Готовый перевод История Королевы Эльфов / The story of the Elf Queen: Глава Первая. Кирилл. Перемены в жизни Героя Королевы Эльфов

Chapter One. Cyrill. Changes in the Life of the Hero of the Elven Queen

* * *

Royal Palace of the Forest. Cyrill's chambers.

Looking questioningly at Gata, Cyrill asked:

"Are you ready?"

The catwoman wagged her fluffy red tail and nodded affirmatively:

"Yes."

It was clear that the girl was nervous, but trying not to show it. Exhaling, Cyril said quietly:

"Then let's start..."

Mental command. Confirmation. And...

Attention!

A new Companion has been found, Gata, daughter of Barrias!

The new Companion will be granted 3 bonus talent points and 1 attribute point.

The skills and actions performed are being assessed...

As with Armina, the process took about a minute. As soon as Cyril used Share the Chosen One's Burden III, cat folk froze, her bright yellow eyes with vertical pupils glazed over, staring into nothingness. Then Gata blinked several times and exhaled heavily, whispering in a slightly stunned voice:

"Unbelievable... It's... like..."

"It was as if your whole life had flashed before your eyes. Only it wasn't you watching," finished Armina, who was standing a little to the side, for her friend.

The cat girl nodded affirmatively, swishing her fluffy tail several times and twitching her cat ears.

"Exactly."

"And what gifts did the Tablet bestow upon her?" asked Diantrel, who was also present in Cyril's chambers.

"I'll tell you in a moment. Just a second... Status..."

So, what do we have here? Yes, I see. Overall, it turned out to be very similar to what Armina had experienced when Cyrill gave her the System in that damn Kardarot vault. Which, when you think about it, was quite logical — both girls had been trained in roughly the same way. The differences were minimal and, as Cyrill understood, mainly related to the racial characteristics of cat folk.

Name: Gata, daughter of Barías.

Level: 11

Connection level with the Chosen One: 2 (increased)

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

Class: NOT SELECTED

Characteristics: 1

Talents (free): 3 (limited): 0

Constitution: 3

Sensitivity: 2

Power: 1

Control: 2

Source: 1

Spirit: 1

Resistance: 1

Knowledge:

Written and spoken: Classical Elven, Free Cities, Western Steppe (Beastfolj dialect).

General knowledge:

“Advanced hand-to-hand combat skills (Claw Style),” “developed skills in the use of short cold weapons (knives/daggers/stilettos),” “developed skills in throwing weapons,” “developed skills in intelligence work,” “developed skills in bodyguard work,” “developed skills in handling amulets and artifacts,” “developed skills in providing medical assistance,” “developed knowledge of alchemy in a wide range of fields”

Minor Knowledge: "Shapeshift I"

Properties: "Trained Body I", "Beast's Blood I",

Companion Modifiers: (None)

Having received a message from Cyrill, Diantrel nodded briefly:

"I see. What Lots does the Tablet offer you?" the elf asked the cat woman.

She stared intently at the lines invisible to those around her, and at Diantrel's question she involuntarily flinched, twitched her tail, and hastily said:

"Several, honorable ... Like Armina, it's offer Assassin, Agentess and Guardian... And also... ahem... Concubine..."

“No Spy class?” Diantrel raised an eyebrow, ignoring how Gata's ears twitched when she mentioned the last class offered.

"No... But they offer a lot... Shaar'khashi..."

"Who?" Cyrill didn’t understand.

Judging by Armina's puzzled look, she also did not understand what her friend meant, who was intently staring at the invisible lines in front of her. But Diantrel understood and clarified:

"If my memory serves me correctly, is that the word used by the beast folks tribes, from which your family originates, to refer to warriors and hunters?"

Gata, who continued to read the descriptions of the proposed classes, glanced at the elf and nodded:

"Yes and no, honorable one. It is difficult to translate the meaning of this word into Elvish... They are not exactly warriors and hunters... Or rather, they are not only that... Rather, it is... That is what they call those who walk the path of the Ancestor Beast, mastering its gifts with every step."

"The ability to transform into a beast?" Cyrill suggested.

"Not only that," Gata shook her head. "Changing your appearance is just one of the many gifts you can get by following the path of the Ancestor Beast and going far enough down it. Your eyesight will get better, and you'll be able to see not only normal tracks but also tracks of magic without any effort. Your sense of smell will become more acute, and you will be able to smell even magic. Your body will become stronger, and it will be easier to withstand blows. And any wounds you receive will heal faster. You will become more agile, faster, more nimble, simply stronger, both in human and animal form..."

“It sounds pretty good,” Cyrill said cautiously, sensing some kind of catch in Gata’s intonation.

And he turned out to be right. The cat girl slowly shook her head again and continued:

"Walking the path of the Ancestor Beast is very difficult, as many dangers are lurking along the way. One wrong step is enough to stumble forever."

Seeing the confusion in Cyrill's eyes, the cat girls explained:

"The most obvious reason is that it is much easier to become a beast than to transform back into a human. Nearly a third of the frightening tales of beast-people, used to scare disobedient children, tell of those who strayed from the path of the Beast and were unable to return, remaining forever as beasts, deprived of reason. And the scariest tales were about those who remained halfway between beast and human, turning into true monsters..."

"I can assure you, Cirial," said Diantrel, who had been listening attentively and watching Gata, "that a significant portion of these stories, even if they sometimes exaggerate the degree of danger, are nevertheless based on solid facts."

"I trust you completely," nodded the young man, involuntarily recalling the fairy tales of his native Earth.

At the time, he was very surprised to learn that the fairy tales he had been reading as a child were heavily censored versions of the originals. And there was no magic in his native world. So what kind of fairy tales should there be in a world where magic is normal...

"As well as those that tell of the most outstanding heroes of the beast folk, who successfully followed in the footsteps of the Ancestor Beast, mastering his gifts to the fullest," added Diantrel, continuing to watch Gata closely.

She shuddered slightly at these words and glanced at the elf again, then nodded briefly:

"That is indeed true, honorable..."

She bit her lip and continued to pore over the invisible lines in front of her. Exchanging glances with Armina and Diantrel, Cyrill asked:

"Is something wrong, Gata?"

She glanced at him quickly, wagged her tail several times, and said thoughtfully:

"The thing is, sir... I could have become a Shaar'hashi when I was a child. I had the makings of one. It was easier for me than for my peers to transform completely or partially. I was better than others at sensing magic after transforming. It was easier for me than for others to retain my human mind in animal form. But when I was offered the chance to seriously embark on this path..."

After pausing for a few seconds, Gata admitted honestly:

"I was afraid. I wanted to, but... My family has lived under the canopy of the Forest for a very long time, where there is almost no need to take this dangerous path... A deadly dangerous path, if you go far enough along it and slip..."

Looking at Cyrill, Gata continued in a sad voice:

"The last person in my family who attempted to become a Shaar'hashi was one of my relatives on my father's side. This occurred before I was born. Like me, he had talent. He took his first steps, but then... he stumbled. And he was killed by his mentors right during training."

Frowning her thin eyebrows, Diantrel paused for a moment, then asked briefly:

"Maurice?"

Gata nodded silently in response. Turning to Cyrill, the mentor explained in a gloomy voice:

"I remember this incident, although I was not personally involved in it. That young man was indeed very promising and had a chance to become a good beast warrior. Such warriors are highly valued, and if he had successfully completed his training, he would have been guaranteed a place in the Forest Guard. But during one of the training sessions, when he tried to master a new, more advanced form of the beast, something went wrong. The young man lost control of himself, and his human part was completely and utterly consumed by the Beast's Fury. A very tragic, but, alas, not uncommon ending for those like him."

The cat girl slowly nodded, twitching her tail, and spoke in a quiet voice:

"That's right, honorable. One of my relatives who tried to follow in the footsteps of the Ancestor Beast also failed, but luckily he stumbled right at the start. That's why I gave up on this path when I was a kid. And now fate is offering it to me again..."

"If you don't like this class, you can choose any other one from those offered. The same Agent or Guardian as Armina. Whatever you want," Cyrill reassured his maid, and more recently, his comrade-in-arms.

At the same time, he tried to banish the image of Gata in his mind, dressed as a sultan's concubine and wearing a cat collar around her neck. An image, it must be admitted, is quite seductive... Damn, don't think about that! Pull yourself together! The cat girl gave him a grateful look, swished her tail, and nodded briefly:

"Thank you, Mr. Сirial."

But looking straight ahead again, she pursed her lips and said:

"But the thing is... The lot of the Shaar'hashi... Ше..."

"Better than the others offered to you? Higher quality?" Diantrel guessed.

“Exactly so, honorable,” Gata nodded.

"A lot?" Cyrill asked, remembering his own experience of receiving his specialization.

Thoughtfully, Gata spoke slowly, still staring ahead:

"In my opinion... One step. At least one step. Maybe even one and a half. And he's... It's hard to say... It's like it's special. For me. The others, they're... It's like a training dagger from the armory, of which there are two dozen, and your personal dagger, made specifically for your hand..."

Exchanging glances with Diantrel, Cyrill looked into his mentor's eyes for a few seconds, then turned to Gata and said softly:

"Gata, I understand that this class, that is, your destiny, frightens you. But don't forget this: it was offered to you by the Tablet of Souls. And it makes it much easier to master any destiny. Just look at me. And it will help you, as you said, not to stumble. And if something like that happens, believe me, the power of the Tablet can pull you out of the abyss."

Twitching her ears, the cat-woman glanced at Cyril again, smiled briefly, and nodded:

"You are right, sir. Walking the path of the Ancestor Beast with such support will indeed be easier."

Taking a deep breath, which caused her ample bosom, visible in the neckline of her black and white dress, to sway seductively, Gata exhaled decisively and said:

"So be it..."

"Wait!"

Cyril's sudden exclamation made the cat-woman jump and bristle the hair on her tail. So the young man hastily reassured her:

"It's better to sit down in a chair first. Or lie down on the sofa. Otherwise, you might fall over when new knowledge pops into your head."

Blinking several times, Gata nodded gratefully and smiled:

"Thank you, sir, I really didn't think about it, and you warned me."

"It's okay."

Sitting down on the sofa, Gata folded her arms across her chest and, staring at the ceiling, mentally confirmed her choice...

* * *

Underworld. The area beneath the Royal Palace. The mansion of the House of Travil, the bathing rooms.

"Just lie still for a moment..."

Sierra's voice was calm, but there was a noticeable tension in it. The reason for the dark elf's tension, freshly washed, lay before her on the changing table, happily cooing and kicking her legs energetically, doing everything she could to prevent herself from being changed. Realizing that there was no other way, Sierra bent low over her son. The toddler, who had grown noticeably over the past few days, immediately let out another joyful coo and reached for his mother's face. More precisely, for her hair. Grabbing one of her strands with a strength unexpected for such a small child, he pulled it sharply toward him, causing Sierra to bite her lip in annoyance.

But the little boy paid no attention to his mother's discontent. He put the tip of her hair in his mouth and began to chew it, smacking his lips. Taking advantage of the fact that he had stopped kicking his legs, Sierra, leaning over him, was finally able to swaddle him. She then straightened up with relief, pulling her hair out of her son's mouth, which immediately provoked an extremely loud and protesting cry. Rolling her scarlet eyes, the dark elf picked him up and began to rock him, but Diarval continued to pull her hair with his hands, trying to grab his mother by her long strands.

