Готовый перевод История Королевы Эльфов / The story of the Elf Queen: 20-2

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As soon as Cyirill used the token and began to imbue the ++Strong One with magic, it immediately began to move, gradually picking up speed. Leaving the clueless Gaiacal to continue casting spells with the generator and stoking the fire, the young man returned to the upper deck. On the way, in response to the cries and questions of ‘What's going on?!’ from the non-combatants, especially the dark elves, who didn't understand anything, he simply replied, ‘FUBAR, that's what's going on!’

And, characteristically, he never lied! Just as Cyril climbed onto the upper deck, thick black smoke burst out of the receding passageway (NOT RECEDING FAST ENOUGH!), from which a crimson light was shining, and inside which flashes of crimson flame could be seen. Or rather, they weren't even clouds, but actual tentacles that purposefully rushed toward the underground inhabitants who hadn't managed to escape. Before the eyes of Cyril and that part of the crew and passengers of the ++“Strong” who were looking back, a pair of unlucky, hefty frog-like amphibians, as soon as they were touched by the tentacles of black smoke, instantly turned to ash, burning in crimson flames in literally a second. Only their smoking skeletons collapsed onto the stone floor of the underground hall, and even those were immediately engulfed by black smoke. The same fate befell a pair of desperately writhing snakes, the size of anacondas. Anacondas from Hollywood horror movies.

This was accompanied not even by a rumble, but by a distinct roar and the thunderous sound of heavy footsteps that shook the earth. At that moment, it seemed that everyone on board the “Strong” shouted the same thing in different languages: “GO!!!”. In response, Udnir barked something incomprehensible, but clearly obscene, trying to squeeze the maximum speed out of his mage tank. Amplifying his voice with a special amulet, he yelled one command after another in his bass voice, the meaning of which Cyril understood only thanks to Diantrel:

"More heat! Gaiakal! It's not a pity to strengthen the flame, spend everything! More heat, more power magic! I weaken the weight as much as possible!"

The meaning of the last phrase became clear when a wave of magic rolled through the mage-tank, saturating the weaves embedded in its hull, lightening the weight of this colossus first by a third, and then, as it were, by more than half. From which the "Strong" immediately sharply increased its speed, moving away more and more quickly from the black smoke filling the main hall, through which the Eastern Underground Path passed. But this technique began to eat up the reserve like crazy, rapidly absorbing the magic that was generated by the source created by the token. And in addition to the weight compensators, energy was also required by the engine, the sagging protective barriers, and the guns. And the generator itself, despite the efforts of Gaiakal, who remained in the engine room, had not yet reached full capacity. Your bitch, damn!!!

Mental command. Confirmation. Yes, bitch, yes!!! Another token charge burns out, recharging the almost depleted source of magic in the main storage crystal. How voracious this dwarven engineering is, how much fuel does one such tank need?!

"Good! Good! Come on, my dear beloved Gayakal, come on! Even more, come on, my dear beloved!"

Udnyr, apparently, took the new burst of energy as a credit to the dwarf who remained in the engine room, allowing him not only to maintain his pace but even to speed up a little. Of course, Cyril had no intention of dissuading him. To be fair, Gayakal really wasn't sitting idly by, having managed to fire up the Strong One's generator, which began to produce more and more magical energy.

But the young man only allowed himself to breathe out when the reflections of the crimson flames and the clouds of black smoke filling the main hall disappeared around the bend in the underground passage. And he wasn't the only one. The moment the side wall of the huge underground hall, which was turning smoothly, hid them from the incomprehensible horror, everyone on the upper deck breathed out at once. For a few seconds, only the growing roar and rumble of the ++“Strong” could be heard. And then it was as if a dam had burst, and dozens of cries in different languages merged into one:

"Go! Faster! What the hell was that!? Warn the city! Speed up!"

"QUIET, DAMN!!!"

Udnir's commanding bass, enhanced by magic, drowned out all other cries, forcing everyone to fall silent.

"Put aside panic and hysteria!!!"

Without taking his eyes off the controls of the ++“Krepky,” he began issuing commands:

"Everyone, take your places! Get ready for battle! The rest of you, stay out of the way! Anyone who panics will be thrown overboard!"

This had the desired effect: the shouting stopped at once, and the crew of the mago-tank rushed to carry out their commander's orders, taking up positions at the firing points. However, Cyrill seriously doubted that if this really was THAT balrog-like monster, it would even notice them. Meanwhile, Udnir continued to issue orders:

"Abnar! Send word to everyone you can! First to Dor-Tarmon! Let everyone be ready to leave quickly!"

"I'll do it!"

"Ditral! Kiral!"

Cyrill did not immediately understand that the commander addressed him and the mentor, having changed their names in the dark dwarven manner.

"Help strengthen protection!"

The young man turned to his mentor, waiting for confirmation, but First spoke again:

"Protection won't save us, don't waste your energy on it! We need to get out of here as quickly as possible! Focus all your efforts on accelerating!"

"Who else could you be? Where did your mother, that wicked wife of yours, come from?" Udnir barked.

"I am the one who has already seen this creature and survived! Do as I say, drive down the tract as fast as you can!"

"Don't teach me how to drive my..."

*Duuuuuuuurrrrrrrrm!*

Another jolt, accompanied by a loud rumble, shook the underground hall through which the Eastern Underground Tract passed, and debris fell from the ceiling again. And this time, according to Cyril's feelings, there was somehow a lot of it!

"Son, dirt, earth, deep pit, slop!!!"

Cyril wasn't sure he understood all of Udnir's words through Diantrel, but he got the general idea. The reason for his dissatisfaction was not only that the debris falling from the ceiling periodically hit the barrier covering the mago-tank, but also that it cluttered the road. Of course, the powerful wheels of the ++“Strong One,” clearly reinforced with magic rolled over them easily, but because of this, the tank began to shake quite a bit. Cyril, almost falling, involuntarily remembered the road to his maternal grandparents' dacha, which was permanently in a state of “the Wehrmacht only retreated yesterday.”

Udnira apparently didn't like this either, so the commander of the mago-tank did something on his command bridge, and the young man felt the previously silent weaves embedded in the ++“Strong One” come to life. A moment later, their purpose became clear. A reinforced protective barrier appeared in front of the mago-tank, which, like a snowplow in front of a locomotive, began to scatter the debris of rocks and stalactites that had fallen onto the track. The shaking immediately decreased noticeably, and for half a minute, the mago-tank drove more or less normally. But then, practically right in front of the ++“Strong One”, a whole stalactite fell, which was too big to be knocked aside. At the very last moment, Udnir cursed briefly and managed to swerve sharply to the left, avoiding it. As a result, a small part of the crew and most of the passengers, including Cyril, fell onto the deck. At least no one flew overboard! Damn it!

With Armina's help, Kirill managed to get to his feet and felt another wave of magic wash over the ++Krepkoye. This time, it was specifically on the deck, awakening some kind of weave embedded in it and beneath it. At that moment, he felt as if his legs had become slightly heavier, but any shaking on the deck had simply disappeared. ‘A field of overload compensation and position stabilisation,’ came the understanding through a mental connection with his mentor. The magic was as complex as it was useful, especially on sea-going vessels. With such a field, especially if it is properly configured and tuned, even a ten-point storm will not be scary. No matter how much the ship rocks, those standing on the deck will not be affected. For them, the force of attraction will be directed strictly perpendicular to the surface on which they stand, even if that surface itself is perpendicular to the plane of the earth. In addition, such a field compensated for inertia and lateral overload, up to their complete levelling. Again, with proper debugging and tuning.

The dwarves seemed to have the last points completely under control, as Udnir's next maneuver, which bypassed another oversized rock fragment, was completely imperceptible. It was as if Cyril was not on the deck of a mago-tank rushing at a fairly decent speed, but standing still. But just in case, he grabbed a special handle attached to the central superstructure. Just in case. Armina followed his example, standing next to Cyril.

After about half a minute, the rockfall ended, and the ++“Strong” continued moving more or less normally, even accelerating a little, thanks to the fact that the mago-tank's own generator was already running at full power, generously feeding it with magic. So as long as there is fuel, there is no need to worry about... Fuck! Focusing, Cyril mentally asked his mentor:

"Ask Udnir how much fuel we have?!"

"What?"

"Find out how much fuel we have! Just in case!"

Diantrel nodded in agreement with the student and voiced his question to the tank commander, fortunately, she was with him on the bridge:

"Sir, how much fuel do we have?!"

"We have plenty of fuel left over! We can even drive all the way to Undermountin, you dirty son of a bitch, you whore of a wife!!!"

The end of Udnir's sentence was prompted by the fact that various underground creatures began to rush out of the side passages on both sides of the road. Some of them were quite large. And all these creatures ran, crawled, jumped, and flew in the same direction - away from the horror that had emerged from unknown depths behind them. And, of course, it was easiest to run along the road, which is why a couple of underground inhabitants almost ended up under the wheels of the ++‘Strong One’. Fortunately, none of the animals attacked it, apparently realising that a mage tank with a stalled generator and a mage tank with a working generator are two different things.

"Get out of here, you cursed creature, you have no mind, you are a bad woman!!!" Udnir commented, unable to contain his emotions, as the menagerie rushed past them from all sides.

At one point, Cyrill even thought that the dwarf would start honking, but apparently the tank didn't have that feature. Which, in principle, makes sense. As they say on Earth, rhinos have poor eyesight, but with a weight of three tons, that's not really a problem. For about a minute, the mage tank raced through the underground passage surrounded by beasts. At first, Cyril even thought it was one huge underground hall, unreal in its size. But then he realized these were different halls, albeit very large ones. It was just that the passages between them had been artificially widened by the underground inhabitants when they laid the tract. So much work had been put into this...

Thoughts of the construction feats of the underground BAM workers flew out of Cyrill's head when, after another rather sharp turn, immediately followed by the transition boundary, another underground hall began. And if the previous ones were mostly like a fairly wide tunnel, albeit with a very high ceiling, this one turned out to be different. The ceiling here was not even higher, but the main thing was that Cyril and the other fugitives found themselves in a real space by Underworld standards.

As far as the eye could see, among the rocks and stones, there were dense islands of various underground flora, many of which glowed brightly. Here and there, entire colonies of mushrooms of all shapes and sizes sprouted. Some large boulders, rocks, and entire glades were completely covered with glowing and iridescent carpets of moss. Giant columns of stalactites and stalagmites that had grown together looked like the trunks of giant trees. Many of them were also abundantly covered with various mosses or plants, which further enhanced their resemblance to trees. On the left side of the road, Cyrill noticed an underground lake with ink-black water, from which a small stream flowed.

