Готовый перевод История Королевы Эльфов / The story of the Elf Queen: Глава Третья. Кирилл. Начало совместных тренировок с соратницами Героя Королевы Эльфов

Chapter Three. Cyril. The beginning of joint training with the companions of the Hero of the Elf Queen.

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A Protected Grove somewhere in the Forest...

Although the preparations were very rushed, they still took longer than Cyril would have liked. Much longer. First, he had to wake up Gata and Armina, then explain the situation to them, then tidy up the kitchen a little (he couldn't leave it in complete disarray after yesterday's debauchery!), and then get himself ready. At the same time, both maids and Cyril's associates looked extremely depressed and embarrassed. And the reason was not the culinary debauchery that had taken place, but the fact that both Gata and Armina knew that chimneys, wells, air ducts, and other such communications had to be blocked off at the very first opportunity.

As they would say in Cyril's homeland, this is basic knowledge! You have to know this! And they did know, but, according to them, they were so used to the fact that these areas, as the most obvious ones, are covered first when building serious housing, that it didn't even occur to them to pay attention to this. Well, as they say, you learn from your mistakes, especially since they had a very fun and lively evening. At least, the young man's two companions did, since he did not achieve the logical conclusion of their bed and kitchen antics. Which didn't add much to the joy either. Of course, it would have been possible to correct this omission in the bathhouse, where Gata and Armina had checked the water ahead of him with scanning amulets. But Cyril really didn't want to make Diantrel wait any longer. And he felt very clearly that his mentor was waiting for him, thanks to their connection.

So they just had to carefully wash off the flour residue and tidy themselves up. Fortunately, they had spare clothes to change into. Gata and Armina didn't wear their usual black and white dresses, but “work” suits, similar to the one Armina wore when she and Cyril ran across the Steppe and the Underworld. When the consequences of yesterday's mistake were completely dealt with, the trio hurried to the basement of the mansion. There, Cyril froze in front of the portal arch, mentally connecting with Diantrel. The mentor instructed him on how to awaken the arch using the key given to Cyril, how to tune it to the desired receiving circuit, and how to make sure that after they passed through, it would not simply go off, but “close.”

Thanks to his existing knowledge and Diantrel's clear instructions, Cyril had no trouble figuring out how to control the weaves of the portal arch. After all, they were already set up and ready to go. But using a portal made by the masters of his school and creating a passage in space from scratch are two very different things. When the arch came to life, Cyril made sure that the weaves were stable and passed through it together with Gata and Armina. But just in case, he first covered himself and his companions with a dense protective barrier that surrounded them like a second skin so as not to touch the edges of the portal and disrupt its stability. It wasn't that he thought an attack was possible. Just in case, because you never know what kind of exercises they had in store for him.

The portal led him to a small but well-protected room located somewhere in the middle of the Forest. In any case, it was quite far from the Royal Palace and White Harbor. There, Cyril and his companions were met by Fiorel and a silent agent of the Secret Guard. After greeting the young man, the queen's trusted assistant led him outside from what turned out to be a basement room in a small stone building on the edge of a wide, flat field. Which was not really a field at all, but another training ground, only, as Fiorel explained, it was under the jurisdiction of the Secret Guard, not the Forest Guard.

At the edge of this training ground, under a special canopy, sitting at a wide, long table, Diantrel was already waiting for the young man. The mentor was dressed in her usual military uniform. Alatrell, sitting next to her, was dressed in an impeccable dark blue closed dress. Between the elven beauties stood a silver platter with fruit, a pair of silver goblets, and a silver jug with some kind of drink. A little to the side of them, various types of amulets were laid out in neat rows on the table. There was also a selection of new wands and tiaras to replace those Cyril had sacrificed in order to deceive the red-eyed bitch.

When the young man approached the table, Fiorel bowed politely, and Diantrel, nodding briefly, greeted her apprentice:

"Hello, Cirial."

"Greetings, honorable ones."

"How are you feeling?" Alatrell asked, looking at the young man with undisguised interest.

Turning to his new mentor, Cyril was silent for a moment, holding back the urge to respond with something like “awesome, thank you very much,” but then almost immediately gave himself a mental slap. After all, he wasn't here to play games, but to do serious work:

"Right after waking up, I felt extremely lousy, but then I came to my senses. Thank you for your concern, honourable one. No problems. Neither physical nor with subtle bodies."

Alatrell nodded contentedly and said:

"It's good to hear that. I took the creation of the mixture very seriously, calculating it precisely for you, but there is always a small risk of individual intolerance to certain components."

"Thank you very much for your kindness, honored lady. May I ask what kind of mixture it was, and how exactly did I taste it?"

A slight smile touched Alatrell's lips:

"Of course."

The elf made a smooth pass with her hand, and a small wooden sphere covered with fine carvings forming a leafy floral ornament flew through the air from the table to her. It was slightly larger than an average apple. Landing on Alatrell's palm, the sphere immediately opened, splitting into two equal parts. Inside, it was hollow and empty. Handing it to Cyril, she said:

"Here you go. This type of amulet is called, for obvious reasons, “Shell.” It is quite inconspicuous and capable of moving over limited distances, including through the air, both along pre-programmed routes and under direct remote control. At the same time, the “nut” inside it can be of various flavors and types. Whole, composite, honey, poisonous, or even healing. It all depends on the specific goal and task."

Listening to Alatrell, Cyrill carefully examined the small wooden sphere, switching to magical vision. The filigree weaving embedded in this small amulet evoked involuntary admiration. Moreover, he could clearly see that its camouflage had been completely removed, which allowed the young man to examine this “Shell” so easily. If it had been active... it is very possible that he would not have noticed it, especially if it had been lying somewhere out of sight, in a corner or under a table. Carefully closing the amulet, Cyril handed it back to Alatrell while she continued to explain the young man's mistake yesterday:

"When you and your companions began preparing food and lit the fire, “Shell” entered your mansion through the chimney and poured out the mixture I had prepared, which reacted with the fire."

"But shouldn't all the smell and smoke have gone back up the chimney?" Cyrill suddenly realized.

The corners of Alatrell's lips shifted slightly upward, and she shook her head:

"And the impact did not come through the air, Cirial, it was energetic."

"What? How is that possible?"

"Let me demonstrate. Don't worry, it will only be a demonstration, in the smallest and absolutely harmless doses."

Under the watchful gaze of the tense Kirill, Alatre made a smooth gesture with her hand, and a small metal bowl flew toward her, which had been standing on the table along with various amulets. Thin wooden sticks were neatly stacked inside it. With a snap of her fingers, the elf set them alight.

"Pay attention to the fire, Cirial. Right now, it's completely normal. But now..."

Taking out a tiny sealed vial from somewhere, Alatrell elegantly poured its contents, which turned out to be a brown powder, onto the twigs that had begun to crackle merrily. The powder burned instantly with a quiet hiss, and the fire became noticeably brighter, even though it was a clear and sunny day outside. The effect was even more noticeable in magical vision: its color changed, acquiring scarlet hues and becoming noticeably more... saturated. And in all directions from the small fire, something like a translucent haze began to spread, with the same barely noticeable scarlet hue. As it moved away from the fire, it quickly faded and dissipated.

"Do you see, Cirial?"

"Yes, I see it now..."

Squinting, the young man stared intently at the scarlet haze. Carefully extending his hand, he ran his palm through it. And part of that haze seemed to be absorbed into his slender body, settling on it like pollen on skin. Hmm...

"In small concentrations, this mixture has virtually no effect, but in a closed room, as the concentration increases, it begins to have a cumulative effect, gradually changing the surrounding magical background. And, importantly, it can be contained by the simplest and most inconspicuous barrier, which will allow the same smoke to pass through. And which can be easily set up using “Shell” if the appropriate weave is incorporated into it."

"But why didn't I notice this mirage with my magical vision? It stands out so much against the general background, doesn't it?"

Shaking her head, Alatrell smoothly took another vial from somewhere around her waist:

"It is noticeable now, Cirial, because this wood has been treated with a special developer. In the case of ordinary firewood, the effect would be much less noticeable. Please."

Uncorking another vial containing yet another powder, this time white in colour, the elf poured it into the fire. It burned up immediately with a slight crackle, and the flame became completely normal. And in her magical vision, the haze emanating from the fire rapidly lost its colour, becoming almost invisible.

"Impressive," was all Cyrill could say.

"Thank you for your high praise. I have already prepared a detailed list of various developers of similar compositions, as well as a description of the methods for their correct placement in rooms. Be sure to familiarise yourself with it and choose several options for yourself. If you have any questions, please contact either me or Diantrel."

"Of course."

After running several waves of reserve energy through his hand, Cyrill cleared away the remnants of the mirage's influence, while Alatrell extinguished the fire and covered the bowl with a lid. Hmm, what an alchemical nuisance... It's practically imperceptible; if you don't know about it, you won't even feel the onset of its effects. And it penetrated him despite the ‘Filtering Aura’! In theory, it should have protected him from such things...