Watching this process, Zairal said with a smile:

"Is there really not enough money for a maid to look after the little one?"

Casting a glance full of standard dark-elven arrogance at her fellow tribeswoman, Sierra said in a voice full of the same arrogance:

"I can take care of my son myself. And I can do it better than anyone else."

The smile on Zairal's face grew even wider. The former Senior Huntress of the Great House of Shaalas lay comfortably in a sturdy bronze bathtub, enchanted to maintain the desired water temperature, with one leg thrown over the side. One of the young maids, dressed in a towel, sat on a stool next to her, carefully giving her a pedicure. On the other side of the bathtub, on a small table, stood a plate of sliced fruits, which Zairal devoured one by one with undisguised pleasure. After putting another slice in her mouth, she said with the same mocking tone:

"Is he yours? It seemed to me that he was his son."

Stretching her lips into a smile in response, Sierra tilted her head slightly to one side because Diarval had grabbed one of her strands of hair and was now pulling her toward him with a strength unexpected for a child.

"So, you really do have problems with observation, and it’s not for nothing that you are now the former Senior Catcher."

The eyes of Zairal, who was lying in the bath, literally sparkled and narrowed unkindly.

"Be careful, girl. If you don't learn to watch your tongue, you might lose it one day."

"It's funny to hear this from someone who managed to lose not only her place, but even the right to bear the name of her House, and now lives as a parasite in someone else's House. My House."

"Well, look at this, this powerless doormat imagines herself to be a Matriarch, and she still dares to reproach me for my lack of observation..."

"To the absence of which one might as well add blindness since you can’t even see the Patriarch’s legal wife in front of you..."

"This is the fairy tale you console yourself with when he puts you on your knees and..."

The exchange of pleasantries between the two dark elves, the air between them already crackling with tension, was interrupted by the sound of the bathhouse door bursting open, and Luaval striding decisively inside. He was dressed in a home outfit consisting of trousers and a sleeveless vest, made of dark silk and embroidered with silver. Behind him, two steps behind walked another dark elf. Completely naked, except for a pair of sandals and a slave collar decorated with gold. She was slender, with a trained body, hair cut in the style of the Hunters, red eyes, and a beautiful aristocratic face typical of firstborns. Which was completely atypical for dark elves, devoid of even a hint of their famous arrogance.

As soon as Luaval entered, the maid Zairal, who was doing her manicure and had interrupted her work during the altercation between the two dark elves, hurriedly stood up and bowed to her master. Sierra, upon seeing her husband, jerked toward him but froze when she saw another member of her tribe behind him. The former Senior Huntress merely turned toward Luaval when he appeared, but remained lying in the bathroom, her lips stretched into a predatory smile. She merely glanced contemptuously at her fellow elf. The dark elf spoke in a cheerful and lively voice as he walked:

"If you want to start a fight, you can, but only in my presence, naked, covered in oil, and without self-harm."

In response, Zairal snorted demonstratively and popped another slice of juicy apple into her mouth. Sierra completely ignored the comment about the fight, instead casting a keen and openly suspicious glance at the elf walking behind Luaval. Pointing at her with her free hand, she asked with undisguised displeasure:

"Who the hell is this?"

In response, Luaval smiled and, approaching his wife, who was dressed only in a robe made of the same dark silk, hugged her tightly around the waist, pressing her against him and kissing her lips. At the same time, his hand almost immediately slid from her waist to Sierra's buttocks, squeezing them tightly. Pulling away after a few seconds, he said with a smile:

"I'm glad to see you too, my dear."

"Auuuyaaaa!!!"

"And you too, my dear!"

Taking Sierra's son, who was reaching out to him with both hands, Luaval smiled even wider and lifted him up:

"You grow so fast... Is he still as insatiable?"

"Now he's got teeth too, he bit my whole chest," Sierra folded her arms over her chest, "and started pulling my hair all the time."

"Is that so? Well, I did that too when I was a child!"

Rolling her eyes for a moment, Sierra turned to her new tribeswoman, who stood silently a little way away from them, and asked in the same dissatisfied voice:

"So who is she?"

Turning to her, Luaval smiled and imagined a naked dark elf:

"My new concubine. Ciadal, formerly a Hunter of House Zaatran."

Pointing to her, Luaval ordered the maid who had been caring for Zairal:

"Get her neat. First, wash her thoroughly, then take her to the Beauty Chambers. When you're done, take her to the guest quarters and feed her, then I'll take care of her."

"Just a moment, sir," nodded the maid and immediately led the surprisingly submissive Ciadal to one of the small baths.

Zairal, who had been watching all this from the bathtub, finally decided to stand up, continuing to stare at the arriving Luaval with a satisfied smirk. Standing in the center of the bathtub, the former Senior Huntress of the Great House of Shaalas stretched demonstratively, not at all embarrassed by the nakedness of her body, which was much more toned than Sierra's or Ciadal's.

"I must admit, it's quite amusing to watch you decide to gather your little harem under the branches of the Forest. Or should I say, under its roots?"

Luaval chuckled in response, handed his son to Sierra and turned to Zairal, shaking his head:

"I am not gathering a harem. I am reviving my House, which was almost destroyed by the wise and far-sighted leadership of my venerable mother and her closest associates."

"Call it what you want, it's your right, I don't really care," Zairal shrugged, making no attempt to get out of the bathtub she was standing in or to get dressed.

With her arms folded across her chest, which was only slightly smaller than Sierra's breasts, she sang out with a frankly smug smile:

"But as for our agreement, it's more than that. While you were away, I had a good time with your friends, the underground warriors of the Forest. I give them credit; they organized an excellent testing ground. With your help, I suppose?"

"Of course."

"That's what I thought. In any case, I completed the entire series of trials, both individual and group ones. And I was the best in all of them," Zairal said the last sentence with undisguised self-satisfaction.

"Yes, I have already been informed," Luaval nodded calmly. "The new commander of the Underworld Corps was very impressed with your results. Did he not offer you to enlist in the Forest Underworld Corps?"

"He offered, but I doubt he can afford my services. In any case..."

Tilting her head slightly to one side, Zairal cast a triumphant glance at Luaval and said:

"I have completed the full cycle of the Hunter Trials. And I believe you remember very well what that means, my dear."

An unexpectedly broad and satisfied smile appeared on Luaval's face, no less than that on Zairal's, and he nodded:

"Of course. I have prepared a set of equipment for you, you can leave whenever you wish."

The dark elf's expression instantly became extremely serious, and her eyes narrowed unkindly and flashed angrily:

"I have completed the full Circle of Trials! Should I remind you of the terms of our agreement, which you proposed, having sworn on the altar of the Oathkeeper?"

Luaval shrugged, chuckled, and replied in a cheerful voice:

"I remember every letter of our agreement with you very well. And it seems to me, while you are not yet my darling, you have forgotten something."

Zairal, already sensing that she had missed some trick or loophole so beloved by her fellow tribesmen, narrowed her eyes even more. Casting a suspicious glance at Sierra, who was clearly interested in what was happening, she asked in an insinuating voice:

"And what, may I ask, have I forgotten?"

"Isn't it obvious? About the last and most important Test for any Hunter or Huntress," Luaval said as if it were something self-evident, spreading his arms with a smile on his face.

At these words, Zairal's face turned to stone. And Luaval, taking a step towards her, continued:

"Defeat the First in the City and take his place. This is the Final Trial for any Hunter or Huntress who has become First in their House. And you have not passed it yet. So, according to our agreement, you can be considered to have failed one Trial. Which, in turn, means that you can leave my House right now. With only one set of equipment and a bag of food. However, if you wish, you won't have to go far, as I said, the new Commander of the Forest Guard's Underground Corps has fully appreciated your skills. I think you will still be able to come to an agreement. Or..."

Taking another step toward the petrified Zairal, Luaval smiled radiantly at her and said:

"You can try to defeat me, as the rightful holder of the title of First in the City. But... I believe you remember very well what fate awaits those who dare to challenge the First in the City and fail to defeat him..."

Zairal, her scarlet eyes flashing angrily, literally hissed:

"Asshole..."

Luaval threw up his hands and snorted loudly:

"Pfff, have mercy, Lady of Darkness! If you've forgotten, I could have made you my concubine without any fuss, just like her..."

Luaval nodded towards Ciadal, who was sitting in the small bath while a maid diligently soaped her hair.

" ...but instead, I decided to give you a chance. A chance to prove that you are a true Catcher, not just in words but in deeds. And I must admit, up until now, you have completely lived up to my expectations. Now there is only one thing left to figure out. Will you take the risk and go all the way? Or will you give up and retreat? As I said, under the terms of our agreement, you can leave right now and go wherever you want. If you want, go and take revenge on the Silk Spider for your humiliation. If you want, go to the Forest and enlist in the Underworld Corps of the Forest Guard."

Taking another step, stopping at arm's length from Zairal, who was still standing naked in the bathtub with her arms folded across her chest, Luaval bowed his head slightly and asked with interest:

"So, what will you choose?"

* * *

Royal Palace of the Forest. Cyrill's chambers.

Gata came to her senses unexpectedly quickly. Compared to how Cyril was mastering new knowledge, not to mention class specialization. The cat girl lay on the sofa for about two hours, and most of the time she was conscious. The reason turned out to be the peculiarities of the chosen class “Sha'ar'hashi,” or as it was displayed from Cyril's point of view, “Entered the path of the Ancestor-Patron-Beast.” Gate added only two pieces of knowledge: “advanced methods of tracking prey (beast form)” and “advanced melee combat skills (beast form),” and both of these pieces of knowledge were distinctly physical in nature. The existing property “Blood of the Beast I” was, according to the cat girl enhanced and transformed into three separate properties. Two of them, “Vitality of the Beast I” and “Senses of the Beast I,” were added, as earthly gamers would say, by default. But the third property had to be chosen from several options: “Beast Strength I,” “Beast Speed I,” or “Beast Endurance I.” And choosing just one was not so easy, because, according to Gata, she wanted everything at once. Cyril, Armina, and Diantrel understood her perfectly.

“Vitality of the Beast I", as the name suggests, enhanced Gata’s survivability. The expression “heals like a dog” applied to her in full, even though she was a cat folk. She now had little to fear from ordinary wounds, as well as most common ailments. Unusual wounds were more difficult, but, according to Gata, further development of this property allowed her to survive even serious injuries inflicted by magic. Especially with the growth of Constitution and Resistance. “Senses of the Beast I” literally improved Gata's sense of smell, so she could get a job at any airport or train station on Earth, replacing the service dogs. It also became easier for her, according to her, to perceive magical weaves. She began to sense a special smell of magic. However, so far only those weaves that were not deliberately hidden.

The other properties, one of which had to be chosen, were also clear from their names. As a result of joint discussions, Gata chose ‘Beast Speed I,’ which increased both the girl's reaction speed and her running speed. For, as she put it, quick paws cannot be caught. In general, according to the cat woman, ++‘Beast Strength I’ and ‘Beast Endurance I’ would be more suitable for those who traced their lineage back to the Wolf Ancestor. Or, if we're talking about the cat branch of the beast-people, the Lion or Tiger Ancestor. These properties would also suit the Taurus very well. But she preferred to rely on stealth and one quick, well-aimed blow throughout her life. Or several very quick blows that would not give the enemy time to recover.

