of the two firstborn in the Forest, who held the high title of Archmagister, could afford more than that. And she did. The Forest spent even more on her upkeep than on the Queen or the Elder Enchantress. And even such a huge expenditure was more than worth it.

Next to the right armrest of her chair, a tall walking stick made of the white wood of the Tree of Life, covered with intricate carvings and with a large pommel of the purest crystal of faceted rock crystal, was hovering near the right armrest of her armchair. The armchair was also a masterpiece of artifacting and furniture art, bearing a complex of the most complex and subtle weaves of a very wide spectrum. Protective, healing, analytical, and, of course, attacking. In addition, the chair rested on a wide platform in the form of a perfect marble circle, on which were carved the contours of a complex ritual figure. The same platform allowed the armchair to levitate above the ground. There were several spatial pockets of different sizes attached to it, where the owner kept a lot of different things, ranging from tools of magical craft to a small collection of drinks. Sitting in this chair, Alinarel could fend off a small army, with the support of a full circle of strong adepts, or even a single master of magic, without wasting a single ounce of her own strength.

Anyone else, even someone of magister level, might have considered such a means of transportation excessive, or simply the whim of an extremely powerful gifted woman. In part, that was true. But the underlying reason was much simpler. Alinarel was a terrible homebody, both by the standards of her kin and her colleagues in the magical craft. The Archmagister could go decades without leaving the magical tower, built on one of the most powerful sources of magic in the Forest, and given to her at her complete disposal, where she was the sole mistress. All visitors, with the rarest of exceptions, she welcomed in her office. Even the meeting of the Forest's Supreme Council, where the information about the isekais was announced, was no reason for her to leave her fiefdom. Though she regretted it later, admitting that she hadn't expected it to be that interesting.

This time, Alinarel made no such mistake, arriving in person at the meeting after a chase that had turned tragic and nearly disastrous. She lifted her left hand from the armrest and moved her index finger, where a large ruby ring glittered with fire. The image immediately rolled back a few moments. One more movement of her manicured finger, and the moment of the Terror of Diyarten's appearance was repeated, but now it was almost two minutes longer. The most powerful gifted elf of the Forest, who had raised and trained a host of gifted kin, including the current Elder Enchantress who sat not far from her, scrutinized those moments. The magical fire in her amethyst eyes flared even brighter, as did the many gems in the luxurious golden tiara that adorned her forehead.

No one at the table rushed her, silently waiting for her to study the consolidated recordings made by the Underworld Corps scouts, the Secret Guard agents, and others involved in the failed pursuit of Master. The Archmagister watched the key moment from different angles, in different spectra, zoomed in on this or that fragment, and her face took on an increasingly pensive expression. After almost half an hour, she extinguished the image with one finger and folded her hands on her stomach, interlocking her fingers. Sitting to her right, First asked briefly:

"Verdict?"

The Archmagister, turning to one of the few congeners whose seniority over her she fully recognized, said in a thoughtful voice:

"From what I've seen, there's a good chance he died, devoured by that ancient creature of the union of Primordial Darkness and the Crimson Flame of the Earth's bowels. But the chance that he may have missed a fate worse than death is also small."

At the words about a fate worse than death, many of the elves at the table darkened visibly. Especially the commander of the Underworld Forest Guard Corps. However, he quickly regained his sternly impassive face. On the other hand, First's face didn't waver a single muscle and didn't show a single emotion, except for the permanent seal of endless fatigue. He folded his hands on the table in front of him and spoke briefly:

"I see. Thank you for your assistance, honorable Alinarel."

"I'm doing everything I can."

Having looked calmly at his relatives, First continued:

"We'll assume he's alive and escaped. Work out all the possibilities of where he could have broken through the portal from that location. We need to delineate the search area and search for possible spatial magic activity."

Alinarel, cross-legged in her luxurious chair, moved her index finger, and two three-dimensional images appeared above the table. One was a map of the Underworld, the other a map of the surface. Specifically, the Mid Sea region.

"If we proceed from the fact that he was “ breaking through” the portal, then the radius turns out, "slowly said the archmagister, in her mind making the most complex calculations, "Approximately like this...."

Another flick of his finger, and a pair of circles appeared on both maps. The one on the underworld map was a little over a hundred kilometers in diameter. The one on the surface was almost twice as large.

"But if he had a prepared portal arch, and he tuned into it, then..."

On both maps another circle appeared, three times larger in diameter than the first two.

"...the search radius becomes much larger."

"Provided,” the commander of the Underworld Forest Guard Corps said in a grim voice, ”that it was really him and not some hoax."

"I can reassure you on that point,” the Supreme Emissary spoke up. ”Our sun-loving companions have guaranteed us that Master was indeed in that underground hall."

"And you trust them?" The Underworld Corps commander's voice was full of cold skepticism.

"Not one bit, but on this point they provided ample evidence to all involved in the chase."

"Speaking of their, uh... compass, they turned that Master artifact into...." Mirael has entered the conversation. "Can't it be reused?"

"Unfortunately, Mirantir took it with him into the abyss before he could pass it on to his companions, when he fought this creature of the bottomless depths,” Third answered her without listening to the end.

"That's a shame, he was quite helpful in finding Master,” the Elder Enchantress sighed frustratedly.

"I'm sure our solar allies share your grief,” said Sivila, who had been silent until then. "And speaking of them. What's the situation in the Underworld now?"

The Supreme Emissary answered her, looking gloomy:

Everyone involved in the pursuit had to retreat. The emergence of this monster from the depths of the bowels of the earth disturbed all the surrounding wildlife in the many underground halls around them. The inhabitants of the Underworld seemed to go berserk, and the pursuers' camp was attacked several times by the maddened beasts. In addition, the retreating party was not in the same underground hall as the main camp, so they had to make a detour to reach it. When they reached it, they found that the cover squad left in it had been ravaged by the maddened beasts. Regrouping, they retreated to the Neutral Territories under Normgrave and set up a temporary camp there, where they are now licking their wounds and thinking about what to do next.

"How big are the losses?"

"Among the firstborn, a little less than a quarter of the participants. But among our mercenaries, the losses are much higher, with less than a third surviving. Mostly those who didn't panic. Worst of all are our dark kin, they have the largest losses. Survived only those who rushed to escape first and managed to join the retreating Bright Paladins. Among the dwarves, about half of them survived."

The words were accompanied by a wistful sigh from the Supreme Treasurer, who was already calculating in his mind how much the loss of human mercenaries had cost the Forest treasury. And that was not to mention the deaths of their kin, for which no amount of gold would compensate.

"Were there any conflicts?" asked Sivila.

"Many loud words were said, especially by the commander of the Bright Paladins, but most of them were addressed to our dark kin. In our address, they were much less, but there were also some."

"Filrandin made a mistake,” the Underworld Corps Commander muttered grimly, ”one that cost him and some of his warriors eternity."

"Not just him,” Sivila shook her head no less grimly, ”we were counting on a battle with Master, and the emphasis was on protecting the mind from his tricks. We were not prepared for such a monster. It was a mistake that almost cost us dearly."

"Agreed, but no one seriously envisioned that we might encounter the Terror of Diyartan. The city was thought to have been buried long ago. The only thing that saved us from total catastrophe was that the Sun-Face wasn't afraid to send his paladins and his First Herald in the guise of a mortal,” Third nodded.

These words were accompanied by a melancholy sigh from the Supreme Treasurer:

"We can't ignore this. We'll have to thank the Priest King somehow..."

"We'll discuss this later," First interrupted him. "Right now we need to focus on finding Master."

"If he is alive," Alinarel asked carefully.

"Let's assume that yes," First one cut in. "And we still need to find out the situation with the city."

"It won't be easy,” Third shook his head, pointing to the map of the Underworld, ”there were three underground halls directly bordering Diyarten. One is now destroyed, and to get to the second one we'll have to make a long detour through the Wild Territories, which are even more dangerous than usual. And the third is too close to a hive city of brain-eaters of the... not the friendliest."

At these words, the faces of all the elves darkened.

"So, for now, I suggest that we not take any hasty steps in that direction, but rather focus on identifying possible anomalies of spatial magic."

* * *

"So that's how it is..."

Silk Spiders' voice was soft, but it sounded like thunder in the main hall of the Great House of Shaalas. The Matriarch sat on her dark wood throne, adorned with spider-themed carvings. Cross-legged, the powerful Elfess looked unkindly at the several Hunters who stood before her kneeling and bowing their heads deeply. Cialana wore only her favourite outfit of thin silver ribbons of spider silk, which did not hide anything but perfectly highlighted the beauty of the powerful elf as well as her mithril jewellery. The Matriarch's violet eyes glowed with magical fire, her solid chest, barely covered by a pair of thin ribbons, heaved heavily, and her long silvery hair moved slowly as if it were alive. She continued in the same quiet voice, wiggling her bare feet slowly, drawing out each word slowly:

"My eldest daughter. Her right-hand man and also the First Hunter of my House. His entire squad. All dead. And you have more than half the Hunters remaining in your squad--"

The tone of those words made everyone in the main hall feel very uncomfortable and wanted to be somewhere far away. Cialana squinted her eyes as she glared at the elder of one of the two Hunter squads that had been sent, and then asked in a low voice:

"How did it happen, Adridal? How is it that you survived and not Riatel or Jiritan?"

The senior of the surviving Hunters, not daring to raise his eyes to the Matriarch, licked his parched lips and spoke, trying his best to keep his voice firm and calm. On the whole, he was succeeding. Life in the Underworld hardened those who managed to make it to adulthood. There were no weaklings among those who had risen to the rank of Senior of an entire squad of Hunters.

"My mistress, on that fateful day, as the Senior of the hunters should, I acted with the utmost caution. The servants of the Sun-Face, blinded by their hatred of Master, were rushing forward, and I saw no reason to prevent them from falling into the traps our enemy must have prepared. My Hunters and I kept out of the shadows and away from the main battle. That's what saved our lives. As soon as I heard the rumbling from the very depths of the earth, I knew WHAT the Lightbringers and Master's puppets had awakened with the noise of their battle. And I realised at once that we could not cope with the Terror of Diyarten, and that we must retreat as soon as possible. So I immediately rushed away and ordered my companions to do the same. I ran as fast as I have ever run in my life, my mistress. Faster than at any of the Trials. Faster than ever. I ran without looking back, without listening to anyone, using all the alchemy and amulets I had been given. And so on until I reached the passage to the other hall."

He paused, licked his parched lips, and, still not looking at the Matriarch, continued:

"To my greatest regret, the others were not so careful and hesitated, not immediately realising the extent of the impending danger. Including the honourable Riathel and her blades. When the Terror of Diyartan appeared... It was too late."

"So that's how it is..."

Cialana rose smoothly from her carved throne and strode leisurely towards the bowed Hunters, swaying her hips seductively. Her long silvery hair continued to flutter and move as if in the wind, though there was no wind in the main hall of the Great House of Shaalas. And the ribbons of spider silk that entangled her body flowed and shimmered like water. Stopping before the still kneeling Senior Hunter, the Matriarch spoke slowly, folding her arms across her huge chest:

"Terribly disappointing..."

At that moment, many in the main hall stopped breathing, literally feeling the slender thread-blade clasped around their necks, capable of cutting through hardened steel and living flesh with equal ease.

"...that everyone else wasn't so smart, including my daughter. Such a disappointment..."

For the first few seconds, most of those present, including the surviving Hunters, could not realize what they had heard. Everyone expected that Cialana, who had lost her eldest daughter, would be furious and that someone would have to answer for it. The Matriarch's sharp command, “Stand up,” brought them all out of their stupor, and the Hunters all straightened up at the same time in a coordinated movement, immediately freezing at attention. Cialana reached out her hand and with a smile, caressed the Elder's cheek with her palm, and in a voice full of motherly concern, she murmured:

"A true Dungeon Hunter must not only be strong, agile, elusive and deadly. He must also understand which enemies are not worth fighting, but which ones he should retreat from as quickly as possible. It saddens me that my eldest daughter has not learnt this lesson. But I am comforted that at least you, Adridal, have learnt it."

Looking at the surviving Hunters and their Elder with a keen gaze, Cialana said:

"You have earned a reward and rest. You can be free, restore your strength. You will need it later."

The surviving Hunters bowed simultaneously and hurriedly retired to their well-deserved rest. As they left the main hall, Cialana, who was still standing in the centre, spoke sharply in a cold voice again:

"The Inner Circle stays. Everyone else - go away. Now!"

In a matter of seconds, the spacious room was empty. Of the several dozen dark elves and a couple of their most valuable servant-slaves from the lesser races that made up the upper ranks of House Shaalas, only five elven women, including Cialana herself, remained in the main hall. Elder Enchantress, Elder Emissary, Elder Catcher, and Elder Over Slaves. As the doors closed behind their assistants, deputies and trusted servants who hurried away, Cialana activated the defences with a mental command, cutting off this room from the rest of the house. After waiting a few seconds for the defences and barriers to reach full power, she smiled broadly in the silence and said with a hint of amusement in her voice:

"Well, everything turned out even better than I expected..."