And all this gigantic space, by the standards of the Underworld, was literally teeming with underground creatures. Dozens, if not hundreds, of all kinds of animals were everywhere! They were huddled in packs, alone, already having found a place to stay, or just arriving and still searching. There was a natural commotion all around! And all these creatures were clamouring, hissing, screaming, squeaking, growling, and expressing their extreme dissatisfaction with such overpopulation and forced cohabitation in other ways. Short but fierce skirmishes broke out between the various inhabitants of the Underworld every now and then. The road running through this underground space was also filled with all kinds of animals, including some fairly large creatures. And as if that weren't enough, more animals continued to arrive, both along the road and from other passages in the side walls of this gigantic underground hall.

Cursing, Udnir was forced to brake sharply to avoid hitting the animals that had flooded the road and were in no hurry to give way. Not out of love for nature, our mother, but because it could well provoke a mass attack by the already agitated animals. With their mouths agape, most of the crew and passengers of the ++Krepkiy stared at this crowd, as if somewhere here they had announced boarding for Noah's Ark. Udnir began to voice the general idea:

"What the..."

But he was interrupted again by the sharp cry of First:

"Damn it, get back! Quickly, get back! Turn around and pull into the first suitable side passage!"

"What?! What are..."

"It's a trap, you idiot!!!" The first one naturally roared throughout the entire mago-tank, "He specially drove all the animals from the surrounding areas here!!! Get back quickly!!!"

Cyrill and the others were just getting the meaning of the dark elf's words when they heard from behind...

*Duuurrrrmmm!!!*

Everything around them shook again, accompanied by a deafening roar and crackling sound, followed by an equally deafening roar. Turning abruptly, Cyrill, like many others, screamed at the top of his lungs in wild, animalistic terror. Behind them, where they had come from, just a few hundred metres behind, the side wall of the underground hall had shattered into small pieces. And from the resulting breach, in thick clouds of black smoke and flashes of crimson flame, a huge SOMETHING appeared. In a couple of steps that made everything around it tremble, it reached the underground passage, blocking the way to retreat. The beasts closest to it, panicking and rushing in all directions, instantly turned into handfuls of ash and charred bones with shrill screams. And many burned completely.

Cyril's face was flooded with unbearable heat, and for a moment, he even thought he was about to burn up completely, along with his clothes. A moment later, he realised it wasn't the heat he was feeling. It was just Cyril's perception of the power emanating from the underground monster that had appeared. Another scream from First pierced his ears, drowning out all the other cries and the commotion of the frightened animals:

"RUN, DAMMIT!"

Almost immediately, Udnir's response was heard:

"RUN, DAMMIT!"

++‘Strong’ literally lunged forward from his spot; fortunately, the beasts, who wanted to live just as much, scattered in all directions, including along the road. The balrog-like creature that appeared let out another deafening roar and rushed forward, spreading death around it. The earth trembled under its heavy footsteps, and the underground hall, filled with beasts, was rapidly filling with clouds of black smoke, in which flashes of crimson flame flickered. Everything it touched instantly burned to ashes. Beasts, plants, mushrooms — no one could withstand the power of the monster that had appeared.

"FASTER, DAMN IT!!!"

"SHUT UP, DON'T LECTURE ME!!!"

The exchange of screams between First and Udnir drowned out all other noises, even the roar and rumble of the Strong One rushing along the Eastern Underworld Passage. And behind him, all hell had already broken loose. Reaching a more or less open space, the damn balrog, as Cyril christened it, turned around in all its glory. As it turned out, the black smoke was just the tip of the iceberg. The real treat was the flame hidden inside it. Freezing for a moment right on the Tract, the monster, shrouded in swirling smoke, let out a deafening roar. At that moment, it was completely enveloped in bright flames that dispersed the black smoke, making its gigantic figure more or less visible. Cyril turned around and involuntarily assessed it in its entirety, thanks to the diadem that brought the image closer. A horned head, a pair of huge wings, powerful clawed paws — the monster looked as if it had come straight from a film set in New Zealand.

Cyrill, whose gaze was fixed on the balrog, had time to think distantly that its horns were asymmetrical and that its right wing was not fully spread. Then the monster showed who was boss in the Underworld. At least in this particular part of it. The flames enveloping it shot out in all directions in an instant with a terrifying roar and monstrous speed, spreading like a wave. And this wave now burned everything it touched! Not only animals and plants with mushrooms, but even rocks and stones began to melt like wax candles.

After uttering another profanity, Udnir pulled something, and the ++ “Strong” accelerated sharply, so much so that its crew and passengers were thrown around despite the restraining field. And Cyril, at his mentor's cry of “BARRIERS!!!”, literally with a single thought-effort-movement created a solid barrier, a hemisphere covering the stern of the speeding mago-tank, putting all his remaining strength into it. A moment later, Diantrel created another barrier under Cyril's, which acted as a second layer. Almost immediately, a third barrier appeared behind it, much more fluid and weaker, apparently created by Shalah-Ana. And the icing on the cake was the shield that appeared on top of the hemispherical dome created by Cyril. It was a natural shield, round, with an umbo in the center. Only it was translucent, glowing, and nearly three meters in diameter. And it was not a shield, but some spirit summoned by Guur'Aar, which had taken on this form and concept.

Whether it was someone from the old shaman's entourage, or whether he managed to call out to someone on the run and promise them something, remains a mystery. Because the spirit existed in the real world for literally a couple of seconds. The all-consuming wave of fire rushing through the underground hall caught up with ++“Strong” just as he was about to disappear. The spirit, which had taken the form of a shield, simply burned up, even though it seemed impossible for it to burn in principle. But by burning, it absorbed part of the attacking flame, thereby weakening it. Cyril's barrier simply evaporated, the weaves that formed it naturally boiled and disintegrated in a fraction of a second, all at once and completely. The same fate befell the barrier-shields of Diantrel and Shalah-Ana.

But they still did their job — they took most of the blow. The rest was handled by ++Krepky's barriers, under Udnir's heartfelt swearing, who at the last moment redirected almost a third of the generator's power onto them. Before instinctively closing his eyes, Cyril managed to notice how, apparently from overload, they became visible even to normal vision. Two translucent walls, one solid, the other consisting of hexagonal cells like a honeycomb, flashed with golden light, shielding the mage tank from the approaching flames. Turning away involuntarily, the young man hugged the screaming Armina close to him and shouted loudly himself. His whole body was once again enveloped in a terrible heat. For a moment, Cyril even thought, “That's it, I'm done for!” Acting on instinct and pure reflexes, he covered himself and his maid with his personal protective field, although he didn't have much strength left. But a few seconds passed, and the burning heat disappeared as suddenly as it had appeared.

Opening his eyes, Cyril realized that he was alive, and that ++“Strong” was rushing down the road at tremendous speed. Smashing and scattering the screaming and squealing animals in its path like a battering ram, the mage tank rushed forward, away from the fire, away from the suffocating smoke that was rapidly engulfing the underground hall. Behind him was another deafening roar, the cries of beasts, the crash of collapsing rocks and stalactites, the hissing of water boiling along with its inhabitants in the underground lake — a veritable symphony of hell. But one particular sound was the most frightening of all. Heavy, measured footsteps that seemed to make the entire underground hall tremble.

Not letting go of Armin, pale as death, Cyril clung tightly to the handrail with his other hand, looking around with wide eyes. Fuck, fuck, bitch, what the fuck is this? How did he even end up here, in this fucking fantasy version of Fast and Furious on tanks?! Suuuuka, may he rot in hell!!!!
T.N.

To be fair, it wasn't just him who screamed, but almost all the other fugitives who weren't gnomes. The reason was that ++“Strong” entered the turn at dangerous speed, bypassing a particularly large stalactite fused with a stalagmite, whose thickness could rival that of a giant sequoia. At the same time, the mage tank tilted dangerously, and a panicked thought flashed through Cyirill's mind that they were about to either overturn or be thrown overboard. But unexpectedly, the young man did not feel the effect of the tilt or any inertia at all! It was as if the surrounding world had shifted, while Cyrill and everyone else remained in place. Before he could comprehend the quality of the stabilizing field of the ++“Strong One,” Udnir safely steered the tank out of the tilt, and the mago-tank rushed forward.

That's right, come on, come on, get out of here, faster, faster! As if hearing Cyril's thoughts, the gnome commander somehow managed to increase the speed a little more. The mage tank roared down the road, periodically knocking down and throwing aside unfortunate animals with its front barriers. But at that moment, everyone on board couldn't care less about the underground fauna, even if there were endangered species among them. All the attention of the involuntary passengers and crew members was focused on one thing only. The border of the passage, beyond which began the next large underground hall, through which the road continued. Salvation! They had to get there, and then they would be able to break away; they definitely could, because this creature couldn't possibly run that fast, and why the hell would it want to? Look how much prey there is here, eat that, beast, and leave us alone, you devilish piece of shit! Come on, come on! Damn it, where are you going, you bastards!

Another underground creature, resembling a huge armored vehicle, flew off with a howl and a crash, nearly destabilizing the front barriers of the Strong One with its magic-imbued armor. This caused the magic tank to lurch noticeably, but fortunately, Udnir managed to maintain control. Damn it! As the magic tank rapidly approached the safety of the passageway, more and more beasts rushed out, also desperately trying to escape. Hundreds, if not thousands, of underground dwellers ran, crawled, flew, and jumped toward the largest and most convenient exit. Fortunately, there were none large enough to rival the marvel of dwarven engineering, and the ++Strong One confidently raced toward its goal, knocking down everything in its path under Udnir's command.

For a few seconds, Cyrill even thought they had made it out. Literally for a couple of moments. And then another deafening roar sounded from behind. And as if in slow motion, the young man saw a ball of flame rush over their heads, scattering sparks and drops of natural magma in all directions. The ball hit the ceiling above the passageway. There was a loud crack, and it began to collapse rapidly, blocking the passage... God, no, no, nooooo!!!

Almost everyone on the upper deck of the ++Krepkogo let out similar cries. Everything... Fuck... How could this happen...

"Hold on!!!"

Another shout from Udnir made Cyrill flinch and snap out of his stupor. What the hell, you bitch!!!

The commander of the ++“Strong” swerved off the road at full speed, crushing a couple of huge lizards that looked like Komodo dragons. At first, Cyril thought he had gone mad and decided to kill them all. But then he realized that Udnir had swerved not just for the sake of it, but for something that, by Underworld standards, could be loosely called a dirt road. There were no smooth slabs like on the tract here. But it was still a space relatively cleared of rocks and stones, which, in principle, a dwarven mage tank could drive on. Only it was advisable to do so at a normal speed, not an extreme one, suuuuuuka!

Potholes, bumps, small and medium-sized rock debris, animals crossing the road and getting run over — if it weren't for the stabilisation field, someone would definitely have been thrown out of the vehicle, or at least fallen, no matter how hard they tried to hold on. How the ++Strong One didn't lose or break a single wheel remained a mystery to Cyrill. As did what the dwarves used to make the suspension of their magic tank. But, hand on heart, at that moment he wasn't interested in the secrets of dwarven industry at all. The only thing that mattered was that this mago-tank was moving, and moving fast!