Ah, that's what it is! The system help file kindly and clearly explained that this property is directed against harmful and aggressive energies. But the mixture prepared by Alatrell is completely harmless and does not cause any harm to subtle bodies. It only affects the consciousness. And if that's the case... Cyrill surrounded his palm with a reinforced and extremely dense barrier and passed it through the remnants of the dissipating haze. It worked, and it could not ‘absorb’ into the young man's subtle bodies. But you can't walk around in such armour all the time... Hmm... Cyrill mentally calculated the output of the tiny vial's contents and compared it to the effect that a full ‘Shell’ would have, especially in a closed room. No wonder it had such an effect on him, Gata, and Armina... And how inconspicuous it was, the damn thing!

"Is something wrong, Cirial?"

Realising that he had failed to keep the face, the young man shook his head and replied to Alatrell, who was looking at him intently:

"No, everything is fine, honourable, thank you for your lesson. I was just thinking about how easy and inconspicuous it is to confuse those around you."

In response, Alatrell suddenly burst into quiet but melodious laughter. Shaking her head, she explained to the puzzled Cyrill:

"Indeed, from the outside, it may seem that for a specialist in matters related to other people's minds and hearts, it is not difficult to subjugate them to his will. But fortunately for all of us, this simplicity is very deceptive, Kirial. Take the same ‘Shell’ - to make such an amulet, you need a skilled specialist in the field of artefactology, one who has chosen this particular field as their calling. And they, in turn, need materials and tools that are far from cheap and cannot be obtained out of thin air. The ‘Nut’ that I treated you to yesterday required a whole range of fairly expensive alchemical components and, without false modesty, solid experience in processing and mixing them correctly. Selecting the optimal components and calculating their proportions is far from simple and requires a great deal of experience."

Leaning back in her chair, Alatrell clasped her hands on her stomach and smiled encouragingly:

"My lesson yesterday, despite its apparent simplicity, Cirial, would have been impossible without my solid foundation in the form of the Forest's resources. For someone else, such an operation would have required much more time and effort. And with the necessary vigilance and concern for your safety on your part, it would have been doomed to failure altogether."

Dianterel, who had been silent until then, nodded briefly and added:

"I completely agree with Alatrell, but I cannot help adding that even without taking your true nature into account, Cyrial, there are many in the world who would like to get their hands on such a young and talented Master of Magic as you. Especially now, after we departed for White Harbour, when almost everyone around you considers you to be the son of Iardal himself. And many of these people have very substantial resources at their disposal."

Nodding to her colleague, Alatrell said:

"And that is absolutely true. Therefore, the sooner you, Cirial, master at least the basic methods of protecting your mind, the better it will be for all of us. However, today you and your companions will be engaged in a different type of activity. We will see you tomorrow to practise the practical exercises. We wish you a successful training session."

"Thank you, honourable one."

When Alatrell said goodbye and left the training ground, Diantrel resolutely stood up and pointed to the amulets, wands, diadems, and storage rings laid out on the table:

"Please, Cirial, a new set of equipment has been prepared for you to replace what was lost. Choose the appropriate items, taking into account your increased strength."

Turning to Armin and Gata, the young man's mentor added, pointing to the far end of the table, where, in addition to amulets, various cold weapons were laid out:

"We have also selected personal equipment sets for you, taking into account your new... characteristics."

"Thank you, honourable one."

Nodding to Diantrel, Cirill and his companions approached the table and reached out to the neatly arranged rows of familiar protective amulets. He paused without touching the first one. Looking at his mentor, who raised an eyebrow questioningly, he turned back to them and switched to magical vision, beginning to examine them closely in different spectra. At the same time, he held out his empty hand, and Gata, who understood him without a word, immediately handed him the scanning amulets they had taken from home, which they used to check food for foreign substances.

Almost immediately, one of them, which worked on the principle of a UV lamp, detected a substance on a pair of plates that became clearly visible in its light with magical vision. Turning to his mentor, Cyrill saw a sparse but satisfied smile on her face:

"Very good, Cirial. It's gratifying to see that you're learning so quickly."

Swallowing involuntarily, the young man smiled in response:

"I had a wonderful mentor. And now I have two."

The smile on Diantrel's face widened slightly, and she nodded to her student, who continued to check the prepared equipment. In the end, this check took almost an hour and a half! Considering that he, Gata, and Armina had gotten up quite late and then had to get themselves ready, it was already close to lunchtime. But Diantrel didn't seem to mind at all, and she waited patiently for Cyrill and his companions to finish checking the equipment prepared for them. She didn't give him any hints or comment on his progress.

As a result, about a quarter of the prepared equipment was carefully set aside. Some of the amulets, like the protective ones, were covered with some kind of contact mixture. Others, however, were hidden directly in the weaving. Thanks to his existing knowledge, in particular ‘advanced methods of working with advanced amulets and artefacts,’ Cyrill was even able to understand their essence. A couple of protective amulets had switches built into their weaves that reacted to certain magical influences. As a result, they simply and easily turned off. In battle, this guaranteed a missed strike.

One of the storage rings was found to have a ‘double bottom.’ Part of its volume was already filled with energy that, to Cyrill's senses, had a sweetish, cloying tone. And if he filled this ring with energy and then used it to restore his strength, he would also draw in the contents of the ‘double bottom.’ Himself. Through all the protection. The effect, as he understood it when he cleaned out the storage device and analysed the foreign energy as best he could, would be like a love potion without a specific target. That is, a simple and all-consuming desire to fuck anyone within reach. If he had filled the ring not from an external source, but with his energy, the effect would have been mind-blowing.

Moreover, if someone attempted to directly impact Cyrill with such a small amount of energy, even if it was not formed into a weave, the effect would be negligible, simply due to his characteristics and properties, not to mention his protection. But if he, out of his stupidity, absorbed this energy, that is, literally poured poison into his subtle bodies... Then in battle, the effect could be fatal.

Several ‘bugs’ and ‘beacons’ were also found in the weavings of the prepared amulets. Gata and Armina identified them while also telling Cyrill what to look out for. The former, as one might guess, were used for eavesdropping and spying, while the latter tracked movement. Moreover, a couple of the ‘bugs’ turned out to be not relatively simple magical analogues of microphones and video cameras. No, they were much more sophisticated and, as Gata and Armina explained, were designed to discreetly take partial or complete ‘imprints’ of all kinds of amulets and keys. For example, from the portal arch. Or from enchanted doors.

So, after checking out the gear, Cyrill got a bit more insight into the magical versions of spy tricks. He summed it up with a short but meaningful comment:

"Fuck it..."

Dianterel, who had been standing nearby all this time, asked briefly:

"Cirial?"

Turning to his mentor, the young man explained:

Well, the thing is, honourable... It's just... How can I explain it... You see, until recently, I hadn't really thought about how much effort it takes to ensure my safety. No, I knew subconsciously that I was being guarded and all that... But when I touched on this topic myself... I'm sorry, but it's natural... It's terrifying how many ways there are to eavesdrop, spy, slip something into your food or drink... When I think about it, I immediately, and I'm not exaggerating, feel the urge to run away to the desert and hide behind a dozen barriers.

To his surprise, Diantrel listened to him very seriously and replied just as seriously:

"I understand your thoughts and desires on this matter perfectly well, and what's more, they are entirely justified. Among those who have reached the heights of magic, there are those who have done just that, choosing the life of a hermit, holed up in their lair and letting no outsiders in. But that is the price of power, Cyrial. No one in their right mind would spend the resources that Alatrell spent on your lesson yesterday for the sake of a simple peasant who works all his life in the fields of his native village. No one would even glance in his direction. But no one and nothing depends on him, except for his fields and his closest relatives. But you are a different matter."

Approaching her student, Diantrel continued in the same serious tone, looking intently into his eyes:

"As I said, even if we forget about your true nature, Cirial, you have already achieved impressive success in the magical arts, and your prospects are even more impressive. But this comes at a price."

"The greater the power, the greater the responsibility," said the young man, recalling what is now considered a classic quote from his native world.

Dianterel, who had no idea who Uncle Ben was, nodded in agreement:

"That's right, Cirial."

"Yes, I understand, it's just... It's just that when I imagine having to check every piece of bread, every amulet, everything, three times over for the rest of my life, it becomes... it becomes, to put it mildly, a little sad."

"As I said, I understand you perfectly, Cirial," nodded the elf.

"You can believe me, after all, I, too, have achieved certain heights in the magical arts. And here's what I'll say: you are now facing the most difficult stage."

In response to Cyrill's questioning look, Diantrel explained:

"You are now practically creating protection for your new home from scratch. This is always a slow and complicated process that requires serious effort, unless we are talking about the most primitive shelter, but rather a serious dwelling. When you live in a reliable family nest built by your predecessors, where the protective structures are well established, and when you have the right personal protection, a significant part of the threats disappear by themselves. Of course, you can never completely relax. Any defence, even the most reliable, can always be overcome with enough time, skill, desire, and resources. But it is much easier to shoot a fledgling than a seasoned hawk. And you, thanks to the gift of the Tablets, as my friends who train birds of prey would say, have moulted very quickly, Kirial, and are already firmly on your feet."