The remaining elven women in the hall exchanged perplexed glances, which quickly became wary. The main diplomat of the house, folding her arms on her chest only a couple of sizes smaller than the Matriarch's tits, said in a voice full of doubt:

"We've lost one squad of our best Hunters entirely, the other half. Along with them, we've lost some of our strongest and most skilled gifted, including Riatel. And what did we get in return? Practically nothing! This loss will weaken our position, and the other Houses will surely try to take advantage of it...."

Turning to the chief diplomat and the other elven women, the Silk Spider gave them a beaming smile from ear to ear. Cialana tilted her head slightly to the side and sang in the same cheerful voice:

"Is that how you see it, my sweet Shakral? I don't see it that way at all. To me, it looks like I got rid of an over-imaginative bitch and her patsies who thought she was smarter than her mother. Now all that's left."

The Elder Catcher snapped out of her seat in one elusive movement, turning into a blurred shadow. The Elder Enchantress raised both hands, one of which held a battle magic wand, in front of her, pointing them in Cialana's direction. The Elder Over Slaves let out an inarticulate wheeze and clutched at her throat, from which blood gushed out. The Elder Emissary jumped back with a startled cry, but became entangled in the long robes of her revealing outfit, which consisted of strips of cloth of varying widths. Her arms flailed and she fell backwards. Cialana, on the other hand, remained motionless. Practically motionless.

Silk Spider moved her fingertips slightly. Just a little. Something glinted in the main hall, which was very well lit by the standards of the Underworld. Thin, barely discernible threads that stretched from Cialana's fingertips. The ones from her right hand reached toward the Elder Enchantress. She was ready for it, and with an evidently prepared spell she created a solid barrier of fire right in front of her. The threads that barely touched it immediately burst into flames and began to burn like an ordinary spider's web. The threads from her left hand, which had rushed out to intercept the swift half-blurred shadow, were also intercepted by two elusive sweeps of blades that flashed with magical fire. With their many virtues, the weaving threads of the Silk Web School were, with few exceptions, highly vulnerable to magical fire, burning easily, like the ignition cords of dwarven explosive charges. Both the Elder Catcher and the Elder Enchantress were well aware of this. Cialana knew it, too.

The Elder Catcher, with a swift dash to close the distance to the Matriarch, struck with a pair of blazing blades. The Elder Enchantress, using the fire barrier as a base, struck with a stream of fire. But moments before she struck, Cialana's thin ribbons disintegrated into individual, rapidly spinning threads, forming a wide and unexpectedly dense cocoon around the Matriarch. It took the blows, immediately catching fire, but that moment was enough for the Silk Spider. Cialana literally flew out of the cocoon with great speed and flew to the very ceiling of the main hall. Several thin but extremely strong threads extensions of the Silk Spider's hair, caught on the ceiling beams and pulled her upward. But several other equally fine and invisible threads stretched from the toes of her feet to the floor itself. More precisely, to the joints of the marble floorboards between which Cialana had placed them unnoticed while she'd been talking to the Hunters.

And the threads struck from the floor looping around the ankles of both conspirators. A moment, and they both collapsed to the floor with a scream unsupported as their legs were cut perfectly straight. In the next instant, their wrists fell to the marble floor of the main hall as well. Hanging from the ceiling, the naked Cialana whose silver hair had lengthened even further and fluttered in every direction wrapped around the elf smiled broadly and unkindly. With one elusive movement, two throwing needles struck the crippled traitors. Two more followed. The Elder Catcher and Enchantress fell silent, paralyzed but alive. The blood spurting from their cuts stopped. Sinking back to the floor, Cialana looked around, grinned contemptuously at the sight of the defeated traitors, and then slowly, swaying her hips and slapping her bare feet on the floor, made her way toward the Elder over Slaves.

The elf who was responsible for the House's economy lay on the floor in a pool of her blood, trying to clutch the throat that had been cut by the Elder Catcher's blow while pressing a healing amulet to it. Her outfit, only slightly less revealing than the one Cialana wore, made of purple and silver silk, was darkened with blood, and her white hair was stained with it. A couple of empty vials of healing and poison neutralizing alchemy were lying next to the elf, but judging by the fact that the wound didn't seem to be healing, they had little effect. Stopping above her, Cialana looked down at her for several seconds. With her mouth open, the Elder over Slaves tried to utter something, but her mangled vocal cords could only produce a gurgling croak. With a face full of despair and pleading, she looked at Cialana and reached out to her, trying to reach for Matriarach's leg. The woman, lips curled in a contemptuous sneer, ordered in a cold voice:

"Take your hands away from your throat and freeze."

The Elder over Slaves bulged with ruby eyes that stood out vividly against skin grayed with fear and blood loss, but she obeyed the order, freezing on the floor in front of the Matriarch. Blood flowed again from the cut throat, which had stopped being clamped. Cialana moved the index finger of her right hand, and a thin thread of webbing was drawn to the wounded woman's throat and began to stitch the edges of the wound quickly and often without any needle. Literally a couple of moments and it pulled them off closing the wound completely, leaving a barely visible scar in its place, dissolved without a trace. Satisfied with the result, Cialana tossed a vial of healing potion to the coughing Elder over the Slaves, which wasn't clear where it had come from, since the Matriarch's outfit now consisted of nothing but jewelry and her hair.

"Drink it, it will help for a while. You can visit the healers later."

The Elder Over Slaves nodded carefully, so as not to hurt her wounded throat, and drank the dropped vial in a gulp.

"What, you won't even thank you for saving your life?"

The wounded elfess twitched as if stung and crawled hastily to the Matriarch's side, smearing herself even more with her blood. She froze in front of Cialana and placed her lips on her foot, beginning to cover it with kisses. Smiling contentedly, the Silk Spider allowed herself a few seconds to enjoy her companion's kisses. She began working her tongue diligently to lick each toe. Satisfied, Cialana stopped her with a movement of her foot, pressing her thumb against the lips that were about to embrace it:

"That's enough for now. We'll continue later. Get yourself in order."

With that, Cialana turned to Shakral. The chief diplomat of the Great House of Shaalas continued to sit on the floor without moving, and looked at her Matriarch with noticeable apprehension. The reason was obvious - several thin threads surrounded her from different sides, capable of cutting the elfess into several pieces in the blink of an eye. Silk Spider leisurely approached her, and cooed in an ingratiating voice:

"Tell me, my dear Shakral, how is it that my chief diplomat knew nothing of the plot Riatel had woven against me, overawed by..."

Two strands of Cialana's hair moved towards the fallen conspirators.

" ...by these two treacherous bitches? Who in turn were encouraged and supported by two other bitches from the Houses of Lemaress and Gearass? Why do I need such a worthless diplomat? Or..."

There was a noticeable threat in the Matriarch's voice, and the threads surrounding the Elder Emissary tightened their rings slightly.

"...you knew about the conspiracy, but decided not to tell me?"

Shakral suddenly smiled quite calmly and shrugged her shoulders as far as the threads around her would allow. She looked up at her parent without any fear and replied:

"Riatel has been weaving her web since you put the First Hunter Squad under her hand. The Matriarch of House Lemaress is not aware of what happened. The last decades she's been noticeably slacking off since that failed assassination attempt. On their side, support was provided by their Elder Wizardess, whom Riatel and Triashal..."

The chief diplomat nodded towards the paralyzed Elder Enchantress of House Shaalas, who lay nearby.

" ...promised to pass on some of your secrets. In fact, that's why they joined the alliance in the first place. But I strongly suspect they were both going to betray each other in the end, for neither would share your secrets with anyone, Mother. As for the House of Gearass, their Matriarch knew that Riatel was weaving her web, and supported her in her endeavors, but she didn't count on it, considering it your game of provocation. And Zairal."

The head diplomat gingerly pointed towards the defeated Elder Catcher.

"...had long since been out of the picture, having fallen into Riatel's web years ago. She was directly entangled with our now deceased First Hunter, who in turn was under Riatel's thumb."

"So you knew,” Cialana said slowly, squinting uncomfortably, ”but you chose not to tell me. Why didn't you tell me?"

Shakral, as much as the threads surrounding her allowed, shrugged and answered as a matter of course:

"If I knew about it through my birds, you must have known about it too. After you told Riatel that it was too early for her to know the secrets of the Silk Weave, it was obvious that she would try to get them by force. Just like she wasn't the only one eager to learn your secrets, Mother. Well, if they were to succeed... it would mean you had lost your touch after all."

At those words, Cialana's threads grew noticeably thicker so as not to cut Shakral, and then tightened sharply around her throat, ankles, and wrists, pinning her to the floor and spreading her arms and legs apart. Stepping forward, Silk Spider stepped her bare foot on her daughter's crotch, tossing aside the strip of cloth secured to the leather belt that was the only thing covering her crotch. Pressing the pads of her fingers against Shakral's pussy, Cialana leaned over her and spoke in a cold voice:

"Watch your tongue, my daughter. It's good that you had the brains not to support a sister who thinks too much of herself. But that you chose to stand aside, waiting to see who wins. I'm very disappointed. I had a much better opinion of you. I thought that of all my children, you were not the most gifted, but the most intelligent."

"Mother, I...

"Enough."

With a flick of her finger, making the threads disappear, Cialana took a step back and said in a cold voice:

"We'll discuss your behavior later, in private. And your punishment. In the meantime, get yourself in order too."

Leaving her daughter to recover, Cialana moved on to the defeated rebels. The Matriarch made a couple of deft movements with her fingers, and thin threads picked up the severed parts of the traitors' bodies, sewing them back into place. Once that was done, the Silk Spiderwoman used another motion of her fingers to cut their clothing with the same threads, leaving the traitors completely naked. Though they weren't wearing many clothes as it was, considering their status. Lifting them to their feet like marionette puppets with thickened threads, the Matriarch forced them to look into her eyes. Both rebels were alive, but completely helpless. Cialana's poison had not only paralyzed their bodies, but also suppressed their magical gift for a time. The eyes of the failed rebels were a mixture of animal terror and despair. With a contemptuous curve of her lips the Matriarch approached the Elder Enchantress.

Triashal was a rank below Cialana in both strength and skill. A full-fledged master of magic, but not even close to being a magister yet, though she aspired to be one. Unlike Silk Spider, who had attained that high status quite a long time ago, even by the standards of the elves. By all accounts, Cialana should have been the Elder Enchantress of the House had she not taken the Matriarch's place centuries ago. Taking the defeated rebel by the chin, Cialana squinted unkindly and literally hissed:

"I'm disappointed in you, Triyashal. I thought you'd be smarter than your aunt, but apparently your whole branch is hopeless. Your ambition and lust for power overpower your sanity and sense of self-preservation."

Lowering her palm, the Matriarch ran it first over the paralyzed Elder Enchantress's breasts, which were only a couple of sizes smaller than Cialana's tits. Squeezing it forcefully and pressing on the nipple, Cialana let herself play with it for a few seconds. Then she ran her palm over her flat stomach and then even lower. With two fingers she parted Triyashal's lower lips and reached inside.

"The only thing I, like my predecessor, tolerated you all for was the magic flowing in your veins that benefited the House."

When she found what she was looking for, Cialana pulled a small sealed vial of dark liquid from Triashal's pussy with two fingers. With a grin, the Matriarch tossed it aside, and while still in flight it was consumed by the magical flame, burning in it without a trace.

"I was willing to turn a blind eye to a lot of things. That you wasted the House's resources on your practices and whims. The fact that you've driven two of our House's promising gifted under your thumb and turned them into a pair of personal live-in playthings. The fact that you've never really started to train a single student. But that was the last straw."

Cialana took a step away from the frightened Triyashal and folded her hands on her naked breasts, began to rhythmically run her fingers over them. A dozen fine threads stretched from her fingernails towards the helpless rebel, slithering like snakes across her body, penetrating her mouth, nose, pussy, ears, anus and right under her skin. If Triashal could have, she would have screamed in pain, but the effects of the Silk Spider's poisons made it impossible for her to move even her fingertips. The search took almost two minutes, leaving the former Elder Enchantress with a couple more small vials, needles, and one small multifunctional amulet. Making sure the defeated rebel had nothing left, Cialana redirected all the threads into Triashal's head with a few movements of her fingers, penetrating them directly into her brain. The realisation of what was about to happen made the Elder Enchantress' eyes pop out of her orbits, but there was nothing she could do.

Allowing herself a few seconds to savour her condition, Cialana sent a short magical pulse through the threads with a gloating smile. Exactly into Triashal's brain. Exactly in the right places. The Elder Enchantress's eyes flashed with magical fire, then it went out. So did Triashal's mind. After removing almost all the threads from her, except for the one left as a control and those that kept her standing, the Matriarch stabbed the rebel in the neck with a needle she had inexplicably taken from somewhere. Nothing happened for a few moments, then Triashal stirred. After waiting a moment for the poison to be completely neutralised, Cialana sent a mental command through the control thread, and the former Elder Enchantress immediately walked towards the Matriarch's throne. Silently, with a completely blank face. When she reached it, she also silently got down on all fours in front of it and froze. The Elder щver Slaves and Shakral, who were watching this scene, involuntarily shuddered.

