Готовый перевод История Королевы Эльфов / The story of the Elf Queen: Глава шестая. Кирилл. Неожиданный визит Героя Королевы Эльфов

Chapter Six. Cyrill. An Unexpected Visit from the Hero of the Elf Queen

* * *

The Reserve Grove is somewhere in the Forest.

For a few moments, Cyrill honestly tried to comprehend his mentor's words. Frankly, it wasn't going very well. Perhaps because he hadn't yet fully recovered from the consequences of his "confession" and subsequent "repentance." Which, by the way, doesn't count anymore...

But Diantrel came to her senses noticeably faster and, once again, became extremely serious and focused. She resolutely asked.

"Cirial, do you remember any other dreams like this? Maybe just specific moments? Anything at all?"

"Am..."

Momentarily stunned by such pressure, Cyrill tried to recall anything. But he couldn't quite recall anything he'd dreamed about in the intervening time. Literally isolated fragments or images that made no sense whatsoever. Some post-Soviet provincial town, but for some reason with a metro entrance right in the middle of the main street. A dark figure in a cloak against the backdrop of a nighttime city. And so on. Nothing coherent or even coherent. Cyrill honestly admitted this to his mentor, who was patiently awaiting his answer.

"No, I can't remember any of my dreams. I only remember random nonsense."

Frowning slightly, Diantrel thoughtfully folded her arms across her chest, continuing to stare at Cyrill. She slowly said.

"I see... Ciriall, tell me..."

Here her violet eyes sparkled slightly with magical fire, and her gaze became especially intense and piercing:

"Are you sure you don't have any knowledge or abilities related to divination or clairvoyance?"

"What? No, I swear... Damn it..."

Cyrill extended his right hand forward, waited until Diantrel squeezed it, and again, for the umpteenth time in not such a long time, initiated the fusion, opening himself completely to her.

//"Nothing, honestly!"

For a moment, Diantrel was silent, then slowly nodded, convinced of her student's truthfulness, released his hand, and broke the fusion.

"I believe you. But this is very serious. And alarming. I'll need to tell Mirael about this. I myself am practically ignorant of the branches of magic related to divination or clairvoyance, and I can't help you much... Cyriall, did the Tablet offer you the possible Lots of Oracle or Prophet?"

"Yes, I'm telling you, no..."

"And after the twenty-fifth step? Were any Lots related to clairvoyance offered?" Diantrel persisted.

Sighing, Cyrill extended his hand again, and this time he squeezed his mentor’s palm, initiating the fusion and opening up to her.

//"I'm telling you, the System didn't offer me anything related to clairvoyance or divination! Oh, well, not counting that artifact I gave you. But no knowledge or properties, I swear!"

Continuing to squeeze Cyrill's hand, Diantrel stood motionless for a few moments, then, once again convinced that her student was telling the truth, nodded. But she did not break the connection.

//"I believe you. And, as I already said, I'm not versed in prophecy or clairvoyance, so I can't help you in any meaningful way. Except..."

Then her violet eyes flashed with magical fire again, and she spoke with emphasis through the mental connection:

//"...don't try anything on your own. Divination and clairvoyance can be extremely dangerous, especially for the one trying to see. I'll speak with Mirael today, and we'll decide what to do with your dreams. You'll almost certainly have to make further adjustments to your training..."

At that moment, a distinct note of discontent and irritation flashed in Diantrel’s voice.

//"In any case, I will ask you not to go to bed today until I have consulted with the Elder Enchantress."

//“Okay, as you say,” Cyrill immediately agreed.

Because thanks to the fusion and the fact that Diantrel also opened up to him, he could clearly see that the elf was seriously alarmed.

//"But first, we need to properly discuss another issue. All of us."

Well, of course. Cyrill understood perfectly well what and whom Diantrel was referring to. So he simply nodded silently and followed her toward the exit. Leaving the “secret room”—which, after using the token, had essentially turned into a “red” room—the young man and his mentor saw that, during their absence, which turned out to be not so short after all, nothing in the office had changed. The deceptive illusions continued to carry on a surprisingly coherent, yet completely empty, conversation about the weather in the Forest and the surrounding area. After verifying that the protection was definitely working properly and had not been compromised, Cyrill dispelled both illusions and, following Diantrel, left the study and headed to the first floor of his mansion. Gata and Armina were found exactly where he had left them—in the living room. And in almost the exact same position.

Sitting close together, the girls stared blankly ahead. The only thing that had changed was that a tray with the remains of some appetizers, a decanter of berry-and-herb tea, and a couple of half-empty glasses had appeared on the table next to them. Apparently, they were completely absorbed in studying the auction sections Cyrill had opened. They had even missed Diantrel and her mentor’s arrival, snapping out of it only when the young man and his mentor approached the table. Startled, Gata—with her ears pricked up and her tail puffed out—almost jumped up.

"Oh! Sir... Please forgive us, we are completely..."

Armina, alarmed a second later, also almost jumped to her feet.

"Oh... Honorable, are you..."

Having stopped both girls with a gesture of his hand, Cyrill sat down in front of them at the table and calmed them down.

"It's all fine, nothing to worry about. I can imagine how captivating it would be for someone unfamiliar with my home world to explore product listings."

Casting a glance at Diantrel, who had sat down a little to the side of him, the young man sighed mentally and, turning back to Armina and Gata, who were still noticeably embarrassed, said.

"But now we need to have a very serious talk..."

Both companions suddenly became surprisingly serious and collected, as if they were training. Gata narrowed her eyes slightly for a moment, shifting her catlike gaze from Cyrill to Diantrel, and twitched the tip of her tail slightly, simultaneously sniffing the air. Cyrill, meanwhile, sighed heavily, gathering his courage, and continued:

"The thing is..."