Smiling slightly in response, the young man nodded gratefully:

"Thank you for your praise, honourable, but it is still a little frightening to realise the number and possible quality of potential threats."

Recalling yesterday, Cyrill added:

"And also from the amount of work I have to do to protect my new home. Honestly, I couldn't even imagine how much effort it would take until I got down to it myself."

Still completely serious, Diantrel nodded in agreement:

"Building a family nest from scratch is never easy. But even the Royal Palace of the Forest wasn't built overnight. Every endeavour, even the greatest, must start somewhere. I would also add that if you did not have the gift of the Tablets and had achieved the level of Master of Magic by conventional means, Kirial, you would inevitably have at least one apprentice by now. Most likely, you would have several of them, to whom you could delegate some of your routine tasks. Very few of those who have reached the heights of magical art remain strictly solitary."

Smiling, the young man asked:

Are you suggesting that I follow in your footsteps and start a mentoring career?

Dianterl smiled back, shook her head briefly, and replied:

"Right now, when you are facing intense training and a new stage in your education, of course not, Cirial. Trust my experience in this matter — you simply will not be able to mentor others without compromising your development. But, as I have already told you, you have already received such knowledge and power from the Tablets that I would have no hesitation in granting you the title of Master of Magic. And you will receive even more. And in the future, if you decide to take on one or more students, you will have no shortage of potential candidates. You can be sure of that. Of course, your companions..."

Dianterel looked closely at Gata and Armina.

"...can relieve you of some of your worries, but when it comes to matters related to magic, they will not be able to help you very quickly, even with the power of the Tablets. After all, the gifts they have chosen, bestowed by the Tablets, are not magical in nature."

Listening attentively to Diantrel, Cyrill imagined himself for a moment in a formal suit, with a magic wand in his hand, standing at the blackboard with pentagrams drawn on it in front of a whole class of anime girls with different hair colours, wearing equally colourful robes with low necklines and mini-skirts. Chuckling to himself, he dismissed the silly thought and, putting on a serious expression, replied in a serious voice:

"I completely agree with you, honourable sir, but even if I decide to take someone on as my apprentice, I can't just put up a recruitment advertisement, can I? Especially after everything that has happened."

"Of course, Cirial," Diantrel nodded, "such an act would be the height of foolishness. Moreover, from my own experience, I can safely say that the choice of a student or students must be taken with the utmost seriousness and potential candidates must be carefully vetted. And the decision to embark on the path of mentorship must be made after careful consideration. Otherwise, one may bitterly regret it — history knows many tragic examples of both unsuccessful apprenticeships and unsuccessful mentorship."

After pausing for a moment to think, Diantrel continued:

"But now, as I said, it's too early to worry about that. I won't venture a guess, but I think it would be more appropriate to return to this topic when there is at least some clarity on the issue with Master."

Nodding, Cyrill said:

"Thank you for your advice, honourable. I promise to carefully consider your words."

"I do not doubt you, Cirial." A faint smile touched Diantrel's lips again.

Suddenly inspired, Cyrill asked:

"Forgive me for being tactless, mentor, but don't you regret taking me on as your student?"

The smile disappeared from the elf's face, and she instantly became extremely serious again. Diantrel remained silent for a few seconds, looking intently into Cyrill's eyes, and then slowly and somewhat thoughtfully said:

"I won't lie to you, Cirial. During our forced journey through the Underworld, I managed to say goodbye to my eternity more times than in the last century. Even more than in the last two centuries. And see the First Tree. If I had a choice, I would never, ever agree to repeat such an experience, even knowing what rewards would await me if I succeeded. But..."

After a brief pause, Diantrel, still looking into the young man's eyes, continued:

"... No, Cirial, I have never regretted agreeing to my mentor's proposal to teach you magic."

"Thank you. I mean, I'm glad I didn't disappoint you. And I'll try not to disappoint you in the future!"

A faint smile touched the elf's lips once more:

"That's good to hear, Cirial. Now, I suggest we finally move on to today's joint training session while the sun is still above the horizon. So, everyone, please proceed to the training ground. We'll start as usual..."

The rest of the day passed for Kirill in a relatively familiar format of exercises at the training ground. The only difference was that before he had trained alone. Now he was joined by Gata and Armina. Therefore, Diantrel prepared the training sessions taking this fact and the classes chosen by the girls into account. As at the very beginning of his training, Kirill took up the designated position on the training ground and had to hold it against the advancing enemies. Then he had to take up a new position, often already occupied by the enemy. Armina stayed close to him, constantly covering his back. Gata, on the other hand, took on a partially animal form at the very beginning of the task. Her face took on animal features, becoming similar to a cat's muzzle with very long whiskers. Her tail grew and became fluffy, and her arms and legs turned into natural paws. With very impressive claws, especially on her front paws. In her hands, that is. Gata herself was surprised at how easy the transformation was. She noted with annoyance that she would have to find separate equipment for her animal form, as her uniform had been partially torn during the transformation.

In this form, Gata, under Cyrill's cover, made swift sorties, darting around the training ground like a natural red-haired shadow and knocking out individual enemies or entire small enemy units. This was the main difference from Kirill's previous training sessions. There was no trace left of the relatively simple mannequins with which he had started his training. Now, Cyrill and his companion were facing, if not masterpieces of wooden golem construction, then very high-quality examples of it. No, they still looked like humanoid mannequins, but now they were all clad in decent armour. Many golems were equipped with sturdy enchanted shields capable of withstanding magical attacks.

They were armed with cold, ranged, and magical weapons. They also acted in a disgustingly coordinated and synchronised manner, attacking from different sides and covering each other. In addition to shields, many golems had protective amulets of various kinds, and some groups also used camouflage of various kinds. From invisibility and illusory doubles to smoke screens. At the same time, the golems themselves had fighters equipped with analogues of magical diadems, which allowed them to use magical vision.

As Diantrel said, before the exercises began, Cyrill and his comrades' opponents were made to resemble a well-armed and well-equipped experienced squad of fighters. In terms of the Adventurers' Guild, they were solid silver. In addition, some of the golems did not act according to the algorithms, but were under the direct control of special agent-instructors who were training the fighters of the Secret and Forest Guard.

As a result, even though the type of exercise was familiar to Cyrill, it could not be called easy. The young man still had to work hard, especially when changing positions. No sooner had he managed to adjust to one position and defend it properly than he had to move to a new one under enemy attack. But Armina and especially Gata had it even worse. The former literally spun around Cyrill like a top, covering him from behind, protecting him, and warning him about enemies trying to sneak up from behind. What's more, some of the golems were covered by high-level personal camouflage! Natural ninjas, damn it, constantly trying to get closer to Cyrill in order to break through his defence with one powerful and precise attack. And if it weren't for Armina, Cyrill would have missed two of these wooden assassins, clearly controlled by elven instructors.

But while Armina was protected by the multiple layers of barriers that the young man had erected around each of his positions, Gata had no such advantage. The cat-woman constantly rushed around the training ground around Cyrill's positions, almost without stopping, constantly dodging and hiding from enemy attacks. And she didn't just rush around; she also quite successfully knocked out the targets indicated by Diantrel or Cyrill, using either her animal claws or combat amulets. But even with the power of the Tablets, if it weren't for Cyrill covering his companions from a distance with shields and illusions, Gata would have been quickly defeated. Simply because it was only under the cover of his illusions that she was able to catch her breath and rest a little.

After all, their opponents, especially those under the direct command of experienced elven instructors, acted more than skilfully, constantly trying to trap Gata in a pincer movement, encircle her, or corner her in some dead end. What hindered them was that it was not always possible to determine which of the three or even four cat folks rushing across the training ground was the real one. And they didn't always manage to spot Cyrill and Armina when they changed positions. During the very first one, he ran to the new location under invisibility together with Armina and Gata, while the golems and their instructors didn't let ‘him’ stick out from behind the barriers.

Then, however, the experienced elves did not fall for such a trick so easily, and began to unexpectedly and very actively use all sorts of unmasking techniques, such as smoke that revealed movement, and bombs filled with some kind of alchemical ink that sprayed it in all directions. If it weren't for the protective barrier, Cyrill and Armina would have been covered from head to toe in them when they tried to run to a new place under the illusion again, and the golems naturally littered the entire area around them with these paint bombs. Gata, who was forced to constantly run around the training ground, knocking out the designated targets, still got caught in them a couple of times, which is why her tail and fur became partially black.

This did not add to her joy at all, as the ink was not only corrosive, but also sticky and, most importantly, very noticeable in magical vision. After the cat-woman was ‘exposed’ in this way, Cyrill had to constantly maintain enhanced protection and illusion around her. This saved her to some extent, but her opponents continued to use that damn ink.