For about half a minute, which seemed like an eternity to Cyrill, ++‘Strong’ zigzagged between the pillars of stalactites and stalagmites that had grown together and the rocks protruding directly from the floor. All around, it was pure hell: fires, the air filled with ordinary and black smoke, the cries of animals, and the roar of the accursed monster that had caused all this. When the mage tank rounded another rock, the young man saw another passage ahead, leading to another underground hall. It was noticeably smaller than the passage the devilish balrog had destroyed, but it was intact and large enough for the dwarves' mage tank to pass through. Clinging to the handrail, Kirill watched with bated breath as it approached, feeling the heat around him grow hotter and hotter from the raging fires. He didn't even think about wasting his remaining strength on trying to reinforce the ++Strong One's defences again, because, as the First had said, there was no point. They had barely withstood one blow, and that one was, in fact, on its last legs. Come on, come on, come on, yes!!!

When the roaring and humming mago-tank flew into the passage at full speed, knocking down some huge lizard resembling a crocodile, only with long and powerful legs, leaving behind a burning hell, everyone on board probably shouted with joy. And its commander shouted the loudest. Almost without slowing down, the +‘Strong’ rushed forward along the underground road. In the new underground hall, there was significantly less vegetation, it was noticeably darker, and most of it was occupied by bare rocks of various sizes. And here, too, there was a whole bunch of beasts, which also fled. After driving about a third of the way through the hall, managing to maintain almost the same speed, even though the path laid through it (Cyrill would not dare call it a road) was far from ideal, Udnir suddenly shouted in a loud voice that drowned out even the roar of the ++Strong One:

"Abnar! Did Dor-Tarmon receive your message?!"

One of his subordinates, who was with him on the bridge, barked back:

"Yes!"

"Damn it... Damn it! Damn it!"

"What's going on?! What else?!" shouted First.

"Since they receive the news..."

*Duuuurmmm!!!*

"Son, dirt, earth, deep hole, wicked mother!!!"

Cyrill fully shared the emotions the tank commander had expressed in his comment about the rumbling behind them that accompanied the next jolt. And he was not alone.

"Hold on!"

The insane and hellish race for survival continued. ++‘Strong’ raced at dangerous speeds through the underground hall along a barely passable path that wound between large rocks, boulders, and deep cracks in the floor. Somewhere behind them, heavy footsteps could be heard, causing the ground to shake, along with the roar and screams of animals burning alive, unable to escape the fire. Why won't this creature leave us alone? It already had plenty of prey!

Cyril didn't get any answers to his questions, nor did he really want them. Instead, clutching the bracket tightly, he stared ahead and prayed that this remarkable, simply marvellous creation of the best dwarf craftsmen would hold up, not disgracing the honour of its creators, please, please! Come on, my dear, come on, come on, come on, come on!!!

Narrowly avoiding another rock protruding from the floor, ++‘Strong’ curved around it and flew into the next hall, which turned out to be much more spacious. It was not nearly as large as the one where the balrog had driven the beasts, but it was still quite decent in size. And most importantly, the part where the mage tank had entered was surprisingly clear, as if cleared of all rocks, stones, and other uneven terrain. The edges were full of rocks, stalagmites, and other stone debris, but the central part of the hall was very passable. Roaring, ++‘Strong’ accelerated, rushing forward.

The Magick tank had managed to move a couple of hundred metres away from the crossing when it exploded with a deafening roar, scattering debris of various sizes in all directions and disappearing in clouds of black smoke. Damn it, why the hell won't this thing leave us alone?! Bursting into a torrent of profanity, Udnir shouted, his voice drowning out the roar of the balrog, the roar of the engine, and the cries of those on board:

"Hold on!!!"

For a moment, Cyrill wanted to shout back that he was already holding on, but he didn't have time. Because ‘Strong’ suddenly lunged forward, accelerating almost twice as fast, so that even the stabilisation field couldn't completely extinguish the inertia. Armina reacted quickly and saved him from falling, and Cyrill saw two trails of fire behind the mage tank. Only the flames were emerald, not orange. Sure, Fast and Furious, screw it!
T.N.

The underground hall through which the ++‘Strong One’ was rushing ended in a sharp turn, almost ninety degrees. And the only possible explanation for the fact that the magic tank did not overturn when it entered it at full speed was some kind of clever manipulation of gravity. That is, in fact, magic. In any case, physics clearly decided to leave, following the space metric that had already left in the Kardarot vault. Cyrill, who had almost fallen again, first cursed mentally, but then immediately pulled himself together, mentally sending rays of goodness and all the best to those who had created the stabilising and retaining field, without which half of those on board would certainly have flown over the side. Turning, the ++Strong rushed forward. Fortunately, the rest of the way was completely straight. But then he saw where it ended...

"Aaaah, damn you, you filthy scum, you piece of trash of Golden Hand forge!!!" Udnir's voice betrayed a distinct sense of despair mixed with anger.

And the reason for this was quite obvious. The underground hall through which they were rushing widened considerably on both sides ahead of them. And its space was mostly quite even, clearly cleaned by hand of any irregularities. But this even space ended in a sheer precipice that divided the hall into two parts. It was wide and stretched as far as the eye could see in both directions. And directly in front of the ++Strong One, at the edge of this abyss, there was a semicircle of several powerful fortifications, clearly built by gnomes. Stocky, powerful, and massive, they resembled those on the outskirts of Kardarot. The same fortifications, even more numerous, were located on the other side of the chasm. There were some squat buildings in the same style. A suspension bridge connected the fortifications on both sides of the chasm. It was a good bridge, easily passable by the ++Strong One. And this bridge was raised.

"Let them lower it immediately, quickly!!!" First's shout was drowned out by the roar of the mago-tank.

"There's no time! And they won't do it! It's too dangerous for them to know about the threat!" Udnir snapped.

"Damn it, are there passages to other halls here?!"

"Not on this side! On that side, yes! There's no way through here! There's a narrow passage on the right side where you can try to walk..."

"GO TO THE NARROWEST PLACE!!!"

Amplifying his voice with magic (thanks to his mentor for teaching him this technique), Cyril, almost losing his voice, drowned out the roar of the mage tank and the rumbling of the balrog pursuing them.

"What?!" The dwarf commander, of course, did not understand classical Elvish.

"THE NARROWEST PLACE!"

Praise heaven, or rather, his precious patroness, First understood what Cyrill meant and roared in the dark dwarf language:

"Go to the narrowest part of the crack! Quickly, this is our only chance!"

Miraculously, the dwarf did not argue. Without slowing down, he turned right, steering the ++Strong One along the crack, which was now just a stone's throw away. Thanks to his diadem, Cyrill could even make out the figures of the defenders of the dwarf fortifications on the other side. And three huge mage tanks. Or rather, one mage tank, similar to the one they were on. The other two self-propelled chariots were noticeably longer, but without turrets. And all three were crammed with dwarves hurriedly climbing aboard. Just as ++Strong flew past, they also started moving, heading towards the passage to another underground hall visible on the other side of the chasm. Turning to Armina, who was clinging to him, Cyrill shouted almost into her ear, drowning out the roar of Strong:

"Reserve! Restore!"

The maid understood him immediately, nodded, and immediately applied the modifier. In an instant, Cyrill's strength was fully restored. For a second, the sudden surge of energy made his head spin, but with an effort of will and by channelling energy through his thin body, the young man pulled himself together. Right, right, pull yourself together, you have strength, now the main thing is to make sure you have enough for what you have planned, otherwise you're all fucked...

"Here's the narrowest spot!"

I see, Cyrill replied mentally to Udnir, also noticing the place where, from their side, the chasm was visible and, more importantly, there was a fairly wide ledge that almost halved the distance between the sides. But even so, the chasm was fifty metres wide. Damn...

"What do you want..."

"DON'T SLOW DOWN! KEEP GOING STRAIGHT! HE WILL CREATE A BRIDGE!" First's cries, also raised in volume, could probably be heard throughout the entire underground hall.

"WHAT?! How he..."

"DO WHAT YOU'RE TOLD IF YOU WANT TO LIVE!!! LIGHTEN THE CHARIOOOOOO!!!"

"AAAAAAA SON OF DIRT EARTH!!!"

Amidst these and other heart-rending cries, the mage tank hurtled full speed into the abyss. It would have crashed if Cyrill hadn't formed two parallel strips with guide rails out of magical barriers to prevent the mage tank from accidentally slipping off, stretching them from one edge to the other. He put more than half of his reserves into them in one fell swoop, because even though he now had ‘masterful skills in creating magical barriers,’ a gnome mage tank and the carts of nomadic steppe dwellers were two slightly different things. To be on the safe side, Cyrill reinforced them with a direct support channel so that his improvised bridge would definitely hold. And the bridge held.

The mage tank flew over it at full speed, like on rails, reaching the other side in just a couple of seconds. Cyrill hung onto Armin, feeling his head start to buzz from the sharp recoil of such a large amount of magical energy. Damn, this sucks... Half of his reserves went into creating such a large and powerful structure, and then half of his remaining strength was drained through the support channel, without which his improvised bridge would not have been able to withstand the weight. As a result, he had a quarter of his strength left. Even a little less. Damn, I just restored my reserves, and now I have no power again, just like Winnie the Pooh's honey!

A sudden gust of refreshing wind swept through the young man's subtle body, restoring his clarity and quickness of thought. A moment later, Cyrill realised that it was not a gust of wind at all, but simply Diantrel, who had grabbed him by the head with both hands and performed an express fusion, sending a wave of her energy through him. It was like a bucket of ice water being poured over his head. Not only did it invigorate him properly, but it also restored some of his strength!

//‘Cirial! Hold on! Don't lose...’

\\‘I'm fine, I'm fine, everything's okay, I'm holding on!’

The mental dialogue with his mentor was interrupted by another deafening roar and crash. Shuddering and blinking several times to restore his vision, Cyrill, along with Diantrel and Armina, was completely stunned. Behind them, a real epic fight was unfolding!

A cloud of deadly black smoke rushed through the underground hall from where they had just come, shaking it with their heavy footsteps, and a burning figure could be seen inside it. It was moving straight towards the dwarves' fortifications. Their defenders did not wait for it to reach them and struck first. Several dozen projectiles, both magical and physical, but enchanted to the utmost, rushed towards the balrog. Cyrill could clearly see them rushing towards it as bright lines or whole comets in his magical vision. And they even hit it. To miss such a target, you'd have to be completely clumsy. Loud explosions rang out, there was a crackling sound, and flashes of magic lit up the underground hall.

