Готовый перевод История Королевы Эльфов / The story of the Elf Queen: Глава пятая. Кирилл. Непростое откровение Героя Королевы Эльфов

Chapter Five. Cyril. The Difficult Revelation of the Hero of the Elf Queen

* * *

Royal Forest Palace. Secret Guard Corps.

"This is an epic fail."

Third’s voice, like his face, was, as always, devoid of emotion. But this made his terse verdict following the emergency meeting regarding “The Guest” sound even more grim. Sivila, sitting across from him at the long conference table, fully agreed with the Head of the Secret Guard’s verdict. Yes, after listening to the reports and delving into the causes of what had happened, she fully understood that a confluence of circumstances had led to this failure. The situation was, without exaggeration, extreme; the lives of both the “Guest” and Diantrel were at stake, and they had to act quickly, and then everyone was running around looking for the Master’s agent who had struck the blow. But. BUT. That still didn’t excuse the fact that, in the end, the Twilight group covering “The Guest” had forgotten to check and completely erase the remnants of the suggestions left by Alatrel.

Yes, there was practically nothing left of them; “The Guest,” with Diantrel's help, had disposed of most of them on his own before receiving a blow that nearly killed him. But, as it turned out, that was enough. A significant portion of the problems, in Sivila’s personal experience, basically stemmed from such “minor” oversights. Which had the nasty habit of snowballing, eventually turning into full-blown avalanches! And now they’re all in this mess because of a mistake made by Third’s subordinates—a mistake for which the Twilight group and he personally had already been reprimanded by their immediate superior. But since this failure had already happened, the first priority was to figure out how to fix it. Glancing around at the elves seated at the table, Sivila asked the almost ritualistic question:

"What are we gonna do?"

After that question, a silence fell over the room where the emergency meeting was taking place. Everyone sitting at the table turned toward First at the same time, waiting for him to speak. But he, his face as devoid of emotion as that of his student and successor, silently scanned the calligraphic lines of the reports from Diantrel and the Twilight Group lying on the table before him, lost in thought. After waiting a few seconds, Mirael glanced at her colleagues and cautiously said:

"Maybe we should use this? Or save it for later..."

"No."

First's voice, as he set aside the scroll after reporting, was even more colorless than Third's, but Mirael stopped mid-sentence. Closing his eyes, he massaged his forehead, marked by several fine wrinkles, with his free hand and said:

"Let Diantrel tell him everything honestly."

After a moment's hesitation and exchanging glances with Third and Mirael, Sivila carefully clarified:

"Are you sure?"

Letting out a heavy sigh, filled with endless weariness, First looked at Sivila with his long-faded dark gray eyes, as if he were looking at a child. It was difficult to withstand that gaze, but the queen managed. First, still in the same colorless voice, explained:

"Telling him everything is our best option in this situation. Explain to him honestly why and how it happened. Given his personality, I have no doubt he'll understand. And if the "Guest" so desires, we'll perform a consciousness correction on him, just like Mirael, with all possible precautions and guarantees."

At these words, the Elder Enchantress, who had only recently completely overcome the fetish of conceiving a half-breed child instilled in her by the gift of the Soul Tablet, winced slightly. After casting a glance at the queen, she finally made up her mind and clarified:

"Are you sure there is no way we can use this..."

Another heavy gaze from First's dark gray eyes made her stop mid-sentence. And for the first time, something resembling emotion flickered in his voice. Specifically, a hint of dull irritation. But perhaps Sivila was just imagining it.

"Of course, we can use that. We could even turn the 'Guest' into an obedient pet from the very beginning, place it in a golden cage, and reap the fruits of the Tablet bestowed upon it, carefully guiding its development in the direction we desire. And it seemed to me..."

No, it wasn't just Sivila's imagination after all.

"...which I explained in sufficient detail back on the first day, when we were all discussing his fate, why this shouldn't be done. The power of the Tablet is insidious, as are its gifts. But those who stand behind this power are a hundred times more insidious. And even I cannot foresee what lines and when they will bestow upon the "Guest" or those now bound to him. Perhaps he will never know how and why he came to love the role of young grass. But perhaps another gift from the Tablet will open his eyes to this, at the most inopportune moment. And if..."

Yes, Sivila definitely didn’t imagine the shadow of irritation in his voice.

"... if we keep quiet about what happened, or worse yet, take advantage of the prejudice instilled in him, it could undo all our hard work. We’ve worked hard to win the “Guest’s” favor toward the Forest, and to lose his trust in such a ridiculous way would be the height of folly. Therefore, I’ll say it again: let Diantrel tell him everything honestly. Furthermore..."

Here, a thoughtful expression appeared on First's face.

"Considering what we know of his power... Perhaps what happened will still benefit us..."

* * *

The Reserve Grove is somewhere in the Forest.

Standing in the middle of the living room of his mansion, dressed only in a nightshirt and a pair of short night pants, Cyrill looked around. Well then... Striking a pose, he grasped the medium-length magic wand he had crafted himself specifically for the task at hand—made of light-colored wood and covered with simple yet effective carvings that facilitated the formation of the necessary patterns. With an elegant wave, like a conductor before an orchestra, all the furniture in the room rose into the air a dozen centimeters above the floor. Another wave, and a pinch of pre-prepared powder was poured into a sturdy wooden bucket of the purest well water, instantly dissolving in the water.

With another flick of the wrist, the water from the bucket forms a perfect sphere, which a moment later shoots toward the nearest wall and falls to the floor. But it doesn’t spread into a shapeless puddle; no, held in place by the weaves, the water sphere transforms into a low but fairly wide strip. Another sweep, and this strip, like a sea wave, obeying Cyrill’s will, surges forward, sweeping up all the dust and dirt along the way. After sweeping across the entire floor surface several times, the water, which had turned from crystal-clear to murky gray, gathered once more into a single sphere, rose into the air, and then flowed into the wooden bucket still hovering in the air, passing through the filter barrier created above it. As a result, the bucket once again contained perfectly clean water, while the dirt blocked by the barrier was sent with another wave of the wand into yet another bucket, where several such clumps of debris were already lying.

Glancing at the floor, now perfectly clean, Cyrill couldn’t help but smile. After all, cleaning with magic was much more enjoyable than without it. And much faster. With another wave of his wand, all the furniture in the living room smoothly settled onto the floor, while a couple of buckets followed the young man as he headed into the adjacent dining room, where Gata and Armina were just finishing up dusting, using special brooms Cyrill had made from the very fluffy feathers of some local bird. The brooms were enchanted in such a way that they attracted and held onto dust just as well as a vacuum cleaner. And when enough dust had accumulated, all one had to do was dip the broom into the same trash can or step outside, press the right spot on the handle, and the feathers would instantly clean themselves, shaking all the dust off. Very convenient, no doubt about it.

But he really struggled with those weaves! No, they weren’t particularly complicated; they just required attention and precision. Plus, ideally, each feather should have been enchanted individually, rather than stretching a single weave across all of them. In the latter case, the quality of the broom suffered significantly. So Cyrill did take the time and spent a few spare hours making sure everything was done just right, enchanting every single feather. Fortunately, once he got the hang of it, the process became much more fun and lively. But now Gata and Armina had equivalents of some super-advanced vacuum cleaners from his home world.

Upon entering the dining room, Cyrill paused for a few seconds to admire the two girls, dressed in their black-and-white maids’ uniforms, who were just finishing dusting the corners and the table. Man, you really start to understand the earthly and local aristocrats! Seeing him, Armina gave a brief nod and said:

"Sir, we are already finished."

"Great. Then be careful..."

With a wave of his wand, the dining chairs lifted off the floor all at once, flipped over, and landed on the table. Then the table, along with all the other furniture, also rose into the air about ten centimeters. Cyrill, waving his wand like a conductor, repeated the floor-cleaning procedure. In just a couple of minutes, the dining room, just like the living room, was spotlessly clean. Victory! The last room is clean, the cleaning is done! Smiling contentedly, the young man, along with his companions, surveyed the results of their labor and said:

"Well, cleaning with magic is pure pleasure! It's even better than the best robot vacuum cleaners."