Cialana turned to the Elder Catcher helplessly awaiting her fate. The Matriarch gave her a scornful glance and, without a word, proceeded to search her. After relieving her of hidden needles, vials of poison, and a small skein of thread made of enchanted silk, Cialana began the more difficult work. Her threads penetrated Zairal's body just as well, but not just her head. Two threads pierced her nipples, penetrating the inside of her breasts, and another reached her pussy and pierced with the tip into her clit. Slowly, the Matriarch's threads sank deeper and deeper into the Elder Catcher's body. But not with the intention of burning out her mind, as in the case of Triashal. No, Cialana was looking for something else. And she found it very quickly. Riathel had done a good job, but she was still a long way from her mother's peak, so the threads of the web she had entangled Zairal with were found without a problem. They stretched from her breasts and pussy to her head, forming a single controlling web tied mostly to the pleasure of sex. A classic but quite effective method of control for adepts of the Silk Web School.

Carefully intertwining her threads with those of her daughter, Cialana made sure she hadn't missed any, and then with a precise and calibrated pulse she burned them all. Despite the paralysis, Zairal still twitched convulsively, if it weren't for the supporting threads she would have surely fallen to the floor. Taking a step back, the Silk Spider waited a moment for the Elder Catcher to regain consciousness. As she realised what had happened after the destruction of the controlling web, panic flared in her eyes with renewed vigour. Mixed with despair and pleading. Curling her lips, Cialana shook her head:

"You disappoint me, Zairal. I had a much higher opinion of you. I thought you were going to do much better than your predecessor. Instead, as soon as you took her place, you were almost immediately caught in my daughter's web. Were you so eager to sit on his face that you didn't even wonder why our First Hunter let you do it so easily? At first I thought you'd be good. You've been a disappointment everywhere."

Seeing the desperate plea in Zairal's eyes, Cialana grinned contemptuously and shook her head:

"You don't have to shake so much in fear for your worthless life, I'm not going to cut it off. But I should, for the sake of the other brainless idiots, who have all their brains in an udder bloated with self-importance and alchemy. But as it happens, I have a friend who was looking for a new toy, one of the dark firstborn. Noble ones, of course. I think you'd suit her just fine. After a little processing, of course."

Enjoying the effect, Cialana smiled and caressed the helpless, unwilling rebel on the cheek, then waved her hand. As if out of nowhere, thin threads began to swiftly entangle the Elder Catcher, unable to move a finger. In a minute, the dark elf was wrapped in a dense cocoon of silvery threads, like a fly caught in a spider. Only her nose and feet were free. Finished swaddling her, the Matriarch laid Zairal down precisely in the centre of the main hall. Standing beside her, Cialana closed her eyes, concentrating, and then activated the Ritual of Renunciation, which had been prepared in the utmost secrecy.

If it hadn't been for the paralysis, Zairal would have spasmed and convulsed as the blood-bound and ancestral magic began to burn away everything that bound her to the Great House of Shaalas. Including the secrets and mysteries she had access to, by right of position. Cialana herself was feeling not much better at this point, as the effects of the ritual were hitting her as the head of the House, the head of the Clan, the eldest of the Bloodline. It felt as if a piece of you had been cut off with a blunt knife, but not a specific one, but as if you were being stripped of some part of yourself, everywhere at once. But this was not reflected on Silk Spider's face. When the ritual, which had been prepared in advance and had cost her a great deal of money, was completed, she returned to her throne at a leisurely pace. By this point, Shakral and the Elder over Slaves were in almost complete order. Especially the latter, who had managed to cleanse herself of her blood with a small amulet. The Matriarch nodded to both of them and then sat down on the throne, throwing her legs over the still on all fours, Triashal. Cialana did not bother to dress instead covering herself with her hair. It was only long enough to cover the Matriarch's prominent breasts, but the rest of her remained naked.

After about a minute, there was an intricate knock on one of the secret side doors, covered in illusion. Moving her bare foot, Cialana sent out a short key weave that opened the locks. The door opened silently, making the illusion ripple, and three figures in grey robes that resembled those of the Dungeon Hunters entered the Main Hall. As they approached the throne, they stood at a respectful distance and bowed slightly. Cialana and her companions did the same.

"Greetings."

Pointing to Zairal, wrapped in a cocoon, the Matriarch continued:

"Everything is as we agreed."

The senior guest nodded in response and removed a small wooden tube from his belt. Bowing his head respectfully, he held it to the Matriarch on his outstretched arm. Cialana, smiling broadly, moved the big toe of her right foot, from which a faintly discernible thread of spiderwebs emerged, picking up the tube and handing it directly into the hands of the Silk Spider. She opened it, assessed the contents, smiled broadly, and nodded:

"It's a pleasure doing business with you. You can take her."

The guests still nodded silently, and two of them placed sound suppressing and masking amulets on the immobilised Elder Catcher. They took her in their four arms and left without another word. After waiting for them to leave, Cialana spoke without looking at the Elder Over Slave:

"Go to the healers. I expect you in my chambers tonight. That goes for you too, Shakral."

The Elder of Slaves and the chief diplomat bowed and hurried away. When the doors closed behind him and the Matriarch was left alone, apart from the Triashal who had been turned into a living doll, she let out an infinitely tired sigh.

With her feet on the floor and her legs spread wide, she sent a short mental command through the control thread. The former Elder Enchantress, still with the same blank face, immediately knelt before Matriarch, tossed her hair behind her back, wrapped her arms around her hips and pressed her face into the flower of passion, working her tongue diligently. Though her mind had faded, her skills were still fully intact. Covering her eyes, Cialana threw her legs over Triashal's shoulders, enjoying her skillful tongue. The Matriarch's main pleasure was not in the process, as the rebel's licking was mediocre, but in who was pleasuring her.

Not just to put the self-important bitches in their place, but to put them on their knees in front of her, and in a demonstrative way, is an unparalleled pleasure. It's also very good for the whole House, because for a while it sets the brains of the others who want to sit in her place. And that's especially important right now. Because on the one hand, it worked out really well. The conspiracy woven by her daughter, who thought too much of herself, has been crushed, and most of the traitors have been gotten rid of by other people's hands. Adridal didn't even have to do much. Just a little less of a fight. But on the other hand, the House had suffered losses, and there were bound to be those who would try to take advantage of that. Which meant she had a lot of work to do.

She has several candidates for the vacant positions, and it is necessary to identify the most suitable ones, who will at least devote most of their time to work, and not try to undermine the competitors. Also, those who have proven themselves in uncovering and suppressing the conspiracy should be rewarded. Adridal will take the position of the First Hunter, there's no question about it, he's a good boy, more intelligent than his predecessor. No, he was a good boy too, or he wouldn't have become First. But he couldn't get into bed with her, he was too fond of her daughter's charms. Men, what can you take from them?

Thoughtfully, Cialana made herself comfortable on the throne, feeling the growing excitement and pleasure of the defeated rebel's tongue. Maybe she should conceive the last of the five possible children with him. But she didn't want to lose him.... From the experience of her past lovers, the Silk Spider was firmly convinced of one thing. As soon as a man allows to make you a child or just cum inside, as he instantly forgets his place. And if you take into account all this nine-month horror, when the baby carried under the heart literally constantly sucking all the strength of you, so immediately becomes bad. And all for what? So that later, your grown-up child can start scheming against you. Oh, Riatel, like mother like daughter, except patience and foresight. Which is perhaps for the best. Hmm.

Maybe we should pair him up with Shakral. It's high time she had a second child. Or maybe give him Triyashal as a toy? No, I don't think so. Letting her have a child is fine, but giving it to her permanently is not good for male discipline. Oh, it's a lot to take care of. That damned Master, jealous bitches from rival Houses, equally jealous bitches and dogs from her own House.... How hard it is to be a Matriarch... With those thoughts, Cialana let herself moan out loud, wrapping her legs around Triashal's face and flooding it with love nectar.

* * *

After he finished watching the volumetric recording of the battle in the Underworld that his mentor had shown him, Cyril leaned back in his magical chair, turned to her and asked doubtfully:

"So he died?"

Diantrel folded her arms across her chest, shook her head and said with the same doubt in her voice:

"The likelihood of this is high, but Forest decided to proceed from the fact Master was alive and still managed to escape so the search would continue."

"I see..."

Turning back to the image projected by the storage crystal with the captured images, Cyril stared intently at it. Rewinding it, he began to revisit the various moments. The offensive. The battle. And the appearance of the Diablo-like fearful creature that had given a natural beating to Master's pursuers. Having stopped at that moment, Cyril belatedly gave himself a mental smack and turned to his mentor again:

"Did we lose many?"

The elfess looked at her student seriously and nodded slowly:

"Almost twenty warriors of the Underworld Corps and several agents of the Secret Guard."

Turning back to the recording, Diantrel continued in a cold voice:

"And we could have lost everyone, if not for the followers of the Sun-Faced One."

"Did you know them?"

"Of course," she nodded. -"When you've been in the Forest Guard for centuries, you remember most of your fellow soldiers. I rarely crossed paths with the Underworld Corps, though. They have their specificity of service."

Cyril gave himself another slap in the face. Shit, he never found out how old Diantrel was! He hadn't bothered to ask.... Although it's not customary to ask a woman's age. Men don't ask about salary. And from Argentine schoolchildren, what and where their grandfathers did from the thirty-ninth to forty-fifth year. Yeah. I wonder how old she is, though. You can't really tell. I'll have to find out discreetly sometime. Later.
T.N.

Turning back to the image, Cyril rewound it to the moment that preceded the appearance of an incomprehensible scarecrow, which had almost rolled up the combined group of pursuers. Specifically, to one particular image, captured by the elf scouts with the help of magical vision and observation amulets. That image, to which the illuminated threads of controlling weaves from the enslaved by magic minds of humans and non-humans stretched. It could not be seen with mere eyes, for it was located in the basement of the ruins. Next to the well-defined weave-contour of the portal arch. Master...

"Is something bothering you, Cirial?"

His mentor's voice brought Cyril out of his tense thoughts, and he even flinched. He turned back to the elf who was staring at him, and hurriedly shook his head:

"No, I'm fine, I was just wondering...."

"Cirial."

Diantrel looked him carefully in the eyes and said in a calm but firm voice:

"I can see something's bothering you. If it has anything to do with your wound..."

"No, it's not that. I mean, it's not about it."

"And what is it?"

After hesitating for a few seconds, Cyril spat and decided to tell it like it was:

"The thing is, when I first came to my senses, and the honorable Sivila, along with the others, explained to me the situation I was in... Well, Master, how I was found, my memory loss. Anyway. well."

Diantrel didn't rush the faltering student, waiting patiently for him to formulate a thought.

"Anyway, I had a thought at the time. It was stupid, but I was pretty freaked out. Well, I thought, what if I'm the Master?"

It looked like Cyril had managed to really surprise his mentor. At least Diantrel raised her eyebrows very naturally. Though no, she was really surprised by such a confession, Cyril somehow felt it very clearly and with full confidence. The mentor was silent for a few seconds, and then asked in an extremely serious voice:

"May I ask what gave you such a strange... strange and, let me say, deliberately false idea?"

"I used to have a computer game. I told you what it was. It was called ‘Evil Islands’, it was a great game, although it was old... So, there the story of the main character begins with the fact that he wakes up in a strange place, and does not remember who he is and where he came from. Trying to find out, he finds a powerful magician. He promises to help if the hero will help him find one person. He sets off on a dangerous journey on the trail of this man, looking for him, risking his life, in the end he finds out that all this time this man was himself. And this was not the only story with such a plot that I met."
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Evil_Islands:_Curse_of_the_Lost_Soul

The mentor listened to Cyril attentively without interrupting. And then she suddenly laughed. Quietly, but, for some reason, Cyril was sure of it again, she laughed sincerely.

"Your story has an interesting plot, but, fortunately for you, it is completely impossible in our case. You must realise, Cirial, that it is impossible to confuse a gifted person whose gift has just sprung up, even with a gifted person who has reached the level of an adept. And not even with one who has reached the level of magister. And of course, we checked and examined you thoroughly, given where we found you. And the result was unequivocal - your gift was barely awakened and practically unformed. So you can rest assured, Kirialle - you are you."

Smiling sheepishly, the young man nodded to his mentor:

"Thank you, I was pretty nervous the first few days, although I understood it was stupid. But still, it was nice to see confirmation that this bastard wasn't me."

Turning back to the stopped recording, Ciril asked in a serious voice:

"How likely do you think it is that he actually died?"

Diantrel replied in an equally serious voice:

"From what I've seen, that's a very high probability. But if there's one thing we've learnt over time, that Master is not to be underestimated. So Forest will continue the search. And you and I will continue our studies."

"Whatever you say..."

* * *

After the second application of the modifier ‘Healing of subtle bodies I’, Geatral gave Cyril another total examination, after which she gave her verdict. Active practice is still forbidden. But she allows him the simplest exercises, an analogue of magical gymnastics. And only under the supervision of his mentor, and only the simplest and easiest exercises. Because, although his health had improved quite noticeably, Cyril was still far away from full recovery. The healer did not forget to mention at every opportunity the fact that he had survived at all was a natural miracle.