In addition to knowledge and new properties, Gata was granted one new minor knowledge, and her existing Shapteshift I was upgraded to the second level. The new minor knowledge turned out to be Stealthy Step (Beast Form) I. According to Gata, it was analogous to a stealth skill. It was not complete invisibility, not even close, but it made detection difficult, allowing him to partially hide his aura, better conceal the sound of his footsteps, and leave no traces on ordinary surfaces. This included non-physical traces. Of course, it would not save him from serious search tools at the first level, but if this knowledge were developed, the situation would change.

And, of course, her stats have improved since she gained a class! Her Constitution has increased by three points, bringing it to six. Her Sensitivity has increased by two points, reaching four, putting Gata on par with Armina in this stat. Resistance increased by one point, reaching two. Going forward, Constitution will increase by one point every ten levels, Sensitivity every twenty, and Resistance every thirty.

Gata invested her bonus free attribute point in Constitution without much thought, bringing it up to seven, as this attribute was her specialty. After that, she was forced to lie down on the sofa again while her body adjusted to the changes in her Status. But choosing where to invest her talent points was much more difficult. Because the same problem arose again: she wanted everything the System had to offer at once, but she only had three points. Lying on the sofa, Gata bit her lip, her eyes sliding over the lines of her status that were invisible to others, and she was clearly suffering, like a child in a toy store whose father had told her she could choose anyone, but only one. In this case, three.

According to the cat girl herself, she intuitively understood that the development of her chosen class relied more on amplifying properties than on knowledge, and to a lesser extent on minor knowledge. Therefore, after joint discussions, biting her lips at the injustice of the world, expressed in the obvious lack of talent points, Gata finally made her choice, spending two points on strengthening her existing properties, bringing “Beast Speed I” and “Beast Vitality I” to the second level. She spent her third talent point on acquiring the “Reinforced Claws I” attribute. She immediately demonstrated it.

It looked impressive, it must be admitted. Subconsciously, Cyril expected something like the classic claws of Logan-Wolverine from the X-Men, as he called them to himself. But instead of blades protruding between the knuckles, Gata's hand below the elbow was transformed, partially turning into an animal's. Hair grew, and the nails on her fingertips turned into natural claws. Pretty little claws, about fifteen centimeters each. According to Gata, even without this acquired ability, she could now grow them without the slightest effort thanks to her chosen class. But “Reinforced Claws I,” as the name suggested, strengthened them, making them comparable in strength to ordinary steel. And, when using reserves, they were capable of cutting through or piercing steel armor. It was a similar effect to what Armina's “Enhanced Strike III” provided.

Gata immediately wanted to try out her new powers. But to her obvious annoyance, Cyril, and therefore she, had something else to do right now. Namely, moving house. While the cat girl lay on the sofa, absorbing the gifts of the System, Diantrel explained to her student and ward the situation that had arisen due to their sudden adventure. And after listening to his mentor very attentively, Cyril, to put it bluntly, was a little freaked out, if not worse. Subconsciously, he realized that, as they said on Earth, he had “been exposed.” But damn, he couldn't even imagine that he would be exposed SO brightly. No, come on, they mistook him for the illegitimate son of the King of the Forest himself! And, as it turned out, he had to thank Shinda-Bah for that, who, according to Diantrel, had become the main source of information about the young man. In the merchant's defense, it could be said that he was more than sincere in his delusions, truly mistaking Cyril for Iardal's illegitimate son.

But because of this, according to his mentor, Cyrill will now have to change his place of residence. Staying at the Royal Palace any longer would be counterproductive. There are now too many people who want to meet him, people who cannot be easily refused. And in general, as his mentor put it, a wizard of his caliber should have acquired his own home long ago. When Cyrill asked where he would be relocated, Diantrel simply smiled and replied that he would soon see.

The mentor also shared other news, much darker and more disturbing, against which Cyrill's ‘exposure’ seemed like a minor issue. The analysts of the elven secret service did not sit idly by while Cyrill was entertaining first in White Harbour and then in the steppes and dungeons of Beriadon. They worked hard, and their conclusions were very disappointing. Master is alive. Despite relentless searches, it has not yet been possible to track him down after his battle with Balrog, and, as Diantrel said with distinct annoyance, the chances of doing so are dwindling with each passing day. And that is very bad.

Without anyone chasing him, Master will start to master the Gifts of the Tablets he's got and find new ones. And time is on his side right now. According to analysts' estimates, even taking into account the fact that he clearly did not start his ascent from the first step, which means that each subsequent step will require more and more time and effort. Master has every chance of reaching the level of archmagister very quickly, impossibly quickly. And in the relatively distant future, he could become an archmage, which would make him, without exaggeration, a threat on a global scale. Cyrill completely agreed with this. He knew what people with such gifts were capable of, thanks to the lectures of his mentor, who had told him the brief biographies of two local archmages.

Moreover, without fear of persecution and possessing the power of the Tablets, he can make his counter move at any moment. He may be already preparing it right now. And if without the Tablets he almost subjugated an entire celestial being, albeit under very specific conditions, it is frightening to think what he will be capable of with them. There is only one way to counter this threat at medium and long range if it is not possible to track down Master.

Having said this, Diantrel looked meaningfully at her student. Cyrill understood his mentor even without their systematic mental connection: he had to become stronger. No. They had to become stronger. And as quickly as possible. Hearing these words, Diantrel allowed herself a faint smile and nodded affirmatively. Therefore, she continued, Forest had decided that Cyrill's further training and education would be conducted jointly with Armina and Gata, in order to form a unified strike force and increase their effectiveness. And to raise them up the steps of the Tablets so that they could gain new gifts. She too would now take a direct part in his further training, rather than watching from the sidelines. But they will deal with these issues tomorrow. Today, they had to move, as soon as Gata had fully recovered.

To Cyrill's great delight, there was no need to pack boxes and suitcases, call a truck and a team of movers. Because all his belongings, as it turned out, fit perfectly into one enchanted bag with increased volume. In fact, what personal belongings did he have? A couple of sets of clothes, plus amulets and artifacts given to him by elves or received from the System. Most of the former had to be sacrificed to trick that red-eyed bitch into hiccuping. All he had left was his light wood staff, which he didn't take to White Harbour, limiting himself to a wand. But, luckily, Diantrel assured him that a new set was already being prepared for him, taking into account Cyrill's increased characteristics.

So the preparations were brief. It took much longer to prepare for the departure. Because, to Cyrill's surprise, it was not possible to simply leave. Or rather, it was highly undesirable due to his changed legend. As Diantrel explained, it was best for them to leave the Royal Palace as inconspicuously as possible. Fortunately, Cyrill was capable of doing just that, given his acquired knowledge and specialisation. It took him almost three hours to create an illusion that reliably concealed him, his mentor, and the maids. Three hours! No, Cyrill could have created a simple illusion in no time. But Diantrel demanded not a simple one, given the circumstances, but the most reliable one possible, so that their departure would be guaranteed not to be noticed by anyone.

When Cyrill cautiously asked if this was going too far, his mentor merely replied meaningfully that he had no idea how much interest there was in the Forest, and not only that, but the news that Iardal, whom the young man had never even seen, apparently had an illegitimate son. And how undesirable this interest was for him now, given the circumstances. Therefore, they had to leave as discreetly as possible. So Cyrill had to try hard to create a deceptive illusion that would fool any possible observers. Moreover, she had to hide not only the four of them but also the exit from the chambers, so that no one would notice the open door, which was logical.

In the end, he had to reinforce and change the structure of the weave three times before Diantrel, who was watching her student's work from the sidelines, was satisfied. Walking around Cyrill and his maids, who were standing under the illusion in the centre of the room, the elf with bright purple eyes honestly and loudly declared that she could not see a single trace of their presence. Moreover, she did not simply search for the three of them with her magical vision but also used several active search techniques. She immediately added to Cyrill, who had dispelled the illusion, that if he were an ordinary student, she would sign his patent confirming his title of master of magic right here and now with a clear conscience.

Hearing such praise from his mentor was, frankly speaking, pleasant. As was trying out his new powers. After all, his chosen specialization had significantly strengthened one of Kirill's two main strengths. Now, he would most likely be able to lead everyone to the center of the Kardarot vault without much difficulty, provided there was an open passage. And that glitchy Skynet dwarf-made thing wouldn't have noticed him. It could have searched for him until it turned blue. The only option would be if it started physically sifting through the vault with a fine-toothed comb, sending its necromancers in a chain. Or spraying some kind of powder. By the way, this is a really effective method of countering illusions, Cyril realized as they were about to leave. Hmm... In theory, it's not difficult to create an illusion that adapts to a cloud of some kind of powder. What if it's alchemical and specially designed to “illuminate” illusory weaves? Like in some movies where special agents use laser beams? We'll have to discuss this with Diantrel later and think of ways to counteract it.

Having made a mental note not to forget to discuss this important point, Cyrill, together with his mentor and the maids, left the now familiar chambers of a luxury room in a five-star hotel, covered by a reliable adaptive illusion.

* * *

Having received confirmation via the most reliable communication device, the senior member of a small group of Secret Guard agents nodded briefly to his subordinates, who, like him, were waiting in the room adjacent to the Guest's quarters. Leaving it under cover, they entered the vacated quarters under the same cover and set to work. It was a rather specific job, which he and his small but extremely professional team knew how to do like few others. They had to thoroughly clean up all traces of the Guest's stay in these chambers. Yes, literally paranoid measures were already being taken to protect him, most of which he was not even aware of. Apart from Third himself, probably no one else had the full picture. And of course, this included a special ritual performed secretly on the Guest in the Forest during his first days there, designed to render any small particles separated from the body, such as hair, nails, or pieces of skin, almost useless for any magic.

But considering what was at stake, the risk was unacceptable, and “almost” does not mean “completely.” Therefore, the group of agents with the call sign Cleaner set to work. They had to treat all the rooms and furniture with special alchemy and perform a series of rituals designed to erase any energy imprints or traces of the “Guest.” And also make them, if not completely, then as useless as possible for all kinds of clairvoyants. After all, he had lived here for quite some time, and these rooms were not a specialized refuge where the furniture and walls were specially made to either have no “memory” at all or to have the most fleeting memory possible.

The Cleaner's group also had to collect sets of tracking and protective amulets, which covered these chambers in three layers and were actually quite expensive. In short, they had a lot of work ahead of them.

* * *

Royal Palace of the Forest. Secret Guard Corps, one of the conference rooms.

Looking at the large enchanted mirrors hanging on the wall, which reflected the “Guest” and the group of agents covering his departure, also hidden by camouflage, Third, uncharacteristically unperturbed, said briefly:

"This is alarming..."

Sitting next to him, Sivila nodded with a thoughtful face:

"Agree."

The Elder Enchantress, sitting on the other side of Third, looked questioningly at the queen and the head of the Secret Guard. He glanced at her briefly, pointed to one of the mirrors reflecting the Guest's preparations for departure, and explained:

"His increased ability to disguise himself. Diantrel couldn't spot him, even though she didn't use specialized search amulets, but only her magical vision and fairly ordinary search techniques."

"Do you think he might try to escape?" Mirael raised her eyebrows.

"I consider such a possibility extremely unlikely, given his loyalty to the Forest, but I cannot rule it out entirely," Third shook his head. "But the very fact that the Guest can hide from observation is extremely alarming."

Turning to First, who was silently gliding his gaze across the mirrors, he continued:

"I propose to increase surveillance of the Guest and use additional measures to track his location."

The oldest of the elves present at the meeting slowly shook his head:

"There is no particular point."