Gata and Armina exchanged glances and looked questioningly at Cyrill:

"Whom?"

"Robot va... Oh, right..."

It took a few minutes to explain to both girls the latest developments and advancements in household appliances in Kirill’s world. And they didn’t immediately believe that miniature golems designed for cleaning and mopping floors weren’t exactly common to everyone in Cyrill’s world, but were quite widespread. They decided he was joking with them. Or telling a tall tale.

"I’m not making any of this up! I already told you—in my home world, what you’d call “artefactology” developed. Only without magic. And now, all sorts of everyday artefacts have long since become the norm... How can I explain this to you... Oh, wait a minute! I’ve got it!!! Look here."

In response to the questioning looks from both girls, Cyrill mentally sent them—to put it in earthly terms—a link to the relevant section of the Auction. Fortunately, on the fifth level, its selection, which had already seemed limitless, had grown even larger. And there, among other things, a rather sizable section had appeared, featuring electronics and appliances quite familiar to Cyrill. True, the prices even for the simplest items, like some cheap electric kettles, were quite steep. Purchasing their magical counterpart—a clay pot enchanted to heat its contents—was many times, almost orders of magnitude, cheaper. Because of this, there was practically no point in buying any appliances. Not to mention the inevitable problem of how to power it. For some reason, Cyrill wasn’t sure that Diantrel’s lightning bolts would work here. Although...

Cyrill’s gaze involuntarily lingered on the futuristic-looking gaming computer, which looked as if it had been taken straight off the deck of some spaceship. Damn... If only he’d had one like that in his past life... Sigh.... Or maybe... Nah, screw it, this marvel of electronics costs more than what the System paid him for the whole underground trip on that damn dwarf tank! And it wouldn’t even have internet anyway... Sigh... The internet... The thought of the World Wide Web made him feel nostalgic. No, magic is definitely cool—actually, it’s mega-fucking awesome—Cyrill’s totally fine with it all... But it would be even cooler with the internet... Sigh, so sad...

"Unbelievable... And artifacts like these are freely sold in any trading house in your world?" Armina asked in a stunned voice, staring into nowhere.

Well, not exactly “nowhere,” but rather browsing through the Auction’s extensive catalog of various tech goods—a catalog that was clearly visible to her. She and Gata could only look at them, since she had only the second level of the required system modifier, and the cat-girl didn’t even have access to the Auction yet.

Well, not exactly in every one, but in almost all large shopping centers, there is almost always at least one store, I mean, a retail outlet, where they sell this kind of equipment...

"What are these? Some kind of mirrors?"

"Huh? No, it's phones. Something like communication amulets, actually a really handy thing—you can not only talk on them, but also..."

"What kind of compositions are these? Some kind of alchemy?"

"No, it says right there, these are shampoos... I mean, these are hair care products..."

"Where are you looking? Show me!" Gata immediately became interested.

"Right here, in this section."

"Oh... What is this?"

"These are various cosmetics..."

Both girls, their eyes practically lit up, looked through the System's offerings of technological goods. Cyrill, for some reason, felt a little uneasy. Why was that...

"Cirial?"

The mentress's voice instantly put the young man on guard and cleared his mind of all unnecessary thoughts. Or rather, not the voice itself, but its tone. Diantrel was extremely serious and tense.

\\"I'm listening, mentress! Has something happened?"

\\"Yes. I need to talk to you. In person. Can I come see you soon?"

\\"Yes, of course, I just finished cleaning up with Gata and Armina. Will you be arriving through the portal, or... well, flying in?"

\\"Through the portal, it will be faster."

\\"Okay, how long should I meet you?"

\\"In fifteen minutes."

Damn.

\\"Okay, I'll wait for you."

After saying goodbye to Diantrel, Cyrill briefly told Gata and Armina that his mentress wanted to talk to him about something, then rushed upstairs to change, leaving the two girls in the dining hall. It seemed they were completely engrossed in the section of the catalog he’d sent them, featuring goods from the techno-worlds. From the outside, if you didn’t know what was going on, it was even a little creepy—two girls sitting side by side at a table, staring into space and whispering about something. A slight sense of unease pricked Cyrill again as he looked at them. However, he immediately forgot about it as he ran up to the second floor.

After all, appearing before his mentor in nothing but an undershirt and underwear was out of the question. It would be like meeting her in a wifebeater tank top and boxers. After quickly getting dressed and checking himself out in the mirror, Cyrill was more than pleased with what he saw and went down to the basement to meet Diantrel. Armina and Gata, meanwhile, were still sitting in the dining room, studying the Auction and whispering about something. After receiving a message from his mentor, the young man carefully verified that the portal’s opening was being initiated from the Royal Palace and from the portal arch he already knew, and only then activated his own arch, giving the go-ahead for their arrival.

Just a second later, Diantrel stepped into the basement of his mansion, dressed in her usual green and white army uniform. Cyrill nodded politely and greeted her:

"Greetings, mentress."

"Hello, Cirial," the elf nodded somewhat reservedly in response. "Please forgive me for disturbing you so suddenly."

"What happened? Has information about Master emerged?"

Looking intently at her student, Diantrel shook her head briefly and said.

"No, unfortunately or fortunately, there's no news about him yet. The reason for my visit is different... We'll discuss it in private, in your office."

Damn, what happened? Thanks to his connection with his mentress, Cyrill sensed that she was... no, not scared, not alarmed, but rather taut as a bowstring of an elven bow.

"Okay, please follow me."

Leaving the basement, Cyrill, followed by Diantrel, went up to the second floor, where the living quarters were located. Gata and Armina, meanwhile, remained seated in the dining room, apparently engrossed in studying the sections of the Auction that the young man had opened for them. Politey opened the door for Diantrel, and Cyrill let her into his study. Once inside, the mentress looked around, assessed the work the young man had done to reinforce the security of his home, gave a barely perceptible nod, and said in an approving tone:

"Not bad. There's still room for improvement, but for a start, it's actually pretty good."

Having closed the door, Cyrill smiled somewhat nervously:

"Thanks to your efforts and those of the venerable Alatrel, mentress..."

These words sent a shadow across Diantrel's face, and the tips of her ears twitched slightly, causing Cyrill to become wary instantly:

"Something wrong?"

Turning to Cyrill, the elf again looked at her student strangely, then sighed barely audibly and said:

Cirial, I'm going to ask you to activate your wards. We're about to have a serious conversation, and it's not meant for prying ears.

Damn! What's going on?! It's not about Master. Then what? Is there some problem with his legend? Do the elves need some kind of help that requires the System? All these thoughts raced through the young man’s mind in the mere few seconds it took him to max out the defenses of his study, carefully sealing it off from the rest of the mansion in particular and the rest of the world in general. Once all the barriers were at full power and sealed, Diantrel looked around once more, but said nothing. Out loud. But mentally.

\\“All right. Ciriall, I’d like you to conceal us with an illusion and leave our decoys here in our place, using the artifact-manifestor you’ve been given. Let them sit at the table and make small talk.”

\\"Ah... and then what about us..."

\\"Let's talk in your shelter."

Damn it. What the hell happened that requires such secrecy?! Now Cyrill was on high alert and seriously on edge. But he didn’t argue with his mentress; instead, he silently pulled the gifted artifact from his spatial pocket, simultaneously cloaking his true self and Diantrel in invisibility while creating illusory doubles in their place. Each of them received a single charge from the manifestation artifact, which gave them enough “density” to fool most of the checks. Then both doubles, obeying Kirill’s will, sat down at the table in his office and began… to talk about the weather as if nothing had happened. Very convincingly and coherently. The young man himself, along with his mentor, approached the cabinet standing in the corner of the room and, after stowing the manifestation artifact—which had used up two of its three charges—into a spatial pocket, took a small amulet-key from it. Holding it up to the cabinet doors, the young man activated it and opened the entrance to his “secret room.”