After two full runs around the training ground with a short break, Cyrill finished the training session feeling pretty exhausted, while Armina and Gata were completely drained. They left the training ground almost staggering, especially the cat-woman, who had run who knows how many kilometres that day. She struggled to transform into human form and then almost fell to the ground if she hadn't been caught on both sides. But at the same time, Cyrill felt this clearly. Gata was very pleased, as she had successfully risen two levels during this training session! She immediately spent one talent point on upgrading her claws to the second level, because, according to her, the first level was categorically insufficient to confidently break through the enemies' defences. Armina, meanwhile, managed to knock out several ninja golems that had come dangerously close to Kirill during the races, using a set of enchanted throwing knives imbued with magic. Launched at enemies using her ‘Enhanced Strike III,’ they not only pierced the golems' defences, but also dug deep into their wooden bodies. After that, they released the magic charge embedded in them, literally splitting them apart.

It's a pity that the blonde beauty, unlike her teammate, didn't raise her level. But, according to her, she was close to it. After assessing the trio's performance at the end of the training session, Diantrel praised them for their teamwork and advised them to rest properly so as not to lie in bed until lunchtime. Because tomorrow Cyrill was going to have his first serious training session with Alatrell. ‘Encouraged’ by this news, the young man said goodbye to his mentor, who accompanied him to the portal and helped Cyrill tune in to the arch in his mansion.

Returning to his home exhausted after a long day, Cyrill wanted nothing more than to collapse into bed. Preferably in the arms of Gata and Armina. But when the portal behind him faded and the arch was ‘closed,’ he groaned resignedly and headed for the kitchen. And then to the living room. And only when every chimney in the mansion was blocked by triple barriers, designed to allow smoke to escape safely, did he allow himself to rest. But how could he rest?

Quickly freshen up in the bathhouse, listening to Gata's discontented grumbling, to whom Diantrel had given a special alchemical remedy for washing off ink before saying goodbye. Just as quickly, fortify yourself in the kitchen with fruit and a couple of crackers, as there was no time to cook anything. Make sure that the ritual circle has not yet burned out completely and is still providing protection. Then shield the bedroom with a separate protective and signalling barrier. And only then collapse into bed in the company of equally exhausted comrades. There was no strength left for bedtime fun...

* * *

Underworld, Wild Territories somewhere beneath the Forest...

Every true Underworld Catcher possesses qualities such as patience and endurance. For the restless and impatient, simply do not survive even until the First Initiation. Zairal had no problems with these qualities, which are essential for a true Underworld Catcher. She was excellent at sitting in ambush for a long time, waiting for her intended prey. The former Senior Catcher was highly skilled in techniques for controlling her physical and subtle bodies, which allowed her to lie almost motionless for a very long time, blending completely with her surroundings.

For someone unprepared for such an expectation, serious health problems would have long since begun, in the form of at least banal bedsores. And just psychologically, lying in one place hour after hour, and sometimes day after day, practically without moving, is quite a challenge. A trial for which Zairal was fully prepared, and she always arranged her bedding with the expectation that she would have to wait a long time. This time, it seems, the wait will be particularly long. Because her opponent is in no way inferior to her in skill, patience, and endurance.

He is waiting too. Waiting patiently. Hoping that she will lose her patience first. That she will take a risk and step forward, falling into the trap he has set. No, dear, you won't catch me in such a childish web. The dark elf's eyes were fixed on the only passageway from which the arrogant bastard could appear. Anyone else would have lost their nerve long ago, let their guard down, or simply dozed off, thereby signing their death warrant by letting the enemy slip through. But Zairal had not honed her skills and mastery as a Hunter for decades for nothing. She had mastered complex techniques based on careful control of her internal energies, which allowed her to focus her mind and body on her primary goal without being distracted by anything else.

Directed wave runs along energy channels, breathing exercises, tensing and relaxing individual muscles or entire muscle groups, and a combination of these methods — all of this together allowed her to follow the desired direction for more than two days without being distracted by extraneous interference. And at the same time, she was ready to react instantly to the appearance of her target, without fear that her numb legs or arms would let her down...

When one of the alarm bells surrounding her nest went off, the former Senior Catcher reacted without even fully realising what she was doing. After all, decades, even centuries, of experience and training are no joke. And it was only thanks to them that Zairal avoided a blow aimed precisely at her back between her shoulder blades with a sharp, short jerk and roll to the side. The heavy throwing needle, imbued with paralysing magic, stuck into the spare camouflage cloak on which the dark elf lay, clanging helplessly against the top of the rock on which her lair was located.

All extraneous thoughts, such as how and where she had miscalculated, how she had missed the appearance of this bastard, and why she had not noticed his approach. All of this did not just instantly fly out of her head; it never even appeared there. Their place was completely taken by honed instincts, reflexes, and the cold fury of battle. A swing of her right hand, and the disposable amulet vial flew into the air above the rock, instantly shattering into hundreds of tiny fragments. At the same moment, the alchemical mixture inside it reacted with the air, turning into thick, ink-black smoke, and the magical weaves embedded in the amulet further scattered it in all directions. Thus, an impenetrable cloud of suffocating darkness instantly and completely enveloped the entire top of the rock.

At the same time as throwing the flask amulet, Zairal used another amulet, which completely nullified her weight for a couple of brief moments, and performed a backward jump. Practically from a lying position, simply by pushing off the floor with her feet sharply and powerfully. This technique is as difficult to master as it is effective in certain situations. For example, when you need to urgently, instantly, at any cost, break the distance with your opponent, gain time...

Zairal managed to execute it flawlessly. The dark elf's trained body, now weightless, shot off the top of the cliff like an arrow from a powerful kick, and when it regained its weight a moment later, it plunged downward. But it turned out that the damned scoundrel was ready for something like that, damn him! The black smoke, which was invisible in the normal spectrum of magical vision, did not prevent him from striking again. Right at the moment of the jump, when Zairal had already regained her weight and, falling, had gathered herself to turn in the air and land on her feet. The targeted strike from the magic wand was powerful and broke through two-thirds of her defence! The artefact must have released its entire charge at once, destroying itself from such an overload.

But the fact that her opponent had lost one of his weapons did not make things any easier for Zairal, as the blow not only broke through her protective barrier, but also, worse still, knocked her off balance! As a result, the dark elf fell head over heels and landed extremely unluckily on the floor of the underground hall beneath the rock where her bed was. If it weren't for years of training, she would have broken everything, especially if she had fallen slightly to the side, onto the protruding rocks. And so... Damn it!

The disgusting crunch coincided with the excruciating pain that pierced her right leg in the thigh area, which she had hit against a rocky protrusion sticking out of the floor of the underground hall. It was quite small, but how unlucky she was to fall on it. Only her strong willpower and intense anger prevented her from crying out in pain. Instead, a moment after falling, Zairal rolled sharply to the side, grabbing and clutching one of her combat wands in her right hand and a negator amulet in her left. The pain in her clearly broken hip became unbearable, her right leg stopped responding altogether, and she threw the negator amulet almost without thinking, simply on instinct. It flew towards the place where that bastard was most likely to follow her...

The negator activated immediately after the throw, and it worked perfectly, creating something like a magic-deprived void. Which instantly absorbed some of the surrounding magic. A decent amount. Enough to cause the camouflage and protection of the scoundrel who had just jumped off the cliff after her to ripple. Zairal discharged her magic wand in the same way as he did — completely at once, causing it to crack in her hands and some of the fragments to cut her palm. Against the backdrop of the pain in her broken hip, she didn't even notice. After all, the main thing was that the beam she had released had reached its target.

True, the scoundrel's protection saved him, albeit at the cost of a couple of amulets destroyed by overload. Still, the hit was very successful, right on target. But alas, it did not prevent this bastard from successfully landing next to her and swinging either a staff or some kind of blade. Zairal did not have time to see and react. Just think, that's it. She lost. Damn...

But instead of striking her, who had no time to dodge or defend herself, her opponent, with a sharp swing of what turned out to be an enchanted blade, deflected a lump of some kind of rubbish that was flying straight at his chest. However, this did not save him, as the shapeless lump of yellowish-brown rubbish exploded into a shower of sticky splashes upon contact with the blade, covering everything around him with a disgusting squelching sound. Including a couple of dark elves. Zairal somehow managed to turn away, but even so, a few drops that landed on her exposed face and body burned her painfully. Her opponent, however, got the worst of it. If he had active protection, it would have saved him. With a muffled cry, he jumped back and to the side, jerking his hands towards his splattered face, but immediately froze in place, becoming completely immobile.

Zaira immediately reached for the second staff and even managed to grab it to finish off the bastard... but before she could aim it, she froze in place. What the... Turning sharply towards the centre of the underground hall, she groaned mentally. Damn, damn, damn!!! Only a deaf person could fail to hear the cacophony of screams and the pounding of the slaves' feet. And only an idiot from the surface, descending into the Underground for the first time, could fail to understand what it meant. In the name of the Lady of Darkness, damn these creatures! An attempt to move and get on all fours caused another bout of excruciating pain in her hip.