This second “confession” was only slightly easier than the first. Even though he hadn’t used any vulgar tokens with Gata and Armina, he still felt ashamed. Like, seriously, it was awful. But Cyrill held his ground as best he could, projecting nothing but sincere remorse with his entire demeanor. Gata and Armina listened to him without interrupting, asking only a couple of clarifying questions—especially regarding the source token. At the same time, the two girls exchanged some strange glances with each other. But otherwise, they listened to Cyrill’s “confession” with completely serious expressions. When he finished speaking, Diantrel took the floor to tell her side of the story. She didn’t forget to mention—albeit without going into much detail—that she had accepted Cyrill’s apology to her and that the matter between them was closed. As for the fact that he would have to apologize to them more than once or twice, she remained silent in a very elven manner.

When Diantrel finished speaking, Armina and Gata exchanged another glance, realizing what was expected of them. After flicking her fluffy tail a few times, the catwoman spoke first, her voice serious and slightly thoughtful.

"I have received no 'poisoned' gifts, as you dubbed them, venerable one, from the Tablet of my Soul. I swear to that before all of you."

Armina took a deep breath and said in a quiet voice, with notes of shame and embarrassment.

"During our journey to White Harbor, the Tablet bestowed upon me a pair of gifts visible only to me... I wouldn't call them poisoned, and I wouldn't use them on you or anyone else... Rather, as my mentors in the Secret Guard said, they have a sweetish aftertaste. Honey, to be precise," the girl added with a hint of strange embarrassment.

After which, sighing once more, Armina sent Cyrill, Gata, and Diantrel a description of "Enchanting Voice," "Request for a Little Help 25/25," "Advanced Acupuncture Skills," and "Advanced Seduction and Manipulation Techniques and Methods."

Having carefully studied their descriptions, Cyrill only congratulated himself once again on what an idiot he was. Well, not in everything, but damn... Seriously, why did he think the System offered and awarded hidden rewards only to him? Or rather, why didn't he even consider that his other companions might also receive a line or two in their status, invisible even to him? Or, what's far more dangerous, unconscious?

Diantrel, having listened to Armina's confession with an unperturbed face, having studied the descriptions of the property, token, and knowledge she had conveyed, asked in a calm voice.

"Why didn't you report it?"

Armina shuddered slightly and said in a dull voice.

"I was afraid that with such gifts, I would still be sent down the honey path, as my mentors had already suggested at the very beginning of my training... Which I absolutely did not want..."

Well, Cyrill could completely understand Armina's instructors—nature hadn't shortchanged her in exterior, after all. And she was more than pleasant to talk to. Diantrel, tilting her head slightly and narrowing her eyes, asked:

"After everything you've been through with Ciriall and me? And after you received the gift of the Tablet from him?"

Armina, probably for the first time in Cyrill's memory, looked visibly embarrassed by these words and looked down, staring at the table. Damn. But she finally found the strength to look back up and say honestly.

"The Secret Guard might have decided that Mr. Cyriall would benefit more from a seductress than a simple bodyguard, and insisted on such a decision."

Diantrel said nothing to this, only continuing to stare intently at Armina. Cyrill, however, mentally uttered a single, yet surprisingly pithy, word: Fuck. Sighing loudly, the young man cleared his throat decisively and, in what he thought was a confident voice, said.

"My dear companions..."

All three of them looked at Cyrill at once. Damn, that sounded a bit too stupid and pompous... I don't give a shit!

"... since we have all honestly opened up to each other on this issue, and, so to speak, have pulled out these poisoned shoots by the roots, I propose that all four of us come to an agreement."

Cyrill glanced around at his companions sitting at the table and continued.

"From now on, we'll tell each other about such 'hidden' rewards right away, so that such poisoned seeds, as the venerable Diantrel so aptly put it, won't germinate. They won't even take root."

After exchanging glances with each other and with him, all three of Cyrill's companions nodded almost simultaneously. But then Gata raised her hand, simultaneously flicking her tail. Receiving affirmative nods from Cyrill and Diantrel, she glanced at the latter and asked cautiously:

"Regarding the Tablet's hidden gifts, which will be visible only to me, I completely agree. But..."

Quickly licking her lips and again slightly twitching the tips of her cat ears, Gata nevertheless continued, looking at the elf.

"...what if the Tablet asks one of us to carry out a certain task... similar to the one that Mr. Ciriall just rejected, honored one?"

Blinking in surprise, the young man responded almost automatically, shrugging his shoulders:

"Refuse it, what's the question?"

Gata twitched the tips of her ears and tail again and cast a glance at him, then turned back to Diantrel and asked in the same cautious voice:

"Even if the reward is... more than generous?"

Before Cyrill could open his mouth, Diantrel interrupted him, saying in a serious and thoughtful voice.

"If it truly is generous and can bring benefit to the Forest... Then agree, if you are confident that you can fulfill the Tablet's assignment."

"Uh... Wait a minute! Honorable, are you serious? You?!"

Diantrel closed her violet eyes for a moment, folded her arms across her chest, and took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. Then, turning to Cyrill, who was genuinely stunned by what she'd just heard, she opened her eyes, stared intently at her student, and said in a perfectly calm, yet extremely serious voice.

"As a reward for our unforgettable journey through the depths of the earth, the Tablet of the Soul allowed me to acquire a sapling of the Tree of Life for the Forest. Not even a seed. But a fully grown sapling, which by this day has already found its place and, over the years, will bring countless benefits to the Forest and its inhabitants. And the First Tree sees..."