In response to the questioning and surprised looks of those around him, First explained in a dry voice:

"Given the uncontrollable and unpredictable factor of the Tablets and the gifts, the only way to reliably keep the ‘Guest’ under control is by force or direct mental influence. But even this does not provide absolute guarantees, and it is certain to turn him against us if he gains his freedom. In theory, he could simply receive a gift similar to the one that causes women to bare their breasts, which would allow him to leave the Forest without any of us noticing until it is too late. Against this backdrop, his increased ability to hide from observation changes practically nothing."

He let out a tired sigh, massaged his eyes and, without looking at anyone, continued:

"What will keep him there more reliably is that thanks to the strategy we have chosen, he already considers the Forest his home. In this regard, the sudden change in his place of residence only plays into our hands. A much more important issue is the need for his further development and strengthening."

Third one glanced at the mirrors, and then turned back to his mentor:

"He might do something stupid, thinking that he can get away with it because of the new opportunities."

"Maybe," nodded the First, "but so far he has shown himself to be quite prudent and has listened to all the advice Diantrel has given him. And he hasn't done anything openly stupid, except for the first incident when he tried to charge the storage ring himself and ended up exhausting himself."

"Because he didn’t have the same opportunities as he does now," Third retorted.

"Let Diantrel show him some vivid examples of what can happen when you sneak up on someone gifted, which was once very popular among some Secret Guard agents," suggested Sivila.

She stood Third's gaze in her direction with complete calm. First nodded slightly:

"This would not be superfluous, especially given the current circumstances."

Turning to his protégé, he asked briefly:

"Is the search still fruitless?"

Third shook his head and replied:

"No traces of Master have been found yet. And, as expected, the lack of results has led to the intensity of the search continuing to decline with each passing week. Only the followers of Sunface retain their former zeal. The rest have noticeably cooled towards them. This was largely due to the fact that during the search, many different things were found, but none of them were related to Master. And many switched their attention to new problems that had come to light."

"Also to be expected. Let's hope that at least the followers of the Sun-face will maintain their zeal for long enough, considering the slap they received," First sighed wearily.

After a few seconds of silence, he said in a gloomy but determined voice:

"So we'll have to take a more risky route."

Everyone understood perfectly well what the oldest of the firstborns meant. After all, this issue had been discussed more than once or twice, with many heated exchanges. Pressing her lips together, Sivila folded her arms across her chest, glanced at the mirrors, sighed wearily, and in a voice as gloomy as First's, she said:

"I don't like this at all... But I have to agree with you."

Catching the surprised look of Mirael and several other colleagues, the queen explained her change of position:

"Like you, I would prefer a smoother and safer course of events. But the reality is that we failed to shoot down Master in his prime. This means that our only chance to avoid the fate he had in store for the Northern Theocracy is the ‘Guest.’ We need him to come into power as quickly as possible so that we have at least a chance to counter Master's threat."

With her arms folded across her chest in the same manner, Mirael looked meaningfully at her colleagues and asked:

"And how do you propose to do this? The effectiveness of classical training fell with each step he gained. This is an ironclad fact. Are you suggesting that we arrange an expedition for him somewhere in the Wild Lands? Or another walk through the Underworld?"

"If necessary, we will arrange it," First snapped. "If we do not find the Master's trail soon, the rapid rise of the Guest will become a question of the survival of the Forest."

"It is possible to arrange the expedition," Third said thoughtfully, "but considering the characteristics of the Guest that you mentioned, there is a risk of losing control over him again."

"So, we need to make sure that he wants to return to the Forest himself. Besides, let's not forget about the gifts of the Tablet, or rather, the tasks it assigns. Considering the steps he and Diantrel have taken in these gifts, there is hope that these tasks will accelerate their ascension."

"Speaking of the gifts of the Tablet," said Sivila in a thoughtful voice, "what about what Diantrel received?"

Turning to Mirael, the queen looked at her questioningly. The Elder Enchantress hesitated for a moment before replying:

"My esteemed mentor considered our proposal but kindly declined, saying that she had already achieved considerable heights without such gifts and that it would be better to strengthen other worthy and gifted members of the Forest in this way..."

"Or, in other words, she was afraid that along with the gift she would experience radical changes in her sexual preferences," the Supreme Emissary allowed himself a smirk.

And he wasn't the only one. The meaningful glances from Mirael and a couple of other specialists from different Schools of Magic were completely ignored by everyone. The first one let out another weary sigh and, turning to the Elder Enchantress, asked:

In that case, what about you?

She hesitated for a moment, exchanged glances with her colleagues in the magical profession, then slowly nodded and spoke, carefully choosing her words:

"Unlike my esteemed mentor, I will not refuse a gift similar to those received by The Guest and Diantrel, even considering its... downside. In extreme cases, I am prepared to undergo mental correction if it proves to be... excessively unacceptable. But!"

Raising her hand, Mirael looked around the table with a keen gaze, first of all at her colleagues:

"I agree only on condition that the other Supreme Council members approve my candidacy and do so in writing. In order to avoid subsequent accusations of using my position for personal gain, given the uniqueness of this gift..."

"I can write you an order right now in my own name to obtain this gift to strengthen the security of the Forest," said First, looking at the Elder Enchantress, his voice still infinitely weary.

"And I believe that everyone will support my decision," he added, casting a heavy gaze around the table.

No one thought to object; they all just nodded briefly and in agreement. Satisfied that there were no objections, First took a clean sheet of stamped paper and wrote a few lines on it with an enchanted pen. He then affixed his seal and handed it to the Elder Enchantress, who carefully put it away in her bag. At that very moment, one of the Third's communication amulets emitted a short trill. Taking it in his hand for a moment, he listened to the call for a few seconds, then nodded and said:

"The Guest successfully arrived at his new home. There were no problems."

* * *

The Reserved Grove is somewhere in the Forest...

They managed to leave the Royal Palace without any problems. In fact, Cyrill did not encounter a single elf or elfess who wanted to get to know him. It was unclear why his mentor had insisted on such a serious disguise. The four of them calmly left his chambers, securely hidden by an illusion. And then, carefully, meeting almost no one except for a couple of firstborns going about their business, moving only through side and service corridors, they reached a room already familiar to Cyrill with a small portal arch, already awakened and waiting only for the coordinates of the exit point. There they were met by a couple of Secret Guard agents, who silently let the invisible guests in and set up the parameters for their transition to their new place of residence.

Cyrill and his companions went through the portal and found themselves in another room. It looked like an ordinary basement, quite spacious, lit by a couple of magical lamps and completely empty, except for the portal arch built into one of the walls and the stairs leading upwards. The transition through the portal itself was not physically felt at all, just like in the case of Kardarot's cursed vault. This was a testament to the high quality of both portal arches, which almost completely absorbed all disturbances from the connection of the two points of space. If Cyrill hadn't been gifted and didn't know he was stepping into a portal, he might have thought he had simply walked through the passage between the two rooms, stepping from one to the other. In reality, though, he had actually been transported a considerable distance from the Royal Palace. Several hundred kilometres to the East, if the system map was to be believed.

Once they had all successfully passed through the portal, Diantrel carefully inserted a small silver amulet, which looked like a cylinder covered with various symbols, into the hole in the center of a round metal plate. It was located on the wall to the right of the portal arch, adjacent to it, and was also covered with numerous and varied symbols arranged in concentric circles. It housed the control node of the portal weave. With a slight turn of the amulet-cylinder, Diantrel extinguished the portal arch and, as Cyrill realised, sealed it. The young man extinguished the illusion that surrounded them. From the outside, it looked as if four guests had suddenly appeared out of nowhere in the middle of a completely empty basement.

After making sure the arch was extinguished, Diantrel turned to her apprentice and handed her amulet key:

"Please, Cyrial, this is the portal's control key. It is now yours. With it, you will be able to configure and control the portal."

Cyrill was taken aback by this statement for a moment, but quickly recovered and accepted the key that was offered to him.

"Um... okay... but how exactly do you control it... I mean, how do you use it..."

"I will explain this to you in detail in the coming days. For now, just put it away and don't lose it."

"All right," nodded the young man, putting the amulet in one of his pockets.

Even just holding it in his hand, he could feel the numerous and extremely complex weaves embedded in it. There was almost an order of magnitude more than in the protective or combat amulets he had worked with before.

"Now let's go upstairs, and I'll show you your new home."

Following Diantrel, Cyrill climbed the stairs from the basement and found himself on the ground floor of his new home. He was a little taken aback. Because he had secretly expected to see something like the country houses of his native Earth. Well, two floors, an outbuilding, something like that. But it wasn't a house, it was a mansion! A three-story T-shaped mansion. To be more precise, only the main part was three-storeyed, and the sides were two-storeyed. In the left wing on the ground floor, there were household rooms: kitchen, laundry, and various storerooms. On the first floor, there were small living quarters for servants. In the right wing on the ground floor were the dining room and living room. On the second floor - more spacious guest living quarters. In the central wing, the largest of all, on the ground floor there was a rather spacious hall, which occupied most of the floor, as well as a separate room where there was an entrance to the basement. On the first floor were the master suite, the study, and the master bathroom. The third floor was empty. There was one large room. According to Diantrel, who was leading the tour, this was where Cyrill would eventually set up his laboratory for magical practices.

To say that by the end of the excursion, Cyrill was slightly bewildered meant nothing. Of course, this mansion was far away from the full-fledged palaces, where his earthly authoritative fellow citizens and efficient managers in the civil service lived, next to which Versailles looked pale. But damn, on his native Mother Earth, he would not have earned such a place in his whole life! And even if he did, he'd be broke to maintain it. Naturally, you'd need a whole staff of servants to keep everything in order. No, of course, and the quarters in which he had been living since coming to his senses were of the luxury class, where literally every room was as large as his earthly flat, like an ox to a sheep. But they were still perceived as a flat, albeit a large one. And here was a whole mansion! And even though some of the rooms were empty, and in general the furnishings were not as luxurious as in the Royal Palace, but still all the available furniture was clearly elven-made and of elven quality. That is, of excellent quality. When the tour came to an end, Kirill couldn't resist and asked his mentor if it was too steep for him. In response, she looked at him very expressively and with a faint smile in her voice said, folding her hands on her chest:

"You know, Cirial, I think you still don't fully realise your value to the Forest. Nor how much you've already done for the Forest. I'll be honest with you, even one sapling of the Tree of Life through the Tablet would have bought you this mansion and its upkeep. I'll even say more, for such a gift you would have had it furnished no less luxuriously than the rooms you lived in before. But such ‘modest’ furnishings--"

Dianterl gestured towards the empty third floor:

"...there is an important reason."

Turning to Cyrill, she looked intently into his eyes and said:

"You may be new to magic, Cirial, but thanks to the power of the Tablet, you've already reached serious heights. And a mage of such a level, provided he is independent, must have his own place. It's a must. His safety and life depend on it. So soon, you will have to find out how to properly equip your dwelling from the point of view of magical science and how to protect it from various threats, many of which are not obvious. But we'll talk about this and much more tomorrow. It is late today, and you can rest the rest of the day in peace."

"As you say, nodded the young man," still not fully realizing that he had just become the owner of some seriously awesome property.

"The only thing I urge you to do, Cirial, is not to leave the grounds of your new mansion today. It is surrounded by one of the Protected Groves, designed to keep outsiders out. But its protection works both ways," added Diantrel, looking meaningfully at her student.