Letting Diantrel go first, he followed her into the room, which was still completely empty—a place where he had only just begun planning to set up a hideout in case of trouble. Closing the door behind him, Cyrill—now certain they were safely hidden from the rest of the world—asked in a voice as serious as could be:

"So, what happened?"

Diantrel didn’t answer right away. She walked to the center of the empty ten-by-ten-meter room, looked around—even though there was literally nothing there—and then turned to Cyrill, looked him straight in the eye, and slowly said:

"I ask you, Ciriall, to listen to me carefully without interrupting. And the first thing I will say is that there was no malicious intent on my part—nor on the part of any of the other Firstborn—in what happened."

Damn. What the heck happened?!

"The token I received, which I used to bestow upon you, Cirial, the property of 'Mimicry of Subtle Bodies,' contained, in addition to this great gift, a drop of poison visible only to me, the bestower. This drop consisted in the fact that the token bestowed not only an elite property, but also, as stated in the lines of the Tablet: “intensified one of the existing sexual preferences, or added a new one.”

Ooops...

"Back then, in the Kardaroth Vault, I didn’t mention those poisonous lines, hoping to deal with them later, once we’d safely returned to the Forest. If necessary, with help from healers who treat the mind, not the body. But..."

For a moment, Diantrel hesitated, but did not look away, continuing to look into Cyrill’s eyes.

"...the poison turned out to be far more treacherous than I had expected. The Tablet did not tell me exactly what specific preferences it had bestowed upon you, Cirial, in exchange for the newly acquired ability to conceal or alter your subtle bodies. It merely stated that it had amplified and reinforced certain suggestions you already possessed."

Unable to restrain himself, Cyrill asked in a stunned voice:

"What? How that..."

Raising her hand in front of her, Diantrel explained somewhat hastily.

"I was just as astonished as you, Ciriall. And I wasn’t the only one. You were under the protection of the Secret Guard the entire time, even when you didn’t realize it. Any attempts to influence your mind through magic were strictly forbidden. No one could understand what kind of suggestion you might be referring to. The analysts concluded that, most likely, someone could have influenced you while we were in White Harbor, or, much less likely, during the events that followed. And because we didn’t know the nature of the suggestion, we had no way of freeing you from it, since the power of the Soul Tablet made it feel completely natural to you. But it turned out to be much simpler—and all the more absurd for it..."

With a heavy sigh, Diantrel continued:

"Once Alatrel fell into the Master’s web, she charmed you by employing the classic techniques used by seductress agents when dealing with members of the lesser races, making the legs and feet of the firstborn maidens especially attractive. As you recall, I discovered this suggestion the very next day during our session. At that time, with my help, you successfully rid yourself of most of it. But, as it turned out, a very small part of the suggestion remained, and after the Master’s attempt on your life, no one even remembered it. Its effect was negligible, and over time, it had every chance of fading away completely. But the drop of poison received along with the gift of the Tablet intensified and reinforced the remnants of the suggestion, making them seem completely natural to you as well."

Damn. Cyrill barely managed to keep his jaw from dropping. Because only now, when Diantrel had literally pointed out where to look, did he realize. No, when it came to female beauty, he’d always believed it wasn’t limited to just tits, asses, and pretty faces. And he fully appreciated the beauty of women’s legs, especially if they were truly beautiful. But the way he’d been staring at Alatrel’s legs during their sessions… the way he’d wanted to feel their touch… Nothing like this had ever happened before, not even close. Fuuuuuck…

"For this reason, you... find some of the sessions with Alatrel so difficult, and it’s so hard to resist certain... techniques she uses."

“Fuck...” was all the young man could manage to say as he tried to process what he had heard.

"I repeat, Cirial, there was no malicious intent in what happened, except for Master..."

"Yeah, I get it... It's just... Damn... Can we fix this?"

"Yes, but now this will require a full-scale correction of consciousness by the Masters of Mind Magic, since the remnants of Alatrel’s suggestion have been made an entirely natural part of… your preferences by the power of the Tablet. If you wish to rid yourselves of them, this will require a full-scale correction of consciousness. The procedure is not the simplest or most pleasant, but it is entirely possible and completely safe. Elder Enchantress Mirael, whom I also gifted with the token, only recently underwent it."

"And what did it reward her with?" Cyrill asked.

"The power of the Tablet doubled the number of children granted to the firstborn, bringing it to ten. It also made the idea of conceiving these very children with members of the lesser races extremely appealing and exciting."

"Wow... Well, it turns out I was lucky," Cyrill honestly said the first thing that came to mind.

A second later, he asked:

"And if it’s not a secret, what gift did it give you?"

With a slight twist of her lips, Diantrel folded her arms across her chest and sighed heavily again:

"I don’t know. The person who is gifted by the token is unable to realize the changes that have taken place within them. Even if they carefully list all their preferences beforehand, they simply won’t realize the changes that have occurred within them. Unless, of course, the person who bestowed the token points them out directly. In my case, it turned out there was no one to point them out."

"I see..."

Without even realizing it, Cyrill found himself pacing back and forth in the “secret room,” deep in thought as he mulled over what he’d heard. Diantrel watched him silently, not interfering in any way. Fuuuck... Fuuuck... Fuck you, fuck you, you fucking bitch! Bitch! He wanted to scream and curse, but Cyrill held himself back with all his might, trying not to let any sign of the fire raging inside him show. And the reason wasn’t the now-clear reason why Alatrel’s legs, encased in black stockings, were so alluring to him. Although that too, damn it, thanks to that damn Master, bitch!!!

No, the reason was something else. What did the mentress say? That the Gift of the Tablet contained a drop of poison? That's exactly right! Indeed, some of the gifts and rewards Cyrill received from the System came with that little extra! So the question is, why the hell did he decide that the situation would be any different with Diantrel?! Or with Armina and Gata?! Actually, that’s not it! Why the fuck didn’t it even occur to him that, thanks to Master’s influence, the System wouldn’t be slipping them gifts with all sorts of filthy extras either?! Did he think he was the Chosen One?! Well, yeah, but... Fuck, you’re thinking about the wrong thing, fuck, fuck, fuck...

Exhaling, Cyrill forced himself to stop in his tracks, straighten up, put on a normal expression, turn to his mentor—who was waiting silently for him to speak—and ask in a calm voice.

"Thank you for this revelation, mentress, but... May I ask why you told me this? Since, as you yourself say, I would never have realized it on my own, and..."

Frowning slightly, Diantrel said in an even more serious voice, looking intently at Cyrill:

Who better than you, Ciriall—having been in the Master’s hands and having lost part of your memory—to understand what it is like when someone alters your mind against your will, whether openly or in secret. And even if there was no ill intent on my part or anyone else’s in what happened to you, except for Master. If I remain silent about it, then from this silence, like a poisoned seed, an entire tree could grow, which in time would bear equally poisonous fruit.

At those words, Ctrill almost flinched. Damn, damn, damn, you fucking moron! Apparently, some of his emotions did show on the young man’s face, but Diantrel misinterpreted them.

"I understand how unpleasant this might be for you, but I’ll say it again: there was no malicious intent on anyone’s part in what happened—except for Master. And, as I’ve already said, if you wish, the Masters of Mind Magic can certainly free you from this suggestion. Of course, they’ll provide oaths and guarantees..."

Raising his hand with an open palm, Cyrill stopped Diantrel and shook his head.

"That's not the case, Mentress! Although, yes, I won't hide the fact that I have absolutely no desire to let anyone into my head, thanks to that damn Master, damn him... It's just..."

Damn it, damn it, you bitch, be a man! You screwed up—now face the consequences! Ugh, ugh, ugh, aaaaaaaaah!!!