Pausing for a moment, Diantrel pursed her lips, inhaled heavily again, and exhaled, as if gathering her strength. Her face grew even more serious, though it seemed far more so, and she continued.

"...I never thought I'd say something like this... But I'll be honest, if for such a gift the Tablet merely demanded that I indulge you, Cyriall, or someone else, far less pleasant in general and to me personally, with my mouth several dozen times in the most obscene manner, I would agree without a second thought. And I would be one of the first to condemn anyone who refused to pay such a paltry price as brief personal humiliation for such a great gift. Or...

Here, Diantrel’s gaze directed at Cyrill became especially expressive.

"... anyone who would refuse to commit such a shameful act against me or anyone else against my or anyone else's will or knowledge."

Fuck. His mentor’s words—especially after his recent confession—hit him like a ton of bricks; Cyrill was naturally freaked the hell out. And if it weren’t for his mental connection with Diantrel, he would have suspected that she was testing him right then to see if any of his old shitty habits were still lingering, and was waiting to see how he’d react. But no, by all accounts, the mentor was absolutely serious and wasn’t being coy at all. Not in the slightest.

"In that case," Gata said, still in a cautious tone, shifting her gaze from Cyrill to Diantrel, "I suppose we should discuss the boundaries and their relationship to the possible reward?"

“Agreed,” the elf nodded.

Fuuuuck...

"Wait! You... you yourself... How!?"

Unable to find the right words to express his shock at what he'd just heard, Cyrill involuntarily hesitated. Diantrel took advantage of this by raising her right hand, palm open.

"Cirial. Listen to me very carefully and try to understand. And you too."

The last words were spoken to Gata and Armina. Taking another deep, heavy breath, Diantrel spoke slowly but firmly, casting a piercing gaze over all three of them.

"You do remember our conversation after we returned to the Forest, Ciriall? Right now, at this very moment as we speak, the fate of the entire Forest—and quite possibly the fate of this entire world, as grandiose as that may sound—may very well be at stake. Thanks to the Tablet, you, Ciriall, have gained in a very short time a power that would have taken everyone else, at best, a decade to attain. Most likely, even longer. But as we all know, you are not the only one who possesses this power."

The elf's face darkened, and she looked at everyone with a very expressive, but gloomy look.

"Master is still alive. His whereabouts are unknown. Thanks to the Sun-Faced Herald, who managed to survive her encounter with the Horror of Diyarten, we know this for certain. The Forest and others continue to search for him, but so far without success. And that is what terrifies us most. Because it gives Master time. With each passing day, his power will grow; just like you, he will gain new gifts from the Scroll. And sooner or later, this monster will make his move. It’s very possible that he’s preparing it right now. And I’m ready to swear on my eternity that if you were to offer him a task from the Scroll similar to the one you just rejected, he wouldn’t hesitate for a single moment. Therefore..."

Pursing her lips again, Diantrel spoke slowly, as if each word was difficult for her, but still firmly and clearly:

"...we must not miss the opportunity to become stronger and strengthen our position. We simply have no right to do so, given what's at stake. And what awaits us all if we lose."

Pausing for a moment and closing her eyes, Diantrel took several deep breaths in and out, then turned to Cyrill and spoke almost through clenched teeth:

"The First Tree sees... No matter how hard it is for me to say these words to you... and no matter how painful it is for my pride and honor... But, given our situation, I almost regret that you, Ciriall, refused the assignment offered to you."

Fuck. Well, this is just the end... A complete fucking mess. Apparently, these thoughts were reflected too clearly on Cyrill's face, or maybe the connection reaching level five played a role, because Diantrel, her face slightly flushed, added almost immediately and somewhat hastily.

"No, I truly appreciated your actions, Ciriall, and I'm grateful to you for them. But now, as I said, something immeasurably greater than my personal pride is at stake. Than anyone's personal pride. Therefore..."

Looking again at all three of her interlocutors with a heavy but determined gaze, Diantrel firmly summed up.

"... I truly believe that if the Tablet ever offers a similar assignment to any of us again... It's worth accepting. If!"

Here, the elf meaningfully raised the index finger of her right hand.

"If the reward is worthy."

Awesome. No, just awesome. That's what it's all about! For perks from the System – yes! So what's the point of all this...

//"Because you used the power of the Tablet to secretly enjoy my body solely for your own base pleasure."

Holy shit!!! Realizing that he had inadvertently “voiced” his thoughts to his mentor through their mental connection, Cyrill nearly jumped out of his skin. Barely. After all, he had learned to control himself a little. Diantrel, on the other hand, didn’t react outwardly at all to what she’d “heard.” Trying to keep a straight face, Cyrill also hurriedly apologized in his mind. My fault. I’ll do better.

After receiving several suggestions from Diantrel—who remained as outwardly unperturbed as ever—regarding the apologies he still had to offer for using the token, Cyrill mentally agreed with each one. What could he do? He’d groped an elf’s beautiful breasts without permission—so he’d have to make amends and atone for his guilt. As they say, you have to pay for all the good things in life.

Gata, interpreting the silence that hung over the table in her own way, wagged her tail and asked.

"In that case, I suppose we should outline the acceptable boundaries... of consent to accept such assignment?"

No one argued with that. The ensuing conversation turned out to be quite long, complicated, and at times overly candid. In the end, all four unanimously agreed on the following. The main point could be summarized as: “The game has to be worth the effort.” If a mission affects any of them personally, and its requirements do not entail permanent consequences that cannot be undone or eliminated in any way, then it is worth accepting for a truly substantial reward. Provided, of course, that you are confident in your ability to complete it, so as to avoid any penalties from the Tablet.