But the monster paid no attention to them, continuing to charge forward like a natural battering ram. In just a couple of seconds, it covered the distance to the fortifications on the other side, where ++Krepky had just been, and began to destroy them. It looked like a child on the beach crushing sandcastles. The only difference was that these were not made of sand, but of stone, and were well protected by fortification magic. But the balrog apparently did not know this.

The squat tower shattered into small pieces with a loud bang, along with the two stationary golems installed at its top, which had been flattened into pancakes with a single blow. The same fate befell the second tower. The monsters continued to desperately attack it with magic and projectiles from the other side, but it paid no attention. In literally ten seconds, it destroyed the fortifications on its side, partially collapsing them into the abyss. For a moment, Cyrill had a glimmer of hope that the creature would fall into itself, since it was standing on the very edge. But alas, for that to happen, it would apparently require the intervention of a whole deity pretending to be a modest wizard of retirement age.

Having destroyed the last structure on his side, the balrog, which had only been slightly damaged by the dwarves' attacks, perhaps with a few pieces of armour chipped off, leapt across to the other side in one powerful bound. The magical barrier surrounding the fortifications on the other side of the chasm instantly shattered into tiny fragments. In a magical vision, it was even a little beautiful. Finding itself among the buildings, the monster immediately brought its monstrous paws down on the first building it came across. But, surprisingly, it withstood the first blow. More precisely, the magical barrier surrounding the specifically attacked building withstood it, but Cyrill could clearly see, thanks to his diadem, that another blow would break it.

"Why did you stop?! Drive, quickly, before he... What are you doing?! No! STOP!!!"

First's cry snapped Cyrill out of his stupor, in which he had been mesmerised, watching the balrog destroy the dwarves' fortifications. And the young man suddenly realised that for some reason, ++‘Strong’ was standing still, even though he should have been running away as fast as he could while the monster was distracted. And no sooner had he realised this than the rear turret of the mage tank thundered so loudly that it hurt his ears. But Cyrill paid no attention to the noise. Time seemed to slow down again, and in this slow motion, he watched as a dazzling white shell with a golden hue, literally glowing in his magical vision from the energy invested in it, flew in a beautiful arc towards the balrog that was destroying the gnome settlement. At that moment, the balrog swung its right paw, exposing its right side.

There, from some crack, bright yellow blood or pure magma was oozing out, who knows what was inside him, standing out against the background of his rather dark body. And it was precisely this crack that was hit by a shell from the mago-tank. The effect was completely unexpected. The monster, which had previously paid little attention to the gnomes' attacks, let out another deafening roar and jumped up. Thick drops of yellow magma spurted out of the crack on its side in all directions. Without stopping its frenzied roar, the monster turned towards the sudden threat. It received another shell, right in the mouth, which made it fall silent for a moment and jerk its horned head. A moment later, a third shell flew in, hitting it in the chest but causing no visible damage. By this point, ++‘Strong’ was moving again, rapidly picking up speed. And the balrog, roaring at the top of its lungs and forgetting about the dwarves' fortifications, rushed after him, shaking the underground hall with its footsteps.

"IDIOT!!! WHY, WHY, YOU MORON?!!"

First's cry was drowned out by the roar of the mage tank, the roar of the balrog, and the screams of the other passengers on the ++Strong One. Udnir's response was filled with equal parts anger, fear, and despair. But most of all, it was filled with legendary dwarven stubbornness:

"The clan is above all else, sharp-eared! ADRAS VAALLA!!!"

Most of the dwarf crew suddenly roared in unison:

"ADRAS VAALA!!!"

Perhaps it was very noble. But personally, Cyrill did not appreciate their heroism at all. It's hard to say why. Perhaps the reason was that because of the fucking heroism of these bearded morons, the damn underground insurance company rushed after them again, bitch!!!

The young man's cry was caused not only by the approaching threat of a painful death, but also by the fact that Udnir had made another sharp turn, rushing along the very edge of the precipice, skirting a rock protruding from the floor. This was followed by another turn, but in the opposite direction, immediately diving into a passageway that led to another underground hall. Virtually devoid of vegetation and filled mostly with rocks, it was noticeably smaller than the one they had just left. But most importantly, there was also a path here, clearly cleared by hand, which they could drive along. ++‘Strong’ raced through it at tremendous speed and had just reached the passage to the next hall when they heard the sound of breaking stone and the roar of an enraged monster behind them.

"We can't get away! Damn you! Idiot! I don't want to die! You've ruined us all! Aaaah!!!"

The panic that was beginning to spread on board was quelled by the roar of the captain, who continued to steer the ++Krepkim:

"SHUT UP! Be quiet! I know the way out! Everyone, stay still!"

At tremendous speed, the mago-tank raced along a clearly artificial path through the next hall, which differed little from the previous one. Except for one thing. The air here was much drier. And warmer. Cirill also noticed several cracks in the floor, from which a crimson light was shining. And when they had almost passed, flashes of flame began to burst out of these cracks, in time with the approaching heavy footsteps. What...

Cyril did not have time to comprehend the thought that flashed through his mind as ++‘Strong’ rushed into the next room. And here it was like a natural sauna, the air was extremely hot and dry, making it difficult to breathe. Half of the room was covered in cracks, from which flames kept bursting out, and in one of them, hot lava was clearly splashing around. But most importantly, the path they were rushing along ended in this room! There was no way forward, no other passages! What the hell!!!

"HOLD ON!"

Turning sharply to the right, towards the side wall, Udnir steered the mago-tank along it. Almost immediately, he rushed upwards, driving onto a fairly steep and narrow incline, almost forty degrees, which was barely passable. The ++‘Strong’ hummed loudly, but hardly slowed down, literally scraping its right side against the side wall and threatening to fall down at any moment, so narrow was the slope for the mago-tank. But these were trifles that Kirill was ready to ignore. Against the backdrop of what this slope ended in.

"You're crazy!!! We're going to die!!! Idiot!!! Nooooo!!!"

"SHUT UP!!! HOLD ON!!! AAAA!!!"

"Cirial, barriers!!!"

* * *

The settlement of Coastal fully lived up to its name. It's located on the northern shore of the Elven Bay. It was neither a village nor a hamlet, but not quite a full-fledged city either. Rather, it was a fortified settlement surrounded by a powerful embankment with a palisade running along its top, located on the shore near a small but quite convenient bay. Coastal settlement lived mainly from fishing, but not exclusively. After all, the Elven Bay is a very navigable place, with many ships passing through it all year round. And ships need to replenish their supplies, sometimes carry out minor repairs, and even shave the barnacles off their hulls regularly. Of course, all this can be done in White Harbour, but the pointy-eared one is not allowed everyone in.

And their prices are several times higher than those in Coastal. So those merchants who were simpler, or did not have a contract allowing them to enter White Harbour, dropped anchor at Coastal. Especially since there were buyers for many goods here, and the locals had something to offer. Many tribes, including the green-skinned ones, who lived in the mountain valleys and gorges of the Coast Ridge, willingly came down to trade in the coastal settlement. Sometimes the steppe dwellers would also visit, bypassing the ridge from the west and moving along the coast. And so that no one would be tempted to take everything for free, the inhabitants of Coastal, who were very diverse in their composition, spared no effort or expense in fortifying and defending it.

Because if something happens, you can't count on anyone but yourself. But what can you do? That's the price of living in a free settlement, not under anyone's control. On the other hand, you don't have to pay taxes to any nobleman. You only have to pay a share of your profits to the common treasury, because it is used to repair the city walls, purchase weapons and supplies, and maintain three temples. One is the Giver of Life, the second is the Mistress of the Seas, without whom those who live from fishing would have a very hard time, and the third, the newest and smallest so far, is the Keeper of Oaths. At first, of course, not everyone was happy that they would have to maintain another temple, but how much easier it became to do business when the priest Damkarov and his junior ministers appeared! Before that, it was a real pain to check what a guest had come to Poberezhnoe for. Did he want to trade or to rob? And contracts certified on the altar of the Keeper of Oaths would be much more reliable than those sealed with ordinary magic.

So Hotzek Shtechen personally did not even think to complain that now he had to pay the Damkar servants their share every month. Especially since the chained ones, as they were called behind their backs because of the symbol of their patron, took payment for their services not only in money, but also in kind. Fresh or salted fish, salt, fins, or firewood. It was always possible to agree with them on a suitable payment option. And Hotzek knew how to negotiate; it was not for nothing that the Shtechens were one of the wealthiest families in Coastal. They settled there during Hotzek's great-grandfather's time and were simple fishermen who, for reasons unknown, had drifted from the coast of Mezhyhirya in the Middle Sea to the Elven Bay. But by the time Hotzek's father passed away five years earlier, the family of half-giants had done quite well in trade.

And no one can convince Hotzek that fishing in the sea is more difficult than conducting these very trade affairs. A fool would say, “I bought it from one person for a florin, sold it to another for two, big deal?” Ha! Easy to say, but try buying something for that very florin first, not for five, or even ten! If there was one thing Hotzek was sure of, it was that every tall guy, given the chance, would inevitably try to cheat and deceive an honest halfling. Well, practically honest halfling. By Coastal's standards, he was a saint. You just don't know what kind of crooks live here, yes! And who the sea sometimes brings here. No need to even mention it! They think that since he's not very tall, it's okay to offend him, yeah, right! No, you can offend him, but you might regret it!

That's why, without Dorg, his long-time partner and, without exaggeration, his friend, Hotzek did not conduct any business at all. A big guy over two meters tall, with broad shoulders and arms like logs, he was of human descent on his mother's side and green-skinned on his father's, whose tribe had been coming to Coastal a couple of times a year for many years to trade. Against the backdrop of Hotszek, who was short even by the standards of half-breeds, he looked particularly imposing, especially since he took after his father in appearance. Except for his fangs, which were a little small, pure-blooded orcs have fangs one and a half times larger; his face was simply terrifying, even though he was kind at heart.

With such support, it was much easier to conduct business, especially with those damn lizards! Hotzek disliked the inhabitants of the distant, hot jungles, who periodically visited Coastal, more than any other tall men. Especially the representatives of their warrior caste, who looked like natural monsters, worse than any green-skinned creatures, even though they were intelligent! And anyway, Chachass, that skinny reddish runt in colorful clothes, whom the lizards of the noble caste love so much, deliberately carries a couple of these creatures with him. He is like a weasel against a wolf, even though he has the same sharp teeth, they are three times heavier and a head and a half taller than him. He wants Hotzek to feel uncomfortable, thinking that he can trick him and knock down the price. Ha, he's picked the wrong guy; he's been dealing with all kinds of crooks brought to the Elven Bay by the wind for years!

"For four barrels of salted sairan, no less than ten silver coins for each! If they are elven florins, and good ones, not cut, I will give them for nine. I cannot give less! Unless you take ten, then I can give it for eight silver coins. Or seven, if they are florins."