"Can you run?!"

Her opponent's sharp cry made Zairal turn abruptly towards him. He was standing in the same place, his hooded mask completely splattered with poisonous slime, as was the exposed part of his face. His eyes were tightly closed, and tears were streaming down his face. In one hand, he clutched a protective amulet, which he used to project a dome-shaped barrier over them both. Just then, a couple more of the same shapeless lumps hit the barrier, one of which sprayed the same rain of poisonous splashes, while the other enveloped everything around it in a cloud of spores. With his other hand, he quickly and deftly pulled an amulet-sting from his belt pouch and stabbed himself in the neck with it. He threw it aside, immediately pulled out another one, and stabbed himself in the neck again. Licking his lips, dry from tension, Zairal blurted out:

"No, just walk, my hip is broken!"

"Damn poison, I can't see a damn thing... Do you know ‘the blind man and the legless man’?"

"What?! Yes, I know!"

"Then climb on top of me! You'll be my eyes, and I'll carry you! Hurry up, we need to get out of here, or do you want to die here?!"

For a moment, Zairal stared at her opponent, listening to the approaching footsteps, screams, roars, and cries of the mushroom slaves. Then, hissing like a snake, she put away her weapon and somehow raised herself up on her elbows.

"Do it!"

Taking a step forward, Luaval reached out his hand to help her to her feet. Oh, Lady of Darkness, the temptation to finish off this insolent and arrogant brat right then and there was simply overwhelming. The only thing stopping the former Senior Catcher was the absolute understanding that without him, she would not be able to escape from the slaves of the disturbed mushroom colony. Not with a broken hip and such limited time. If only she had fifty heartbeats left to take advantage of the stimulating and healing alchemy... Damn it!

Clinging to the outstretched hand, Zairal somehow managed to stand up on her good leg. Her broken leg hurt terribly, and her limb refused to obey her, but she had endured worse pain in her long life. Several times. Biting her lip until it bled, Zairal climbed onto Luaval's back, wrapping her good leg and arms around him.

"Are you ready?!"

"Yes, damn you!!!"

"Let's get started!!!"

The technique known among hunters and trappers as ‘Legless and Blind’ was used very rarely. For the simple reason that two hunters or catchers very rarely found themselves in a situation where one could not walk normally and the other could not see where he was going. And now, perhaps, for the first time in her eternity, Zairal did not regret that she had practised it in her time.

A moment for the merging of subtle bodies, for better coordination and the ability to see through each other's eyes. For a moment, Luaval stood motionless, getting used to seeing the world through the eyes of Zairal, who was hanging on his back. Then, to the dark elf's surprise, he literally tore away, causing her to hiss in pain from her broken hip.

"Look ahead and watch the steps!"

"I do!"

"Watch better, otherwise we'll both die here!"

"Where are you running?!"

"To the nearest crossing, where else?!"

"Watch out! On the right!"

"LOOK AHEAD! Damn you!!! Throw decoys, bombs, whatever!"

The exchange of pleasantries and shouts was accompanied by the cries of the slaves of the mushroom colony, which had discovered new potential victims in its lair and was not averse to either feeding on them or adding them to its ranks of puppets. It also caused a natural dust storm, throwing thick clouds of poisonous spores into the air. Fortunately, they were downwind from the fungus, so these clouds did not particularly bother Zairal. But the lumps of poison or spores continued to fly into the back of Luaval, who was rushing at great speed, having clearly not only taken a shock dose of stimulating alchemy but also used amulets and charms from the ‘speedster’ set. So far, their protective amulets were holding up, but because they had to intercept the projectiles at a distance rather than close to their bodies, their charges were quickly melting away. Biting her lip in pain, Zairal, clinging tightly to Luaval, somehow managed to grab a couple of disposable combat amulets with one hand and throw them at their pursuers.

The roar of explosions hurt her ears, drowning out the screams of the fastest slaves of the mushroom forest, struck by battle magic. But Zairal did not even look in their direction, staring only at the approaching passage leading to the neighbouring hall. It was unlikely that these creatures would pursue them; the mushroom colony would not let its slaves stray far from it... Jumping over another crack in the floor, Luaval almost stumbled and dropped his load, letting out another scream:

"Watch your step!!!"

"I do!!!"

"Watch better!!!"

He ran into the passageway, narrowly avoiding some kind of predatory creature rushing towards him, literally by a heartbeat. Zairal couldn't even imagine what this creature had been before; so much had the mushrooms growing in its body distorted the beast's flesh. Apparently, that was why the blow from the magic wand, which instantly released all its charge and shattered in the dark elf's hand, had such a powerful effect on it. A thin, dazzlingly bright beam of pure energy pierced the creature through and through, after which it literally fell apart into separate pieces. Fountains of poisonous filth spurted out in all directions from the dead beast, and a dozen growths on its body burst into clouds of spores. But the fugitives, who had dived into the saving passage, were not affected. However, contrary to Zairal's hopes, some of the mushroom slaves, among the beasts, rushed after them. Damn it, what stubborn creatures!

Loaval rushed through the relatively narrow tunnel-passage without stopping, leaping over rock piles and crevices, seemingly unaware of the extra load. Zairal continued to show him the way, looking ahead and watching her feet. She was distracted for only a moment when Lovcha's experienced eye noticed an inconspicuous crack in the side wall. What... You cunning little bastard!

The unflattering thoughts about Luaval flew out of her head when she realized that he was about to run out into the next room at full speed:

"Be careful! There might be..."

"Calm down, that's it... And watch your step!!!"

At the very exit, Luval almost fell, stumbling once again. But in the end, he ran out safely, and Zairal involuntarily cringed, expecting a blow, an ambush, an attack — anything! After all, everyone knows that the passageways between halls are one of the most dangerous places! And in part, her expectations were justified. She managed to notice the blurred figures standing at the edges of the entrance. But they paid no attention to them, and before the dark elf could understand or do anything, the figures simultaneously struck the passageway from which Luaval had just run out with her on his shoulders. They struck with powerful streams of magical fire, not even from wands, but from staffs, literally flooding the passage with liquid flames and incinerating their pursuers.

Luaval ran a little to the side from the exit of the passage and stopped abruptly, causing Zairal to almost fall off him. Breathing heavily, he quietly hissed:

"Damn it, what a lousy piece of crap, even after the healing alchemy, everything still blurring..."

"You know, First..."

The voice that came from behind them made Zairal turn around sharply and raise his eyebrows in surprise at the sight of his light relative in the gear of a fighter of the Underground Corps of the Forest Guard.

"...there are easier ways to get a woman into bed."

Sighing heavily, Luaval carefully helped the tense Zairal down from his back. Supporting her by the arm on the side of her broken leg, he turned to his light-skinned kinsman and said with a smirk:

"With such women, simple methods do not work, Twilight."

Snorting, Zairal opened her mouth to reply, but suddenly her right palm was pierced by a sharp coldness. What?! With wide eyes, the dark elf stared at the flashing sign of the Keeper of Oaths. Next to her, Luaval twitched in the same way, cursing quietly. Their light kinsman, who was watching them, raised his eyebrows questioningly:

"What's the matter?"

"Damn it... Yeah, I didn't expect that..."

"What are you talking about?"

"Under the terms of our mutual hunt, Twilight, if you leave the underground halls designated for it, it will be considered a loss. But here's the thing..."

Turning to Zairal, whom he continued to support on her feet:

"...we left them at the same time..."

* * *

The Protected Grove is somewhere in the Forest..

Cyrill woke up the next morning in a good mood and, surprisingly, woke up on his own. For a few minutes, the young man allowed himself to linger in bed, enjoying the warmth of his companions' bodies, but then the music box that served as an alarm clock went off. Grumbling discontentedly, Gata and Armina also stirred and opened their eyes. After quickly freshening up in the bathhouse, the three of them quietly got ready. After which, the girls went downstairs to prepare breakfast, and Cyrill went to check the protective weaves. After examining the ritual circle first, he noted that it would be a good idea to renew it tonight, as the powder that powered it would be completely ‘burned out’ by tomorrow morning.

By the time he had finished inspecting his new home and made sure that everything was working properly, Gata and Armina had already prepared a relatively simple breakfast, swearing that they had double-checked all the food. And the kitchen itself. Especially the chimney. And the firewood itself. And the dishes. Cyrill fully approved of their serious approach. After breakfast, he went back down to the basement with them to the portal arch. As on the previous day, Diantrel, who was also already awake, explained to him through a mental connection how and which exit arch to tune into.

The portal once again brought Cyrill and his companions to a small room, only this time it was located in the Royal Palace, where he was met by Fiorel and a silent agent of the Secret Guard, who appeared to be the portal mage on duty. The queen's trusted servant politely greeted the young man, then led him through some narrow, windowless corridors to another room, which resembled something between a study and a living room.