Swallowing hard and giving himself a mental kick, Cyrill—feeling an overwhelming urge to sink into the ground—exhaled, but still managed to find the strength to look Diantrel straight in the eye. And he spoke, trying to keep his voice from trembling:

"You said it very well, mentress, about poisoned seeds that can grow into poisoned trees. Therefore..."

Fuck, let's do it, bitch.

"I am guilty before you."

Diantrel raised her eyebrows slightly and opened her mouth, but before she could say anything, Cyrill, having finally made up his mind, said:

"Realize this."

The elf’s eyes widened for a moment, and she froze with her mouth slightly open. Cyrill, with a titanic effort of will, forced himself not to look away, but to keep staring into her violet eyes. Meanwhile, a single phrase kept spinning around in his head, accompanied by the approving murmur of something suspiciously resembling his conscience. I'm fucked. I'm fucked. I'm fucked. I'm fucked. Fuck...

A few moments passed in silence. Then Diantrel closed her mouth and narrowed her eyes slightly, her face frozen. The effort required to keep her gaze fixed—already a Herculean task—became almost impossible. But Снrill managed it, though not entirely fairly. To keep his gaze fixed and frozen, he had to literally shackle his physical body, using a side effect of his direct control over the subtle body, which Снrill had also forced to freeze.

"Why?"

The question was asked quietly, and Diantrel's voice was completely devoid of intonation. But in the empty space of the "secret room," it resounded like a thunderclap. Licking his dry lips, Cyrill extended his right hand, palm open. For a moment, the mentor stood motionless, then grasped the outstretched hand with difficulty, and the young man initiated the merging of their subtle bodies, opening himself completely to her. After a moment's delay, Diantrel supported him, and Cyrill, licking his dry lips, said:

"The first time, it was a coincidence. I didn’t want to use the token the Master sent me; I hadn’t even thought about it... it just seemed to work on its own... And I couldn’t resist... your beauty... Then... while on vacation in Azure Bay... I couldn’t resist a few times either. Once I used the token to complete an assignment from the System..."

That last sentence sounded like a pathetic attempt to justify himself. But thanks to the System itself—and to the fact that Cyrill and Diantrel’s ethereal forms had now merged into a single silhouette—she didn’t even need to see it; she simply knew that the young man wasn’t lying because he had opened up to her honestly.

Which made it a little scary. Somewhere on the edge of his consciousness, a gloomy thought lingered: if Diantrel were to snap right now because of his confession, he’d be done for. But the elf, listening to Cyrill, remained outwardly completely calm. Inside, however... It was hard to say, because she herself hadn’t opened up, having accepted the fusion. In fact, it was Cyrill who had opened up to her almost completely to prove his sincerity. And also because right now he was incredibly ashamed that he’d allowed himself a moment of weakness and hadn’t resisted the truly poisonous gift from that fucking Master.

"You know, Cirial..."

Diantrel's words echoed again in the silence of the "secret room" like thunderclaps, causing Cyrill to flinch slightly, despite the elf's voice being completely calm.

"...many would do anything for the chance to gain even a fraction of the power I’ve gained through the Tablet of the Soul, thanks to you... Many would agree not only to share your bed, but to do absolutely anything. Any act of depravity, even the darkest. Not to mention all the power I have already gained and will be able to gain through the Tablet in the future."

Pausing for a moment, Diantrel squeezed Cyrill's hand a little tighter and opened up a little, allowing him to also evaluate the truth of her words.

"As the First Tree sees it, I myself would agree to share your bed, and even bear your child, if the price for these things were the power and gifts I have already received from the Tablet. And I was warned when I was offered to become your mentress that I might have to take such a step. But you, having fully realized how valuable you are and what power you possess, behaved more than worthily in this matter, which pleased me immensely. Or so I thought."

That last sentence, though spoken in the same calm tone, unexpectedly stung more deeply than any of the wounds Cyrill had sustained during their adventures following their visit to White Harbor. Squeezing Cyrill’s hand just a little tighter, Diantrel said with a gentle pressure:

"Cirial?"

Thanks to the merging, the young man understood the meaning of her question perfectly. And without trying to close himself off in any way, he answered honestly:

"I didn't use any other vulgar tokens against you. And I didn't influence you in any way."

Diantrel narrowed her eyes slightly, and Cyrill, thanks to their connection, understood her question even before she voiced it. And he answered her honestly.

"I did change your appearance while I was delirious after Master’s attack, and I wasn’t aware of what I was doing. Or rather, as I already said, I thought I was choosing a character’s appearance for a computer… um… for a fictional story…"

Thanks to their mental connection and the merging between them, he was able to convey to Diantrel a comprehensive picture of what a computer game is. Otherwise, it would have taken much longer to explain it in words.

"... the only thing is..."

Cyrill hesitated for a split second, but once he had made up his mind and begun to repent, he had to go all the way.

"... The system allowed me to make any changes to the appearance of the first of the Companions. And to do so in such a way that no one but me would notice these changes. But in my delirium, I wasn’t aware of this possibility and didn’t take advantage of it. I wouldn’t do that to you now, but back then... back then, most likely, yes, I would have made... some changes, making them look natural."

For a moment, Diantrel squeezed Cyrill's hand a little tighter and narrowed her eyes even more:

"Were you unhappy with my previous appearance?"

“You're as beautiful as any elven maiden!” the young man blurted out.

“And now you’re even more beautiful. Especially your hairstyle. Long hair suits you better. In my personal opinion,” Cyrill added, with the honesty and resolve of a man who knew his fate.

For a few seconds, Diantrel stared at him silently and intently. But once again, thanks to that same mental connection and merging, she could literally know that Cyrill hadn’t lied. He, having recalled another moment and realizing that his mentress had sensed he’d remembered something, continued to confess his sins:

"And that mark... I added it to you when I changed your appearance. I chose both the shape... and the location... And then I acquired the “Mark of the Chosen One I” companion modifier and blamed it all on that. Because I was so damn ashamed... But I never once used it in any inappropriate way!"

That last sentence, spoken too hastily, sounded downright pathetic to Cyrill himself. And once again, all he could do was thank the System and the fusion for the fact that Diantrel knew he wasn’t lying. The elf remained silent for a few seconds, continuing to squeeze the young man’s hand and pierce him with her gaze. Cyrill, too, remained silent, awaiting his fate. Then, quite unexpectedly and in a strange voice, Diantrel said.

"So great, indeed, is the power of the Tablet. I look at you, Cyrial, and see a skilled mage, a true master of magic, who has mastered the School of Illusions—and other disciplines—to a more than commendable degree. I have gone through trials with you that would have been enough for other Firstborn to endure for many centuries, if not for all eternity. And the First Tree sees that not all of them would have been able to endure them as worthily as you have."

After falling silent for a moment, Diantrel sighed and said in the same strange voice:

"And with all that going on, it’s surprisingly easy to forget that you’re still just a boy, even by human standards..."

Now that was offensive. A bit. Deserved. But still offensive. And Diantrel, without stopping, delivered the next blow:

"It would truly be extremely short-sighted to expect someone so young to resist the beauty of the first-born maidens, having acquired such a tempting gift..."

It was far more hurtful. And just as deserved. The urge to sink into the ground, or to teleport somewhere far, far away, flared up with renewed intensity. But Cyrill resolutely suppressed it, and not because he didn’t understand the School of Space well enough. And Diantrel, her eyes flashing and literally burning Cyrill with her gaze, said emphatically:

"But youth and the seductiveness of the gifts of the Tablet do not justify your actions towards me, Ciriall!"

The urge to vanish and end up somewhere far, far away had become almost overwhelming. Damn it, even driving that damn dwarf tank through the Underworld was easier than standing here like this in front of my mentor and looking her in the eye. Burning with shame over his own stupidity—which, if he were a coward, he’d love to blame entirely on Master—Cyrill gathered his strength and opened his mouth. But he didn’t have time to apologize or promise to make amends, to atone for his guilt.