Standing opposite the half-sized lizard, with reddish scales and garishly bright clothes, he demonstratively flared his nostrils on his long snout and hissed in response:

"I don't need ten. Four will suffice. I'll give you six draks."

"Your jungle is far away, but the Forest is close! Your draks are not popular here, so no less than eight, and that's if you pay in lorens!"

The bargaining, which had been going on for almost half an hour, took place right on the shore of the bay, next to which Coastal stood. Fortunately, the weather was simply wonderful, warm, with a clear sky without a single cloud, and almost no wind. The lizards that had come ashore spread simple mats directly on the ground and laid out their goods there. The inhabitants of Coastal did the same, although some took the trouble to bring tables and benches on which they laid out their goods. Trading had been going on almost since morning, when a large galley of lizards entered the bay of Coastal. As soon as the inhabitants of the settlement were convinced, not without the help of the Damokar priest, that the scaly guests had come not to plunder, but to replenish their supplies and trade, almost everyone who had something to offer rushed to the shore. Hotzek was personally delighted, especially when he learned that the lizards needed to replenish their food supplies.

The only problem was that this scaly trickster, the former captain's assistant, wanted to buy supplies for pennies and sell his junk for three times the price! Well, okay, it wasn't junk; the lizards had some pretty good stuff with them, like weapons and tools made of solid steel, which could be resold to Dorg's relatives for a good price. But you can't buy them at that price!

While bargaining with the captain's assistant, Hotzek kept an eye on his wife and younger sister, who, together with their daughters, had gathered a little apart from another lizard offering all sorts of trinkets and decorations. Of course, with them was Dorg's eldest son. He was only slightly shorter and narrower of shoulders than his father, but still, with only a quarter of Orc blood, it was worth keeping an eye on them. He knew women well: given free rein, they would spend everything he had accumulated through hard work on beautiful clothes and trinkets, and then he would have to figure out how to resell them to the same highlanders so as not to lose money. Judging by the way his eldest son, the future heir and current assistant, looked at the female members of the Shteşen family, he fully shared his father's concerns. But it was impossible not to let the women go to the sudden market, because then they would be heartbroken, especially if one of the neighbours bought some trinket that they didn't have. Oh, there would be an uproar. All right, we'll deal with that later. For now, we need to take care of business. With a resigned sigh, Hotzek rolled his eyes demonstratively and said:

"Okay, I'm willing to settle for six, but only if you take at least seven barrels..."

A deafening roar out of the blue made the halfling jump in place. What was that?! Turning abruptly, Hotzek froze in place, his eyes wide with amazement. Something was hurtling down the rather steep slope of the mountain closest to the coast, covered with dense but low-lying forest. With a deafening roar, blazing with fire and bellowing like a bull whose balls had been pinched, it left behind a trail of fallen and partially smouldering trees. It was not difficult to guess where this thing had come from — about halfway up the mountain slope, there was a huge smoking hole. Oh, that's exactly where the passage to... Oh, you bottom-feeding corpse eaters!

Frightened cries and hissing sounds rang along the entire shore, and commotion broke out, quickly turning into panic. Stunned with horror, the halfling recognised the unreadable battle chariot of the gnomes rushing down the slope. He had never seen one in real life, but he had heard descriptions and even once seen a picture engraved on some piece of dwarven pottery. Thoughts raced through Hotzek's mind with terrifying speed; if there was one thing no one could ever accuse him of, it was slow thinking. In a couple of moments, he estimated and calculated several things. The distance to the city gates. The speed of the dwarven chariot. The cost of the goods lay out behind him on a couple of sturdy tables, which his nephews and younger brother were watching over. The distance to his wife and daughters, who were screaming in terror right next to the lizard trading trinkets, whose crest was also standing on end. And he came to an unambiguous conclusion that could be summed up in one word. Fuck.

He couldn't save the goods or run to the gate. And even if he did, what good would it do? The amulet, worn on his forehead with a leather strap and bought at an outrageous price, allowed Hotszek to distinguish the traces of witchcraft quite well. It was an essential item for any serious business dealings. And now, thanks to this purchase, which had already proven its worth many times over, he could clearly see the terrifying power that was bearing down on them. This machine alone could raze Coastal to the ground, just look at how it blazes with magical power!

Hotzek's thoughts were interrupted by Drorg, who literally dragged him behind him with his mighty paw and snatched his weapon. But then he immediately lowered it in despair and shook his head, realizing the futility of it all. Panic had already broken out all around them. Some rushed to the city gates, some along the shore, and some jumped into the water. Shaking off his stupor, Hotzek shouted at the top of his lungs:

"Laaaaankaaaa!!! Daaankaaaa!!!"

His sincerely beloved wife and more than sincerely beloved daughter heard his cry, as did his sister and her daughters. Praise be to Brok, Dorg's eldest son, who quickly got his bearings and, literally picking up the smallest girls, rushed with his wife and sister Hotzek towards the screaming halfling, knocking someone down with his strong shoulder along the way. When he reached them, he pushed the screaming girls back with one movement and stood next to his father, shielding the half-dwarves who had gathered behind them.

"What is this, Father?! I don't know! Oh, save us, all-merciful ones!!! Mummy!!! Aaaah!!! Stop, you pest, come back here, you thief!!!"

Dozens of voices merged into one hellish chorus. And Hotzek, his eyes wide, pale with horror, stared at death rushing straight at them. A little apart from his family, the venerable Herin stood next to a small altar where, for a fee, one could certify a trade agreement. With one hand he touched the altar, with the other he clutched the chain hanging on his chest and read aloud prayers to the Guardian of Oaths, calling on his patron for help. Around and behind him, some of the townspeople and a couple of lizards, including the captain's assistant with whom Hotzek had just been bargaining, had gathered in a crowd. For a moment, the half-breed thought of rushing over with his whole family and also calling on the deity, promising anything, just to bring salvation. But he realised he wouldn't make it in time.

The rapidly approaching chariot of the dwarves, which appeared as if from the depths of hell itself, reached the foot of the mountain with a roar and a crash, leaving behind a smoking trail, and rushed towards the shore, crushing the gardens and fields surrounding Coastal. Straight to the bay. Hotzek's relatives screamed in horror, and he followed their example, realising that this death on wheels would simply sweep them all away and smash them to pieces. But suddenly the chariot veered slightly to the side, bypassing the market on the shore, and, almost without slowing down, flew straight into the water, raising a column of spray and steam. After travelling a couple of dozen metres, it stopped at a depth reached almost halfway up its sides.

For a few moments, Hotzek and his entire family stared at all of this, trying to understand what was happening. Before he could, an elegant, clearly female figure soared into the air from the gnome chariot, which, up close, looked as if it had first been in a fire, then in a stone crusher, and then in another fire. Literally glowing with magic, she flew straight towards the lizard galley. A moment later, very wide, translucent, glowing steps appeared above the sea, clearly created by magic. They stretched from the sides of the chariot to the very side of the lizard galley. One after another, dwarves clad in sturdy black armour began to jump onto them, and... Dark elves?! And some other people, some of them clearly steppe dwellers, a couple definitely from the Caliphate, several orcs, one of whom glowed noticeably from magic, and another who carried a couple of children in steppe robes on his back. And all of them, jumping overboard, ran up the steps created by magic onto the lizard galley. Except for three dark elves and one elderly woman, who seemed to be floating in the air on invisible chairs. Drorg, watching this with a completely stunned expression, slowly muttered:

"What... the... fuck..."

Hotzek was about to ask this question himself, but his friend and partner beat him. The frightened, stunned, confused residents of Coastal and the lizards remaining on the shore watched the unknown figures running towards the galley. And then loud cries rang out over the bay, clearly amplified by magic:

"Run to the ship! Save yourselves! To the ship! Run!"

They shouted in different languages, not all of which Hotzek understood. But he grasped the general meaning. At the same time, several more glowing steps appeared, already leading from the shore to the gallery. For a few moments, Hotzek looked at the chariot. Those running towards the ship. At his goods. At the open gates to Coastal. At the trail left by the chariot.

Hotzek was never slow-witted. Turning to his assistant and friend, he said briefly:

"Drorg?"

He looked down at him for a moment. Then he nodded sharply. How nice it is when people understand you without words. With one movement, the half-orc picked up his squealing nieces and Hotzek's daughter, throwing them over his shoulders, and with a second movement, he picked up his wife and younger sister under his arms, then rushed towards the ship. His son did the same with his nieces, younger brother, and Hotzek's son. And the halfling, cursing himself, calling himself a fool and a complete idiot, rushed towards the gate. He ran like he had never run before in his life. That is, quite fast. By halfling standards.

There was complete chaos all around. Some rushed to the ship, others, like Hotzek, to the city, and still others began looting, grabbing everything they could get their hands on. Who would have doubted it, the bastards! Running to the gate, the halfling managed to catch his breath, and rushed down the main street of Poberezhny to his house. At that moment, the alarm bell rang. They figured it out just in time! When the breathless Hotzek, unaccustomed to such speeds, ran almost halfway to his native courtyard, managing not to bump into anyone, something suddenly grabbed him and lifted him into the air. A second of horror and panic, and then he realised that it was Drorg who had grabbed him under the armpits and was rushing forward. The strong half-orc was many times faster.

"How did you get here? Where is Lanka and..."

"They're on the gallery, Brock stayed with them!"

"Why didn't you stay?!"

Almost breaking down the door leading to the Shtechen family's courtyard, the half-orc rushed inside, straight to the main house:

"I couldn't abandon my... either."

At that moment, the ground beneath our feet shook noticeably.

* * *

Landing nimbly on the galley's deck, causing the lizards from the servant caste and several warriors who were there to hiss in fear, Diantrel literally barked, amplifying her voice with magic:

"Raise the anchors! Set sail! Quickly, if you want to live!!!"

A moment later, it dawned on her that most lizards probably didn't know Elvish. Neither classical nor dark. And in her not-so-short life, she had never found the time or desire to learn the language of the scaly inhabitants of the hot jungles. This was largely due to the difficulties associated with the different structure of the speech apparatus. While she was thinking about how to convey her will to these lizards, who were staring in horror at the elf, who was literally glowing with magic, the doors of the aft superstructure swung open. A well-fed lizard from the noble caste ran out, with dark burgundy scales, dressed in colourful clothes that looked more like decorative ornaments. In one paw, he clutched a richly decorated magic wand, and in the other, some kind of amulet. With an angry hiss, he almost stumbled when he saw Diantrel in the middle of the deck. The elf flew towards him in one swift leap, causing the other lizards to scatter in different directions.

The nobleman uttered an indistinct hiss and attempted to wave his staff, but Diantrel literally knocked it out of the lizard's paw with a single precise strike of super-compacted wind, and asked in a raised voice:

"Are you the captain of the ship?!"