So now, in addition to lectures, every day under the supervision of his mentor he spent a couple of hours at the analogue of magical gymnastics. Nothing complicated, simple runs of reserve through energy channels and minimal concentration of it in one or another part of the body. But God, how great it was! Even these simple manipulations with magic power were incredibly pleasant after the forced weeks of inactivity! On top of that, they were definitely beneficial, slightly, but still speeding up the recovery process of those parts of the subtle body that were already more or less recovered. In combination with the purchased property ‘Subtle Body Regeneration I’, it brought the full recovery even closer.

However, Cyril spent most of his free time at his mentor's theoretical lectures, every day learning more and more about Beriadon, its inhabitants and their complicated relations with each other. Also about its geography, and in particular, about the reasons why even the elves still had no full-fledged globes of this planet. To summarize those reasons in one word: magic. If to be a little more detailed, in the first place, numerous creatures could not exist even in theory on Cyril's native Earth. But here they lived. They lived and regularly questioned who in Beriadon bears the proud title of king of nature, as they said in a Soviet cartoon. Even on the inhabited continents there were enough places called Wild Lands, with little or no intelligent inhabitants. What to speak of the lands beyond the distant seas?

The elves and the more advanced nations of the lesser races had known for quite some time of the lands lying to the east and west, beyond, as they were called, the Sunrise and Sunset Shores. But no one knew reliably whether it was the same continent, but a large one, or two different ones? Or maybe three? And maybe some of these lands are full-fledged continents, and some are just very large islands? And all because just getting to them was not an easy task, given the local sea creatures and the rough seas. Diantrel showed Cyril several dozen of crystals, with imprinted images of all sorts of kraken, giant sharks, sea serpents and other creatures that on the native Earth would have looked appropriate in the time of the dinosaurs. And, as the elf noted, these were only the creatures that had been captured. No one really knew what else lived on the vast expanses of the seas, especially in their depths.

And there were also natural dangers. The high seas were full of magical anomalies. For example, a sudden maelstrom the size of a soccer stadium, capable of pulling an entire fleet to the bottom. Or an unremarkable stretch of sea where the water could stop keeping ships afloat at a moment's notice, as if they were made of stone instead of wood? Or on the contrary, a stretch of sea where the ships lost their weight completely, so that the winds constantly created by the air elementals could lift them very quickly to a height of several hundred meters. There the ships would regain their weight and go down with a known outcome.

And as if these dangers of the open sea were not enough, the distant lands were by no means paradises. Judging by the descriptions of the local Columbus and Magellanic expeditions that successfully reached and, more importantly, successfully returned, the “Americas” here were indeed a WILD LANDS. To begin with, none of the returning expeditions encountered any intelligent beings or even traces of them there. That didn't mean, of course, that they weren't there at all. Maybe some of those who had traveled to distant shores had met some intelligent inhabitants, but they had not come back to tell about it. But what they had in abundance was all sorts of dangerous and predatory animals. And they were not afraid of anything. Diantrel showed Cyril several images of creatures that had escaped from the laboratory of a nice grandfather who had built his own Luna Park on a private island, complete with Black Jack, Courtesans, and a freaking Tyrannosaurus. He was particularly impressed by a bird the size of a small private plane, with peacock-like feathers.

According to her mentor, the bird had a disgusting voice, considerable magical power, and extreme territoriality, which was reflected in the fact that it immediately attempted to peck the pioneers when they carelessly approached the coastal cliff where its nest was. She did peck some of them before she was killed by several lucky hits of enchanted arrows, which were heavily laced with a killing poison. However, its carcass was sold by the survivors upon their return for a monstrous sum of money, much of it recouping the cost of the expedition. According to Diantrel, a few of her feathers were purchased by the Forest and carefully stored in the elven zoological museum. Yes, elves had museums, several of them, and Cyril decided that he would definitely visit them when he was fully recovered.

Returning to the theme of exploring uncharted lands, it was impossible not to mention the same magical anomalies, which were found not only in the sea, but also on land. And the variety of them was not inferior to the sea. Spatial anomalies were very common. Especially many of them were in the Great Desert. Diantrel gave Cyril a separate lecture about that land. This is where Moses really had every chance to lead God's chosen people for forty years. And he would have been lucky if he had led them back to Egypt instead of somewhere worse. Looped space, analogues of mole holes, just unreachable objects that can't be reached from the outside, no matter how much you go. And those inside can't get out, and even spatial magic often can't help.

There were plenty of spontaneous anomalies, too. For example, a rock sticking out of the ground that struck any metal object that came close to it with lightning. Or a small pond with crystal-clear water, which pulls this very water from the environment literally from everywhere. Including the bodies of living things. Temporal anomalies were considered the most rare and poorly studied, according to her mentor. Diantrel cited to Cyril several cases documented by elves, when people and one halfling, who had left home for household chores, returned the next day to find decrepit old men surrounded by numerous grandchildren in their homes. Who had been their infants when they left home the day before. Having learnt these stories, Cyril involuntarily shuddered. This is called, went out for bread for a minute. In fact, the halfling had actually gone for bread to the neighbouring village, where there was an excellent bakery.

And how many such stories remained unknown? No one could say for sure, because stable temporal anomalies were virtually unheard of. The only documented stable temporal anomaly was in the Great Desert. It was a small settlement near a small but lush oasis, where time was stuck in a loop of about ten minutes, in which the inhabitants of the place had been experiencing the same moments for centuries. To the great annoyance of the elves and not only them, there was no way to study this anomaly normally, because it was within the boundaries of another anomaly, spatial type, not allowing to approach the oasis from the outside. And the region of the Great Desert, where they were, was considered a very dangerous place. Even the inhabitants preferred not to go there.

The most famous of the recorded cases of temporal anomalies, which had spread to the entire region of the Middle Sea and beyond, was the story of the ship ‘’Rapid‘’, which did not live up to its name. No, the ship itself was a very fast ship, a magnificent example of the work of the master shipbuilders of the Island Empire. But when it left the capital of the Empire, which was at the peak of its power, with a set of cargoes for the Viceroy of the Eastern Shores, the ‘Rapid’ was somewhere delayed in its journey. So much so that when it reached Morgrave, it found neither the Viceroy nor the Island Empire, which had been an Island Kingdom for over a hundred years.

For the dazed crew, only two days had passed, during which they had seen nothing but the waters of the Middle Sea in a fair wind. Had it not been for the direct intervention of Calisto, who had been reached by the frightened captain of the Rapid, who possessed a carefully mantled relic that embodied its avatar off the coast of Morgrave, the unfortunates might not have been believed. And if they had, they might have done something very bad to them, given the Coastal's affection for the Islanders. But by the will of the Lady of the Seas, the ship and its crew returned to their home harbor. There, everyone was also a little surprised at its return. Diantrel even told Cyril a semi-anecdotal story about how one of the crew nearly committed suicide upon their return. The reason was that upon returning to his homeland after almost half a thousand years he learned the following. His home island had been drowned by the Lord of the Depths. He had no relatives left, not even his most distant descendants. His country had lost its beauty, pride, and foundation of power - the Great Armada, which had been drowned, in fact, along with his home island. The former coastal provinces broke away, which reduced the flow of goodies to the Islands, and with it the standard of living of their inhabitants. But the dwarf bank, where he had taken a loan shortly before sailing, was alive and well, had not forgotten about his debt and politely informed him that it should be paid back. And it would be nice to pay it back with interest, which for almost six hundred years had accumulated a lot.

To sum up, it was safe to say that colonization of America, or the Americas, was still a long way off. Cyrill listened to Diantrel's lectures with considerable interest, noting that he was getting experience for it. Not as much as during training, but quite decent, and most importantly - stable. As a result, by the end of the next week, when the healing modifier of the mentor was restored again, he was almost close to getting the sixteenth level. The procedure itself was completely the same as last time. Geatral having encircled and surrounded Cyril with a scanning amulets and artifacts gave Deantrel the go-ahead to use the modifier. And the mentor applied it. Once again a wave of pleasant warmth washed over the physical and subtle body. But the result was unpleasantly modest. Cyrill's most important wound, the unfortunate Heart Energy Node, practically did not improve. The energy channels coming from it, the neighboring parts of the aura - everything became almost perfect. But the energy node remained in a state, as earth doctors would say, of medium severity. As the study of the System Help showed, the modifier of the companion “Healing of subtle bodies I” had to be raised to level II in order to restore its efficiency.

Of course, even the almost complete healing of the other wounds was still a huge progress, considering the severity of Cyril's injury. Geatral and Diantrel told him that after such an attack, many people, even if they had survived by some miracle, would never have recovered at all, while he could already walk on his own, even if not for long, and could already perform the simplest magical manipulations. This comforted Cyril, though in the depths of his soul there was a certain annoyance. Shit, why didn't he have some meta-button ‘Instantly heal from everything’ in his abilities? Oh, wait, there is one if according to the system help. But it's not available to him yet, and he can't buy it even for talent points, because he doesn't have enough levels and characteristics. It can only be obtained by earning it... How do you do that? So... quests, deeds, feats... Oh, I see, save the dragon, kill the princess, of course, of course. Cyril imagined his mentor and the rest of the elves sending him off to seek adventure and exploits in the Wildlands. After all the effort they'd put into him, let him be killed by some chthonic shit. Or he kills himself in the middle of nowhere. Oh, yeah.

Cyril's sad thoughts were brightened by Geatral. Having completed a full examination, she gave her verdict. With the exception of the damaged Heart Energy Node, Cyril is practically healthy. Therefore, she allows him to start training again, but only at the level of the simplest practices. No serious exertion. Only the simplest practices to restore his magical form. Because the dynamics of his recovery, given the severity of the injury, are excellent, and she's not going to let him ruin it. Cyril, almost jumping from this news, immediately swore to the healer that he would strictly follow all her requirements and prescriptions. Diantrel confirmed the same. The healer was satisfied with this, and immediately shocked the young man by saying he no longer needed a magic chair. On the contrary, it was desirable to get as much physical activity as possible, in particular, walking would be good for him.

That was a shame. Cyril liked the chair very much. He even thought about making himself a full-fledged flying throne someday, when he was stronger. Eh, dreamy dreams. But in any case, he was in a great mood, and his hands were itching to start learning magic again! And also, to finally invest the stat points he had received for acquiring Diantrel as his first companion. Two whole points! His hands were itching to activate them in order to increase his characteristics! But every time Cyril was stopped by the fear of the healer and possible consequences. The mentor had long ago distributed her points, having become noticeably stronger.

She put them all into Source, bringing its value to 13. She decided not to spread them thinly over the three main characteristics of a mage, but put them all into one. Thus, she increased this characteristic almost one and a half times. It was quite an acceptable option, which increased the volume and speed of restoration of the mentor's reserve noticeably. Literally. In magical vision, if Diantrel did not use disguise, she began to literally shine. She was already glowing very brightly, but now the glow of her subtle bodies became even more powerful, and with the ‘Source of Magic’ property she had acquired, she literally reeked of magic. Especially up close. Cyrill could literally feel the energy emanating from Diantrel. A very pleasant energy. It was different from the energies of Geatral, which were perceived by the young man as the warmth of the spring sun, caressing and warming. Diantrel's magic was more like a fresh breeze blowing around you on a sweltering day. Cyril informed his mentor about it when she invested the last of the four stat points. That caused Diantrel to look visibly surprised. After questioning Cyril in detail, she interrupted that day's lecture, which had barely begun, and summoned Mirael and Geatral. After that, the three elven sorceresses gave Cyril another inspection.

Because it turned out that no one else had felt anything like that in Diantrel's presence. Yes, everyone noticed the increase of her magic reserve. It was impossible not to notice it. But no one noticed any ‘winding magic’ from Cyril's mentor. And she would not spend her reserve in such a way. After extensive investigations, it turned out that the reason for this anomaly was the combination of the Chosen One's Mark I, the Source of Magic, and the connection between the Chosen One and the Companion. When Diantrel was near Cyril with a full reserve, even without doing anything, just by the mere fact of her presence, she fuelled him, speeding up his recovery. The Elder Enchantress was immediately eager to investigate this phenomenon. Diantrel supported her, and only Geatral kept them from starting full-fledged experiments with Cyril, literally growling at both colleagues in the magical craft.

As a result, the healer allowed him to perform one single experiment, which she considered safe. Cyril very carefully saved a part of his reserve, about a third of it, into the storage ring she had brought him. Mirael then measured the rate of recovery of his powers without the presence of Diantrel, who had been sent away. Then the mentor returned, and they sat down opposite each other and simply held hands. Not doing anything else. Just sitting and holding each other's hands. But as soon as Cyril touched Diantrel, he immediately felt that he was absorbing the energy coming from her. The feeling of fresh wind on a sweltering summer day became physical. And the speed of reserve recovery increased by a quarter. His mentor didn't transfer her strength to him, didn't spend her reserve, but stayed by his side and held his hands. The scientific excitement that flared in the eyes of the Elder Enchantress at that moment made Cyril uncomfortable.