So Diantrel, still holding his hand, pulled him toward her in one fluid motion—without breaking their embrace—and... literally pressed her lips against Cyrill’s in a passionate kiss. What...

To say that Cyrill was stunned would be a massive understatement. For a few seconds, the young man stood frozen in place while his mentor, pressing him firmly against her, continued to kiss him passionately. Cyrill was simultaneously overwhelmed by the floral scent emanating from her hair, the berry-like taste of her lips, and—unexpectedly, the most pleasant sensation of all—the surge of her energy. The latter, previously held back, literally swept the young man off his feet.

Cyrill couldn’t say, even if he tried, how long he had stood there, completely lost in the energy that had swept over him and kissing Diantrel. A semblance of clarity returned to him when his mentor finally broke the kiss and pulled back slightly. Exhaling heavily, she licked her lips and, continuing to look Cyrill in the eyes, said with a completely unexpected sense of anticipation:

"Not bad... For beginning..."

Cyrill, who had only just realized that at some point he had managed to wrap his arms tightly around Diantrel’s waist, finally opened his mouth, but didn’t manage to say a word. Her eyes flashing with magical fire, the mentress declared in a firm tone:

"Twice. For each time."

Cyrill understood the meaning of her words immediately and completely. Given their merging and mental connection, Diantrel didn’t even need to speak aloud. Swallowing, the young man immediately agreed and reached out toward her again, but the elf unexpectedly pressed the index finger of her left hand against Cyrill’s lips with a deft movement, stopping him. For a moment, he froze in confusion, but then he immediately understood the condition—the demand—from his mentress. It took him another second to process it, after which Cyrill immediately agreed.

Out of nowhere—or rather, quite obviously from the Auction—a strip of pitch-black fabric appeared in Diantrel’s right hand. Stepping slightly away from his mentor, Cyrill let her turn him around and blindfold him. The fabric was clearly no ordinary material, but rather enchanted, as it not only instantly plunged the surrounding world into complete darkness but also effectively muffled his perception of the world around him through magic. Of course, Sensitivity wasn’t Cyrill’s most developed stat, but even with his eyes closed, he could still navigate his surroundings quite good.

But not with that blindfold. Because of it, he genuinely felt blind. The world around him seemed to vanish, shrinking to nothing more than the floor beneath his feet and Diantrel. The elf turned Cyrill around and pulled him close, pressing her lips against his once more in a demanding, commanding kiss. The young man was once again enveloped by the floral scent of her hair and the sweet, berry-like taste of her lips. He was also simply swept away by a wave of her energy, in which Cyrill instantly dissolved with immense pleasure.

If Diantrel had wanted to at that very moment, she could surely have easily dissolved him in that pleasure—if not entirely, then to a significant degree. Cyrill knew just how dangerous it was to open up to someone so completely, merging with them through their subtle bodies and, on top of that, surrendering control. Alatrel had explained it to him quite well. But now that knowledge flashed somewhere at the very edge of his consciousness and vanished immediately, dissolving into the waves of pleasure from merging with his mentor, whose energy felt very pleasant, like a fresh breeze filled with the scents of forest berries and herbs...

Through the haze of this pleasure, plunged into complete darkness by the blindfold, Cyrill felt as if from a distance how, without breaking the kiss, he began to help his mentress shed her clothes, while she helped him undress. When the top of her bodice and her undershirt were tossed aside most carelessly, Cyrill finally tore himself away from Diantrel’s sweet lips. But only to descend lower. To her beautiful breasts… the most magnificent… the very best… the most beautiful… far better than those of his two other companions, unequivocally, undoubtedly, honestly, I swear! Amidst the waves of pleasure came a distinct sense of satisfaction from Diantrel, whose thoughts, thanks to their union, resonated in unison with Cyrill’s.

Caressing his mentress’s breasts with passionate kisses. She clung to his hair with one hand, and the other held his shoulders. Cyrill literally lost himself in her with immense pleasure, savoring the touch of Diantrel’s perfectly smooth skin against his face and her scent. Obeying the elf’s desire, he took the nipple of her left breast into his mouth and began to tease it rapidly with his tongue, eliciting a quiet but distinct moan. Though even without it, he could sense perfectly well what Diantrel wanted and how much pleasure she was feeling.

Amid the waves of overwhelming pleasure, a flash of irritation crossed Cyrill’s mind at the lack of suitable furniture in the “secret room.” Or rather, any furniture at all. A solution to this problem formed in Cyrill’s mind instantly. Without letting go of Diantrel’s waist or stopping his lips from caressing her breasts, the young man mentally activated the ++“Intimate Nest” token.

He couldn’t gauge the effect of it because of the blindfold. But his mentress certainly could. For a moment, he sensed her surprise, but thanks to their connection, she immediately understood what had happened. And in the next instant, Cyrill, pulling away from her chest, scooped Diantrel into his arms and carefully headed in the direction she had indicated, since, because of the blindfold, he still could neither see nor feel anything. Except for his mentress’s naked, heated body and the overwhelming surges of her energy.

Carefully making his way to the edge of the bed, which Cyrill could feel with his knees, the young man froze for a moment, afraid of dropping his precious burden. And then, in some inexplicable way, that very burden slipped from his hands, and the floor gave way beneath him, causing Cyrill to fall backward onto what turned out to be a very wide and comfortable bed. A moment later, Diantrel, who had ended up on top of him, pressed him down onto it. Sitting on Cyrill’s chest, the elf spent a few seconds settling herself more comfortably. And the young man, pinned to the bed and trapped between his mentress’s legs, pressed his lips to her pussy and ran his tongue over it.

Well, what can you do? You have to pay for all the good things in life. Especially for gorgeous elven tits, those beautiful elven breasts. Which no one had ever allowed him to grope so brazenly and crudely! These thoughts flashed somewhere at the very edge of his consciousness and vanished immediately, completely dissolving into the stream of pleasure flowing from Diantrel. All that remained was the desire to sustain and intensify that pleasure. To atone for his guilt, for his weakness, for the trust he had betrayed! Holding his mentor, who was straddling him, by the hips—where he could feel her toned muscles beneath her perfectly smooth skin—Cyrill began to work his tongue diligently, causing her to arch her back and moan aloud.

Cyrill couldn’t see this, since the blindfold was still over his eyes, but thanks to his merging with Diantrel, he didn’t even need to feel it. He knew her every movement, her every desire. And obeying that desire, without stopping his tongue’s work, Cyrill ran his palms up her body toward her gorgeous, magnificent elven breasts. Encircling Diantrel’s breasts, he gently squeezed them, eliciting another satisfied moan. Covering Cyrill’s hands with her own, the mentor began to guide his movements, and the pleasure in the stream of energy flowing from her grew even greater, and it continued to intensify until...

Another uncontrollable moan-scream from Diantrel, who had reached the peak of pleasure, coincided not with a mere wave, but with a fucking tsunami of energy that swept Cyrill off his feet. The power that filled and overflowed him created the sensation that right now the sea was naturally up to his knees, the sky up to his waist, and that terrifying monster from the Underworld would serve as a lighter. But the feeling of omnipotence and readiness to dominate everyone and everything vanished almost instantly, dissolving into simply all-consuming passion and desire.

He couldn’t have said—even if he’d tried—exactly when or how Diantrel had ended up on the bottom, lying on her back on the bed, with Cyrill on top. And at that moment, he had absolutely no desire to know. He wanted only one thing. Her. Entirely and completely. All of her, without reserve. He wanted to drown in the streams of energy flowing from her; he wanted to caress her beautiful, toned body, which he couldn’t see but could feel from the tips of her fingers on those lovely legs to the tips of her equally lovely, pointed ears. He wanted to kiss, caress, squeeze, and embrace her, to merge not only on a subtle level, but also quite physically. And Cyrill gave himself over to these desires completely and utterly.