Cyrill nodded in response and allowed himself a faint smile:

"No problem, don't worry, it would never occur to me to go for a walk in the woods at night."

"That's good to hear. In that case, see you tomorrow, Ciriall," Diantrel nodded in response and turned around, heading for the nearest window.

Cyrill, taking a step after the elf, quickly asked:

"Um, excuse me, but... Would you like me to walk you to the portal? Or can you find it yourself... Or do you..."

Turning around, Diantrel looked closely at her student and smiled warmly, unexpectedly:

"Thank you for your concern, Cirial, but I can easily get home on my own. Thanks to you. See you tomorrow, Cirial."

Before Cyrill could figure out what his mentor was up to, she just opened the window and... flew out of it, easy and relaxed. Thanks to the system connection, Cyrill could clearly feel Diantrel rapidly moving away, rising higher and higher into the air. Approaching the window, the young man saw the graceful figure of the elf flash across the evening sky, disappearing behind the crowns of the ancient trees that surrounded the meadow in which Cyrill's new mansion stood. Hmm... No, being able to fly is certainly very convenient, no doubt about it. It's good to be an air mage. Or a dragon. No need to spend money on transportation to work... Oh! Speaking of the latter. Or rather, the latter.

Remembering the emerald dragoness to whom he had applied the token, Kirill paused for a moment, summoning the relevant lines of the Status before his mind's eye. What if... No, no, no, forget it. It was obviously a stupid thing to do, and he would never have done such a thing when he was sober. And anyway... Come to think of it, how would a scaly, fire-breathing lady freak out over a prank like sudden oral caresses from someone unknown? And lash out at those around her, deciding that it was one of them? He didn't want to play a prank, especially a blatantly stupid one, on unknown and, quite possibly, innocent people or lizard people, at least in his opinion. Or maybe that Asian girl... Damn it, stop thinking about all this nonsense! It already turned out very badly with that assassin who caught his attention. What's really unfortunate is that he can't swap tokens with her or the dragon lady for that red-eyed bitch and give her another fun time.

"Master? Are you okay?"

Realising that he had been standing in front of the open window for almost a minute, lost in thought, Cyrill startled and turned to the maids who were waiting for him.

"Yes, everything is fine, I just couldn't help thinking about how great it would be to be able to fly..."

Sighing sadly, Cyrill closed the window and asked:

"Well, shall we go to dinner? Oh! By the way, what's for dinner? Do we have any food?"

Cyrill's answer was met with smiling faces from both girls. Wagging her tail, Gata nodded contentedly and literally purred:

"Don't worry, master, we've taken care of everything in advance."

It turned out that the maids had prepared several portions of food and drink in advance, storing them in special enchanted and sealed containers used by elven warriors and agents during campaigns and missions. So the dinner turned out to be very good and not modest at all. Of course, it was not a full-fledged festive feast on the occasion of housewarming, but it was not bad either. They didn't go down to the ground floor for the sake of it and ate in Cyrill's future office. And then moved all together to the master's bath. Good that the local magical analogue of the plumbing, as well as in the palace, was available here. During their joint bath in the bronze bathtub, which could accommodate all three of them, Cyrill fully appreciated not only the charms of magical high-tech in the realities of the medieval world, but also the lovely bodies of his companions, having soaped them in all places more than once and more than twice. He paid special attention to the upper volumes, under the satisfied purring of Gata and the no less satisfied purring of Armina, although only the former was a cat folk.

It should be noted that the acquisition of classes and the growth of characteristics, especially Constitution, had an effect on their bodies. No, neither of them turned into the female version of Iron Arnie. Well, except for Gata, who already had a more solid build. Her muscles became a little more defined. The main change was that these muscles became much stronger, especially for Armina, who, thanks to their ‘one-day adventure, came and went,’ now had a perfect ten in Constitution. The feeling of being embraced from behind by a girl who, although not fragile in appearance, was still far from outstanding in terms of size and was also shorter than him, and of being physically unable to escape from her embrace, which had become not just iron but steel... turned out to be quite specific. And even a little exciting, although Cyrill didn't say this out loud to Armina, who was giggling merrily as she held him tightly but gently against her while Gata, kneeling in the bathtub, diligently soaped a certain part of her master.

She did this with her breasts, which were large enough to allow for such a thing and which, according to Cyril's assessment during their acquaintance, had grown slightly larger. Apparently, gaining class had an effect. In any case, the result of such washing was logical, and as a result, Cyril, who was not at all upset, had to lather up and wash again after Armina, who was still giggling cheerfully, let him go.

But what can you do? Magicians traditionally aren't very good with physical strength, with rare or very specific exceptions. And all those Marty Sues who are jack-of-all-trades and masters of none. Released amid the cheerful laughter of the maids, Cyril, thoroughly lathered, allowed himself to be rinsed off and then lay down on the massage table, which was also available here. Armina took the lead, climbing onto the young man's back and pleasantly surprising him. In the sense that Cyril was expecting the usual erotic massage with a very specific finale, or rather, ending. But Armina gave him a massage and an awesome one at that.

Her fingers, both gentle and surprisingly strong, deftly glided along the young man's back and spine, occasionally pressing on specific points, which felt incredibly good and pleasant. He wanted to lie there forever on the comfortable table and simply enjoy the skilled hands of his companion. And her hot naked body, which he could clearly feel against his lower back.So cool...

At some point, Cyril naturally fell asleep, and Gata woke him up, having already dried her hair and tail, which required special care. Getting off the table turned out to be quite a challenge, and if it weren't for the girls supporting him by the arm, Cyril might have fallen, especially considering that they had splashed quite a bit on the floor while bathing him. He felt surprisingly relaxed and wanted only one thing: to lie down in bed and fall asleep. Even though he hadn't done anything worthwhile all day and hadn't even used up his reserves, so to speak.

But he still managed to walk to the master bedroom on his own, despite Armina and Gata smilingly offering to carry him several times. But that would have been too much for the young man's pride, so he refused. Considering all the circumstances, there was no point in putting Gata or Armina in the guest rooms, let alone the servants' quarters, so they placed all the things they had brought with them in the master's quarters of the mansion in advance. Fortunately, almost all of them were still packed in bags with extra space, but it was decided to unpack them tomorrow. Besides, the two girls were now his companions, not maids. By the way, this issue would have to be discussed with the mentor, because such a mansion really needed a whole staff of servants. Otherwise, they would be overwhelmed with cleaning alone. And they also had to cook...

Feeling himself sinking deeper into sleep and his thoughts becoming increasingly vague, Cyrill waved his hand dismissively. Okay, he will think about that and many other things tomorrow. He would think about further training, the accursed Master, the renovation of the mansion — he would think about all of that tomorrow. But now it was time to relax in the company of people who were pleasant in every sense of the word. However, he no longer had the strength to try out the new bed, which could easily accommodate five people, let alone one young man and a couple of girls.

As he snuggled with his companions, Cyrill, who had almost fallen asleep, realised that he felt surprisingly good and calm. And for some reason, he felt sure that he would definitely cope with his mission, for which he had been sent here. They would! And with the fucking Master, and with any other problem! Because he wasn't alone now. With these thoughts, hugging the equally satisfied Gata and Armina, clinging to him from both sides, Cyrill fell into sleep....

* * *

Underworld. Territories beneath Iyastar.

She walked along the line of a dozen people and a couple of non-humans who were standing at attention, and Fayana nodded in satisfaction. Getting ready to leave had taken longer than she would have liked, but less time than she had expected. Alas, there was nothing that could be done. The mission she had been assigned was extremely important, and the former Senior Catcher had prepared for it as responsibly as possible. She had ruthlessly weeded out most of the original fifty or so human and non-human candidates, leaving only one in five to form an analog of the Small Hunter Squad.

Yes, all of the initial candidates given to her had some form of experience in the Underground environment. Almost all of them had a fair amount of experience. The trouble was that most of them had experience that was not suitable for the task at hand. It was one thing to be a part of a well-armed and numerous expedition with solid supplies of everything necessary, sent to extract the riches of the Underground. Or as part of an equally well-armed and also quite large group of huntsmen, clearing the inhabited or adjacent to such underground halls of dangerous beasts. And it is quite another thing to search the Far Wilderness Territories.

It's a different matter. There you must operate in small numbers, relying primarily on stealth and speed. A large and well-armed crowd there will inevitably attract the attention of deadly creatures. And even if she could overpower them, it would be a waste of time, a waste of resources, and, most importantly, it would not bring her any closer to the fulfillment of her main task - the search. So she needed to form a small squad of those who could operate stealthily in the Underground, who could navigate there, and who knew how to move. At least at the level of the Hunters who had passed the First Initiation. Ideally, we need those who have passed the Second and already have experience in long-range search. Because in the depths of the Wild Territories, there is no place to wait for help, you can only rely on yourself and partly on your comrades. And there are many times more dangers there than in the Neutral Territories, not to mention the Inhabited ones.

So Fayana, having rejected those who were not suitable for the long-distance search, urgently organized several full-scale tests for the remaining candidates, then eliminated all those who failed. She had managed to form a squad from the remaining ones, which she could call comparable in quality to that of the Dungeon Hunters, almost without pretense. Recruited from new recruits who'd passed their First Initiation. Okay, a couple of the candidates could be considered Second Initiation Hunters, but they had a lot of experience in the Underworld. By human standards. Fayana had the highest hopes for them, appointing them as her deputies and assistants.

In parallel with the selection of candidates, the preparation and fitting of the equipment took place. There is no such thing as a small thing in a Deep Search, in every sense. As her mentor had told her long ago, even an extra needle could be a weight that would drag you to the bottom of the abyss if you had to walk half of the Underworld on your own feet. And so Fayana scrutinized every piece of equipment, from weapons to shoes, ruthlessly discarding anything that didn't fit. These weapons were too heavy, these amulets too voracious, and these clothes had to be tailored exactly to the candidate's figure or they would cling to everything.

No, it was fair to say that most of the items were of an acceptable level even by her standards. And some of the things, particularly the various amulets that were essential to a long-distance quest, were things she would have taken in a previous life. But just some, and just what was acceptable. And that was not enough, given the importance of the task at hand. Their squad would have to scour vast territories. And do it quickly. Ideally, this would require the equipment of her former kin, customized for each member. It could be done, and in the future, when she returned, she would definitely look into it, an analog of the Theocracy's Underworld Hunters would not be out of place. But now she didn't have time to wait for weeks, or even months until the equipment would be ordered and received through intermediaries, and then she would have to check it for shenanigans on the part of her kin. So she had to make do with what she had.

Fortunately, her comrades-in-arms understood the importance of the upcoming mission, and so they had not been stingy in providing the best equipment from the stocks of both the paladins of the Bright Order and the stores of Fayana's immediate superior. And what was nice was that she didn't have to check it for the same shenanigans her kin were so fond of. But still, she had to finalise too many things personally, as there was no one with such vast experience in the Underground as she had in the ranks of the Theocracy of the Sun-Face. And time went on inexorably...

Until the day came when they couldn't wait any longer, and Fayana and her newly formed squad set off. By rights, they should have spent at least another month training in the Neutral Territories, practicing teamwork. Dreams-dreams. She'd already delayed the exit to the limit, proving to both the Reverend Mother and the Priest-King himself that sending an unprepared squad, let alone an unprepared crowd, on a long search was almost guaranteed suicide. And the Theocracy didn't need any new losses. Her words were heeded and they went along with it. But there was a limit to everything, and today their squad descended to Fayana's former homeland through the passage to the Underworld, controlled by the Theocracy.