And—as they all emphasized several times separately—carrying out such missions must not endanger the life or safety of any of them or anyone else. Because Cyrill had absolutely no desire to find himself under attack again by those same damn fanatical assassins while his companions were preoccupied with nothing but, say, masturbation or anal play. And it wouldn’t be much fun for them either if, for example, an outsider were to trigger a planted trigger that forced them to unquestioningly carry out any request or order issued by the person who activated it.

The same applied to potential assignments involving third parties. Provided there was no lasting impact that would threaten one’s life or professional career. Provided that, as in the assignment proposed to Cyrill, only the target’s personal pride was at stake. Provided there was even a possibility of carrying out the assignment in such a way that no one but the executors would find out about it. Then, for a truly substantial reward—it’s worth it. Especially if the reward would benefit not only him personally, but the entire Forest. Moreover, as Diantrel, with no embarrassment and surprisingly straightforwardness, once again told Cyrill, who was dumbfounded by the way the question was put, for a couple more Tree of Life saplings, or even just one, he could screw practically anyone in the Forest. Anyhow. Anywhere. Secretly or openly. She guarantees it. She can even provide a written guarantee, certified by all the High Hierarchs of the Forest. And if necessary, she will personally help. And Armin and Gata too.

Because the personal pride of any one individual is nothing compared to the opportunity to multiply the Forest’s power many times over. For—as Diantrel emphasized in particular upon seeing and sensing a shadow of doubt on her student’s face—they must always remember what matters most. Master is still alive. And he would not hesitate if Tablet offered him something like this. Which means they must not hesitate either—they have no right to, if they want to win. Provided, again—as Diantrel emphasized several times—that the reward is worth it (at that moment, miraculously, not a single muscle on her face twitched), for example, to instill in her, or anyone else, the idea that walking around with breasts exposed is normal.

And of course, all of this applies only if an assignment like the one Cyrill rejected is directed at someone from the Forest, or someone friendly to the Forest. If, in exchange for that same sapling of the Tree of Life, he were offered the chance to brainwash or do something even worse to some degenerate—of whom, unfortunately, there are plenty in this world—there would be nothing to discuss.

When the discussion of questions of morality and ethics, or rather, for what reward and under what conditions they could be rejected, was finished, and they all came to a common opinion, Diantrel, turning to Cyrill, asked.

"Now what about you, Ciriall?"

"Ah? Yeah!"

Realizing what Diantrel meant, Cyrill fell deep in thought, biting his lip. An image of her in a swimsuit on Azure Bay Beach—sitting in the shade with one slender leg crossed over the other—unwittingly popped into his head. Very seductive and attractive legs. A second later, that image was replaced by a memory of his last session with Alatrel. Hmm… Fuck. Sighing heavily, under the watchful eyes of his comrades, Cyrill said honestly.

"Let's leave it at that. After all, this... attraction instilled in me by the System is far from the worst that could have happened. And your legs are more than beautiful..."

"Are you absolutely certain, Ciriall?" Diantrel asked, as if her long ears had missed the last sentence.

"Honestly? No. But I really don't want to let anyone into my head. Even with guarantees. Just imagining it... No. No, thanks to that same fucking Master. I don't want to let anyone into my head anymore."

After listening to the student in silence, Diantrel nodded slowly.

"It's your right, Ciriall."

After which she looked at him, Armina, and Gata with a keen gaze and continued.

"I will leave you now. I need to inform my mentor and the other Supreme Hierarchs that they know of your existence, Ciriall, and of our conversation. Also, of your dreams. I ask you to await my return."

"One moment!"

With a gesture, Cyrill stopped Diantrel, who was already about to get to her feet, and, under the watchful eyes of his comrades, exhaled slowly as he gathered his courage. Damn it, now that you’ve made up your mind, see it through to the end, fuck!

"There is something else I need to tell you."

The faces of all three became serious again, and their gazes became even more intent.

"I had another Token... As you would say, a poisonous one. Which I've already used, using up all three of its charges. But not on any of you," the young man added hastily, seeing the tips of Diantrel's ears twitch at these words.

"I see. And what kind of token was that?" Diantrel asked in a surprisingly calm voice.

Fuck...

"Naughty Tongue".

Having sent his description to his comrade, Cyrill hastily added.

"And let me say this right away in my defense! When I used it, I was practically out of my mind! You could say I was barely in my right mind..."

Having read the description of the token, the trio turned to Cyrill almost simultaneously, and Diantrel, still in the same surprisingly calm voice, asked:

"And under what circumstances and on whom did you use this gift of the Tablet?"

"On the lizard galley. When help arrived."

The tips of the elf's ears twitched slightly, but she continued in the same surprisingly calm (and therefore slightly frightening) voice:

"And who did you use it on?"

"On that dragoness. But I only aimed it at her! I didn’t actually use it! I didn’t waste a single charge! True, I changed my mind at the last second… I was afraid she’d go berserk and start setting everything around her on fire… Damn it, I could barely stand on my feet from exhaustion at that moment and wasn’t thinking straight... If I’d been in my right mind, I would never have done something so stupid! Probably... But at that moment, for some reason, it seemed like a fucking hilarious idea to me."

The look on Diantrel’s face as she listened to Cyrill’s confession was… very expressive. Gata and Armina were a little less so—especially Armina—but you could still tell from their faces that they were… impressed by what they’d heard; let’s put it that way.

After a few seconds of silence, Cyrill’s mentor closed her eyes again; for the umpteenth time that evening, she took a slow breath in, exhaled, opened her eyes, looked intently at her student, and slowly said.

" The First Tree sees. Had I not walked that thrice-cursed path with you through the depths of the earth, had I not understood—as perhaps no one else could—what you were feeling in that moment, Ciriall… Had it not been for all of this, I would be very disappointed in you right now. But…"

Taking another deep breath, Diantrel continued.