His consciousness, having dissolved almost entirely in waves of pleasure, returned in brief flashes, only to be swallowed up by them again almost immediately. There he lay on top of Diantrelle, covering her face and her beautiful, perfect breasts with kisses. With one hand, the mentor wrapped her arms around his neck; with the other, she scratched his back, but Cyrill didn’t notice. Diantrel’s slender legs wrapped around him and squeezed him tightly as he entered her, never stopping the kisses. There they were, kneeling together in the center of the bed. Cyrill is behind her, pressing his mentress tightly against him with his left hand around her waist and stomach, while his right hand caresses and squeezes her beautiful, perfect breasts. With his lips, he takes the tip of her long, sensitive ear, teasing it with his tongue, which elicits another uncontrollable moan. Here Diantrel lies on her back, clutching the crumpled sheets with her hands and draping her beautiful, slender legs over Cyrill’s shoulders, while he, moving his hips, simultaneously turns his head and showers them with kisses, sliding his lips from her calf to her foot. Here he is lying on his back again, and his mentor, straddling him, rides him, her hands clasped together. Here... Here... Here...

* * *

A pretty blonde girl in a form-fitting black-and-white jumpsuit, her face full of indignation, is lecturing a group of frightened, flustered people and aliens sitting at a large table in some futuristic-looking office. In one hand, she holds a tablet; with the other, she waves angrily, pointing off to the side. Behind her stands a young man with a displeased expression, also in a jumpsuit, but one that is entirely dark in color and has a more brute design, reminiscent of high-tech armor. Behind him stand several more people and aliens, wearing similar jumpsuits, all with equally grim expressions. Standing out against this backdrop is a girl with perfectly fair skin and white hair, dressed in a luxurious white-and-purple gown, flanked by a pair of stern-looking women in full-body armor suits.

Dressed in a silver jumpsuit with blue accents, an unusual but very attractive alien woman with blue skin and a tense expression tries to calm the blonde girl down as best she can. She promises to sort things out, fix everything, punish the culprit, and make full amends. A pair of her human assistants, wearing identical silver-and-blue jumpsuits, frantically project one 3D image of some documents after another in front of them, as if searching for something but seemingly unable to find it.

Meanwhile, the blonde woman in the black-and-white jumpsuit isn’t letting up; on the contrary, she’s getting more and more worked up, promising the guilty parties terrible punishments, lawsuits, fines, and compensation. Cyrill can’t for the life of him figure out what she’s talking about or what all the fuss is about, until he notices the huge panoramic window in the direction the blonde girl keeps pointing. Beyond it, against the backdrop of the endless darkness of space dotted with hundreds of stars, a massive space station is visible in orbit around some planet. And practically right next to the window, a sizable spaceship with a predatory, arrow-shaped form is docked to this station. And on the dark hull of the ship, a schematic yet clearly recognizable, massive image of a well-known organ, painted in gold and depicted in full, so to speak, combat readiness, stands out distinctly. And next to it, so that no one could possibly be mistaken, is an equally massive inscription in gold: “HARD-ON”...

The spaceship and the swearing blonde girl with her companions vanish. In their place, Cyrill sees a spacious and lavishly furnished room, reminiscent of the palace of some Middle-East padishah. But in the center of the room, completely out of place with the Eastern decor, stands a wide and very modern white sofa. Sitting on it, right in the center, with her legs crossed, is a toddler of two or three years old, dressed in a colorful robe. With a bright, clean face, neatly combed silky, straight dark hair down to his shoulders, and a joyful smile—he’s pure cuteness incarnate. Cyril could send him straight to a commercial shoot for products aimed at kids or their parents.

Seated next to him, on his left, is a very attractive woman dressed in loose-fitting dark garments, with long, wavy dark hair flowing freely and fair skin. She wears a broad smile as she gazes at the little boy with genuine maternal love. To his right sits another woman, who looks slightly younger, with the same fair skin, light hair, and bright blue eyes. She is also dressed in loose-fitting dark robes and smiles as she looks at the baby. Only there is something predatory in her smile. Standing around the sofa are other women of all different appearances and ages, from very young girls to mature and even elderly women. For the most part, they too are dressed in dark, loose-fitting robes, though for some—the older ones—they are modest, while for the younger ones, they are quite revealing. And all of them, smiling like cats licking cream and whispering to one another, are watching the little toddler in a colorful children’s robe, who is cooing happily. The reason for the little one’s joy—who was literally exuding an off-the-charts cuteness, as they would say back home—was a rattle toy, which he was happily waving in front of him.

It was practically an idealized picture of a happy mother with her child, surrounded by numerous female relatives. The only thing that made Cyrill a little uneasy was the way many of the women and girls were looking at the little one. Seriously, they were like cats eyeing cream—they were practically licking their lips. For some reason, an image involuntarily popped into his head of a very tall, curvaceous woman with long dark hair, wearing a white dress and a wide-brimmed hat, wailing “yeah-yeah-yeah.” But this image was instantly dispelled by a satisfied chuckle that rang out from somewhere behind him, causing the young man to spin around abruptly and nearly jump in his tracks. Behind him, in the corner of the room, stood the indistinct figure of a sturdy adult man with dark, wavy hair down to his shoulders. With a serious expression, he looked at the happily cooing toddler and said in a pleased voice.

"My brat!"

Before Cyrill could ask what he meant, the man’s figure vanished, along with the palace room and its inhabitants. They were replaced by another room—quite possibly also part of the palace, though more likely in an elven style. Except that it had a distinctly gothic and gloomy atmosphere. The room had apparently been a bedroom. At any rate, that was suggested by the debris of a bed and various other pieces of furniture scattered everywhere. There were also blankets and sheets torn to shreds and partially burned, and featherbeds that had been literally gutted.

A man in an elegant dark silk robe with silver embroidery was pacing back and forth across the room, cursing furiously and waving his arms about. He clutched something glowing in one hand, while with the other, he was flinging spells in all directions with such abandon. Not even spells—Cyrill had exaggerated—but almost pure energy, not weaving it into anything coherent at all, and thus scattering the remains of the furniture or knocking fragments of stone out of the walls and floor. What had driven him so mad? The man was clearly in a wild, simply indescribable rage, on the verge of hysteria, and Cyrill couldn’t understand what it was about the furniture that had offended him. And he couldn’t make out the man’s features at all; they seemed blurred, like in a poorly focused photograph. But for some reason, as he watched the man continue to rage and tear the remains of the bed to shreds, he felt a sense of unease...

Suddenly, he froze on the spot and spun sharply toward Cyrill. Raising his hand directly at the young man, clutching something that looked like a crystal, he shouted in a voice choked with rage:

"You!!!"

For a split second, Cyrill feared that this madman might now hurl pure magic at him—after all, he clearly had enough power to do so—but just then, someone’s figure, seemingly a woman’s, flew past him, literally a millimeter away, nearly knocking him off his feet. Startled, Cyrill lost his balance and collapsed to the floor, falling through it into endless darkness, falling, falling...

* * *

Huh? What the... For the first few seconds, Cyrill couldn’t figure out where he was or what was going on. Complete, boundless darkness reigned all around him. Just like the darkness he’d just been falling through. What the... Cyrill tried to move and sit up, but he couldn’t. Because someone was lying right on top of him, quite comfortably settled there. Someone who felt very pleasant to the touch, warm, and smelled deliciously of flowers, berries, and a woman’s sweat. What the... Fuuuuuck!

Memories of what had happened came flooding back to him like a waterfall. His mentress’s visit. Their conversation. His confession. And… No, wait… Reaching out with his right hand, Cyrill felt the bandage over his eyes and managed to push it aside, refusing to face the truth until the very last moment… Shit… Yes. Well. Shit.