But Geatral intervened. The healer put a wall between her and Cyril, saying that he was actually badly injured and needed to rest! In the end, the Elder Enchantress begged her to allow one more single experience. Namely, that Cyril and Diantrel make a merge. Nothing more. Honestly. In the end, the healer gave the go-ahead, but only for that, and nothing else. But Cyril, at the first second of hearing Mirael's request, was a little dumbfounded, and then quite nervous. Because before that he had only merged with Gata and Armina. In bed, doing known things. And anyway, as he had learnt, among the gifted, merging subtle bodies into one energy circuit was considered... let's just say it was almost semi-intimate. And often without the semi.

He tried not to show it, but asked Diantrel politely if she minded. His mentor calmly replied that she did not mind, and they, under the close supervision of Mirael and Geatral, still sitting at the table and holding each other's hands, carefully began the merger. Based on his experience with Gatha and Armina, Cyril carefully reached forwards, tuning in to Diantrel's subtle body. And almost immediately a stream of fresh wind rushed at him, overwhelming him from all sides! His mentor's energy flooded him in a split second, filling him to the brim! It felt incredibly natural, no rejection, just the pleasant coolness of a fresh breeze on a sweltering summer day....

Cyril woke up lying on the medical bed, the healing amulet humming on his chest, pressed in the palm of Geatral's hand, and his poor heart pounding frantically, receiving an icy needle with each beat. The healer's green eyes were burning with fire, and her expression did not bode well for the patient or for Mirael and Diantrel, who were standing nearby. When she saw that Kirill had regained consciousness, Geatral icily told them that until he was fully recovered, she strictly forbade any further experiments. This was the first and final warning. The two elven women uncomplainingly agreed, and Cyril enquired as to what had happened in the first place. The answer was unexpected.

It turned out that his fusion with Diantrel was unexpectedly easy and quick. The mentor herself had no time to realise it before she felt that their subtle bodies had merged into one. Moreover, their mutual compatibility was much higher than it had been before! This had been tested separately when they had approved Diantrel's candidacy for Cyril's mentor. At that time it was a little more than sixty per cent, if we use the usual Earth terms. Now it was a little over eighty! As a result, the merger was incredibly easy and very fast, but it led to the fact that the mentor's energy literally overflowed Cyril's subtle bodies in a matter of seconds. Including the long-suffering Heart Energy Node, not ready for such loads. This almost led to its repeated failure, if Geatral had not taken action in time, urgently breaking their fusion and draining the excess energy from Cyril's subtle bodies.

After that incident, Cyril hadn't even stuttered about allowing him to put in the characterisation points, but after all, he was feeling better now... NO! Not until he's fully recovered! That was Geatral's categorical answer, and Cyril didn't dare to argue with her. Well, we'll be content with the fact that he was allowed to return to basic practices! Finally, he almost ran to the classroom with his mentor. Well, not running, but rather walking fast, but in his heart he was literally jumping up and down. In the study Diantrel solemnly handed him his magic wand, storage rings, tiara, as well as a new protective amulet instead of the one lost during the attack of Master. After that, they started a set of simple exercises, like the ones Cyril had done in his first classes. Simple weavings and manipulations with objects that required almost no effort and strength from him. But God, how great it was to create magic again! To create even the simplest of weavings again!

When Cyril lifted five balls into the air and made them spin above his head, he almost wept. This is probably how a person who has been in a cast for a long time, unable to walk properly, feels. His mentor, apparently, understood his condition perfectly well, so she didn't rush him and didn't push him, giving him time to get used to it again. As a result, the rest of the day was spent doing similar exercises, gradually becoming more difficult. When Cyril completed the last one, which was to create and maintain two magical barriers of different types, Diantrel was more than satisfied with it, stating that she did not see the slightest trace of skill loss. It was a common affliction for the gifted who had suffered severe magical trauma. And in this case, it was not a question of losing the ability to cast magic, but rather of ‘loss of magical form’. If you don't practise, even the simplest of weavings will not be as easy as they used to be. Who would have thought that not only muscles, but also subtle bodies could atrophy?

In his case, nothing like that was even close, which once again convinced Cyril how the cheater the System is! And as if in confirmation of these words, at the very moment when he put the magic wand in the case, he received a message about receiving the sixteenth level. Followed by another one.

Attention!

Assignment received! Increase your connection with companion Diantrel to level two!

Conditions of execution:

Normal: Increase your connection with companion Diantrel to level 2.

Good: Increase your connection level with companion Diantrel within three weeks of receiving it.

Perfect: Increase your connection level with companion Diantrel without notifying anyone that you have received this quest.

Awards:

Normal: One random property or enhancement of an existing one and one additional talent point for the Chosen One and Companion.

Good: One random Elite-level Minor Knowledge and one random Elite-level property to the Chosen One and Companion.

Perfect: one stat point for the Chosen One and Companion for the least developed stat. In case of several equal stats, the distribution will be random. One free elite-level item from the System Store for the Chosen One and Companion to choose from at least four different options. + HIDDEN.

For almost a minute, Cirill read the lines of the assignment he received. Having reached the last point, the young man froze for a few seconds, trying to understand what Store was being mentioned. Then he received another system message.

Attention!

Gained access to the System Auction!

System modifier: "Access to system purchases I" is automatically added to the Player status.

Attention!

The Chosen One of Aurial the Magnificent, Supreme Guardian of the Balance of the Worlds, is given a one-time opportunity to purchase one item from the elite list free of charge to replace the lost original artefact.

Attention!

The Chosen One of Aurial the Magnificent, Supreme Guardian of the Balance of Worlds has been granted an increased initial limit of System Currency for purchases at the System Auction.

For almost a minute Cyril was in a ‘’frozen‘’ state, reading the received messages and realising them. He was brought out of his stupor by his mentor, who guessed the reason for his student's condition:

"Cirial, have you taken the next step?"

"Huh? Yes, and not only that! I was also given access to the System Auction!"

Diantrel raised her eyebrows in surprise and looked at Cyril perplexed:

"What do you mean? What auction?"

"One moment, I'm still figuring it out... Well, well, well... Wow, this is a real online store! Holy shit... Wow..."

"Cirial. Please explain what happened?" his mentor's stern voice made him look away from the countless goods offered by the System.

"I beg your pardon! My patroness has given me access to a real Auction! And she also gave me a bonus..."

It took Cyril a couple of minutes to explain his reward. During this time his mentor's face took on a very strange expression. When he finished speaking, she spoke in a calm but somewhat slow voice:

"This was quite unexpected... I need to report to the Elder Enchantress and the Queen. May I ask you, honorable Crial, to refrain from making any purchases yet?"

"Sure, sure, I'll check what they offer here for now..."

Having sat down at a free table, while Diantrel was communicating with her superiors with the help of the amulet, Cyril began to study the choice of goods at the Auction. And there was a choice there - my honour! There was, it seemed, literally everything. EVERYTHING! Clothes, weapons, tools, materials for alchemy and artefacting, ready-made artefacts and potions, even food! Food, CARL! From the separate section where for absolutely ridiculous money you could buy dishes from the Earth's McDak or KFC, Kirill was almost jammed because of the fact that his hand reached for the button. He wanted home-made, incredibly tasty, albeit very unhealthy food. It was saved by the fact that there were much more valuable goods here. However, there were not many valuable goods for him.

Turning to the System Help, Cyril quickly realised that the System Auction sections were divided by quality. Right now, he was only granted full access to the goods of... let's just say consumer goods. To the goods of the medium-price segment he has limited access in terms of assortment. And to the elite level, he has no access at all. There is only an opportunity to choose one of a small list as a reward from the patroness (glory to you, glory to you O Magnificent One!) If we believe the same System Help, then as Cyril's levels increase and this system property is pumped up, the level of access and assortment will increase. But it wasn't all that simple. Starting at a certain level, just browsing the options of the most elite items will spend auction currency and will be limited in time. But still, it's freakin' awesome!

Looking at the goods on offer, Cyril was literally biting his lips and elbows, as he wanted to buy so many different things! But to be fair, he didn't need most of them. Because why would he need magical consumables for novice students? It would be a great help to an ordinary gifted local, but elves provide him with everything. The other thing is the elite goods that Aurial offered him as compensation for the fuck-up... his original artefact stolen by a vile and treacherous creature... yes, that's right! So, the compensation offered by Aurial, (thank you Guardian, thank you dear, thank you for not forgetting about your Chosen One!), was extremely good!

Cyril was offered five options. And he could hardly refrain from choosing the first one right away. The first option was a set of three medium-sized vials, with bright azure-ruby liquids, which, like oil and water, did not mix, although they continuously flowed into each other. ‘Elixir of Restoration’ was completely true to its name. When drunk, it healed almost any kind of injury to the physical and, !tadam! THE SUBTLE BODY. Instantly. And not only wounds, but also the consequences of negative influences too, both physical and magical. That is! Some oblique, crooked, lame and hunchbacked cripple with hepatitis, syphilis, HIV and terminal stage of rectal cancer, also cursed, smoothed and hexed for eternal diarrhoea, would almost instantly turn... No, not into an incarnation of Apollo, with a perfect physical and subtle body, but into a quite ordinary and healthy man. The elixir did not practically improve the condition of the person who drank it, it only restored him to his natural standard, good state, no matter how lousy it was at the moment of taking it.

Moreover, the elixir eliminated almost all extraneous effects, such as suggestion, altered logical chains or false images. In short, all those tricks that are so fond of all those brainiacs. But, and this was a bit disappointing, it did not apply to lost or stolen memories, which was a bit of a shame. That is, he could cure sclerosis, but he couldn't recover stolen memories. But still, it was a natural absolute mana and healing potion in one bottle! Cyril refrained from buying it immediately with great difficulty. In the first hours after coming to his senses, if someone had offered him such a thing, he would not have been able to resist. But now... Now, when he was already on the right path to full recovery.... In principle, he could also buy it, and just not drink it, and leave it for later, the thing is archipotent. But how difficult it would be to resist.... And the other options are also good!

The second elite item offered was a small and, to put it bluntly, unsightly grey stone. But it was called the Cornerstone of the Abode. And if you sprinkle it with your blood, then lay it in the foundation of a new or existing building, it will gradually turn it into a natural Domain for the one who laid the stone. The longer the building will exist, the more forces the owner will put into it, the more powerful will be the effect. And if the building will be on the source, and not from simple materials, and built according to all the canons of magical architecture .... Uhhhh!!! In theory, with the support of elves Cyril could get not just a full-fledged magical tower, but a tower where he could not be killed! Multiple speed of reserve replenishment, the most powerful amplification and resonance of any weaves, the highest regeneration up to full restoration of the destroyed body. The main thing is to keep the building standing, even the stone itself became unimportant over time, merging with the walls and foundation.

Having read his description, Cyril involuntarily thought for a moment. Interesting... What if he bought this stone now and, say, put it on the table when the Elder Enchantress and the Queen arrived.... He then asks them what they'll give him for this stone and then spreads his legs demonstratively, what was the English word for it? Manspreading? Cyril involuntarily shuddered at the fantasy of several powerful elven women kneeling in front of him with their tits bare and their mouths open and shoving each other off his cock. The fantasy was too realistic. And arousing. So, fuck it, fuck such thoughts, Kiryusha, or else they will overhear them from you. Shaking his head, Cyrill pushed the vulgar fantasies away, and switched to the next option.

The third elite item offered was oddly named ‘Grey Fox Mask’, and it was a simple ribbon of grey cloth with slits for eyes, which had to be tied on the head. Just like a classic mask of bandits from some westerns or films about gangsters in Chicago. And for such a mask these very gangsters, as well as representatives of special services, did not hesitate to kill and sell anyone and anything. And Cyril strongly suspected that here in Beriadon, too. Especially here, even. And not because this mask gave a good field of distraction, diversion, noise suppression and adaptive mimicry on the level of Randall's monster from the cartoon ‘Monster Corporation’, as well as increased the ‘ Sensitivity’ of the wearer by five, FIVE points at once (provided, however, that their total sum would not exceed the value of twenty)! Not because it gave the wearer magical vision of a very wide spectrum. But because it gave him, at the level of system meta-skills, UNRECOGNISEABILITY. That is, literally, wearing this mask, even if he did not activate all of the above bonuses and has nothing else on him, his mother would not recognise him. Even if she saw that here he is, her son, just put on this mask, standing right in front of her. She just wouldn't be able to perceive it on the level of meta-influence on reality.

And no scanning or identification systems would have worked. Even if the host left a trace, in the form of blood, which would seem to be a mega-trace for a magical search, it wouldn't allow the host to be identified. Finding it, yes, difficult, but possible. Spot the host, yes. But identifying it, no. Moreover, the samples collected beforehand were also becoming useless. Traces of subtle bodies, blood, created weavings - everything became useless the moment the mask was put on. Only the traces and samples obtained after the mask was put on could be used.