The lizard, clearly understanding her, its crest standing on end in horror and surprise, its yellow eyes bulging out of their sockets, hissed something hoarsely and nodded slightly.

"Sail off immediately! Quickly, if you want to live!"

Considering how she must have looked at that moment, Diantrel strongly doubted that he would dare to argue with her. In any case, she very much hoped so, because the last thing she needed right now was to forcibly take control of the ship. And the defences on such a large galley must be good. The captain opened his mouth and began to hiss something, but stopped when a loud rumble sounded. His eyes bulged even more at the sight of armoured gnomes jumping aboard his ship via the glowing steps, followed by the rest of the passengers of the ++Strong.

The rest of the lizards on the galley, even those from the warrior caste, were just as stunned. Not understanding what was happening, they scattered in all directions, trying to get as far away from the strange intruders as possible. Diantrel, literally feeling time slipping away, grabbed the captain by the front of his clothes with both hands and pulled him towards her. She didn't even notice the crack of his personal protective amulet, hanging on his scaly chest, shattering into tiny pieces from the overload.

"Order them to leave immediately if you want to live!!!"

The captain, whose eyes were about to pop out of their sockets, opened his mouth wide and hissed in classical Elvish, albeit with a terrible accent:

"What does that mean? Who are you..."

"Tell your snakes to sail off..."

*Duuuurrrm!*

Diantrel stopped mid-sentence, feeling her heart skip a beat once again in too short a time. Together with the galley captain, she turned towards the mountains, where an ominous rumbling could be heard. She saw birds taking flight from the mountain they had just descended, miraculously without killing themselves. All at once. Thousands, if not tens of thousands, of birds rose into the air simultaneously and flew away from the mountain. With wide eyes, the lizard stared at this eerie sight. Then he noticed the trail left by the dwarven war chariot. He saw the chariot itself. He looked at the dwarves and other involuntary passengers of the ++Strong One who had managed to jump aboard his galley. He saw several dozen inhabitants of the Coast and members of his crew running up the steps created by magic onto the galley. Opening his mouth even wider, he let out a piercing scream. The other lizards on board jump as if stung and then rush off in all directions.

A terrible commotion immediately broke out on the deck. Part of the crew, still unaware of what was happening, rushed to the lower deck where the rowers were. Others began to raise the anchors. At the same time, people, non-humans, lizards, and a couple of half-orcs on their shoulders and arms continued to rush onto the ship, dragging a bunch of half-breeds with them. Looking at all this bedlam, Diantrel felt a shameful desire to use her newly acquired powers, unleashing a chain lightning bolt on the screaming and shouting crowd, close to panic.

Of course, she held back this desire. Finding her pupil and protégé with her eyes, she made sure he was relatively well and under Armina's supervision. Then she turned to the captain of the lizards and shouted again:

"Hurry up, let's get going, we've almost run out..."

"Duuuuurrrrrm!*

This time, the tremor of the mountain and the earth beneath it was much more noticeable. Frightened cries rang out, some women and children began to cry, someone swore, someone promised to kill someone else. Realising that panic was about to break out and mentally suppressing the urge to use her chain lightning again, Diantrel flew several metres above the deck, grateful that levitation had become much easier for her since gaining her new powers:

"Shut up! Do as I say, or you'll go overboard!!!"

She accompanied her words with a small bolt of lightning. Not to kill anyone, but for the sake of the sound. The effect was extremely positive. Everyone instantly fell silent and froze. However, this was to be expected, as there was no one here who could even theoretically risk arguing with her now. Without wasting a second, Diantrel continued:

"Captain! We're setting sail immediately! That's an order!"

The lizard remaining below twitched, but, praise be to the First Tree, obeyed the voice of reason, beginning to hiss and give orders to his subordinates. Looking around, Diantrel shouted:

"Why don't you set sail?! Hurry up if you want to live!!!"

The captain below her raised his head and hissed:

"There is no wind..,"

"I'll provide you with wind! Set sail and get going!!!"

With a wave of her magic wand, Diantrel sent a highly concentrated air blade that cut through the anchor cable and caused the lizards pulling it to jump back in terror.

"Use the ship's reserves, whatever it takes, but get this hulk moving immediately!!!"

The captain of the lizards flinched, but did not dare to argue with the elf hovering above him, around whom the air literally crackled with magic. Clutching the amulet, he directed magic from the ship's storage device into the weaves embedded in the bottom of the galley, which began to set the waters around it in motion. Slowly but surely, the galley began to turn towards the exit of the bay. At the same time, a dozen lizard sailors flew straight up the mast, specially braided with rope for this purpose, to the yard, like real lizards. Some immediately ran to the right side, some to the left, and began to set the sail.

At the same time, on the lower deck, the rowers, who had no idea what was going on, hurriedly grabbed their oars, while the last of the local inhabitants who had decided to board the ship rushed onto it. Seeing some of them carrying items they had brought to the market, Diantrel again felt the urge to use lightning, but not chain lightning, rather point lightning. Truly, the greed of some members of the younger races knows no bounds!

"Faster, damn it! Faster!"

The lizard captain, who was below the elf floating in the air, clearly wanted to respond with something abusive, but wisely restrained himself, focusing on steering the galley. After a couple of minutes, which seemed like an eternity to Diantrel, the ship managed to turn around in the bay and head for the exit, thanks to pure magic. By this point, the rowers had almost finished putting away their oars, and their colleagues had finished raising the sail. And at the very moment when they secured the last ropes...

*DUUUUURRRMMMM!!!*

With a deafening roar, the entire top of the nearest mountain, on whose slope they had climbed to the surface, literally exploded into a fountain of stone fragments of various sizes, scattering in all directions in a deadly rockfall. A second later, a fountain of liquid fire shot into the sky, followed by a rapidly spreading cloud of black smoke. And then he appeared.

Raising another fountain of fiery spray, the Terror of Diarten literally leapt out of the mouth of the newly born volcano. Standing on the edge of the ravaged summit, the monster from the bowels of the earth let out a long roar, instantly enveloped by streams of flame that rushed towards it from the mouth. At the same time, it spread both of its enormous wings, further dispersing the suffocating cloud of black smoke above it. Looking at it with her magical vision, Diyantrel once again felt her heart constrict with terror at the threat of not just the end of eternity, but one of the worst possible outcomes. The already powerful creature was now literally bathing in its native element. The volcano he had created almost single-handedly was to him what a tower with a magical source was to a wizard.

The elf girl's involuntary cry merged with the captain's hissing scream and the screams of the other passengers in the galley, who were packed so tightly on the deck that it was impossible to move. They were joined by the desperate ringing of bells in the doomed settlement on the shore of the Elven Bay. Planning to board, Diantrel, amplifying her voice to the limit with magic, yelled at the captain, who was half dead with fear:

"Hurry up, let's get going, for goodness' sake!!!"

Without ceasing to hiss something in his language at the sailors, he clutched the amulet that controlled the ship with both hands, finally ceasing to hold back and beginning to use the ship's reserves. Lightening its weight to the limit, he simultaneously accelerated the flow of the sea water around it as much as possible, directing it away from the shore. Diantrel, satisfied that the lizards had finally set sail, poured her strength into the pre-formed weaves, creating a veritable hurricane-force wind. It instantly filled the galley's sails, giving it additional acceleration. At the same time, the rowers finally got down to business, working their oars with perfect synchronisation to the accelerated beats of the drum from the lower deck.

Gaining speed, the galley began to move away from the shore. At that moment, the Terror of Diyarten let out another roar. Turning abruptly, Diantrel saw that forest fires were already burning in various places across the mountain. Their sources were also on the neighbouring mountains, where splashes of liquid fire and molten rock had landed. But that was not enough for the monster. Without ceasing to roar, it sent a natural avalanche of fire down the slope, which rushed down in a burning stream, burning everything in its path in an instant, turning the once green mountain into smoking black rocks. The inhabitants of the settlement, who found themselves on board, burst into heart-rending cries of despair at the sight of the fiery death rushing towards them. Diantrel had just managed to mentally wish the mortals left on the shore a quick death when suddenly the sea burst its banks.

Or rather, not the entire sea, but two enormous waves that rose rapidly, rushing forward at tremendous speed, encircling the settlement on both sides and trapping it in a bubble of water. This happened just a moment before the avalanche of fire struck it. There was a piercing hiss, and everything was enveloped in clouds of steam, but the avalanche of fire, which had reached the seashore, was cut in two. Realising what had just happened, Diantrel smiled to herself:

//‘Well, look who responded, who would have thought?’

There was no doubt about who should be thanked for saving the mortals; fortunately, the culprit herself decided to appear. Not far from the shore of the Elven Bay, the water began to rise rapidly, forming a female figure, about five metres tall, waist-deep in the water. It was not a full-fledged avatar, but rather an ersatz version that required an order of magnitude less power. But even this embodiment of the Lady of the Seas literally shone in magical vision. No sooner had the figure taken shape and acquired a more or less stable form than a female voice swept over the sea surface, as if filled with the roar of the surf:

"What the..."

A huge chunk of rock, heated almost to red hot, prevented the Lady of the Seas from finishing her sentence, flying at tremendous speed from the top of the volcano, accurately thrown by the Terror of Diyarten. The ersatz avatar of Calisto was simply blown to smithereens and clouds of steam. With a satisfied roar, the monster arched its back, spread its wings, and spat a stream of liquid fire from its mouth, which fell on the surrounding mountains like hellish rain, further intensifying the fires. The cloud of black smoke and volcanic ash it created already began to cover the sky and the sun. Finishing its roar, it bent down and effortlessly broke off another piece of rock from the top, swinging sharply and... Spawn of the abyss!!!

"Move aside!!! Quickly!!! Turn around!!!"

Praise to the First Tree, the captain of the lizards also saw the threat and barked out several commands, simultaneously activating the control amulet. Credit must be given to the sailors; they worked perfectly. The rowers on the port side stopped abruptly, causing the galley to veer sharply to the left. And even that was barely enough, as literally ten metres away from it, a piece of the mountain crashed into the water, nearly breaking the oars on the right side, raising a fountain of spray, steam and waves that hit the side of the ship, causing some of the passengers crowded on the deck to fall.

"Damn it, use the damn stabilisation field!!!"

"It will take a lot of energy."

The emerging dispute between Diantrel and the captain of the lizards was interrupted by a natural roar, in which all the power of the raging sea could be heard:

"WHO DARE?!"

At the same time, some distance from the shore, a female figure rapidly formed out of the water, waist-deep in it. Only this was a full-fledged avatar, fifteen metres tall, and it literally radiated divine power. It was clear the Lady of the Seas did not like such disrespectful behaviour. However, the Terror of Diarten was not afraid of this, responding with another roar and another piece of mountain, previously heated to red hot. But this time, the avatar of Calisto easily dodged it, simply moving to the side.

"YOU DISGUSTING CREATURE!!! HOW DARE YOU!"