There, in a comfortable armchair, Alatrell was already waiting for him, dressed in her usual blue dress, but with a different cut. And noticeably more revealing than in their previous meetings. It had a deep neckline, leaving her arms below her shoulders completely exposed, and even had slits on the thighs. When she saw Kirill, she smiled charmingly and pointed to the empty chair in front of her.

"Greetings, Cirial. Please, take a seat."

“Greetings, honorable,” the young man nodded.

Then he switched to magical vision and carefully, even intently, examined the entire room. In different spectrums. And only after finding nothing suspicious did he slowly sit down in the chair offered to him, under Alatrell's sparse but approving nod. Gata and Armina, who had also greeted the elf, stood motionless on either side behind him. Alatrell, waiting until everyone had taken their seats, clasped her hands on her stomach and, with an extremely serious expression on her face, said:

"Well, today you will have your first practical lesson. And when I say you, I mean all of you."

Looking meaningfully at Gata and Armina, who were standing at attention, Alatrell continued:

"Now that you are both his official guardians, you too need to be trained in the art of protecting the mind. That way, if one of you misses a blow, there is a chance that the others will notice and raise the alarm."

Turning her gaze to Cyrill, who was listening attentively to the elf, Alatrell allowed herself a faint smile.

"There's no need to be so nervous, Cirial. I am prepared to swear to you that I have conducted this exercise hundreds of times, and it is completely harmless."

Damn.

"Is it that so noticeable?"

"Your tension? More than that. Therefore, I suggest starting with the simplest exercises. Just so that you get a practical idea of what we are talking about."

"As you say, honorable. What should I do?"

"Right now - nothing. Just sit quietly in the chair. Ready?"

"Yes."

"Let's begin..."

Every syllable uttered by Alatrell after the first reached Cyrill's ears as if with a slight delay and as if from afar, and the surrounding world became slightly blurred, as if the young man had put on glasses with the wrong prescription. But as soon as Cyrill tensed up reflexively and sent a wave of reserve through his subtle body, it all disappeared, along with the slight feeling of pleasant warmth that surrounded him. Behind him, Gata and Armina were shaking their heads in unison, and the cat-woman was also twitching her tail. Alatrel, who was watching them closely, nodded with satisfaction.

"This was an example of one of the simplest mind-altering techniques, designed to simply cloud the mind. It is quite easy to deflect such an attack, especially if it is directed straight at the forehead. And that is precisely why practically no one ever does it. For such an attack to have any noticeable effect against a protected or prepared target, much more effort must be put into it. Take cover behind the barrier, Cirial, and compare the results."

The young man instantly protected himself and his companions standing behind him with a spherical protective barrier.

"Ready? Let's begin..."

This time, Cyrill, who had switched to magical vision and was watching Alatrel closely, easily saw how the spell she was casting fell apart from her hand, or rather from the tip of her finger, which she had moved. Practically weightless in comparison with combat spells, more similar in feel to illusions, it splashed against the protective barrier without harming the young man, failing to reach its target.

"As you have seen for yourself, it is not difficult to protect yourself from such an attack. But even if successful, it can be fatal. As a rule, such confusion of the mind serves to momentarily throw the target off balance, and is immediately followed by the main attack, which is guaranteed to hook the victim. Or a fatal blow, if the situation occurs in combat. But since today is our first practical lesson, we will not go to such extremes. For now, we will stick to simple resistance exercises. So."

Sitting up straight in her chair, Alatrell looked intently into Cyrill's eyes, who had involuntarily moved closer.

"I will use various mind control techniques against you. Today, only single ones. Your task, Cirial, is to overcome their influence. On your own. If I see that you are unable to cope, I will stop them myself. No protective barriers or sealing of subtle bodies. Now we will practise a situation where a blow is missed and you have to deal with its consequences. Is everything clear?"

"Yes."

"Okay. Then, I'll beginuuuu..."

Alatrel's voice began to sound as if it were coming from a deep well, and the entire room began to gradually spin around Cyrill, and with it, his head. Only the elf sitting in the chair opposite him remained motionless. A moment of tension, a sharp and intensified surge of his reserve through his subtle body — and the illusion disappeared. The room was still, and a faint smile appeared on Alatrell's face. Nodding approvingly, she said:

"Not bad, Ciriall."

Behind the young man, a quiet grunt sounded at that moment. Turning around, he saw that Gata was clutching the back of the chair, breathing heavily, her tail bristling. With her eyes closed, the cat-woman shook her head, biting her lip. Armina was also holding onto the back of the chair with one hand and massaging her temple with the other. But her eyes were open, and overall she looked better than Gata. Obviously, the four in Resistance were having an effect.

After waiting for Gata to come to her senses, Alatrel said in a satisfied voice:

"Well, I can say that everything is a little better than I expected. But this is only the beginning. It will be more difficult from now on..."

For some reason, Cyrill immediately believed her. And, characteristically, not in vain! Because things did indeed get more complicated. The rest of the day, with a couple of short breaks for lunch and rest, was spent in the same room. Alatrell repeatedly sent various obsessions to Cyrill and his companions, and they tried to cope with their consequences. Overall, they succeeded, albeit with varying degrees of success. Cyrill was saved by his accumulated characteristics and knowledge of controlling his subtle bodies, so he was able to completely shake off the effects of Alatrell's attacks. The main thing, and as it turned out, the most difficult thing, was to want to shake them off in the first place.

In this regard, all kinds of dizziness, extraneous noise in the ears or its complete absence, blurred vision, and heaviness in the body were much easier to overcome than... let's say, getting stuck on the same Alatrell. Already in the afternoon, after one of the short breaks, the elf unexpectedly, instead of the usual hand gesture that Cyrill had grown accustomed to, simply folded her arms across her chest, causing her breasts to sway quite provocatively. It seemed that in a moment she would spill out of the already deep neckline of her dress, revealing herself to his gaze...

This time, Armina helped Cyrill by touching his shoulder. The touch of his companion, who had managed to overcome her obsession, made the young man flinch and momentarily distract him from Alatrell's breasts. The loss of eye contact weakened the effect, and, as if awakening, Cyrill used a well-practised technique to send a wave of reserve through his subtle bodies, washing the effect of the obsession out of his head first.

The same thing happened again when Alatrell, after several ‘dizzying’ effects, suddenly crossed her legs. The slits in her dress made it look very impressive. One could even say it was ultimate, and Cyrill was once again transfixed, staring blankly at her slender legs in what turned out to be black high-heeled shoes for almost two minutes. Black shoes that suited her very well. Although she would have looked great without them! And he could have shaken off this obsession, as it was no stronger than the previous ones. But he simply didn't want to. He didn't even think about it. He just admired her feminine beauty.

From sticking to Alatrell's legs, which she methodically swayed, Armina once again led Cyrill away. The girl herself, to her credit, coped with the obsessions slightly worse than Cyrill, after all, a whole four in Resistance made itself felt. But Gata coped much worse. The cat-girl, with her two in Resistance, succumbed to the influences much more easily. She couldn't burn out someone else's energy like Cyrill, and she didn't have any saving properties that increased her resistance. Because of this, Gata suffered openly, but she endured and tried her best.

In the evening, when Alatrel announced the end of classes for today, the cat girl looked quite depressed. But the elf, on the contrary, was in high spirits.

"Well, at the end of the first day, I can say that everything is much better than I expected. Of course, there is still a lot of work to be done, but now at least it is clear which direction to focus on first."

At the last sentence, Cyrill, who at the end of the day had managed with difficulty to detach himself from Alatrell's breast when she began to adjust the neckline of her dress instead of passing him the ball, mentally cursed. The hint was more than obvious.

"Get some rest. Tomorrow, as Diantrel informed me, you will be busy setting up your home, Ciriall. Be sure to study the material I have prepared for you on methods and techniques for detecting foreign energies."

"Of course, honorable."

"Gata, I will select several exercises for you to practise on your own to build resilience to influences that disturb the mind and heart. Taking into account your... specifics, of course."

"Thank you, honorable."

"Armina, I can see that you have quite good stability, but you need to work on your technique for countering obsessions. I will also select some suitable exercises for you to do on your own."

"Thank you, honorable."

"In that case, that concludes our session for today. Have a good rest and see you the day after tomorrow."

Cyrill, who had already gotten to his feet, froze in place.

"Our next session was scheduled for three days later, wasn't it? The day after tomorrow, we have training with Diantrel at the training ground..."

A charming smile appeared on Alatrell's face, and her azure eyes twinkled mischievously:

"I will also be present. Have a nice holiday."

Damn it... After saying goodbye to Alatrell, Cyrill and his companions left the room, where Fiorel was already waiting for him outside the door. The queen's servant accompanied the trio to the portal room, and they did not encounter anyone along the way. The corridors through which Fiorel led them were completely empty. After reconnecting with Diantrel, Cyrill easily tuned into ‘his address’ under her guidance, then said goodbye to Fiorel and stepped into the portal.