"... I’ve walked that path with you, and I understand the state you were in. And so I won’t judge you in any way for what you did—especially since, despite everything, you had the sense not to use your gift on the venerable Gyar’Skalashass. But..."

Here, the elf's eyes flashed unkindly:

"...you said you used up the entire Token. Who else did you use it on?"

Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck...

"I used the second charge on that lurker Voice of the Emperor of the Dawn, hiding under a cloak on his ship. The one you helped me spot. I did this after I'd changed my mind about using the charge I'd used on that Gyar'Salashas... But..."

Of, fuck, fuck, such a shame!!!

Damn, I might as well spend my spare talent point on a system modifier that lets you literally take screenshots with your eyes—that’s the kind of expression Cyrill’s comrades had on their faces. Armina and Gata’s were just completely out of their minds. Diantrel’s… was a little less out of her mind, thanks to the fact that she had much better self-control than they did. Experience really is a powerful thing.

Once again, the elf took a slow, deep breath. She closed her eyes. She sighed again. And without opening them, she said in a hushed voice.

"The First Tree sees... If I didn't realize what it was like for you then..."

Having finally opened her eyes, she looked sternly at Cyrill, who was ready to fall right into the Underground from shame, and in a voice that had become stern and serious, she asked

"Have you no longer applied this gift of the Tablet to her?"

"No!" the young man blurted out hastily.

Exhaling a slight sigh of relief, Diantrel nodded.

"Okay. There's a chance she and her boss could chalk it up to some kind of clever trick..."

After which she suddenly leaned back in her chair, folded her arms across her chest, and, with some kind of doomed-philosophical intonation in her voice, asked.

"And who did you waste your last charge on, Ciriall?"

The frankly malicious smile on the young man's face came as a clear surprise to his companions.

"To be honest, I don’t fully understand myself when or how I used it on her… But I spent the third—or, to be more precise, the very first—charge of this token on that red-eyed bitch from the Dark Brotherhood who had been chasing us all the way to Kardaroth. I’ll say it again! I don’t even know exactly when I used it on her; I only realized it after we got back to the Forest. And at first, I didn’t even realize who this Fourth Sister was. But when I did..."

Smiling, remembering that pleasant moment, Cyrill said with a smile.

"...then I spent all one hundred charges on her at once. I hope the creature died of pleasure. Or went crazy."

Taking another breath, Diantrel massaged her eyes and spoke slowly.

"Well... Yes, I won’t beat around the bush, and the First Tree is my witness: I won’t condemn you, Ciriall, for this use of the Tablet’s gift. As for the next two... I would very much like to give you a proper scolding... but then again, as the First Tree can see, I understand better than anyone else what you were going through at that moment... And you, as I can see, have fully realized the folly and wastefulness of such a use of this gift—poisonous though it may be, it could very well be useful..."

Taking her hand away from her eyes, she looked closely into Kirill’s eyes and asked.

"Is there anything else you would like me... us to know, Ciriall?"

Without saying a word aloud, Cyrill sent his teammates the descriptions of the ++“Guaranteed Role Swap,” “French Kiss,” and “All-Seeing Eye” tokens. Since he’d decided to come clean, he figured he might as well go all the way. They read them in silence as well, then looked at the young man almost simultaneously.

“Nothing else,” Cyrill admitted honestly.

For a moment, Diantrel was silent, then, sensing the truth of his words (at such moments, their connection so convenient). She slowly nodded.

"I trust you. As for the last two tokens, I don't really have anything to say. Except that this “French Kiss” could, in theory, be used to drug a target with some kind of potion while kissing them. But as for the ++“Role Swap Guarantee”..."

After thinking for a few seconds, Diantrel said confidently.

"This is just my personal opinion, Ciriall. My mentor or other Supreme Hierarchs of the Forest may see it differently, but I wouldn’t advise you to use this truly poisonous gift except as a last resort—such as if you were taken captive."

Cyrill completely agreed with her on this point and nodded immediately. Because having a colleague of Alatrel’s (or rather, that fucking Master) at his complete—or at least nearly complete—disposal might not be a bad thing, but… But first, he’d have to be under her thumb for a while himself! Which he really didn’t want at all! And damn it, not just because of personal pride and reluctance—though those were part of it, too! Just imagine what he could theoretically get up to with his existing powers and the System if he fell back into the hands of someone like Master… Fucking hell.

"Okay. In that case, if nothing else..."

When she saw Cyrill raise his hand again, Diantrel paused. For a brief moment, her face seemed to say, “What else do you have up your sleeve?” But the expression vanished almost immediately, replaced by the quintessential elven composure.

"Yes, Ciriall?"

"For reaching the fifth level of connection, I received a gift from the System: an artifact. I think it would be perfect for you."

As he sent Diantrel—who had raised an eyebrow in surprise—the description of the award he had received, Cyrill simultaneously confirmed that he had indeed received it. He couldn’t help but savor the astonished look on his mentor’s face, which gave way to incredulous delight before she regained her composure and resumed her impassive expression. Carefully extending her hand, she gently picked up the gift from the System that had appeared right on the table and kept her eyes fixed on it for a few more moments. Then, looking up at Cyrill, she slowly nodded and said.

"Thank you, Ciriall. This... is truly a wonderful gift. But I'll try it out tomorrow. Because if you have nothing more to tell us now..."

Cyrill shook his head.

"...then I'll leave you for a while. But I'll ask you to wait for me. Cirial, please see me out."

"Of course!"