The interior of his “secret room,” which had previously been completely empty, with uniformly gray and smooth walls, floor, and ceiling, was radically transformed. The walls were repainted an intimate dark red, adorned with a dozen magical crystal lamps. The ceiling and floor turned dark, and the ceiling was now adorned with another large light fixture, in the form of a massive chandelier, where instead of light bulbs there were a dozen or so small enchanted crystals.

Various pieces of furniture had also appeared. On either side of the entrance now stood a pair of wooden cabinets in a classic elven style, made of dark wood. Against the wall to the left of the entrance stood a sturdy chest of drawers in the same style and made of the same material as well as a massage table. In the corner on the right, slightly screened off by a translucent partition, was a nice white marble bath, resembling a jacuzzi. Next to it, further along the wall, stood a dressing table with a pair of nightstands, a tall triple mirror, and a small ottoman. In the far corners from the entrance were a pair of stocks, a slanted wooden cross with leather straps, and another table with similar straps. And most importantly, against the wall opposite the entrance, directly across from it, now stood a massive bed that could easily fit four people, covered in rich red silk sheets, which were now all crumpled and wrinkled

Cyrill was lying on that bed, completely naked. And lying right on top of him, comfortably settled with her head on his chest, quietly snoring and also completely naked, was Diantrel, her hair tousled. For a few moments, Cyrill took in what his eyes were seeing, afraid not only to move but even to breathe. And then...

Attention!

Fuck! The attempt to stop the cascade of messages from the system completely failed.

++The bond level with Companion Diantrel of the House of Winter Blossoms, daughter of Edenril, has reached level 5 (maximum)!

Received two free attribute points.

Two free talent points received.

Received two free companion modification points.

One elite item from the Auction has been granted.

Received the elite "Chosen's Grace 5/5" token. When activated, it adds two to five points to a random stat on the target. Does not work on targets with a stat equal to or greater than five.

The elite "Beautiful Moment 10/10" token has been received. Allows you to accelerate the flow of time in a selected, limited area of ​​space, relative to the main flow of the river of time. The acceleration rate is one hour per day.

Attention!

The knowledge of "Developed Tantric Energy Restoration Techniques" has been upgraded to "Advanced Tantric Energy Restoration Techniques".

Wow... For a few seconds, Cyrill’s breath caught at the system messages he received, but then it returned surprisingly quickly. Apparently, the fact that there wasn’t really any new information—and the stat points hadn’t been allocated yet—made a difference. After assessing the information, Cyrill whistled to himself. They certainly didn’t skimp on the rewards! They threw in some points and tokens—for once, normal ones, not the ones with those whorish extras. Both of them, in fact. And while the first one is useless to him or his Companions, given their maxed-out stats, it could be useful for some young up-and-comers... Hmm...

You can add two to five stats to your favorite kid. People might easily kill someone for a buff like that. Just like they would for pretty much any of the cool perks the System offers. Especially if the kid is still relatively young and has low stats. You could spend all five charges on a single kid to create a young prodigy, right? Oh, wait, damn, you can only use the token once per person... But still, getting five stat points in the ideal case is awesome!

The second token is awesome too. It basically lets you get an extra day for the price of an hour! Give me two—no, make that three!!! If only Cyrill had had one of those during their escape from those damned fanatics of the Dark Brotherhood... Ooooh, then things might have gone according to a completely different scenario! So, what kind of artifact did the System come up with... oh... A new message from the System interrupted Cyrill’s train of thought. What the... Oops!

For the first time since his trip to White Harbor and leveling up his profile modifier, the System offered Cyrill an assignment! So, what kind of level four assignment are they offering him?

Attention!

An assignment has been proposed. Difficulty: high.

Convince Diantrel of the House of Winter Blossoms, daughter of Edenril, that you must offer her the remaining apologies for your transgression by allowing her to satisfy you with her mouth. You may use items available for purchase at the Auction, as well as your available tokens and ally system modifiers, to accomplish this.

Conditions of execution:

Standart: make any remaining apologies to Diantrel of House Winterbloom, daughter of Edenril.

Good: Make all remaining apologies to Diantrel of House Winterbloom, daughter of Edenril, using only your knowledge and skills, without resorting to additional purchases or tokens.

Perfect: Offer all remaining apologies to Diantrel of the House of Winter Blossoms, daughter of Edenril, in various public places, in the presence of at least five sentient beings, none of whom must notice or be aware of your actions.

General: It is permissible to make no more than two apologies within one day.

Rewards:

Standard: Ensuring the normality of the changes received in the consciousness of Diantrel of the House of Winter Blossoms, daughter of Edenril, for herself and those around her at the level of the cosmos. Closing the current level of the Chosen One, upgrading two random knowledge from the general list, and one random trait that is not among the elite. Two companion modification points and an increase to one existing modifier.

Good: Two additional random attribute points and one free attribute point for the Chosen One, and the same for Diantrel of the House of Winter Blossoms, daughter of Edenril. Two free talent points and one random elite system modifier.

Perfect: Additionally, one elite trait, one elite minor knowledge, and one elite artifact from the Auction for each. Completion of the current and next levels for the Chosen One, and completion of the current level for Diantrel of the House of Winter Blossoms, daughter of Edenril.

Additional: ############.

Limitation:

It is prohibited to disclose any information about the assignment to anyone before its completion. No one is permitted to exert any influence on the mind of Diantrel of the House of Winter Blossoms, daughter of Edenril. It is forbidden to cause or receive any harm to the health of Diantrel of the House of Winter Blossoms, daughter of Edenril, or any other third party, during, in the course of, or after the apology.

Penalties for failure:

Inability to receive new quests for a month. One to three random negative effects lasting one month. ############.

After carefully reading the proposed task, Cyrill took a slow, deep breath. He closed his eyes. He exhaled, trying to calm himself. It didn't work out very well. Then he spoke clearly.

"FUCK. IT. OFF."

He was happy to get a normal reward and tokens without any strings attached—and just like that! No way, fuck off with offers like that! He’s already in deep shit because of these sleazy “gifts” from the System! Now he’s got to keep licking a lot for forgiveness for groping his mentor’s beautiful breasts without permission! And it’s a good thing he got off so easily for his screw-up. A mental confirmation, and Cyrill watches with grim satisfaction as the proposed assignment disappears.

"And who did you say it, Ciriall?"

Holy shit!!! Absorbed in the system messages, Cyrill completely missed the moment when his mentress woke up. He nearly jumped out of his skin in surprise, and his heart skipped a beat. Diantrel, who had been lying comfortably on his chest, rose with a single graceful movement and, stretching just as gracefully, sat down next to Cyrill on the bed. For a few seconds, he looked up at her, desperately trying not to let his gaze slip lower, especially when she began to stretch, not to look at her magnificent... fuck! With a titanic effort of will, forcing himself to look into Diantrel’s slightly narrowed eyes, which were staring intently at him, Cyrill sighed and said honestly:

"The Tablet. Or rather, the task it proposed."

Diantrel's expression instantly turned deadly serious. Which, frankly, was a bit out of place. Without even attempting to dress or cover herself with a blanket, she asked:

"And why did you refuse it, and in such a rude manner?"

Sighing again, Cyrill admitted just as honestly and directly:

"Because I was offered to convince you that I owe you all the remaining apologies by letting you please me with your mouth."

Diantrel’s face froze at those words, and she stared into Cyrill’s eyes for a few seconds. He, in turn, looked at her, trying with all his might not to let his gaze fall on her magnificent elven breasts, where the nipples—in the very best traditions of Japanese animation—were very (un)fortunately covered by a pair of white curls. Then, in a completely serious and calm voice, she asked:

"And what did they offer you as a reward for this deed?"

"A lot of things, depending on the conditions. Attribute points, talents, and modifiers, random properties and system modifiers, leveling up to 30, elite artifacts."

"I see..."

Still lying on his back, Cyrill raised his left hand and opened his palm invitingly. Squeezing it, Diantrel closed her eyes, and he initiated the fusion again, opening himself up to her. After spending just under a minute and making sure that what Cyrill had said was true, the mentor let go of his hand and, opening her eyes, looked at him very intently. And he was looking at her. In the eyes. In the eyes, damn it! Then, nodding slowly, Diantrel said:

"Thank you, Ciriall."