Once in the basement of his mansion, he carefully ‘extinguished’ and then ‘closed’ the portal arch, following his mentor's instructions to the letter. How helpful mental communication was in situations like this. And yes, he would have to study at least the basics of portalism soon to be able to deal with portals himself. Where else could he find the time for that? Oh, that's why the System didn't give him some mega-ultra-epic class, like Lord of Time, so he could simply and easily fuck everyone and everything? Or some kind of artefact that would allow him to control time? So that he could do all kinds of nasty things to those around him, like in some Japanese animation masterpieces, yeah.

Damn it, stop thinking with your dick instead of your head! They just told you that in no uncertain terms! Otherwise, you'll get yourself into trouble, but not with a kind elf mentor, but with some female version of that fucking Master! Although he doubts there's anyone like that in Beriaadon, otherwise this world would definitely be fucked. Elf fucked. Damn it!

After giving himself another mental slap on the wrist, Cyrill went to check the protective wickerwork, while Armina and Gata went to prepare dinner. It took him over an hour to check the entire mansion, after which the young man was convinced that the barriers he had installed were working properly, but that the ritual circle that powered them needed to be renewed. Cyrill even considered requesting another batch of crystal powder, despite the late hour, but ultimately decided against it. Tomorrow, a unique lot should be updated at the Auction. If it turns out to be some vulgar crap again, then he will have to ask his mentor for another batch of ‘fuel.’ And if he's lucky, tomorrow he will have his source of magic in his house.

Well, to keep the protection going until tomorrow, he can use his reserves. Especially since Cyrill hardly used any today, and in fact just ran it all day through his thin bodies. Which, however, was also quite exhausting, especially in combination with the constant attacks from Alatrell. It's a good thing that they were all at the maximum adept level. And not even the strongest ones.

Taking his place in the right part of the ritual circle, Cyrill carefully poured two-thirds of his reserve into it, so as not to cause a sudden loss of energy. Considering the remaining powder supply, it should be enough until tomorrow evening. After making sure once again that there were no problems with the power supply to the protective weaves, Cyrill headed to the dining room, where Gata and Armina had already set the table for dinner, frying potatoes with chicken. Naturally, he checked everything.

After dinner, all three went to bed. Gata barely made it to her bed, saying that today's class had exhausted her even more than yesterday's. Armina generally agreed with her. During the meal, the cat-woman even said that she was thinking of spending her thirteenth level talent point on acquiring some kind of property that would increase her resistance to magic. Because otherwise, in her words, it would be a disaster.

But, as we know, the morning is wiser than the evening, so the three of them decided to think about this issue tomorrow, while Cyrill would be busy building and strengthening the defences of his mansion.

* * *

That night, dreams followed one after another. All of them were vivid, but some seemed quite realistic, while others were clearly delusional.

A fairly large medieval town surrounded by a powerful fortress wall. A piercing wind howls through the snow-covered streets, but it is quite warm in the relatively decent-looking tavern: the stoves are burning in the kitchen, and wood crackles cheerfully in the fireplace in the main hall, around which, for a small fee, a petal, you can sit and warm yourself. And for a couple of coins, those who cannot afford a room can stay the night and wait out the cold night.

A pale, slightly thin man sits at a corner table, dressed in simple, unassuming clothes, waiting for a sturdy, well-fed woman in her forties to bring him a steaming bowl of meat soup. It is full, almost to the brim, with large chunks of meat. The aroma of the food is delightful, even in a dream. The unfamiliar man nods to the woman with a broad smile and a toothless mouth and scoops up the food with a spoon. Then he freezes for a moment, as if petrified. A look of surprise and some kind of... anxiety flashes across the maid's face.

But the man immediately utters a satisfied grunt and, having chewed everything, smiles back at her and says that everything is wonderful and that he hasn't eaten anything this delicious in a long time. The meat is simply incredible. Very tasty, yes. The maid beams and says that if he is not full, they have more in the kitchen. The man smiles and nods in response. But there is something about his smile that Cyrill does not like at all... And the way he looks at the couple of men, who are clearly vagrants, whom the well-fed and portly tavern owner, after a short argument, waves his hand and lets them spend the night on the floor, but at least in the warmth, taking only a couple of petals from each of them. No one but Cyrill heard the phrase whispered:

"And someone else complained about the station shawarma."

* * *

The tavern and the medieval winter town disappear. Instead, Cyrill sees a very cosy-looking study, where a thin and abnormally pale man with a creepy, insane face and green hair lies on a comfortable couch in a crumpled purple suit. With one leg bent at the knee and his arms crossed over his chest, he stares at the ceiling and, in a squeaky voice with philosophical undertones, muses:

"You know, Doc, it's quite funny. I used to be sure... no, I knew! I knew that this whole damn world had gone mad, that it was completely insane! I tried to get that across to everyone, to reach out to those around me, but no one, NO ONE listened to me! They didn't understand what I saw; they didn't want to understand, especially Bats, damn him!!!"

Towards the end, the man naturally began to shout. After pausing, he took several deep breaths, calmed down a little, and continued:

"But now... After everything that's happened... You know, Doc, I... I don't know anymore... If the world was crazy before, then what's happened to it now?! It couldn't have gone mad twice, could it? Crazy people can't go mad, they're already mad, aren't they?! You see what I'm getting at, Doc?"

The man lying on the couch turned to one side, and Cyrill saw a man sitting at the table in a white doctor's coat. Once white. Because now it was splattered with blood and... various bits and pieces. And where his head should have been, there was a shapeless mess, dented into his shoulders. Next to the table stood a wooden hammer leaning against it, which, judging by all appearances, had been used to smash the man's head. Although Cyrill wasn't sure about the latter, looking at the abnormally long fingers with hooked claws. And the hands were too long...

"Yes, yes, that's exactly what I'm talking about! Is it possible that I was crazy before, and the world was normal?! And with the arrival of this accursed Night, everything changed! And I was healed, but the whole world, on the contrary, finally went mad!? And first of all..."

The door leading to the office flew off its hinges with a deafening crash and rumble, and a huge dark figure burst into the office, with a pair of fluttering membranous wings behind its back. Looking around the office. It saw a man on the couch and growled in a deep bass voice:

"What the hell are you doing here while I'm searching all over Arkham for you?!"

"BATS! What are you doing? I have a private session with Dr. Gilbert. I've already missed the last twenty-odd sessions since the day I last escaped from this madhouse!"

"Let's go. We need to get to Strange's lair. Only we can deal with him! He'll confuse the others with his chatter! I've already dealt with them and sent them back to the station on autopilot, where they should come to their senses!"

"No! Let me go! Bats, please! I don't want to! Not that damn lunatic! I don't want to!!!"

Literally grabbing the thin man by the scruff of his neck, the dark figure dragged him towards the office exit.

* * *

Once again, a medieval town, but this time not covered in snow and located at the confluence of two rivers. It is late at night, and most of the houses are dark. However, there is a light on in a small shop, but it cannot be seen from the outside. All the doors and shutters are tightly closed, letting out neither light nor sound. Behind the counter stands a rather attractive middle-aged woman with simply gorgeous breasts, even bigger than Cyrill's made for Diantrel. And she is standing in such a way that they are about to spill out of the neckline of her dress, which is not properly laced up.

Another woman is standing in front of her, also leaning on the counter. She is an unassuming townswoman, dressed in a simple dress and wearing a headscarf. The two women are talking about something, and the speech of the busty woman clearly reveals her to be a peasant, and frankly, illiterate at that. The townswoman, on the other hand, speaks quite competently. By city standards. They were talking, who would have doubted it, about men. Or rather, about the fact that men only want one thing - tits. Or rather, the peasant woman did most of the talking, while the city woman listened and agreed with her, noting that the former had no problems with that; look how healthy and juicy her melons were. Not like hers.

The peasant woman laughed and said that it was easily remedied. And getting herself the same bad cow udder was no problem at all for her, with her job. After that, she shrugged her shoulders and dumped her udders on the counter in front of her interlocutor and offered to evaluate them. The woman did so, nodding gratefully and immediately starting to fondle them, to the peasant woman's satisfied and quiet laughter. It looked surprisingly exciting and downright mesmerising. Cyrill was so breathless that he didn't even notice when the city woman took off her dress, leaving herself naked from the waist up, allowing the peasant woman to fondle her as well. To be fair, she was by no means flat-chested. She had breasts, but they were nowhere near as large as the peasant woman's, which she continued to fondle. Yes, definitely nowhere near — this was the conclusion both women came to at the end of their conversation, during which they had been chatting cheerfully and caressing each other the whole time. Or rather, the city woman talked more, about her work or something, while Cyrill didn't listen to this boring woman, mesmerised by the sight of her monotonously rubbing the peasant woman's breasts with oil that had appeared from nowhere.

But this situation can be remedied. Nituska, as the peasant woman called the city woman, can and should get herself the same bad village tits, even though she is a city woman. And her man, Shor, will be only too happy. And not only him. After all, men only need one thing to be happy - a pair of nice juicy melons... With these words, the peasant woman, laughing and smiling, led the city woman into the utility room, throwing off her dress as she went and snapping her fingers to turn off the light, so that Cyrill could not see what they were doing there next...