After escorting the mentor, along with Armina and Gata, to the portal arch in the basement, Cyrill set it to the Royal Palace himself, made sure he had received the “password responses,” verified that the portal was leading exactly where it should, and only then, giving his student a final approving nod, did Diantrel leave them. After carefully extinguishing the portal following her departure and sealing it with the key amulet, Cyrill let out a heavy sigh. He felt like sliding down the wall onto the floor right there in the basement. It felt as if he’d been chased around a training ground all day without a break—that’s how exhausting this conversation had been. No, physically he was full of energy—his reserves were actually at their peak after Diantrel’s first round of “apologies.” But mentally… Mentally, it was a total nightmare…

"Sir..."

Cyrill turned sharply to his two other companions, whom he'd forgotten about, and saw them quickly exchange glances and look at him with noticeable embarrassment. They were both blushing, and Gata's tail was even twitching from side to side. What the...

"Yes? What's up?"

After exchanging glances once more, both girls looked at Cyrill with embarrassed faces, and Armina carefully said.

"Sir, we understand perfectly well how expensive the goods of Tablets are..."

"But can we ask you... To buy us something from your world... Just a few things!"

For a moment, taken aback by surprise, Cyrill quickly nodded.

"Yes, of course, but what exactly..."

Armina and Gata, who had nearly jumped out of their skins, let out an indistinct squeak in unison, while Cyrill received a system notification containing—surprisingly enough—a truly short list of lots from the system auction in the section featuring, shall we say, technological goods. Glancing over the list, the young man smirked and mentally confirmed the purchase, since the price was quite reasonable.

"Please."

The answer was another simultaneous and very joyful real squeak.

Royal Forest Palace. Secret Guard Corps.

"This is a success."

No one present at the latest emergency meeting regarding “The Guest” even attempted to argue with Third’s terse statement, as a full range of emotions had clearly come to the surface on his face after hearing the report. Leaning back in her comfortable chair in the office—which had recently become practically her second workplace—Sivila nodded.

"I agree. The fact that the 'Guest' confessed to Diantrel himself, without any external coercion... and revealed the hidden gifts of the Tablet. That's definitely a success. But..."

Sivilla narrowed her emerald eyes and glanced at her colleagues sitting at the conference table with a meaningful and serious look:

"...I am greatly troubled by the task the Tablet offered him. Which, moreover, is not the first of its kind, as he himself admitted. As is their subsequent conversation..."

"Are you afraid you'll be next?" Third asked, his face once again completely unperturbed.

Rolling her eyes, Sivila sighed heavily and replied in a tired voice.

"The First Tree sees it. I'm ready to sign every word Diantrel says right now. And if it were necessary, I'd be the first to spread my legs for that boy, if it would bring the Forest even one more sapling of the Tree of Life, or something equally valuable! But I'm not so naive as to think that those who stand behind the powers of the Tablet are so generous as to reward such things for some banal sexual pleasures!"

Folding her arms across her chest, the queen again looked at her colleagues with the same meaningful gaze.

"My greatest fear is that, having started small, the Tablet will gradually offer him or his companions ever greater rewards, demanding in return—forgive my lowly language—not to fuck someone in one way or another. As a result, we might end up with another Master before we even notice! Especially since some of the knowledge and gifts the Guest has acquired are quite conducive to this."

Silence answered Sivilla. A thoughtful and very ominous silence. It was broken by First's quiet sigh. Covering his face with his hand, he massaged his tired eyes and muttered quietly.

"It's for this reason that I've always disliked those gifted with the Tablet. Especially those from other worlds..."

After being silent for a few more seconds, he said quietly.

"Sivilla's fears are entirely justified. So far, The Guest certainly inspires some hope in this regard. But that's just for now. However..."

Pausing for a few moments, he removed his hand from his face and looked at everyone with a gloomy gaze of dark gray and not at all kind eyes.

"...as hard as it is to admit, we'll have to take this risk. Until the true Master is found and eliminated. For that, we first need to find at least a trace of him. Which, as you reported to me this morning, remains a dead end."

First addressed the last phrase to his apprentice. Third shook his head.

"Complete silence. No leads yet. And I really don't like that."

“It’s not just you,” Sivila nodded grimly. “Some of our allies—both those who’ve been forced into it and our long-standing allies—have secretly contacted me. And so have a few individuals on their own. If we cut through the nonsense and get straight to the point, they’re all afraid that Master might take revenge on them for actively participating in the search for him. Either directly, or by supporting their enemies. Some have almost openly told me that they fear one of their sworn friends or equally sworn allies might try to form an alliance with Master behind their backs, betraying them. That’s why they’d like to receive additional guarantees from the Forest. Either for themselves or for the Houses or cities they lead. Some individuals have even suggested considering the option of relocating permanently in exchange for guaranteed protection."

“I have a few ideas that, if they prove to be true, might help us track down Master. But it will take time to test them,” said Third. “And there’s no guarantee they’ll yield any results, since they’re all just my assumptions. Therefore, I suggest we consider the option we’ve already discussed—especially in light of the new facts that have come to light regarding the ‘Guest.’”

With another weary sigh, First cast a stern glance over the neat lines of several detailed reports concerning the alien, written in impeccable calligraphic hand in Classical Elvish. Reaching out, he pulled one of the scrolls toward him—almost the very first one. Finding the right passage, First skimmed through it, and his expression grew slightly darker.

"Are you sure he wasn't offered any Lots related to divinations?"

"No, and Diantrel claims that he was absolutely sincere when he said this," Third stated sharply.

"It's a shame... The Lot of a Farseer... This would have been the best option for the Forest," First sighed quietly.

After exchanging glances with Mirael and Third, Sivila asked cautiously.