There she gave her squad a final briefing, checked their equipment once more, and then ordered them out. And the squad of eleven followers of the Sun-Face, including her, set off. To places that had never known sunlight. In search of the one who had saved her life in that fateful battle with his sacrifice. And Fayana was determined, if not to save the First of HIS Heralds, then at least to find out Mirantir's fate. And not just to pay the debt of life. But to fulfil her goal.

Reverend Mother Aurora. So powerful, so clever, so insightful, so dangerous, and... so seductive. Oh, what an incomparable pleasure it would be to defeat such an opponent, even though she was a human and not a dark firstborn! Other tribeswomen were no match for her! To surpass her would be a real test, which would prove that Fayana is more worthy than anyone to take Aurora's place! And not just displace her, sending her to a long-deserved rest in the company of a prettier boy, or even two. It would be ideal to make her his toy, keeping the appearance that everything is still Aurora in charge. But in reality, Fayana would be in charge, completely controlling the nominal Reverend Mother from behind, holding her tits tightly. It was a good thing that there was something to hold there, her other tribeswomen from among those who had achieved a high place had more modest forms.

Yes, that'll be it! Among her past sisters, such a hidden victory had always been considered a special skill. To become a secret, or, as they also said, grey Matriarch was often much more difficult than to take the place of the loser, displacing her with a cunning plot or defeating her in direct combat. Not just to defeat a tribeswoman who was unworthy of the high place of the head of the House, but to do it without anyone knowing about it. So that everyone would continue to think that she was the one who continued to rule, not even realizing that she was in fact a will-less or almost will-less puppet, held firmly by a large chest, directing every step and every word. And, what was also important, in case of success the real grey Matriarch had a chance to avoid a missed blow to her side. After all, it would be the puppet who would be hit. Provided, of course, that no one really guessed about the grey Matriarch.

However, in Fayana's case, the threat of such a variant of Aurora's use is minimal. Or rather, minimal on the part of her brothers in the faith. Whoever takes the position of Reverend Mother will always have plenty of enemies among the others. But even without that, the very idea of standing behind Aurora and ruling from behind her back, while holding her tits tightly, portraying in public a faithful and obedient performer, and behind closed doors....

One after another images of Aurora in various situations, all of them extremely vulgar, involuntarily appeared in Fayana's mind. Aurora in her underwear, kneeling in front of her under her own desk, mouth open and tongue out, waiting obediently for permission to pleasure her ‘Daughter’. A naked Aurora, lying on her bed, bound in silken rope, realising her defeat and position, but absolutely helpless and unable to change it, while Fayana leisurely begins to savour her body. Aurora, entangled by those same silk ropes holding various enchanted love toys in and on her body. But all this obscenity is hidden beneath her luxurious robes, and the Reverend Mother tries her best not to reveal herself to the Daughters listening to her sermon, begging Fayana not to increase the vibration of the toys. The alabaster-white-skinned Aurora, wearing only a jester's cap, juggling the same love toys in front of Fayana, then performing acrobatic tricks....

The last fantasy was especially tempting, and Fayana felt her heart start to beat more often and her breathing become heavier. But Catcher's experience had done its job, and she hastily restrained herself. No! Not now! Not now! Later! Now was the time to think about the mission! Pull yourself together! The Underworld does not forgive mistakes! Biting her lip, the former Senior Catcher led her small group with a determined and completely silent stride, away from the few Theocracy-controlled underground halls beneath Iyastar. Into the Neutral Territories, and then into the Wild Territories. To search for Mirantir's trail.

* * *

Underworld, Wild Territories. Somewhere...

Putting his hand to his face, a tall and sturdily built man with a pair of snow-white and distinctly glowing wings behind him let out a heavy and doomed sigh. In front of him stood two dark elven women, one elf, several human men, a couple of dark ones and one ordinary dwarf, a large orc, and even a couple of goblins. All of them were visibly nervous, glancing at the whole Herald standing before them, even if temporarily occupying a mortal body. Standing behind them in a dense crowd of nearly fifteen hundred humans and non-humans, the rest of the freed slaves were just as nervous, if not more so. The man slowly removed his hand from his face and looked at the former Illithid slaves standing in front of him with eyes burning with sunlight and asked:

"Nothing at all?"

Everyone shook their heads in unison and sullenly, then the dark elf said in a gloomy voice:

"Nothing, O Radiant One. Not even the name of our native House."

Sliding his burning eyes over the rest of the crowd of rescued slaves, the man asked in a heavy bass voice:

"The rest too?"

"One of the dark dwarves shook his grey head:"

"All the same, O Radiant One."

Another heavy sigh followed, after which the winged man loudly boomed:

"So none of you remember your past. And have no idea where we are and where the nearest exit to the surface is?"

The last question was addressed primarily to the trio of dark elves and the dwarves. The response was negative head shaking and tense silence, which he commented on with one succinct word:

"Damn it..."

He had to admit, the damned Illithids knew how to control slaves. They were not too lazy to clean out all the unnecessary memories of their past lives from each of their slaves, turning them into living tools. It was lucky that the category of superfluous did not include knowledge of languages, and among the slaves there were those who knew the language of the Theocracy very well, or even very well, so that it was possible to communicate normally, instead of using thought images, communication with which requires a little, but still requires strength. When he had found this camp of mind-eaters, he had hoped that he would be able to find a guide. At least to the nearest exit to the surface, no matter where, the main thing was to get out into the sunlight! Because his new followers had no idea, their tribe lived on the shores of the Underworld Sea, never leaving it. And here was such a disappointment...

The winged man's dark thoughts were interrupted by gurgling voices that came from behind him and repeated the same thing:

"Moooor-Laaadin-Buuool! Moooor-Laaadin-Buuool!"

Having given up on teaching his former followers of the Deep how to pronounce his name correctly, or at least to abandon the ending ‘Buuul,’ which in the language of the fish-people signified respectful address, he turned to them. The tribe gathered behind him did not waste any time, and while Mirantir was busy organizing the rescued slaves so that they would not do anything foolish and kill each other or the fish-people, the latter managed to take over one of the labour camp's food storage rooms. Specifically, the one where, protected by cooling spells, chopped pieces of meat from the underground dwellers were stored, killed by the brain-eating slaves in the nearest halls, and stockpiled for the future. And which would be enough to feed all the slaves in the camp for several days.

Now the pieces were spread out on nearly two dozen medium-sized flat stones, which the fish folk had been too lazy to drag to the camp from the bank of the stream. And the former followers of the Deep One themselves looked at him with bulging eyes, eagerly awaiting another miracle like the one he had used to persuade them to deny their former master by embracing the Cause of the Eternal Sun. Albeit in his own rather peculiar manner. Suppressing another heavy sigh, Mirantir gave a brief nod to the rescued slaves who were waiting for his word and walked over to the fishmongers who were frozen in anticipation. It won't take too much effort, and there's a way to replenish it. And it would not harm to keep the new followers eager.

Stretching out both arms with open palms, the Herald flapped his wings, raising them above his head. The feathers on them and his eyes flashed with sunlight for a moment, and the heat of the sun emanated from him. At that moment, the frozen pieces of raw meat from underground beasts, found in the brain-eaters' storeroom, sizzled appetizingly, instantly roasting to perfection. Such an unusual little miracle, frankly speaking, made a huge impression on the fish people, who, before meeting him, had never known any food other than raw. A moment later, the fish people, making joyful gurgling sounds, fell to their knees in a friendly crowd, bowing several times to the Herald, and only then began to devour the meat with their bare hands, sometimes swallowing pieces whole.

Looking at this spectacle together with his openly astonished slaves, the winged man felt the stream of grace flowing from his new followers grow slightly stronger. How little some people need in order to believe... Turning back to the saved slaves, he spoke, expending some of his strength on yet another small miracle in order to convey the direct meaning of his words to everyone:

"Listen to me, everyone! Each of you who wishes to do so may come under my command, and I give you my word that I will do everything in my power to lead you out of the lands of Eternal Darkness and into the light of the Eternal Sun! After that, each of you will be free to choose your destiny! Those who wish to may leave on their own, I will not force anyone, and I will give you a share of the supplies from the camp. But then you will be on your own, and you will go your own way! Choose now, for time is short! The brain-eaters already know that their relatives are dead, and this place must be left as soon as possible!"

As he'd expected, the rescued slaves, though a motley crew, were remarkably unanimous in their willingness to take his hand. Not to say they had much choice. Not knowing where to go, with limited supplies, they had little chance of surviving in the Underdark. Except, perhaps, for the trio of dark elves, but they were almost the first to cooperate. Apparently, realizing better than anyone else that they had a much better chance of surviving and getting to the surface with a whole divine Herald than without it. In addition, he felt it almost physically, despite the stolen memory, each of them expected to be able to orientate themselves in the Underground and be the first to find a way to the surface for the Herald. And thereby earn his favor, which would allow them to start a new life in relative comfort. They had nowhere to go because of the stolen memory.

The gathering was surprisingly quick, largely because the conscious slaves, though deprived of most of their memory, were very competently organized into work brigades. They did not forget this organization, and in the same brigades, they quickly collected everything of value that was in the camp and that could be taken with them. Some of it was distributed among themselves, the heaviest things were loaded on special carts adapted for the Underground and pulled by Underground Horns. Mirantir smiled to himself as he assessed the food and equipment he had received, including magical weapons. Not even close to an army of Lightbringers, but at least something. Now not every underground dweller would venture into their midst. But most importantly, the crystals!

Just before leaving the camp, all the crystals, which had accumulated in the camp, were brought to the center of the camp, at the feet of the Herald. And the Herald performed another miracle. Admittedly, a monstrously wasteful miracle. These treasures of the Underworld were worth a fortune and would be of great benefit to the cause of the Eternal Sun if they could be brought to the Eternal Light City. But right now, he needed strength to have a chance of returning to the sunlight. And so he had to absorb the magical energy contained in the mined crystals, which had two equal aspects. Earth and Fire. The first one had to be ruthlessly sifted out, siphoning it into the surrounding space, which at once halved the amount of energy, for it was as far away and even harmful for him as possible. Not just the Earth, but its very bowels, which did not know the sun. But the second... The crimson fire of the depths was not like the familiar flames of wood. It, too, carried the viscous heaviness of the sunless depths. And yet fire is light! And that was what the Herald of the Sun-Face could already use. However, the transformation of the magic energy of crystals into Grace was very rough, almost one to four.

In total, he received only a quarter of half of the power that was contained in the extracted crystals, which turned into natural ashes afterward. An unthinkable waste. But he had no other choice, given the circumstances. He needed power! And he got it! At the same moment as the mountain of crystals stacked in front of the Herald immediately crumbled to weightless ashes without a drop of magic, a wave of hot fire swept across his wings as if someone had set them on fire. The Herald's eyes glowed not with the usual sunlight, but with fire. It looked very impressive, especially in the darkness of the Underworld. And the winged figure seemed a little taller and... hotter. hotter.

Having assessed the increased forces, Mirantir commanded the exit. And the rescued illithid slaves, together with the tribe of fishmen, led by the Herald of the Sun-Faced, set out on a journey through the Underworld in search of an exit to the light...

* * *

The dreams were different, some were bright, as if it were reality, others were dim, as if it had happened a long time ago, others seemed to be covered with ripples, as if it were only a possible future...