* * *

Somewhere...

Ugh, damn it... After sitting her rather heavy and lifeless burden down on a chair, Fourth let out a sigh of relief. Kidnapping just wasn't her thing. Not only was it heavy, damn it, but she also had to drag it across the entire city. Oh well. Let's hope it was worth it. Let's hope so. Otherwise...

Literally growling with muffled rage at the source of her current misfortunes, Fourth began to undress impatiently. Once completely naked, she tore off the special head bag made of thick dark fabric from her prey. Underneath it was the very pretty face of a woman of about thirty-five. She had clear skin and thick, straight blond hair, which, admittedly, was now tangled and matted with sweat. Taking a special bottle from her discarded clothes, Fourth opened it and held it to the captive's nose. After a few seconds, she stirred, and after half a minute she came to, opened her brown eyes and blinked in confusion, not understanding what was happening. In addition, she had become unaccustomed to the light. And when the captive got used to it and saw where she was and with whom, she almost fell off the chair. The bonds on her hands and feet prevented her from jumping up and running away. And if it weren't for the gag in her mouth, she would definitely have screamed. Raising both hands with her palms forward, Fourth said:

"Quiet, quiet. I'm not going to take your life. And you don't need to call her; she won't hear you. Especially here."

Fourth's words did not calm the captive at all. Turning pale, she clenched her teeth on the gag and tensed up. Realising what she might do, Fourth quickly said:

"Quiet, quiet! Don't do anything stupid! If you waste all your grace, you'll be useless to me! Let's talk? Okay? I'll take the gag off you, but know that screaming is useless. Got it?"

The captive, still looking at her with wide-open brown eyes, nodded convulsively.

"Okay. That's it."

When Fourth released her from the gag, she immediately whispered with trembling lips:

"W-what do you want from me, bloody murderer?"

"Straight to the point? I like that," Fourth smiled.

However, her smile didn’t make the captive feel any better.

"I need your help. If you can handle it, I won't take your life. If you can't handle it... Then I don't need you."

Licking her dry lips, the captive asked incredulously:

"What kind of help do you need from the Giver of Life, servant of the Bloody Hand?"

"Not exactly typical. You see..."

Taking a step forward toward the priestess, who was suddenly tense, Fourth sat down on her lap, causing her to flinch and freeze in horror. Approaching her face, the killer spoke, looking straight into her terrified eyes:

"...I know that you have the power not only to help with the conception of life, but also... let's say, with the enjoyment of this process. Especially for women."

The captive's eyebrows shot up, and her eyes, already wide with horror, literally popped out of their sockets. Only now it was out of surprise.

"W-what?! W-why do you..."

"The thing is, because of... one problem... I can't experience pleasure normally now. But I really want it! This desire literally consumes me, damn it... But I can't experience it! And I'll tell you right away, I've already tried all sorts of different methods. All useless! That's why..."

Coming almost right up to the face of the frightened and stunned priestess, Fourth cooed in a gentle voice:

"...either you help me solve this problem... or you are useless to me. So? What do you say?"

For a few seconds, the priestess of Gaia looked into the eyes of Fourth, dumbfounded, not fully comprehending her words. And then she quickly nodded:

"Yes, yes, I can do it, if you spare my life, then..."

"Wonderful!"

Jumping to her feet, Fourth snapped her fingers. At that moment, the black rope that bound the kidnapped priestess's hands and feet turned into black smoke, which instantly dissipated.

"Then get started! I'm already ready, as you can see."

Carefully leaning on a chair, the captive stood up and, continuing to look fearfully at the naked Fourth standing in front of her, nervously licked her lips. The priestess of Gaia herself was wearing only a nightgown, in which she had gone to sleep in her temple abode. Carefully taking a step towards her captor, she stammered,

"M-may I?.. I need to touch..."

"Of course. Do what you have to. But..."

Fourth tilted her head to the side and smiled widely.

"... I don't advise you to do anything stupid, my dear."

The smile, more like a grin, as well as the tone of her voice, made the priestess even more afraid. Taking several deep breaths, causing her breasts, which were quite large, to sway several times, she took a step forward and carefully hugged her captor. She placed her left hand around her waist and her right hand on her left breast. Closing her eyes, she whispered the long-memorized words of prayer, gathering grace. If only everything would work out... If only everything would work out...

"Okay... Oh yeah... Yeah, damn... yeah... Come on!"

Having gathered all the grace that she had personally accumulated, since the priestess could not reach the goddess to whom she had dedicated her life from this cursed place, she moved her palm from the kidnapper's chest to her womb. Immediately penetrating it with two fingers, she directed all the forces available to her onto and into her. To the last drop. And considering that she was not an ordinary one, but the Senior Priestess, responsible for the city temple of the Life-Giver, she still had enough strength.

And now the deceptively harmless power of Gaia gushed into the body of this damned murderess, more precisely, into her womb. Loudly groaning, she abruptly pulled the captive to herself, literally clinging to her with both hands and passionately biting her neck. In surprise, she screamed and lost her balance, falling on her back to the floor. Her kidnapper, still moaning with pleasure, fell after her, immediately clasping the priestess's leg with both legs and moving her hips. The captive, who painfully hit her back on the stone floor, felt the warmth spreading along her thigh. The damned murderess, overcome by pleasure, could not hold back and wet herself.

For ten seconds, she lay on top of the priestess, breathing heavily and moaning. Then, purring contentedly, she sat down on top of her captive, staining her undershirt with yellow spots. She was flushed, squinting with pleasure and smiling contentedly.

"Oh... so good... What the..."

She opened her eyes sharply and stared at the priestess lying beneath her. There was no trace of the smile or pleasure left on her face as she felt all the grace of the Life Giver that had flowed into her transform and literally be absorbed into her body. More precisely, into several specific parts.

"What have you done?!"

Licking her dry lips, the captive looked up at the Fourth from below and spoke, trying to make her voice sound firm:

"I spent all my powers, given to me by Gaia, to give you the desired pleasure. And from now on, no one but me will be able to give it to you. If you kill me, you will forever lose the opportunity to experience it. But your desire will remain, and it will become stronger and stronger, until..."

Fourth's loud laughter interrupted the priestess mid-sentence. Throwing her head back, her captor laughed so hard that her chest bounced up and down. In other circumstances, it would have looked very seductive, but not now, and not for the kidnapped woman. Suddenly, the killer leaned down sharply, cupped the captive's face in her hands, and kissed her passionately. The captive moaned in surprise and fear, but did not dare to resist. After a few seconds, the Fourth pulled away and said with undisguised glee:

"And some of my brothers and sisters said that Gaia's servants' brains flow into their breasts over the years, which is why they grow so much..."

Letting go of the priestess's face, Fourth, still sitting astride her, opened the neckline of her nightgown, exposing her very decent-sized breasts. Grabbing them with both hands, she began to play with them, squeezing and swaying them from side to side, sometimes bringing the large breasts together, sometimes pulling them apart.

"But it turns out that's not the case. Something does remain in your head... You were clever enough to hang the female version of the Life-Giving Punishment on me... And to tie it to your own life... Well, it won't be easy to get rid of this gift. Well, then, there's only one thing left for me to do..."

After waiting a second and enjoying the fear that flashed in the priestess's eyes, Fourth said:

"...now we'll be best friends, my dear!"

Leaning forward again, Fourth once again grabbed the priestess's face with her palms and kissed her passionately. She again did not dare to resist, and allowed the kidnapper to penetrate her mouth with her tongue, uttering only a doomed moan...
* * *

Character statuses at the end of Chapter 3:

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 general 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’, ‘developed mastery of advanced amulets and artefacts’, ‘advanced ability to work with powerful external sources’, "advanced duelling 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 2/5 (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 master skills in creating magical barriers", "advanced skills in creating magical weaves", "advanced basics of magical dueling techniques with combat rods", "developed tantric energy restoration techniques", "advanced creation and use of ritual circles", "advanced tactics of conducting a magical battle", "advanced methods of working with advanced amulets and artifacts", "advanced methods of magical search", "advanced general weaves of elemental magic", "advanced methods of magical camouflage", "basic skills of working underwater", "developed basics of creating and concluding magical oaths and contracts".

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", "developed 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: 13

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): 1 (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)

Author's Notes:

Well, Brinar kept his word and didn't abandon it. I'll tell you right away that chapters will be released rarely now, since I've switched to Far-Far. BUT! BUT! I didn't abandon it! Here's the proof, yes!

The chapter was, of course, mostly conversational, but there are also some lemons in it. True, not the ones I planned. But in the process of writing Brinar came to the conclusion that immediately threw Cirusha on the elf legs of Alatrel... Well, that’s a bit too fast, because they only have their first class.

That's it. Yeah.

Oh, and as always, thanks to everyone who comments and corrects mistakes.

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Переводчики: Camrad_RIP