We discussed this point and agreed to allow the "Guest" to choose his Lot himself, without forcing him to make a choice through suggestion or...

First's heavy and tired gaze made her fall silent mid-sentence.

"If among the Lots offered to him there were one associated with divination, I would be the first to insist on convincing the boy to choose that one. And we wouldn’t even need any suggestion or enchantment. All it would take is the promise of the most comfortable life possible and a few attractive concubines who would agree to anything. Over time, as his power—and with it, his appetites—grew, we could have slipped one of the firstborns his way. Because while there are a few good artifact-makers, there are even fewer good clairvoyants—truly good ones who can see what needs to be seen."

Taking another look at the report, which listed the Lots offered to the guest, First sighed heavily once again.

"For the sake of another seer comparable to Andarial... And with the opportunity to surpass her in a fraction of the time, mastering such a complex and precarious, yet so valuable, Lot... Perhaps for this reason, we could have considered the possibility of persuading the boy to take the Lot we needed, and not the one he wanted..."

Folding her arms across her chest, Mirael allowed herself a cautious retort:

"I agree that seers like the venerable Andarial are a great blessing to the Forest. But another archmagister, and eventually an archmage loyal to the Forest, would be no less valuable."

Quite unexpectedly, First nodded briefly and put the report aside.

"Indeed."

Having looked around at everyone gathered once more with a piercing gaze, he continued.

"Arrange a meeting with Andarial for him tomorrow. Perhaps together they can find a trail of Master. And we need to arrange some lessons with her, at least theoretical ones. Reforging him into a full-fledged Dreamer is unlikely, but ignoring the Guest's prophetic dreams is unacceptable."

"I've already started preparing," nodded Third. "She wasn't happy when she was told about the latest schedule change, but when she found out who it was for and why, she miraculously immediately stopped her dissatisfaction and gave her full consent."

"It's truly astonishing. She must be trying to thank the 'Guest' for allowing her to see normally again, without compromising her gift," First chuckled.

Smiles also involuntarily appeared on the faces of the others. After all, everyone present at this meeting knew all too well how difficult it was for the Forest’s greatest clairvoyant to live her daily life while being completely blind. That was one of the main reasons everyone put up with most of her whims. Turning to Mirael, the founder of the Secret Guard continued.

"After the meeting, give Diantrel a set of Dreamcatcher amulets. That should be enough for tonight, and tomorrow we'll see what Andarial says."

“Okay,” the Elder Enchantress nodded.

After which, making a serious face, she asked.

"And speaking of my student... Should we tell her... them that their sudden intercourse was apparently caused by the action of that token?"

Silence fell once more in the office. Everyone understood perfectly well what was being discussed. Diantrel herself did not explicitly state that she had shared a bed with her student. More precisely, she did not mention it at all. But to Mirael, at least, it was more than obvious—her student’s subtle bodies bore the unmistakable traces of a special kind of fusion between two gifted individuals. It wasn’t easy to discern, though, since Diantrel, like any magician with even a modicum of sense, concealed her subtle bodies in public. But for the Elder Enchantress, it was no great difficulty to discern the numerous shades of the “Guest’s” easily recognizable energy in her aura. She didn’t even need to look closely with her magical vision.

And the fact that Diantrel had not mentioned sharing a bed with her student immediately put Mirael on guard. And she wasn’t the only one. Her first thought was the most obvious and alarming one. And it was confirmed a little later. True, to Miral’s relief—and not just hers—it was only partially confirmed. When Diantrel reported in a completely matter-of-fact manner on the hidden consequences of the token given to the “Guest,” which created a temporary source of magic, the Elder Enchantress felt considerable relief. And she wasn’t the only one. But now they had to decide what to do about this matter.

After a few moments of silence, First said thoughtfully:

"I don’t rule out the possibility that, upon hearing the “Guest’s” confession, Diantrel herself would have chosen that form of “apology” from him. Especially since, according to all our analysts’ predictions, she would very likely have entered into a closer relationship with him in the near future—one that went beyond that of mere mentor and student. We were prepared for this and had selected a mentor in advance who harbors no prejudices against members of lower-caste folks."

Slightly narrowing his dark gray eyes, First said in a gloomy voice.

"What's far more disturbing is that one of his maids didn't report the receipt of hidden gifts... Which was also to be expected. Sad, but more than expected."

"From the moment they acquired the Tablets, they couldn’t be considered completely loyal anyway,” nodded Third.

"I completely agree with that," Mirael nodded. "But still, should we inform Guest and Diantrel about the reasons for what happened, as we did with the consequences... of the previous token?"

After hesitating for a moment, First said in a slightly thoughtful voice.

"I think in this case we can afford not to inform them of our suspicions, of the reasons for the new phase of their relationship. After all..."

Something like a smile flickered in his eyes. A shadow of its shadow.

"...we cannot be completely sure that this happened precisely because of the token's action, and not because Diantrel, having received the Tablet from the Guest, looked at her student in a different light..."

The Reserve Grove is somewhere in the Forest.

Diantrel returned to Cyril's mansion a few hours later, when it was already well into the night outside. Handing Cyril—who had been waiting for her—a set of unusual-looking amulets, she briefly but clearly and concisely explained how to use them and helped him place them in the bedroom. Then she helped him set them up to protect Cyril himself, as well as Gata and Armina. According to her, these amulets were intended not only to shield the sleeper’s mind from potential threats from the world of dreams, but also to literally “catch” dreams—or rather, to record them—so that one could later see what the sleeper had dreamed. According to Diantrel, this is a very useful thing—not only for those capable of having prophetic dreams, but for most gifted individuals in general. However, dream protection is a topic for a separate lecture—and certainly not one she would give. And definitely not right now.