Not knowing what to say in this situation, Cyrill only nodded briefly in response and said the first thing that came to mind:

"You welcome."

A semblance of a smile touched Diantrel's lips and she added:

"But you are still not forgiven."

Sighing, Cyrill raised both hands, opening his palms:

"I don't even claim to be."

The smile on Diantrel's face grew wider:

"And that one doesn't count now."

"What?!"

At these words, Cyrill also sat up on the bed with a jerk, finding himself face to face with his mentor.

"Why that?!"

Without batting an eye, she calmly replied with a charming smile.

"You took off the bandage."

"What? Ah... damn..."

Remembering Diantrel’s condition, Cyrill let out a heavy sigh. Shit. What a screw-up. He had actually agreed to that condition. Well, since he had nothing to lose anyway, he might as well let himself look down. Smiling, Diantrel, still smiling, demonstratively folded her arms across her magnificent chest, hiding it from the young man’s gaze. Then, turning her back to Cyrill, she climbed off the bed and said:

"Come on, Kirial. We need to get ourselves together and have a very serious talk."

Yeah, right. Sighing once more and forcing himself with a titanic effort to look away from his mentor (and there was plenty to look at besides her lovely breasts), the young man also climbed out of bed and began gathering up the things scattered across the floor. Man, I could really use a bath... I wonder, in that bathhouse... Oh right, where would the water come from if they’re in a “secret room”? Which is now more like a “red room”… Hmm, I wonder if there’s any way to bring water in here? Doubtful, unless through special portals… So I’ll have to haul water in here and set up a system to purify and heat it. Oh, what a shame—he wouldn’t have turned down a bath together. I could have rubbed my mentor’s back. And not just that...

Unable to resist, Cyrill cast a glance at Diantrel, who had just finished tidying her hair with some clever braiding that made it shimmer like a wave of light, and was now pulling a slip over her head. A moment before she pulled it over her head, and the white, silky fabric concealed her magnificent breasts, the mentor said in a calm voice:

"One more unsolicited glance, Ciriall, and I'll add two more."

Startled, Cyrill turned away and used magic to pull his undershirt toward him, beginning to get dressed. As he slipped his arms into the sleeves, he said.

"Don't think that I want to justify my actions or downplay my guilt, but..."

Cyrill paused for a moment to stick his head through the collar of his shirt.

"But?..."

With a sigh, the young man pulled his sweatpants up and continued.

"But the use of this obscene token may very well have saved our lives."

"What do you mean?!"

Turning to Diantrel, who had once again become extremely serious, Cyrill hesitated for a moment, as the mentor, clad in nothing but a white undershirt that barely reached mid-thigh, looked incredibly seductive. Damn it, pull yourself together!

"Back in the restaurant, when I raised the alarm, I knew something was wrong because I tried to use the token on that half-breed siren. And it didn't work. Which meant the target was in danger. That's how I knew something was wrong."

The mentress, who listened attentively to his words, narrowed her eyes slightly and asked:

"I see... So you didn't have any premonition of impending trouble?"

"What? No, nothing even close."

"No sudden insights? Visions?"

"No, nothing like that, I'm telling you, the token just didn't work..."

"Perhaps a sense of danger? Or strange dreams the night before?"

"Well, nothing special. Why are you asking?"

Outwardly visibly calmer, Diantrel explained:

"The esteemed Mirael and I have speculated that the Tablet might have granted you some form of clairvoyance or prophecy—perhaps of the spontaneous kind. And I was just about to ask you about this in the near future..."

"Ah, no, nothing even close to that ever came to me. No epiphanies or visions of the future. I have silly dreams, sure, sometimes, but never prophetic ones..."

The mentress, who had calmed down, had already pulled up a pair of her stockings and was hovering in midair above the floor, but she remained frozen with her leg bent. Turning back to him, she narrowed her eyes again and stared at him intently:

"And what do you dream about, Ciriall?"

Damn. At that moment, Diantrel looked so surreal that Cyrill couldn’t help but stare at her. The half-naked elf was hovering half a meter above the floor, as if sitting on an invisible chair, with one leg bent—as if she were about to slip a stocking onto it—and the other stretched out.

"Ciriall?"

"Oh... I'm sorry! Sometimes I dream about all sorts of crazy things... All sorts of nonsense..."

"For example? What exactly do you see in your dreams?"

"Well... different things... tonight, for example..."

Lost in thought, Cyrill tried to recall his dreams from that night, but to his surprise, he realized he could remember almost nothing. Just a few scattered, very vague fragments. Some fair-skinned, fair-haired girl with red eyes... some little brat with a rattle...

"Ciriall?"

"Huh? Sorry, I usually don't even remember what I dreamed about... Um, what's the matter?"

Diantrel, who had not yet put on her stockings and had even thrown them aside, suddenly flew up to Cyrill almost point-blank and, landing, asked in a serious voice:

"Give me your hands, Ciriall."

"Hm... okay, what..."

"I just want to make sure, for my own peace of mind. Relax and open up to me..."

Taking Diantrel's hands, Cyrill closed his eyes, merging their subtle bodies once again. The mentor's power rushed toward him, and his power rushed toward hers, forming a common outline.

\\"Good. Now, try focusing on your dreams, Cyriall. I will try to guide you and help you remember them."

And Cyril honestly tried, but as it turned out, remembering even the slightest detail of his dreams was surprisingly difficult. Even with Diantrel’s help. Only a few disjointed fragments surfaced in the young man’s mind. A train racing straight through a post-apocalyptic city, swarmed by some terrifying, deranged creatures, as if they’d escaped from the set of Mad Max. A brutal-looking bald muscleman, sending a screeching, feathered one hedgehog flying with a powerful kick, because that bird is proud and won’t fly just like that. A flushed, athletic-built elf with a body glistening with sweat and matted hair, dressed in something like a sports tank top and shorts, lies on the floor, having pinned a handsome young man of Eastern appearance between her legs. With a vengeful yet satisfied expression on her face, she squeezes his head between her thighs while he helplessly pounds the floor with his free hand. Except his expression seems a bit too pleased...

"First Tree..."

The break in the connection was abrupt and without warning, leaving Cyril completely lost for a few seconds. He wondered where he was and what was happening. Then his vision cleared, and he saw Diantrel standing before him, her expression dumbfounded. Instantly alert, Cyril asked cautiously,

"Mentress, what are you..."

"These aren't dreams!" Diantrel whispered.

"What?"

"These aren't dreams! Perhaps some of them really are, but the last fragment I saw with you—it's definitely not a dream! That firstborn is my relative, though not from the closest branch. You couldn't possibly have seen her in person, but you saw her in a dream..."

For a moment, Cyril was stunned by what he'd just heard. Then he squeezed out a laconic:

"Fuck."
___________________________________

Statuses at the end of the fifth chapter.

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

Level: 54

Connection level with the Chosen One: 5 (MAX).

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,’ ‘developed 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: Cyril

Level: 28

Class: Emerald Wizard

Characteristics: (free) 2; (limited) 0

Talents: (free) 3; (limited): 0

Companion Modification Points (4)

Constitution: 3

Sensitivity: 3

Power: 11

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", "advanced 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", "advanced 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", "developed methods of detecting and countering mental influences," "advanced methods of creating long-term defense systems," "advanced fundamentals of spatial magic and working with portals," "developed fundamentals of intelligence work," "advanced methods of creating artifacts and amulets," "basic fundamentals of broad-based alchemy."

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.

___________________________________________

Name: Armina, daughter of Darat.

Level: 19

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, Intensive Development 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

___________________________________________

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

Переведено на Нотабеноиде
http://notabenoid.org/book/86674/596503

Переводчики: Camrad_RIP