It seemed like an incredibly cool artefact! But there was one BUT! And as you know, anything said before the word ‘but’ is a total... ahem. It's known what. Once the mask was on, it could not be removed without consequences for at least ten years. It could be removed from the wearer's corpse at any time. As long as the mask is on, no one can recognise the wearer for who he is. Even if he says that I am such-and-such a person, bring any evidence, arguments - everything will be useless. At the level of the same meta-actions, people around him will not be able to recognise the wearer at all. In theory, if you think about it, well, it's not so bad, especially if you want to start your life from scratch. Create a new identity. Except that the ‘Unrecognisable’ effect was renewed every fortnight. That is. Every fortnight, you ceased to exist for those who recognised you under your new identity. You could unmask early, but there was a BUT! The price was the memory of yourself and your past. And the more time left until the safe ten years, the more memory was lost. Up to the point that he could completely forget who he was and where he came from. Of all the replacement artefacts offered to Cyril, this one was, perhaps, due to its meta-component, the most powerful. And the only one that Kirill was absolutely not going to take.
T.N. anything said before the word ‘but’ is a total - there's a play on words here with total bullshit. Also a reference to: "If you hear the word BUT, you can forget everything said before."

The fourth option was a blank canvas in a gilded wooden frame, a metre wide by two meters high. And it was called Portrait _______. And it was an advanced version of the Dorian Gray portrait. According to the description, it was similar to the doll that the fucking Master had nearly killed Cyril with. Yes, there were differences, but more of a technical nature. The doll had to be created for a specific object to achieve maximum effect. You had to choose materials, tune in to the aura, subtle bodies, get blood, and so on. In the case of painting such portraits, the frolicking was a bit different. For example, there had to be, who would have thought, a portrait likeness. Plus, the material of paints, brushes, canvas, and so on. In short, the techniques and methods of creation are different, the result is practically the same. The most powerful source of influence on the chosen object. From the most banal one: if you draw a selected target with tenth-sized tits, she will grow them very soon. To the more radical: if you stab a dagger into the heart of a drawn person, the same wound will instantly appear in reality. But the effects could not only be negative. There was also a whole range of positive effects. And what a lot of them! By depicting the target in a portrait at a certain age, you could make that age a constant for her. After that, aging stopped. The person depicted in the portrait would remain as he or she was depicted. However, destroying the portrait threatened to instantly age the target by the full number of years lived. Or, the portrait could be made to act as a lightning rod. Suffered a fatal blow? Stabbed through the heart with a blade? Take that! They take it out of your chest and there's no wound! But the portrait does!

Of course, it wasn't a cheat code for immortality. The artefact had a limit of durability, but it was a pretty good bid. If Cyril had such a portrait, he could have survived Master's blow much easier or even without any damage. But that was not the main advantage of the portrait! It was the fact that it was a billet! A universal billet! It was not necessary to paint the image of the target on this canvas with a brush from her hair, it was not necessary to add her blood to the colours drop by drop. It was only necessary to write the name, the real name, it was separately indicated. After that, his image appeared on the canvas in the most neutral form. And further - it was enough to pour your reserve into the portrait to change the image at will. And the more reserve you put in, the cooler effects are available! The ability to survive the beheading would cost more than the increase of the same tits. It was literally an analogue of Master's dolls, but made for fools! Even an apprentice who had mastered his gift could use it!

And speaking of a gift! Digging into the description, Cyril discovered that with the help of this portrait it was possible to turn even a non-gifted human or elf into a gifted one. And the one who already had a gift could be very noticeably strengthened, increasing his characteristics. It was a thing of great potential, but Cyril felt a chill run down his spine at the mere sight of it. It gave too much power over the person it depicted. Almost absolute... No, no, no, he would not take such a thing. It would be better to give someone a Cornerstone as a gift. Because fuck it! He's had enough of that shit that almost killed him. Although. Okay, don't think smut, don't think about the nude portrait of the mentor.... Wait, a group portrait could be... Okay, stop, stop, stop, stop! Don't look at the reference, I don't want to know! Okay, what else is there? Oh!

The last of the proposed options, which literally made Cyril drool, was “Strange Cloak”. It was called Strange Cloak. And it looked like a gorgeous cape made of bright red fabric. It was, in fact, an awesome artifact, the level of a full-fledged magister of magic for sure! First of all, it was protective. It created a field around the owner, protecting him from magical attacks, both direct and indirect. The field also partially absorbed hostile magic, which the cloak refined and, if desired, transferred to the owner. Or stored it, if it wasn't needed right now. It had more volume than both of Cyril's rings combined! In addition, the cloak could change its shape at will, being a universal garment. Mantle, shirt, toga, camisole, vest - anything but red colors.

And besides the cosmetic ones, there were much more practical changes to the shape! As an option, the cloak could turn into a pair of wings, like Count Dracula's in a couple of films or cartoons that Cyril watched on the Earth. Full-fledged wings that could allow the wearer to fly! Fly, Carl! Judging from the description, the flight mode consumed the reserve very quickly, but it was possible to accumulate a lot of it in the cloak! Also, the cloak could be used as a physical weapon. The edge of the same wings, with a little bit of modification, could be used to cut no worse than any other blade! Or, having rolled it into a tube and lengthened it, to make a lunge like a spear. Or simply strangle an enemy with it! And one could, wrapped in a cloak, turn it into armour, not inferior in strength to enchanted armour, against which the same blades would break, or at least become dull.

Yes, all these manipulations, modes, shape changes and so on used up the reserve of both the owner and the cloak, but the volume of the cloak was huge! And having filled it up completely, Cyril estimated that it would be possible to fly quite well! Not a round-the-world trip, but to fly... say, Moscow, from end to end, should be possible. And the cherry on the cake is the cloak's invisibility mode! The cloak could cloak, too, not as well as the Grey Fox Mask, but it could create a pretty good field of invisibility or adaptive mimicry.

Of all the artifacts offered to Cyrill, he liked this one the best. First of all, protection. Secondly, an additional source of reserve. Thirdly, though no. It was quite possible to put it first, the ability to fly! Fly, Carl! He was almost fixed on it, and almost confirmed the choice, when he remembered the first assignment he had received. To raise the level of connection with Diantrel to the second. As soon as Cyrill recovered from the wound, he studied the System Help on how to increase the level of connection with his Companion. There were plenty of options, but all of them, strangely enough, boiled down to a simple principle: you need to improve your relationship with them. To make him or her really become a Companion for the Chosen One.

This was also due to the specifics of the connection, in his case, ‘mentor-student’. If, for example, he and Diantrel had a ‘lovers’ or ‘master-consort’ type of relationship (yes, they were also mentioned in the reference), the connection could be increased through bed. Intimacy had a way of bringing those who entered into it closer together. Even his existing mentor-student connection could be increased in such a way. But for some reason Cyril had a strong belief that if he offered to fuck Diantrel for the sake of increasing the level of communication and opening full access to the System.... Yeah... Although, for some reason, he felt that she might agree, but only her attitude to him after that would be.... No, we'll go the other way, and leave that sort of thing to the fucking brainiacs!

There was no conditional scale of progress (or rather, as Cyril suspected, it had to be bought separately), but he intuitively felt that at the moment, his connection with Diantrel was somewhere halfway between the first and second level. And it had been there since the moment he'd acquired the connection, and it hadn't increased much. Except for a little bit. It was logical, in principle, since the moment of awakening, Cyril had not done anything that could change their relationship. If he were a classic Hero-Isekai, they could have gone on some mission together, a la ‘Kill the Demon King, save the world.’ But for some reason Cyril was sure that if he suggested to his mentor that they should go to the Wildlands, she would at best send him to Geatral for compulsory treatment. That meant he had to find another way to raise himself in the mentor's eyes in no more than three weeks, because the rewards promised for perfect completion of the task were very tempting! Man, he screwed up so badly with the change in her appearance and that pubic tattoo, damn it! Perhaps the level of connection with Diantrel would be higher too!

Okay, enough wailing, we need to think of a solution. How do I impress Deantrelle? Give her a rock or a frame for the portrait? No, she'll appreciate the first one, and the second one too, but... No, no, that would be too obvious, and it smacks of blatant selfishness. In the sense, if he gives such gifts to Diantrel alone, the other elves might misinterpret it. And it's just suspicious, why the gifts? Are you trying to grease the wheels, honourable Cirial? Suspicious. No, we have to be more subtle than that! But elixirs. Yes... That could play! Yes, definitely. It's just a matter of getting it right. Yes, that's right! The more Cyril thought about this topic, the more a plan of further actions was forming in his head...

By the time the Elder Enchantress and the Queen arrived in their classroom, the young man had made a firm and final decision. The only thing left to do was to implement it nicely.

“Greetings, honorable Cirial,” the high-ranking guests greeted.

Despite the already quite late hour, both elves looked flawlessly gorgeous in their dresses.

"Diantrel informed us that you received some special reward for reaching the sixteenth step?"

"That's right," Cyril nodded, standing up from the table and bowing to them according to the rules of elven etiquette, "my patroness has given me access to the System Auction, where you can buy all sorts of things with System currency."

The guests exchanged glances, then Mirael asked politely:

"May we know what exactly... is being sold at this Auction?"

"And what do you mean by this System Currency?" Sivila clarified.

"They sell, it seems to me, everything! No, really everything, even things from my home world! Reagents, weapons, clothes, artifacts, materials, books, scrolls - the choice is gigantic. However, now I have access to, let's say, the cheapest and simplest goods. For more expensive ones I need a higher level and to increase specialized meta-skill. As for the currency... Okay, let me get this straight... Yeah, in general, I will receive a small amount of currency every day, which will be added to my Status. Also, it will be added for gaining new levels, I mean steps, you know, and also as a reward for completing quests and... quote: doing “acts,” “deeds” and “feats". That's it."

As Cyril explained a little confusingly about the bonus he had received from his patroness (thank you, Balancing, hail, hail, hail!), the faces of the Queen and the Elder Enchantress took on more and more surprised and wary expressions. When the young man finished his speech, they looked at each other, and Sivila asked politely:

"This is truly quite unexpected news, honorable Cirial. May I ask you to demonstrate this... Auction in action?"

"Can you buy anything on it?" Mirael supported her, looking at Cyril with a kind of morbid interest.

"Yes, of course. Just a moment... Please."

Cyril was expecting such a request, so he looked for a mid-priced item in advance. It was not the cheapest purchase, but not the most expensive either, and most importantly, it was quite useful and a little symbolic. A mental confirmation, and a bright red rose with a large flower on a long stem appeared in Cyril's hand. Its petals seemed to be covered with glitter, sparkling in the light of the magical lamps of the classroom. As soon as it appeared in Cyril's hand, the whole room was immediately filled with a very pleasant, slightly sweet scent.

The faces of the elves were pleasant to look at. No, they looked at the rose that appeared out of nowhere in Cyril's hand, which, of course, was not of the most usual kind, without opening their mouths, because they had a lot of experience in keeping a face! But in the eyes of each of them there was not even astonishment, but rather a reflection of the fact that the familiar and understandable world had just cracked a little. The Eldest Enchantress was the first to come to her senses. She held out her hand and spoke in a slow voice:

"Incredible... Honorable Cirial, may I examine it?"

"Of course!"

When he handed the rose to Mirael, the young man watched with interest as she twirled it in her hand and looked at it from all sides. Then the rose was surrounded by a barely perceptible flicker, in which Cyril recognised the analysing weave, and Mirael's eyes lit up with magical fire, as did her tiara. It lasted more than a minute, at the end of which she enclosed the rose in a translucent sphere-barrier, where it hovered:

"Amazing. It is a real rose, of the Scarlet Heart kind, grown in the ideal conditions for it, next to a suitable source of natural magic. But I'm willing to stake my reputation on the fact that until the moment it appeared in Cirialle's hand, it didn't exist! It has no past, no trace of contact with anything, nothing! It simply didn't exist."

"That is certainly quite amazing," Sivila interrupted the engrossed Elder Enchantress, "but I think it is more important to understand what and how much Cirial can acquire in this way."

Turning to the young man, the Queen looked at him carefully with her emerald eyes and asked:

"Tell me, is there any way you can provide us with a list, or otherwise share information from this... Auction?"

"Not you specifically, I don't think so, but I can probably give Diantrell a link... I mean, give her the information. Just give me a minute. Okay. Yeah, I can give her the information, but I can't give her access yet. I'm gonna have to upload each section separately. And there's a lot of them. I'll send you the one where I bought the rose."

Closing her eyes, the previously silent mentor froze for a moment, and then nodded:

"I see the lines of the Tablet... So... Amazing... Everything is as Cirial says, there is a huge choice here..."

"I see. May I ask you, Cirial, in that case, to pass on information about as many sections of this Auction as possible to your mentor so that we can study them?"

"Of course... Although, wait a minute! So as not to do double work... Done."

Received system modifier "Access to system purchases II" Changes to the Player's Status will be added automatically.

"What are you talking about?" the elves did not understand.

"I spent my gift for level sixteen to improve access to this auction, it should increase... Yes, it does, the assortment of average items has become much larger!"

The elves quickly exchanged glances, after which the Queen bowed her head slightly and said in a respectful voice:

"Thank you, Cirial, that was very generous of you."