A tall and shouldering man with curly, thick dark hair down to his shoulders and wearing a dark red dressing gown embroidered with gold, stands with his back to Kirill on the very edge of some observation deck. A very high observation deck, as if they were naturally on the roof of one of the skyscrapers of Moscow City. In all directions, wherever you look, green fields and meadows spread to the horizon. In some places you can see separate wild groves or well-tended orchards of fruit trees. Small villages are scattered between them, with roads snaking between them, dug canals, and aqueducts visible. And the skyscraper itself, on top of which the man and Cyril, looking at it from behind, stand, as far as the latter can see, is surrounded by a huge city. It is impossible to see more precisely, because as the young man does not look closely, the surrounding landscape seems blurred and vague, as if he is watching the image on an old, and even junk TV. And the young man did not want to go to the edge.

It was early morning, and the sun was just rising in the east painting the horizon red. The man was standing with his back to Cyril. He senses enormous power but seems to be muffled by something. Man takes a step to the very edge of the observation deck. How is he not afraid of falling? There is no railing! For a second the young man thought he was going to jump down or fly like his mentor. But instead, the man opened his luxurious dressing gown and took a deep breath. It was easy to guess from his posture and the position of his hands that he...

Again the same man, again from the back, but now he is almost naked, except for the short underpants, and you can fully appreciate the strong physique. In front of him is a huge pool in an equally huge room with a high ceiling, and it is clear that the man has just climbed out of it, being wet through and through. And in the pool itself, making joyful squeals and screams, splashes a dozen or two children and teenagers of different ages and sexes. Or rather, not just splashing, but ...

At first, Cyrill didn't even realise what was happening. And then it came to him. Several dozen small portals were open in the air above the pool. And the children, joyfully squealing and laughing, jumping into those of them, which were located on the bank of the pool or directly in the water, fell out of those that were in the air. To immediately fall into the next one, fly a few meters, and fall into another. The exit contours of the open portals had different directions, and jumping into one of them, the child could fly a few meters downwards. The next portal threw him into the air, or down again, but in a different place, and so on until he was in the pool.

Even to Cyril, it looked monstrously dangerous, and it was incomprehensible how none of the children had yet been killed or cut in half by accidentally stepping outside the portal's boundaries. But the fact remained, the kids were squealing with joy and clearly having fun, with only arms and legs flashing through the air before another body splashed into the water. But the female figure standing frozen next to the broad-shouldered man, dressed in a very revealing swimsuit, with long, thick, light honey-colored hair and, judging by her long, pointed ears, an elf, did not radiate any joy. This feeling was literally palpable, evident in her posture, in how tense she was and how intently she watched one of the teenage children.

At one point, when he flew out of another portal, flew through the air in a curved arc for almost ten meters, and dove headfirst into the next portal, from which he flew out in a different place, she couldn't take it anymore and said:

"Isn't this a bit too... dangerous a pastime?"

Without turning around, the man pulled her toward him with his left hand and held her tightly. His palm immediately slid down, squeezing the elf's buttock through the thin, wet fabric of her swimsuit.

"Do you seriously think I would put any of my children in even the slightest danger?"

"But..."

"Everything is calculated perfectly, each portal is set up flawlessly, and the overall control weave tracks each of the children. Or do you doubt my skill?"

The man asked the last question while sliding his hand under the elf's swimsuit and starting to grope her buttocks openly and masterfully. She didn't have time to answer, because a portal opened in the air right in front of them for a moment, from which a teenage boy flew straight up, only to fall back a moment later, through the place where the portal had just been, into the pool, raising a cloud of spray. Emerging, he shouted in a voice full of pure happiness:

"Great! Dad, can I do some more?!"

The broad-shouldered man looked down at the young boy, who had slightly less dark and curly hair, bright green eyes, and a very handsome face, which, like his pointed ears, spoke of a substantial admixture of elven blood, and laughed cheerfully:

"Of course!"

A quick flick of his right hand, and the teenager was suddenly pulled into a portal that opened underwater right beneath him. Only to fly out of it almost to the ceiling, causing the elf to flinch involuntarily. The man, who continued to openly grope her, fortunately unseen from behind except by Cyril, laughed again and said:

"Don't worry so much, I told you that I'm tracking everything! Try it!"

"What... Wait!!!"

Before the elf could do anything, the man picked her up in one swift motion and then jumped up in place. In that moment, as they were both in the air, a portal opened directly beneath him, and they fell through it. They emerged from another portal, also under the ceiling of the room where the pool was located. The last thing Cyril heard before his dream changed was the elf's loud scream accompanied by the man's equally loud laughter...

The same elf. Cyril also sees her from behind and slightly from the side. Only now, as far as the eye can see, there is a deserted wasteland, only rocks sticking out of the ground and barren land with not a blade of grass. The firstborn is kneeling by a small hill. Cyril cannot see her face, but she is clutching a dagger in her hand, clearly of elven workmanship. She is clutching it so tightly that the wooden handle has cracked, cutting her palm, from which blood drips onto the barren ground. There are also bloodstains on the blade, only black and largely corroding the elven steel like acid, probably enchanted as well, completely ruining the dagger. But it is blood, not acid, Cyril is somehow sure of that...

* * *

A new dream, clear and bright, but everything around seems to be a little dazzled, and the dream itself is frankly delirious and surreal...

A large city spread out on the shore of an even larger harbor, with many ships, and the entrance to the harbor blocked by a huge statue depicting a woman, waist-deep in water. A huge and crowded city market, where it seems that the entire population has gathered. A noisy crowd of people and non-humans surrounds a young man sitting on a stool behind a simple counter, who looks completely ordinary and unremarkable. Except for the dome-shaped barrier surrounding him, which exudes a monstrous, transcendent power that prevents anything or anyone on a conceptual level from penetrating this barrier. So it was impossible to influence the boy, who was clearly bored and seemed to have become numb under the warm sun, or to take his goods away from him.

And there was something to take away from him. Ten small transparent spheres, inside each of which a miniature tree with silvery leaves was visible, from which even through the barriers there was a radiant LIFE. And on the counter itself, there was a deliberately illiterate inscription painted clumsily and sloppily:

‘Melonry! Real no GMO! 100% authentic! Price: one item - one elf queen shoe! Limited offer - one day only!’

Next to the counter, also under a protective dome, stood a huge hourglass measuring time. And it was clear that it was almost over. When there were only a few grains of sand left, a giant ship that Cyril had seen before appeared out of nowhere in the city's harbor, raising a natural fountain of spray. At that moment, a direct portal was suspended from it to the edge of the square, from which an armed detachment of people and several non-humans in very expensive armor and with equally expensive weapons in their hands ran out with shrill cries. Some of them were wounded, some were badly battered; in short, it was clear that they had just come out of battle, with white-feathered arrows still sticking out of some of the shield bearers' shields. Like a battering ram, they rushed through the crowd of onlookers, literally knocking down anyone who did not have time to jump aside or get out of their way. At the head of the squad ran a breathless man in luxurious red and blue clothes embroidered with gold, which now looked very worn. His right sleeve was torn below the elbow, his shirt was in tatters on his back, his pants below the knees resembled rags, his shoes were completely gone, and his long curly hair was strewn with branches and even individual leaves. With a contorted and half-mad face, he rushed toward the strange boy, clutching a slightly crumpled woman's shoe in his right hand. Clearly, a very expensive woman's shoe.

Having reached the edge of the barrier, he threw the shoe to the boy sitting behind the counter almost at the last minute. It passed through the barrier without any problems, and the boy, who seemed dazed, unexpectedly caught it deftly. Then, like a sommelier in a restaurant, he brought it to his face, sniffed it with relish, and said in a satisfied voice:

"Nice..."

Putting the shoe somewhere under the counter, he took one of the spheres and threw it to the panting man, who was already surrounded by his armed entourage and who exuded the same vitality as the trees. The man let out a muffled cry and grabbed the thrown sphere with both hands, nearly dropping it, causing the surrounding crowd and his entourage to gasp in horror. At that moment, the last grains of sand fell into the lower part of the clock, and the boy surrounded by the barrier disappeared without a trace, along with the counter. The next moment, the sphere in the man's hand cracked, turning into dozens of bright sparks that quickly faded away.

The breathless man in red and blue clothes froze, staring at his empty palm with a now completely insane expression on his face. So did the crowd around him. Then the earth shook, someone screamed, someone fell, and on the outskirts of the city, a huge tree with silvery leaves began to sprout rapidly from the ground. In just a few minutes, a true giant towered over the city, ready to rival the American redwoods of its native Earth, spreading its enormous branches over it and naturally exuding the energy of Life.

At this sight, the whole crowd gasped in admiration, looking up at the tree with their heads tilted back. Then they all lowered their heads and let out a doomed, mournful groan. The most disheveled shopper groaned the loudest, nearly collapsing to his knees when he saw that the melorn he had worked so hard to buy had sprouted right on the grounds of the newly built Temple of Life. He paid no attention to the very attractive blonde who had appeared next to him out of nowhere, dressed in magnificent red and blue clothes, who squealed with joy and hung on him, showering him with kisses.

And then a huge tree lit up with golden light, which spread like a wave throughout the city, including its inhabitants. The crowd of people and non-humans gathered in the market square turned their heads in surprise, trying to understand what had happened. Among them was a man wearing expensive but rather worn clothes who had bought a Melorn. Before anyone could figure out what was going on, several men who had appeared out of nowhere approached him and his entourage. All of them were tall, nearly two meters in height, muscular, black as jet, and dressed only in loincloths and leopard skin capes. They exuded brutality and masculinity, as if they were ready to advertise deodorants. One of them grabbed the stunned customer by the arm, shook it firmly, and said in a deep voice:

"Welcome to the club, guys!"

The rest congratulated the members of his armed retinue, who, like their leader, understood nothing. Following the black-skinned guys, a dozen green-skinned orcs appeared out of nowhere, dressed in “Conan the Barbarian style,” who were even taller, even more muscular, and even more brutal, although it seemed impossible to go any further. Their leader also grabbed the clueless buyer of Melorn by the arm and shook it vigorously, growling good-naturedly:

"Our horde has received reinforcements!"

"What are you talking about..."

Before he could ask the question, the sound of hooves clattering could be heard, and several centaurs approached the completely bewildered man in red and blue clothes. The largest of them also grabbed his hand, for which he had to bend down considerably, and shook it firmly:

"New stallions in our herd! Congratulations!"

"What... What the hell is going on?!"

At that moment, a loud cry with a strange accent came from somewhere to the side:

"The size is not the main thing!!!"

Turning sharply, Ctrill and everyone else saw a few slanted men with very unkind expressions on their faces, a little to the side. One of them, in modest sailor clothes (for some reason, Cyrill was sure that these were precisely sailor clothes), shouted:

"The main thing is to know how to use it!!!"

In response, the black guys, orcs, and centaurs laughed together. The latter literally. And the men gathered in the square, including the buyer of melorn, seemed to realize this all at once. And they all bent down, loosened their belts, and pulled their pants forward to see their contents. After that, a cheerful cry swept across the square:

"Ouuuu..."

And everyone's faces suddenly became noticeably more cheerful...

"COUGH!!!"