Forming two enormous arrows from the water that had turned to ice, she hurled them at the monster roaring at the summit. They were repelled by returning clumps of molten magma, accompanied by a deafening roar. This exchange of blows continued for several dozen heartbeats. The Terror of Diarten hurled one fragment after another, alternating them with clumps of flame, while the avatar of Callisto responded with icy arrows or clumps of water. Watching this from the deck of the galley, Diantrel suddenly realised that she was witnessing the embodiment of the riddle: ‘Who is stronger in battle: the Savannah Mumak or the Deep Leviathan?’

Of course, no matter how powerful the Terror of Diyarten was, he could not compete with the goddess's full-fledged avatar. If it had not been a sea goddess, and if he had not been in his natural element at that very moment. Apparently, not only does Diantrel understand this, but also the Lady of the Seas. But that did not mean that Callisto was going to retreat. The elf clearly felt something like a call rushing from her avatar into the heavens. At the same time, the waters of the Elven Gulf near her began to move, forming a monstrous whirlpool through divine will and power.

The Terror of Diyarten responded with another roar. And an avalanche of fire, which he directed at the settlement, which, as it turned out, had survived thanks to divine intervention. Calisto once again covered him with a water bubble, apparently out of principle, as Diantrel strongly doubted that even if all the inhabitants of this small town became her followers, it would repay such an expenditure of grace. Although if absolutely everyone...

The appearance of three new suns high above their heads, replacing the clouds of smoke and ash, knocked the extra thoughts out of his head. Or rather, not suns, but winged figures that shone like the sun.

//‘Well, well, he decided to get involved too. Although that's not surprising.’

However, right now, Diantrel was extremely pleased to see three Herald of the Sun-Face appear, who immediately rushed into battle. Beginning to circle at a distance around the roaring monster, they began to strike it with dazzlingly bright rays. True, they didn't do much good. But not because the divine messengers were weak, but because the Terror of Diyarten was literally in its element, continuously regaining strength from the volcano it had created. Until the eruption stopped, Diantrel couldn't even imagine what could be done to it. And at the sight of the Sun-faced heralds, it became even more enraged, throwing rocks and clumps of fire with seemingly triple the force. He almost succeeded when another projectile suddenly exploded into a cloud of red-hot debris, hitting one of the heralds who instinctively tried to dodge it. Fortunately, his defence withstood the blow, but after that, the entire solar trio increased their distance and continued firing. Which, however, did not yield any significant results...

Suddenly, the whirlpool created by Callisto erupted into a geyser of spray. And along with it... Could it be?! Opening her eyes wide, Diantrel stared at the nearly dozen ships that had appeared in the middle of the sea. In particular, she stared at one giant ship that towered above all the others, like a mountain towering over a hill.

//‘Who would have thought that one day I would be happy to see this living embodiment of blasphemy and sacrilege...’

The flagship of the Island Kingdom, along with its support ships, was moved to the Elven Bay by the will of the Lady of the Seas, who spent an unknown amount of grace on this, and immediately entered the battle. A branch-like lightning bolt struck the monster raging at the top of the volcano from the main mast of the Conqueror of the Seas, followed by another. In response, a volley of stone shrapnel flew towards the fleet, but the ships repelled it, taking cover behind a wall of water. However, they began to retreat a little further from the shore.

Which suited Diantrel just fine. Let them fight. The main thing was that this accursed spawn of the abyss had finally forgotten about her. Wait a minute! Turning abruptly, the elf, frozen in horror for a moment, found her student with her gaze. Praise the First Tree. Ciriall was standing next to Armina on the deck, and behind him, Diantrel sensed the presence of First, hidden by camouflage. Like everyone else, he stared wide-eyed at the battle between the celestials and their followers and the inhabitants of the earth's depths. And this battle still resembled a clash between a savannah mumak and a deep-sea leviathan.

The Sun-faced Heralds circled in the sky. Avatar Calisto and her loyal followers' fleet manoeuvred off the coast. And the Horror of Diyarten sat atop the mountain, continuing to hurl stones and balls of fire at them, filling the air with his frenzied roar. Yet none of this had any noticeable effect. Could this creature really be so devoid of reason? No, it couldn't be that he was driven solely by anger...

The familiar rumble of dozens of pipes from behind made Diantrel turn around quickly. Squinting her violet eyes, the elf smiled to herself.

//‘Well, well, you showed up too! Finally, you responded! I thought I'd never see you!’

A dozen and a half ships of the White Fleet and a dozen ships of other nations were moving at full speed towards the battle. Just a moment ago, they were nowhere to be seen on the horizon, but now they were clearly visible and rapidly approaching. It seemed that the Coastal People had finally decided to use that long-prepared ritual, which allowed them to partially repeat the trick so beloved by the Northern Raiders, involving the movement of ships over long distances. Erandril would be delighted...

Despite the still considerable distance, the Forest fleet fired a volley. A dozen and a half huge arrows, launched by ship ballistas and enchanted to the tips of their feathers, flew forward in a beautiful arc. Watching them go, Diantrel shook her head mentally. It was pointless; they would have been better off coming closer, as they would use up more than half their charge just to maintain flight, and the Horror of Diyarten would not even notice them... Well, there you go!

The monster, still raging at the top of the mountain, repelled the volley with another wave of fire. Roaring once more, it hurled a new batch of debris towards the Islands' fleet. If this continues, it will destroy the entire mountain. Well, so be it, the main thing is that help is on its way! Turning towards the approaching fleet of elves and the ships that had joined them, among which several huge lizard galleys and even the ship of the envoy of the Eastern Empire were clearly visible, Diantrel grimaced in dissatisfaction. Mentally, of course, she remained as calm as possible on the outside. They could have already opened the portal, for whom, one wonders, did they send the call for help as soon as they broke out?

But instead, the Coastal People fired another volley of enchanted arrows towards the volcano. Watching it fly, the elf shook her head. Diarten's terror easily repelled them again, responding with another roar and a volley of shrapnel. No, this is really getting ridiculous. He's going to break the whole mountain... What?!

Dianterel barely managed to stifle a scream at what she saw, but the other passengers on the galley were not so restrained. The reason was that the Terror of Diyarten had made a cavalry move, as they say in a board game. Apparently, he also realised that such a battle could go on forever. Therefore, waiting for the trio of Sunface's heralds to launch another joint attack, he suddenly jumped into the air. And then he flapped his wings, flying even higher. No one expected this. Nor did they expect that a fiery whip would suddenly appear in his paw, which the monster swung sharply. In an instant, one of the heralds was entangled in it. Another moment passed, and the Terror of Diyarten, having landed back on the battered summit of the mountain, pulled him towards himself, immediately grabbing him with both paws.

//"That's it. He's flown his last. It looks like Sun-Faced will lose another herald," Diantrel managed to think, looking at the figure desperately sparkling with sunlight in the monster's paws.

But unexpectedly, the monster did not tear her to pieces. To Diantrel's amazement, and not only hers, he brought the captured messenger to his snout, leaned towards him and roared deafeningly, opening his mouth wide. He roared like this for almost ten heartbeats. At the same time, the monster covered itself with its wings, protecting itself from the shells that continued to fly at it, but did not respond to them in any way. When it finished roaring, it continued to squeeze the captured messenger in its paws, but did nothing else to him. What...

"STOP!!!"

The voice of the Lady of the Seas rolled over the waters of the Elven Bay like the roar of waves, truly silencing everyone. The Islands' fleet ceased firing. The two remaining heralds of the Sun-faced One froze in midair. Even the rowers on the lizard galley stopped, physically sensing the will of the sea goddess. Dianterl, who understood nothing, opened her eyes wide and watched what was happening at the top of the mountain. Diartan's horror froze as he squeezed the captured messenger, bringing him almost close to his hideous face. Several heartbeats passed. Then the monster let out another deafening roar, looking at his prey. What... What are they... It can't be...

Before the astonished eyes of the elf girl and the other spectators, the Terror of Diarten slowly raised his right paw, continuing to squeeze the captured messenger with his left. But he did so in such a way that the messenger was able to free his left hand. Stretching it out, he flashed brightly for a moment, like sunlight. A moment later, the monster's right side spurted bright yellow glowing blood, and a dazzlingly bright but thin ray of sunlight shot out of it. It struck the herald's arm, turning into a thin sparkling spear.

No sooner had this happened than the Terror of Diarten, with a single swift movement and at a speed completely unexpected for such a huge monster, hurled the captured messenger away from himself. The sparkling figure, tumbling wildly through the air, nearly crashed into one of his comrades. Meanwhile, the monster straightened up and spread its shoulders and wings. At the same time, a fountain of fire burst from the mouth of the volcano it had created, immediately enveloping it from head to toe. Dianterl, watching this scene with her magical vision, gasped involuntarily. In the name of the First Tree... So all this time he had been fighting while...

Leaning forward, the Terror of Diarten let out a deafening roar, simultaneously spewing a cascade of liquid flame from his mouth. Then he straightened up and sent a huge chunk of the thoroughly destroyed peak flying towards the Islands' fleet and the avatar of Callisto with a powerful kick. And then another one towards the approaching White Fleet. And a couple more, but with his hands, towards the Sun-faced heralds, who had managed to catch their comrade and were holding him in the air with four hands.

Each kick-throw was accompanied by a short roar, or rather a growl. After throwing the last fragment at the messengers, he crouched down sharply, then jumped into the air, flapping his wings. It then covered itself with its wings and dove into the mouth of the volcano, raising a natural fountain of fiery spray and shards.

For a few moments, Diantrel looked at the mountaintop. Then, from behind, she heard the voice of her student and protégé:

"I bet he ended up telling us all to fuck off."

Jerking as if stung, the elf turned to Ciriall. And she wasn't the only one. Everyone who understood classical Elvish turned to him. And those who didn't understand did too. For a moment, everyone stared at the young half-elf. Then someone laughed nervously. Then someone else. And a moment later, almost the entire galley was laughing. The non-humans who had been on the brink of death were overcome by the aftermath of the stress they had experienced. Diantrel herself felt her lips stretch into a smile.

The sudden roar of trumpets made her turn sharply towards the source of the noise. It made her literally growl with anger. The trumpets were sounding from the Conqueror of the Seas. In front of the flagship of the Island Kingdom, along with its escort ships, the water began to rise rapidly, forming three... Huge male members, reaching the height of the upper deck of the Conqueror of the Seas. For a moment, they stood motionless, then swayed from side to side several times, after which they froze vertically again, and powerful fountains of water shot out from their tops, first from left to right, then simultaneously. At the same time, thanks to her sharp elven vision and magical diadem, Diantrel clearly distinguished a figure in red and blue clothes standing right at the top of the flagship's main mast.

//"Kiriall! Urgent! I need your help!"

//"Ah? What..."