Cyrill nodded sheepishly in response and, without any dissembling, answered honestly:

"No need for thanks, venerable Sivila. It is the least I can do to thank the Forest for all the support and care it has given me."

"It's nice to hear such words, honorable Cirial."

The invisible but quite tangible scale of connection with the mentor has shifted slightly towards the second level. Yes! So, the path is correct, we continue moving!

"Honourable Sivila, I didn't dare to bother you earlier, but now that the moment has come, may I ask how things are going with the search for Master? Is there any news?"

The elves' faces immediately darkened a little, and the Queen shook her head sadly:

"Unfortunately, there are no results so far. We can't even find out if he's alive or dead. Even getting to the site of the battle is not yet possible without the use of enormous forces. The appearance of that... monster from the bowels of the Earth has disturbed all the wildlife of the area to such an extent that it has gone mad and has not yet calmed down."

"I see," Cyril nodded. "Mentor told me about the end of the chase in the Underworld, and showed me the records of the battle. She also told me that Forest lost almost two dozen fighters and scouts. My deepest condolences."

Once again carefully looking into Cyrill’s eyes, Sivila nodded slightly to him:

Thank you for those kind words, Cirial. To our great sorrow, the Forest has indeed lost nearly twenty of its children irrevocably, and nearly fifteen hundred more are still in the Healer's Wards. Some of them have fared little better than you have, but unfortunately they do not have the Tablet, which could, if not heal them, alleviate their wounds in an instant.

So, the conversation has turned exactly where it needed to go! Let's work! With a gloomy but determined face, Cyrill said in a firm voice:

"They may not have it, but I do! As well as the patronage of the Guardian of Balance. I can't bring back the dead, but I can help the wounded."

A mental press of a non-existent button. Confirmation. A moment, and on the table in front of Kirillo, before the eyes of the elves who had not yet had time to understand anything, three bottles of azure-ruby liquids appeared. Making a gesture, the young man said in the same firm voice:

"Please, you can use them to heal the most seriously wounded warriors."

Aren't I good? Okay, keep your face, keep your face! Relax, Cyril, you're on the right track, now you need to finish everything nicely! Keep your face! It's easier to say than to do, because now all three elven women were naturally stunned and did not even try to hide it, looking with all their eyes at the vials standing in front of Cyril. Diantrel had a particularly stunned look on her face, as she was able to see and read the description of the “Elixirs of Restoration” with her limited System. However, it didn't last long, to give the elven women credit, they came to their senses very quickly. Raising her eyes to Cyril, Sivila asked slowly and a little tensely:

"Honorable Cirial, may I ask how much this... purchase cost you?"

"Nothing, honourable Sivila."

Okay, slow down, you're definitely going to break their brains! Seeing how all three elves had literally freez, Cyrill hurried to explain:

"When I reached level sixteen, my patroness not only gave me access to this Auction, but also gave me a gift, allowing me to choose from several elite items. In exchange for the artefact that damn Master had stolen from me."

The picture of the already shaken world was restored a little in the elf's mind. Just a little.

"Wel... Please, don't take this as impertinence, but may I ask what else you were offered as a reward, venerable Cirial?"

"There was also a really magnificent cloak artifact and a canvas blank..."

It took a few minutes to describe the two proposed artifacts. Cyril decided not to mention the Mask and the Stone. In the first case, rather, in order not to stress the unfortunate elves even more by the fact of existence of an artifact with such a powerful meta-effect, and in the second case, out of a sense of self-preservation. Because he had a suspicion that if the elves knew about the Stone offered to him, the Game of Thrones might start in the palace. Or rather, the Game of Stones, because there would be many who would like to get such a gift for themselves. But there's only one stone. And Cyril is alone. So it's better not to disturb the poor elves and especially the elven women. Just in case.

When Cyril finished describing the compensation offered to him, there was silence in the study room. The elves exchanged long glances again, and then Sivila, looking him in the eyes with an extremely serious face, said in the same slow voice:

"Honourable Cirial, on behalf of myself, and the entire Forest, I offer you a great deal of gratitude, for such an incredible and unthinkably generous gift on your part."

Having made the most calm and dignified expression on his face, Cyrill nodded and said in response:

"It's a small price to pay for all you've done for me. After all, if it weren't for the Forest, my fate would have been very sad."

Attention!

Attention!

Attention!

The system messages about the successfully completed task coincided with a loud sigh from Diantrel, who staggered and almost fell to the floor, grabbing the edge of the table at the last moment. The Elder Enchantress and the Queen stirred, and Cyril rushed to his mentor's side as well, but mentally he almost squealed with delight. Aren't I fucking awesome?! To fulfill a personal quest from the goddess-patroness, designed for three weeks, in just one day! What a day, in a couple of hours! And do it PERFECTLY! This is not some ancient monster to take down, risking his life in battle and overcoming, so every isekai can! But to do it like that - it's a skill!

* * *

"It's amazing..."

Turning sideways in front of the mirror, Luaval took stock of the changes. There was no trace of the severe burns he had received. The hair burned to zero was also grown, even longer than before the unfortunate battle, reaching the middle of his shoulder blades. After shrugging his shoulders and doing a couple of gymnastic exercises, the dark elf made sure there was not even the slightest hint of pain from the disappeared wounds. With an extremely serious face, he turned to the queen, sitting in the guest chair of his private quarters and office. Her dress was down and her breasts were bare. She was nursing a noticeably grown-up Diarwal wrapped in diapers. At the same time, Sivila was reading another letter, of which there was a stack on a small table beside her.

"And this boy received this elixir... literally out of nothing?"

“Absolutely right,” nodded the queen, without being distracted from feeding the toddler, who remained just as insatiable, and reading the current correspondence.

"And by the way, it wasn't a full dose, but about a fifth of the original composition, diluted with other healing potions. You should have seen Geatral's face when we delivered her these three elixirs."

“I can imagine it,” Luaval nodded seriously, turning his other side to the mirror again and assessing his appearance.

The Patriarch of the House of Travil was unclothed, his muscular, well-trained body completely naked. Several dozen bandages soaked in healing ointments and a crumpled white cloth shirt lay on the floor beside him. A whole set of protective amulets of excellent quality, a hefty dose of stimulating alchemy, and the skill of an honoured First Hunter were barely enough to survive. On the fateful day, Luaval, along with several operatives from Twilight's team, got very close to the ruins where Master sat. It had nearly cost him his life when the damned Terror of Diyarten had come out, breaking through the wall separating the two underground halls.

The dark elf was caught on the very edge, but even that was enough for him, and it was a miracle his left arm survived. Those who were swallowed whole by the swirling darkness were not saved. All were devoured by it or burned by the fires of the bowels. Including the operatives from Twilight's squad who had fallen just a little behind him. All because that idiot Filrandin didn't listen to him! Fucking commander, veteran of the Underworld Corps, for fuck's sake! As soon as he heard the first thunder, Luaval knew he had to run for his life! And shouted it over the internal network for closed communication between the corps members and the Secret Guard agents. But no, we are the great warriors of the Underworld, damn you! There were enough warriors in Diyartan, as well as among those who came to gut its devastated ruins, but something didn't help them! Yes, no one had seriously counted on the appearance of this cursed creature, the city was considered securely sealed. But he warned of the possibility! He warned of the danger of it! And when the first blow came, he knew at once WHAT was rising from the depths! The only thing that saved them all was that the Sun-Face was eager to capture Master, and had not spared to send the first of his Heralds in the guise of a mortal.

Gritting his teeth, Luaval stifled his rage with an effort of will. Of course, it was not Filrandin's fault alone. When there is no unified command, there is always trouble. And there couldn't be a unified command because there were too many different forces on Master's trail. And there was practically no trust between them. Everyone thought only good things about each other, and constantly expected some kind of meanness or nastiness. And quite justifiably, it must be admitted. At least Luaval's kin did not disappoint. Even during the rapid retreat to the Underground Corps, and then, during the joint escape to the exit of the collapsing underground hall, he managed to notice a couple of interesting moments.

For example, the daughter of the Matriarch of the Great House of Shaalas, who had every chance to save herself, thanks to her webbing ropes, suddenly stumbled and fell, getting a kick in the leg from some unknown source and got up in time. Or the Head of the House of Bloodfolen's Hunter Squad nearly killed the red-haired son of the Blood Spider. Who, in turn, nearly stabbed her and another associate to death. He decided to improve his chances of salvation by using the power of another's life. Quite expected of practitioners of the School of Blood Magic. In the end, both the Senior, the wizard, and most of their squad were devoured by the Terror of Diyarten. And that's just what Luaval managed to spot while saving his life. The kin will probably never change. And speaking of them.

Turning back to Sivila, who continued to feed Diarval and read the letters, he said:

"I heard you brought something for me?"

Looking up at him, the queen nodded affirmatively and handed him a small crystal with images imprinted in it:

That's right. Just as you asked. Most recently, a noble member of the upper echelons of a full-fledged Great House. It was delivered just this morning.

With a satisfied grin, Luaval took the crystal and scrutinized it for a few minutes. He liked what he saw, clapped his hands loudly and grinned wickedly:

"A whole Elder Huntress! Oh, that'll be great!"

"She's waiting for you in the basement. In a special part of it. Enjoy."

"Would you like to join me?"

The queen sighed heavily and shook her head:

"Thank you for such a generous offer, but I have absolutely no free time, and there is no end of work."

Nodding understandingly, the dark elf picked up a black silk robe from the back of his chair and threw it on, casually wrapping it around himself.

"Well, in that case, I won’t distract you from your concerns for the good of the Forest."

Already at the door, Luaval stopped suddenly and, turning to Sivila, asked in a serious voice:

"Was it hard to get a portion for me?"

Without looking up from reading the next letter, the queen said in an even voice:

"Not easy. Plenty of people wanted it when these elixirs became known, but there were only three. One, moreover, was immediately sent to the reserve fund."

"Sivila?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you."

For a moment, a faint smile appeared on the queen's face:

"You know how much I appreciate you, Luaval."

The dark elf smiled back and left his private quarters, leaving Sivila to finish feeding his son. One of the younger maids met him at the door. She was momentarily taken aback at the sight of her lord, who had just been in bandages and could hardly move, but was now fully recovered. But, to her credit, she almost immediately regained her senses and immediately performed a flawless and elegant curtsy. Good girl, very smart.

"When Her Majesty has finished feeding Diarval, take him to the nursery."

"Of course, my Lord."

"Where is my wife now?"

"In the bath with Ludana, sir. They had already finished their morning ablutions, and now proceeded to attend to Mistress Sierra's beauty."

With a satisfied nod, the dark elf headed downstairs, pondering his next steps as he went. A Senior Catcher was a wonderful thing! And of a Great House, not an ordinary one! She'd be perfect for him! She'd be a pleasure to train. He had been annoyed by her colleagues, whose whims and desires he had to bear with clenched teeth. But it's one thing when behind your back there is a whole galaxy of the same arrogant bitches in particular, and the whole hierarchy of the dark elf society in general. In such a situation, it's very easy to look down on everyone and make the disliked ones crawl at your feet, licking for forgiveness. But without that support, only relying on your own strength.... Oh, this is gonna be fun! The plan to tame and train the new concubine was becoming clearer and clearer in Luaval's mind. Yes, it would be quite fun. But first, we must fulfill our conjugal duty!

He walked to the bathing room in his underground mansion, which was combined with the Chambers of Beauty, and swung the doors open. As the maid had said, Sierra had already finished her morning ablutions, and was now sitting in front of the dressing table, leaning back in her special chair. She wore only a silk robe as thin as Luaval's, hiding almost nothing. The second of the maids, the older one, stood behind the dark elf, gently brushing her hair with a long comb. At the sight of a fully healthy Luaval they were momentarily taken aback. Ludana froze with the comb in her hands, and Sierra jumped to her feet, eyes wide and mouth open. Satisfied with the effect of his sudden appearance, the dark elf strode toward them with a confident stride. With a nod to the maid, who nodded and bowed, Luaval said:

"You are free to go, if we need you, we will let you know."

The maid, who understood perfectly, hurried away, leaving the owners alone. As soon as the door closed behind her, Luaval threw off his robe with a single movement of his shoulders and drew his wife to him. Clutching her in his arms, he kissed Sierra demandingly, penetrating her mouth with his tongue. The dark elf willingly responded to his caress, hugging him tightly. For almost a minute the dark elf pressed her against him, caressing her breasts and her firm buttocks with his hands, feeling the desire growing more and more. But when he finally broke the kiss and tried to guide Sierra toward the massage table, she suddenly put both hands on his chest and tried to pull away:

"Wait! Wait!"

"What is it?" the dark elf grumbled discontentedly, burning with impatience.

Sierra frowned and looked at Luaval from head to toe. She looked at him with a frown, her eyes ruby and shocked. She looked her husband over from head to toe, then looked up at him with ruby eyes and asked in shock:

"How?"

"What how?"

"What did she heal you with? I was changing your bandages this morning, and the healers said you wouldn't heal for a couple of months! And now there's not a mark on you, not a single scar. Even your hair."