A loud cough made everyone turn around again, but this time in the other direction. There they saw a group of gnomes, stocky, broad-shouldered, and bearded. The tallest of them, narrowing his bushy eyebrows contemptuously, demonstratively raised a long, thin willow twig and shook it from side to side. Then he turned his back to everyone, pulled down his pants, took a short but thick and obviously oak board handed to him by his companions with both hands, lowered it in front of him to waist level, and made a powerful forward movement with his hips. There was a loud crack. Putting his pants back on, the dwarf turned to those around him and showed them the hole he had punched in the oak board, which his fist could easily fit through. After that, he rewarded the gloomy orcs, centaurs, and black-skinned guys with a mocking, haughty look...

* * *

A surreal, delirious, but bright and colorful dream is replaced by another, extremely realistic, but extremely gloomy.

A huge black car of an unknown model with a jet engine, looking cool and futuristic, rams through the wrought-iron gate and races forward toward several Gothic-style buildings. Cyril manages to notice the inscription in English “ARKHAM ASYLUM,” and the car rushes at full speed through the surrounding area and literally flies into the central and largest of several buildings, where dozens of people instantly rush at it from all sides. Or rather, those who were once people. Or, judging by the remains of straitjackets, patients of the madhouse.

Because now they are all distorted and incorrect. Some have extra limbs, some have additional joints, and some now resemble animals rather than humanoid creatures. And this entire terrifying crowd is rushing toward the vehicle, like ants toward a beetle that foolishly invaded their anthill. But before the first ones can reach it, the doors swing open and a dark figure literally flies out of the car, soaring toward the ceiling. A moment later, it plunges downward, straight into the midst of the distorted psychos. A split second later, several more people jump out of the car.

A pair of men dressed in bulletproof vests with pouches and helmets. One is white and no longer young, holding a pump-action shotgun, his entire appearance gleaming silver. The second is younger, black, with a prosthetic left wrist, which does not prevent him from confidently gripping his assault rifle. His appearance glitters with steel. Both immediately open fire with great accuracy, literally sweeping away the nearest psychos. On the other side, two more dark figures in superhero costumes jump out. It is impossible to get a good look at them, but Cyril manages to notice flashes of gold.

The last to emerge from the car was a thin man of sickly appearance, wearing a badly creased purple suit, with abnormally white skin and equally abnormal green hair, clutching an awkward wooden hammer with a long handle in his hand. He, too, seemed to radiate something golden. And also sheer madness. With a broad, eerie smile, the frankly creepy clown casually slung the hammer over his shoulder and said in a strangely cheerful voice:

"Home, sweet home... I never thought I'd live to see the day when I'd be the most sane person in this damn madhouse!!!"

He accompanied his speech with two powerful blows, literally flattening the heads and torsos of the two psychos who had rushed at him. The third, a distorted figure screaming in agony, who tried to jump on him as he swung again, was swept away by a shotgun blast.

"Shut up and fight, you fucking psycho!" the silver-haired man barked at him, expertly reloading his shotgun.

"How rude! Jimbo, are you still mad at me for that prank? Come on, it was just... Wait, when was that?"

"Just shut up and fight!"

"With whom?! We've already killed everyone here, in case you haven't noticed!"

And so it turned out that there was not a single living lunatic left around the strange company. But as soon as the strongest of the five broke the neck of the last of them, who was the first to fly out of the car, the speakers under the ceiling came to life, and a deep and frightening male voice rang out:

"Well, well, well... Who do I see here? Have you decided to finish your treatment after all, Mr. White? Or should I call you Mr. Jay? Anyway, it doesn't matter, your desire is very commendable, and I am sure that now I will be able to heal you..."

As soon as the voice sounded from the speakers, the creepy clown's face literally twisted and he groaned in resignation:

"Oh no... Not this fucking braniak with his damn lectures!!! He's been driving me crazy even before all this!!!"

"Yes, I see that you need treatment even more now. Don't worry, I can help you. Just like your friends who hide childhood traumas behind silly costumes."

Throwing back his head in a creepy-looking mask, the most powerful of the five boomed through clenched teeth:

"Strange..."

The gray-haired man turned to him and asked:

"That crazy psychiatrist? Is he the one running things here now?"

His black partner grimly reloaded his rifle and grumbled:

"It seems..."

"My orderlies are already rushing to you, and I strongly advise you not to resist them. Try to understand, your minds are sick, and only I can heal them..."

"Oh no, no no no, get the hell out of my head with your lectures, I had enough of them last time, you damn... What the... Bats, no no! Come to your senses, damn you, BATS!!!"

The last thing Cyrill heard before the dream changed was the panicked scream of a creepy clown and the approaching stomping of dozens of feet, accompanied by drawn-out howls...

* * *

Cyrill woke up in a great mood, well-rested and full of energy. And almost immediately, Diantrel's voice rang out in his mind:

"Good morning, Ciriall."

The young man, who had just started stretching, almost jumped up in bed from surprise, waking up Gata, who yawned loudly.

//"Good morning, mentor!"

//"I hope you are well rested. I have decided not to wake you or your maids, but the sun has long since risen, so I would ask that you not linger too long. When you are ready, come down to the first floor."

//"Um... Yes, of course!"

Only now did Cyril realize that Diantrel was on the first floor in the living room of his new mansion. And the sun was indeed already shining outside the window. Damn, they overslept! Hastily waking up both girls, who were also quite embarrassed that neither of them had remembered the local equivalents of alarm clocks, the three of them quickly got dressed and made themselves look presentable. They went downstairs about half an hour later and immediately headed for the living room. Opening the doors, Cyril said on the fly:

"Sorry for the delay, honorable, it's just..."

He stopped mid-sentence when he saw that Diantrel was not alone in the living room. His mentor, dressed in her usual army uniform, was sitting in a comfortable chair, holding a mug with some kind of steaming drink, and nodded greetings to Cyril. In the chair opposite her sat another elf in a beautiful dark blue dress that perfectly accentuated her figure. She had silky black hair, two straight waterfalls falling over her shoulders and below, a beautiful face, like all firstborns, which made it impossible to guess her exact age, and bright azure eyes. Like Diantrel, she was holding a mug with some kind of steaming drink. Seeing Cyril and his companions frozen in the doorway, the guest smiled slightly and nodded in greeting:

Hello, Ciriall.

Swallowing, the young man nodded slowly and greeted back:

"Hello, venerable Alatrel..."
* * *

Cyrill and Co's statuses at the end of the first chapter:

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

Level: 54

Connection level with the Chosen One: 4 (outstanding).

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

Class: Battle Sorceress

Characteristics: 0

Talents (free):0 (limited): 0

Constitution: 4

Sensitivity: 5

Power: 16

Control: 16

Source: 16

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 combat weaving,” “advanced mastery of broad-spectrum weaving,” “advanced mastery of elemental magic weaving (air),” “advanced mastery of elemental magic weaving (fire),” “advanced elemental magic weaving (earth),” “advanced elemental magic weaving (water),” “masterful creation and use of ritual circles,” “advanced barrier and protective weaving,” “masterful control of internal energies,” “advanced mastery of advanced amulets and artifacts,” “advanced ability to work with powerful external sources,” "advanced dueling with magic wands,“ ”advanced tactics of magical combat,“ ”advanced methods of magical search,“ ”advanced methods of magical camouflage," “developed wilderness reconnaissance skills,” “developed wilderness survival skills,” “advanced magical sabotage skills,” “advanced magical combat training instructor skills,” “advanced healing weaving,” “advanced archery,” “advanced one-handed sword fencing (classical elven school),” “advanced knowledge of alchemy,” “advanced espionage,” “advanced combat magic flight.”

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)", "Born to Fly (Elite)".

System modifiers:

"Access to System Purchases V", Issuing System Assignment 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 III", "Healing of the Subtle Bodies III", "Physical Healing III", "Mental Link I", "Extrapolation of Modifiers II"

* * *

Name: Cyrill

Level: 28

Class: Emerald Wizard

Characteristics: (free) 0; (limited) 0

Talents: (free) 0 (limited): 0

Companion Modification Points (2)

Constitution: 3

Sensitivity: 3

Power: 10

Control: 12

Source: 11

Spirit: 1

Resistance: 3

Acquired Knowledge:

Oral and Written: Classical Elvish, Free Cities, Northern Theocracy; Dwarf Undermountain, Rising Empire (Classic/Simplified).

General knowledge:

“Advanced management and control of internal energies,” “methods of working with powerful external energy sources,” “developed mastery of creating magical barriers,” “advanced skills in creating magical weaves,” “advanced fundamentals of magical dueling techniques with combat wands,” “developed tantric techniques for restoring energy,” “Advanced creation and use of ritual circles,” “Advanced tactics for conducting magical combat,” “Advanced methods for working with advanced amulets and artifacts,” “Advanced methods of magical search,” “advanced general weaving of elemental magic,” “advanced methods of magical camouflage,” “basic skills for working underwater.”

Core/root knowledge:

Advanced 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)": "Filtering Aura (Elite)", "Adaptive Invisibility (Elite)", "Charming Eyes (Elite)", "Micro Control" (Control 10)

System modifiers:

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

Tokens:

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

Naughty Tongue:

Li Yan 98/100

Gyar'Skalashass 100/100

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 III"

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

Available number of companions: 3/3

* * *

Name: Armina, daughter of Darat.

Level: 17

Connection level with the Chosen One: 3 (strong)

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

Class: Guardian

Characteristics: 0

Talents (free): 3 (limited): 0

Constitution: 10

Sensitivity: 4

Power: 1

Control: 2

Source: 1

Spirit: 1

Resistance: 4

Acquired Knowledge:

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

General knowledge:

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

Minor Knowledge:

‘Enhanced Strike III’,

Acquired properties:

"Trained Body II", "Vigilance II", "Toughness II", "Natural Regeneration II", "Physical Enhancement (10 Constitution)", "Accuracy II"

System modifiers:

System Assignment II, Access to System Purchases II, Goal Tracking II

Companion Modifiers:

"Magic Restoration II"

Hidden:

Properties:

Charming Voice (elite), Sensitivity to Magic (elite)

Knowledge:

Advanced techniques and methods of seduction and manipulation, advanced acupuncture skills

Tokens:

Request for a little help 25/25

* * *

Name: Gata, daughter of Barías.

Level: 11

Connection level with the Chosen One: 2 (increased)

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

Class: Shaar'hashi (Embracing the Path of the Ancestor-Patron-Beast)

Characteristics: 0

Talents (free): 0 (limited): 0

Constitution: 7

Sensitivity: 4

Power: 1

Control: 2

Source: 1

Spirit: 1

Resistance: 2

Knowledge:

Written and spoken:

Classical Elven, Free Cities, Western Steppe (Beastfolk dialect).

General knowledge:

"Advanced hand-to-hand combat skills (Claw Style)", "developed skills in handling short melee weapons (knives/daggers/stilettos)", "developed skills in handling throwing weapons", "developed skills in undercover work", "developed skills as a bodyguard", "developed skills in handling amulets and artifacts", "developed skills in providing medical assistance", "developed knowledge of broad-based alchemy", "developed methods of tracking prey (Beast Form)", "developed close combat skills (Beast Form)".

Minor Knowledge: "Shapeshift II", "Crouching Step (Beast Form) I".

Properties: "Trained Body I", "Beast Vitality II", "Beast Sense I", "Beast Speed ​​II", "Reinforced Claws I".

Companion Modifiers: (None)

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

Переведено на Нотабеноиде
http://notabenoid.org/book/86674/588751

Переводчики: Camrad_RIP