With an effort of will, Diantrel sent a thought-form to her student.

//"Do it quickly, please!"

//"Ah... Okay!"

Avatar Calisto had already begun to form a vortex around the Islands' fleet, preparing to transport her followers back. Come on, Cirial, do it! Yes! Literally seconds before the islanders‘ ships were transported, a three-dimensional glowing image of the islanders’ number ten appeared in the air above their galley, from which a closing line slowly fell away, turning the ten into a one. Diantrel almost physically felt the mood on the islanders' flagship change from mockery to fierce anger, for which she managed to mentally thank her student, and then the lizard ship rocked noticeably, and a pressure drop hit her ears. Turning to the cause of this, the elf allowed herself a barely noticeable smile. They had arrived!

Right next to the galley's side, a snow-white elven ship with green sails appeared, using an analogue of short-distance ship teleportation. And not just any ship, the flagship of the White Fleet itself. And above the flagship's main mast flew a huge emerald-green flag with a clearly visible golden crown on it. The royal banner, indicating that the Supreme Commander of the Forest himself was on board. Just think about it...

Before anyone had time to understand or react, two dozen warriors appeared on the deck, which was already crowded, wearing gleaming silver-green armour, with enchanted swords in one hand and battle staffs in the other. And on the deck of the flagship that had appeared, a row of similar warriors lined up, but with bows loaded with enchanted arrows. In the blink of an eye, the warriors took over part of the deck, without even having to use force, as everyone scattered from them like the plague. And somehow it turned out that this was the very spot where Cyrial and Armina were, as well as the First, who had partially removed his disguise. Breathing a sigh of relief, Diantrel rose into the air and, with one short flight, found herself behind her kin. Finally...

"Nobody move! Drop your weapons!"

A sharp voice coming from the side of the flagship made those on the galley shudder. Many immediately followed this order, and some even fell to their knees. The more unexpected was the hissing of the captain of the lizards:

"There is no power here for you!"

Turning around, Diantrell saw that the plump lizard was looking at the elves with an unexpectedly malicious grin. And for some reason, he was not frightened by the arrows and wands aimed at him.

"Hold your position! Extinguish the ship's weaves! Now!"

The gloating grin on the lizard's face became even more frank.

"I listen only to the Greatest!"

At that moment, a loud roar was heard from above, and a shadow flashed over the galley.

"And here she is."

Looking up, Diantrel saw a graceful figure, clearly a young dragon with emerald-green scales, flying swiftly over the ships. Making a sharp turn, it headed back towards the ship. All the lizards on the deck of the galley, including the captain, immediately threw themselves to the ground. Damn, that's all we needed... As if to confirm Diantrel's thoughts, another galley appeared from the other side of the lizard galley in a fountain of spray. Only this one was as large as the Forest's flagship, lavishly decorated with gold, while the main colour was green. Several natural monsters leapt onto the already overcrowded small galley with one swift movement.

The lizards from the warrior caste were not known for their subtlety, but these were exceptional even among them. How they managed not to crush any of the refugees crammed onto the galley, who no longer knew where to go, is a mystery. Baring their toothy jaws, they glared menacingly at the elf warriors. And the elves glared back just as menacingly. The atmosphere immediately became tense...

With unexpected grace, a young emerald dragon landed on the bow of the galley, which had clearly been greatly enlarged and reinforced for this purpose. Or rather, a dragoness, if the words of the maliciously grinning captain of the lizards, who looked up at the elves from below, were to be believed. Folding her wings and curving her long neck, she flashed her bright yellow eyes and growled something.

No one had time to answer her because, with another fountain of spray, next to the unfortunate galley filled with frightened and confused refugees, a third ship appeared. It was larger than both Forest's flagship and the lizard galley. It was a veritable floating palace, with dozens, if not hundreds, of warriors lined up on its decks in luxurious armour unfamiliar to the inhabitants of the Western part of the world. And in the centre of the top deck stood a man in bright red and orange robes, surrounded by a large entourage. Dianterl sighed resignedly. Just great, these were the last thing she needed.

As if to confirm her thoughts, the Voice of the Rising Emperor spoke in flawless classical Elven, in a voice that was exceptionally polite and magically enhanced, with a hint of curiosity:

"What a wonderful spectacle. May I ask, sirs, why you, who were just fighting side by side, are now going to fight each other?"

Well, that's just wonderful... So, what to do now?
* * *

Character statuses at the end of Chapter 20 without promotions.

Name: Diantrel of the House of Winterblooms, daughter of Edenril.

Level: 53

Connection level with the Chosen One: 3 (strong).

Type of connection with the Chosen One: Mentor/Apprentice.

Class: Battle Sorceress

Characteristics: 0

Talents (free):0 (limited): 0

Constitution: 4

Sensitivity: 5

Power: 15

Control: 16

Source: 13

Spirit: 3

Resistance: 4

Acquired Knowledge:

Oral and Written:

Written and spoken: Classic Elven, Dark Elven, Free Cities, Northern Theocracy, Island Kingdom, Southern Caliphate, Undermountain Dwarven, Western Steppe, Central Steppe, Green Steppe, Northern Kingdoms, Ice Isles, Rising Empire (Classic/Simplified), Gem Cities dialects, Southeastern Lesser Kingdoms.

General knowledge:

“advanced mastery of martial weaves”, ‘developed mastery of generalist weaves’, ‘advanced mastery of elemental magic (air)’, ‘advanced mastery of elemental magic (fire)’, ‘advanced mastery of elemental magic (earth)’, ‘advanced mastery of elemental magic (water)’, “master creation and application of advanced ritual circles”, ‘advanced barrier and protection weaves’, ‘master control of internal energies’, ‘developed mastery of advanced amulets and artifacts’, ‘advanced ability to work with powerful external sources’, “advanced dueling with magical wands”, ‘advanced magical combat tactics’, ‘advanced magical search techniques’, ‘advanced magical disguise techniques’, ‘developed wilderness reconnaissance skills’, ‘developed wilderness survival skills’, ‘advanced magic-diversion skills’, “advanced mago-martial training instructor skills”, ‘advanced healing weaves’, ‘advanced archery’, ‘advanced fencing with one-handed blades (classical elven school)’, ‘advanced knowledge of general alchemy’, ‘advanced agent work’.

Minor Knowledge:

"Blink"

Acquired properties

"Developed Subtle Bodies III", "Refined Reflexes III", "Magic Sense III", "Trained Body II", "Forest Sense II", "Elven Health (Racial)", "Source of Magic", "Magic Boost (Elite)", "Stormborn (Elite)"

System modifiers:

"Access to System Purchases IV"

Tokens:

"Purification 10/10", "Gift a random property 3/5 (elite)"

Companion Modifiers:

"Share the Burden I", "Mark of the Chosen One II", "Magical Restoration II", "Healing of the Subtle Bodies II", "Physical Healing I", "Mental Link I"

SYNERGY OF MODIFIERS:

The modifiers ‘Mark of the Chosen II’ and ‘Magical Restoration II’ have entered into synergy!

Full restoration of the reserve and transfer of up to one-third of the reserve are now possible at any distance.

* * *

Name: Cyrill

Level: 23

Class: Wizard

Characteristics: (free) 0; (limited) 0

Talents: (free) 0 (limited): 0

Companion Modification Points (0)

Constitution: 2

Sensitivity: 2

Power: 10

Control: 7

Source: 11

Spirit: 1

Resistance: 2

Acquired Knowledge:

Oral and Written: Classical Elvish, Free Cities, Northern Theocracy;

General knowledge:

“advanced management and control of internal energies”, “developed skills of working with external energy sources”, “masterful skills of creating magical barriers”, “advanced skills of creating magical weaves”, “advanced basics of techniques of magical dueling with battle wands”, “developed tantric techniques of energy recovery”, “developed creation and application of ritual circles”, “developed tactics of magical combat”, “advanced basics of working with advanced amulets and artifacts”, “advanced methods of magical search”, “developed general weaving of elemental magic”, “developed methods of magical disguise”, “basic skills of working under water”

Core/root knowledge:

Developed Mastery of the School of Illusion:

Creation and maintenance of point, small, medium, and large territorial illusions.

Creation and maintenance of static, dynamic, and adaptive illusions of all types.

Creation and maintenance of illusory doubles/clones/copies.

Creation and maintenance of hypnotic illusions of a wide range.

Creation and maintenance of complex illusions of a wide profile.

Thickening and saturation of created illusions.

Minor Knowledge:

"Protective Field (Elite)"

Acquired properties:

‘Blessing of Harmonious Magical Development’, “Strengthening of Subtle Bodies II”, “Regeneration of Subtle Bodies II”, “Magic in Blood (Elite)”, “Enhanced Magic”(Power 10), “Source of Magic”(Source 10); "Mimicry of subtle bodies (elite)"

System modifiers:

‘System Assignment III’, ‘Intensive Development III’, ‘Access to System Purchases IV’; "Orientation in space III"

Tokens:

Companion Enhancement 7/10, Awesome Melons 80/100, "French Kiss 25/25", "Naughty Tongue 2/3", "Temporary Magic Source (Granting Lust and Passion) 2/5", "Role Change Guarantee 1/1"

Special:

Chosen by Aurial the Magnificent, Supreme Keeper of the Balance of Worlds, Standing Guard of the Balance of Powers: hidden effects.

Active Ability: "Share the Burden of the Chosen One II"

Available number of activations: 0 (recharge 1 standard month).

Available number of companions: 2/2

* * *

Name: Armina, daughter of Darat.

Level: 12

Connection level with the Chosen One: 2 (increased)

Type of connection with the Chosen One: Maid-Guardian/Master.

Class: Guardian

Characteristics: 0

Talents: 0

Constitution: 5

Sensitivity: 2

Power: 1

Control: 2

Source: 1

Spirit: 1

Resistance: 2

Acquired Knowledge:

Oral and Written: Classical Elvish, Free Cities, Northern Theocracy;

General knowledge:

"Advanced skills in handling throwing weapons (needles)", "developed skills in handling short bladed weapons (knives/daggers/stilettos), "developed close combat skills", "developed skills in broad-based intelligence work", "advanced bodyguard skills", "advanced skills in handling amulets and artifacts", "developed skills in providing medical assistance"

Minor Knowledge:

Acquired properties:

"Trained Body I", "Vigilance II", "Toughness II"

Companion Modifiers:

"Magic Restoration II"

* * *
Author's Note:

72 pages. It was hard. But I made it before the New Year! HURRAY!

Now there remains a chapter from Master's POV, and an Epilogue, where it will be shown what the System gave to Kiryusha and Co.

As usual, many thanks to all my readers for their feedback and comments, as well as for correcting any typos.

Good for everyone.

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

Переведено на Нотабеноиде
http://notabenoid.org/book/86674/587884

Переводчики: Camrad_RIP