Grinning, Luaval drew his spouse to him again and picked her up in his arms, heading toward the massage table:

"As you can see, the Queen would spare nothing for me."

Sierra didn't have time to say or ask anything else, interrupted by another kiss. Luaval laid her back on the massage table and pulled her under her knees, spreading her legs, and entered her smoothly. Oh, finally! First he had to wait for the effects of the Master's cursed magic to wear off, then he had to search for her. There was no time or opportunity to enjoy his wife! He moved away from his wife's lips and switched to her breasts, bringing them together and engulfing them with his lips, eliciting a loud moan. It may well be that it wasn't even faked. At the same time he began to move his hips, gradually picking up the pace. Sierra wrapped her legs around him and immediately began to move in time with him, burying her hands in his hair.

The first round didn't last long, thanks to his long celibacy, during which Luaval had longed for a woman's caresses, and he came quickly enough. But he still had plenty of energy and time, so without giving Sierra a moment's respite, he immediately began the second round, beginning by pouring a special massage oil over his wife. It made the dark elf's already perfectly smooth skin even more pleasant to the touch, and a pleasant floral scent was added to the smell of her heated body. After running his palms over his wife's body several times, paying particular attention to her breasts, Luaval climbed onto the table. Sierra, who instantly realised everything, immediately rode him. She made herself comfortable and began to move her hips gently, gradually increasing her pace. Holding her hips with one hand, Luaval used the other to caress her breasts. Squeezing it with the palm of his hand, he made the tense nipple spurt a thin trickle of milk, and the dark elf gave another loud moan and quickened her pace.

After the second round, they moved to the bathing room, where Luaval let Sierra clean himself of sweat and other love fluids. She cleaned the most stained part of his body with special care, using her mouth and lips to do so. Leaning back against the side of the tub, Luaval buried his palm in Sierra's wet hair, guiding her movements and enjoying the skillful work of her tongue. Wow, she was trying hard, even though he hadn't forced her to perform oral on him since she'd agreed to be his first wife and mother. That's what it means to have the right motivation! One would have to really consider kidnapping her sister, or her mother. Not both at once. You have to reward them piecemeal. Fifty years from now, when Diarval is older. He'll have to find a suitable consort. Or a concubine, for starters. Oh, so much worries.

Immersed in these pleasant thoughts, Luaval soon cum a third time. After swallowing every drop of his seed and licking his cock thoroughly again, Sierra snuggled up to him like a cat to its master. Except she didn't purr. She ran her palm across her husband's chest and then moved to his left shoulder and forearm. Her caressing fingers slid over Luaval's trained body, and gradually her face grew more and more serious:

"Not a single trace. You know, I'm afraid to even ask what favors you're doing for her majesty, that first you came back barely alive, and now she's brought in none other than the Lady of the White Tower of the Forest for your treatment."

Luaval chuckled cheerfully and hugged Sierra tighter with his free hand, pressing her close and stroking her back:

It was no big deal. Just had to take part in the pursuit of, at the very least, a full-fledged magister of a dozen different Mental Schools, and in the process of the pursuit encounter the Terror of Diyarten.

Sierra blinked her ruby eyes several times and stared at Luaval in silence for about ten seconds. Then her face took on a wary, incredulous expression, and she asked uncertainly:

"May I hope that what you just said is just a fabrication, intended to show me that I am meddling in something that is none of my business?"

With a serious and calm expression, Luaval held out his hand, and from the pocket of his robe, which had been thrown to the floor, a small amulet in the shape of a metal ball covered with runic insignia. He grasped it and squeezed Sierra's palm so the orb was sandwiched between them. When he activated the simple but reliable amulet, designed to test the sincerity of the speaker, Luaval continued as if nothing had happened:

I forgot to add that this magister of brainwashing, who calls himself Master out of false modesty, is also endowed with the Tablet of the Soul. This is a power that makes the very essence of the mind like a scroll, where you can write various lines of knowledge or pure power for a small fee. He also nearly enslaved Sun-Face, taking advantage of his bond with the daughter of the Heraldess of the Sun and a mortal follower of the Eternal Sun's cause.

There was silence in the bathing room, in which you could hear water dripping from the taps. A few seconds passed like that. And then. Sierra became hysterical, screaming, shrieking and crying. It took over an hour to calm her down and explain everything. At the end she nearly had another tantrum when Luaval confirmed that he had indeed encountered the Terror of Diyartan. The very same one. And yes, he had almost died. And yes, he was the cause of those burns.

If it hadn't been for the amulet, he would have suspected an act, but no, Sierra's hysteria was almost entirely genuine. And, most surprisingly, though she was worried first of all for herself and then for the child, she was also very worried about him. Which, given the circumstances of their married life together, could be considered a huge success. It took some time to calm her down. At the same time, to convince her that in case of his death, he and Sivila had made a vow that the queen would take care of his son and heir, taking him under her guardianship. And as of late, that pact has included her as well. That calmed Sierra a little, used to judging everyone by the standards of the dark elves after all. But the good mood of her husband's recovery was gone.

She wouldn't know how long it would have taken to calm her down, but just at that moment a special communication amulet went off, announcing that one little swallow was hungry and demanding his mother's breast and attention. Sierra immediately ran off to feed her son, while Luaval rinsed and changed his clothes and headed for his office. After taking everything he needed, he moved to the basement of his mansion. A special part of the mansion where the others had no access. As Sivila had said, there, in a separate and spacious cell, awaited his reward for his hard work for the Forest. Once inside, Luaval stopped in the doorway, looking at the prisoner. A dark elfess sat on a clean bed with her legs tucked up. She wore only a plain cloth shirt and a thin metal collar. Short light grey hair, cut in a Catcher's cut. A well-trained body with sculpted muscles. Regular workouts were no stranger to her. As was fighting. The smooth dark skin showed well-sewn various scars, from weapons, fangs, and claws. All this was combined with large breasts, obviously enlarged by good alchemy by a skilful master. Well, it was understandable - status obliged.

When Luaval appeared, she looked up at him. Her face was beautiful and young, yet stern and now with a frankly unkind expression. The bright violet eyes instantly began to assess the entrant. And judging by the way she tensed up, she didn't like what she saw. But she didn't do anything stupid, and remained seated on the recliner. It was obvious that she had collected herself. With a grin, Luaval closed the door. With his back against it, he nodded faintly and said in a mocking voice:

"Well then, I welcome you to my House."

The elven woman's ears twitched faintly at those words, and her eyes flickered with irritation and wariness. It was understandable. How could a male have a House of his own? The captive's voice was cold and calm:

"Who are you?"

"Luaval de Travil, current Patriarch of House Travil," the dark elf bowed his head again, barely noticeably. "And you, Zairal. In the past, Zairal de Shaalas, Elder Hunter, and now simply Zairal."

At these words the prisoner twitched and tensed visibly, and her expression became openly angry. But her voice remained calm, though the temperature of it should have made the water run cold. And there was enough venom in it to kill a savage mummak.

In that case, I believe you've just shown a little too much modesty, Honorable Patriarch, by not adding “Great” to the name of your House. It is known for its strength and power throughout the Underworld, and every city has a hand, or at least a claw or two. But I just can't remember a single word about it or its great Patriarch because of what I've been through."

Luaval smiled slightly and answered in a completely calm and even slightly friendly voice:

"No modesty, House of Travil really isn't in the best of condition right now. As it has been for the last, uh. almost seven hundred years now, thanks to the last Matriarch. So it's no surprise that its name has faded into oblivion. But as of late, I've been working hard to right the wrongs of my predecessor."

Disbelief flashed in the captive's eyes, but then she frowned and concentrated. Her lips moved silently, and then Zairal opened her eyes sharply and spoke slowly:

"Rean na Kharan... You... you are the son of Litsiana?!"

Instead of answering, Luaval silently showed her the back of his right palm, which glowed with the mark of the First Hunter in the City. Zairal had no trouble reading it, and her eyes widened even more. Satisfied with the effect, Luaval said with some amusement:

"Well, I see despite everything you've been through, your memory hasn't suffered."

At the mention of the tragedy that had befallen her, Zairal twitched again, but only with her ears. She looked at Luaval differently and asked in a less cold voice:

"What do you want from me?"

"Straight to the point?? I like it!"

Luaval stepped away from the door and walked toward the prisoner. She instinctively jumped to her feet, taking a defensive stance, but was immediately immobilised by the slave collar. Smiling, the dark elf stepped close to her and, with his hands at his sides, spoke in a cheerful voice:

"Basically, I'm only interested in the children you can give me. Like I said, House of Travil is in bad shape, and it needs to be fixed. Of course, I could, right now..."

Raising his hand, Luaval squeezed Zairal's jaw, forcing her to open her mouth.

"...to get you drunk with the ‘Grace of Gaia,’ to apply a relic prepared and prayed for HER glory....."

Releasing his captive's jaw, he moved his hand lower and squeezed her left breast through the thin fabric of her dress shirt, beginning to frankly grope her.

" ...and then fuck you right here, giving you the first of two children you might have. And to make it less of a hassle, I could add a brand to your forehead, as I know a master of this school and can afford his services. Thereby turning you into a submissive, obedient, and always ready to be used living doll. But..."

At this point, Luaval grabbed Zairal's hardened nipple through the fabric of her shirt with two fingers and squeezed it hard, starting to twist it a little.

"...it would be boring and uninteresting. No excitement. And a real Hunter or Catcher can't live without excitement. Unless, of course, they are real Hunters or Catchers who have earned those high ranks, and not gained them by polishing the slits of those above them. I am not just a Hunter. I was and still am the First Hunter in the City!"

Leaning close to the face of completely immobilized Zairal, who was breathing heavily and her eyes were sparkling, Luaval continued:

I'm not sure about you, given the situation you're in. But I want to find out. Just out of interest and whimsy. So I'm going to give you a choice. A chance to decide your fate.

Leaving Zairal's breasts alone, Luaval drew from his belt pocket a small altar of Damokar in the shape of a round stone ball. Holding it in the palm of his hand, he placed it on top of his captive's palm and awakened it. The hands of both dark elves were pierced by a needle of cold as the Oath Keeper's power bound them, confirming what he had said next:

"Option one. You agree to be my concubine slave for the next three hundred years. Of course, you will live in the luxuries and comforts expected of a slave of the Patriarch himself. No indentured servitude, no dirty labor. I will not brand you or otherwise torment or change your mind. The same goes for your body, I'm more than happy with it as it is. But you will be a slave that I will fuck where, how and when I want. As will whoever I choose to give access to your body. And your clothes will be nothing more than a collar and jewelry. I will take care of the children you bear, you will only have to breastfeed them until they are small, and then they will be mine and mine alone. When those three hundred years are up, I will let you go, not empty-handed, but equipped with everything you need to be a Catcher in the Free Quest. Weapons, armor, amulets, money, anything you want."

After taking a break, Luaval continued:

"Option two. You will go through a full round of Trials, in which you will prove to me that you have earned your place not by polishing the Silk Spider's slit, but by deed...."

At these words, Zairal’s eyes literally sparkled with fire from furious anger:

"If you pass them all, I'll let you go at once, with the best equipment the Forest can afford, and help you get wherever you want. Then we will part, and I will not seek you out, or harm you in any way, unless you wish to do so and seek me out. If you fail one Trial of all, I will let you go, giving you only clothes, weapons, and a bag of food. But I won't pursue you or cause you any other trouble unless you start it first. And if you fail two of the Trials, you'll have the same three centuries as a slave. But no longer the personal slave of the Patriarch of the House, but an ordinary slave of the House. You'll have to work like the rest of the maids, doing whatever you're told to do. And if you disobey or misbehave, you will be punished, depending on the severity of the offense. And of course, I will fuck you where, how and when I want, and you will bear me two sons. Your word?"

When he had restored Zairal's ability to speak, he looked expectantly into her eyes. The captive licked her lips and said in a calm but firm voice:

"Add one point. If I pass the full circle of Trials, then before I leave you will lick me with your long tongue no less than ten times wherever and whenever I want."

Smiling broadly in response, Luaval replied in a satisfied voice:

"I recognize the breed! I'm glad I wasn't mistaken about you."

Coming close to Zairal’s face again, he said with a predatory smile:

"I agree to twenty, if you complete the entire full circle of Trials."

In response, the former Elder Huntress of the Great House Shaalas smiled no less predatory:

"In that case, I suggest we make our pact, on the proper altar of the Oath Keeper."

Author's Note:

43 FB shits. Compared to Avada, it's not even funny.

Plus, I couldn't make a normal time skip, so the next chapter will also be on Kiryusha's behalf, where he gets a text message from Stepan, and only after that from Master.

Well, all the best to the readers, Brinar is off to rest so he can continue writing tomorrow.

P.S. Comrade Da07 brings a great art!

Cirial, an unrealized opportunity:

https://shedevrum.ai/post/c67004ea20cd11ef8812466358d171d6/

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

Переведено на Нотабеноиде
http://notabenoid.org/book/86674/585009

Переводчики: Camrad_RIP