So, after finishing helping with the placement and setup of the dreamcatchers, she said goodbye once more to Cyrill, Gata, and Armina, then left them through the portal, adding as a final note that her plans for the next day had changed significantly. But she would explain in more detail in the morning. After seeing his mentor off, the young man, along with his companions, finally went to bed. To be honest, though, he went to bed with some trepidation. Once you realize that lately you haven’t been dreaming just any old nonsense—the kind you don’t even really remember when you wake up—but genuine prophetic dreams, it’s not so easy to fall asleep afterward. In his mind, Cyrill resolved to firmly remember everything he dreamed this time, so that he could analyze it all with his mentor the next morning. And even if he couldn’t remember it himself, he now had dream catchers. At the same time, he’d need to decide how and where to spend his attribute and talent points. There were so many things he wanted to improve, but so few points to go around...

With these thoughts in his mind, he didn’t even notice how he fell asleep.

* * *

A sizable village, numbering several hundred houses, as if straight out of a pastoral landscape painting. White walls, thatched roofs, endless golden fields, vegetable gardens bursting with lush greenery, groves of trees bending under the weight of ripe fruit, a clear azure sky without a single cloud—it’s truly an idyll of rural life. Everything around is so clean, bright, beautiful, and perfect that it seems simply unreal. Impossible. As if it never happened. The only thing that stands out from this overall idyllic picture is the complete absence of the peasants themselves, as well as any livestock. No people, no cows, no goats, no chickens or geese—no one. It’s as if all the inhabitants of this wonderful village had vanished at once. Or as if they had never been there at all.

Along the empty and surprisingly clean streets, between equally empty and well-kept houses, only one single figure runs quickly. A female figure.

A very attractive, tall, well-built, and clearly in excellent physical shape blonde woman—whose very presence radiated a scorching heat—dashed from one empty house to another, nearly kicking the doors off their hinges, in search of something. It was completely unclear what or whom she was looking for, but apparently she needed it very badly, since she was running around the deserted village like a madwoman. And it was no surprise that under the scorching summer sun, she quickly became drenched in sweat. Sweat was streaming down her in three rivulets, causing her light hair to stick together and become tangled, and her clothes to become soaked through. At one point, after dashing in and out of yet another house that turned out to be completely empty, the woman—out of breath and panting heavily—threw something resembling a light cloak or cape right onto the ground. Then she rushed further down the street, still searching for something.

She ran out of the next house—which also turned out to be empty—without her outer shirt, left wearing only her undershirt, which was so soaked it could literally be wrung out, and which, because of that, barely covered anything. But this didn’t embarrass her in the least, and she continued her search. And only now did Cyrill realize, with a touch of surprise, that she had actually been running back and forth along a single street the whole time, having already started checking the same houses for what felt like the third time. But he immediately forgot about that when a disheveled woman ran out of yet another house, half-naked and barefoot, wearing nothing but a skirt, her bare tits gleaming. Very impressive tits, at that.

Her toned body glistened with sweat under the mercilessly scorching sun, blinding her, but she stubbornly made her way to the house across the street, which she had already checked out twice. Or rather, she didn’t run—she trudged along, since her pace had been slowing down more and more ever since the striptease began. Well, it’s understandable—running back and forth in this heat, and at that speed, too—anyone would get tired and overheated.

The woman emerged from the house—which had been searched for the third time—staggering and practically naked, except for the bandages. Which, however, she immediately threw to the ground as soon as she stepped into the yard. After that, she staggered, as if drunk, toward the next house, one she had already searched. As she approached the porch, the now completely naked woman nearly fell, grabbing the doorframe at the last moment.

Gasping for air like a worn-out horse, drenched in sweat, she struggled inside and froze in the middle of a very clean room, as if it had been taken straight from some ethnographic museum about peasants. Glancing around with a dazed look, she let out something between a groan and a curse, then, completely exhausted, sank onto the sturdy, wide bench in front of the table, literally collapsing onto it with her chest and face. She sat there motionless for several seconds. Then, wiping the sweat streaming down her forehead, the woman raised her head above the tabletop and, with a stifled cry, literally snatched the clay jug of water standing on it, nearly knocking it over. Clutching it with both hands, she began to drink greedily, spilling nearly half the water on herself. And then she poured the rest of the water over her head, letting out a moan of pure pleasure.

Her attempt to put the empty pitcher back in its place ended with her knocking it over, spilling the last few drops of water onto the countertop. But the woman paid no attention to it. Wiping the spilled water from her face and chin, she ran her hand through her wet hair and tried to stand up, but then nearly fell to the floor when her legs suddenly gave way. Collapsing back onto the bench, the woman shook her head and began rubbing her eyes. But apparently that didn’t help, since her next attempt to stand up ended with her collapsing backward onto the bench. Breathing heavily—her chest, with its protruding nipples, heaving with each breath—she ran her palms over her face and eyes several times, as if trying to brush something away.

Her movements at that moment were like those of a heavily intoxicated person. It was as if the fair-haired lady hadn’t downed a pitcher of water, but a pitcher of whiskey. Or something even stronger. Or something else entirely. She tried a couple more times to brush an invisible cobweb from her face, and then her already glazed-over eyes closed completely, and the woman fell asleep. For a while she lay on the bench, tossing and turning and mumbling incoherently, but gradually her breathing evened out, and her otherwise quite pretty face smoothed out and took on a blissful expression.

After the naked woman, sprawled comfortably on a fairly wide bench, had fallen fast asleep, at the very edge of the village, where the fields began, one of the haystacks stirred, and a youthful-looking teenager slowly emerged from it, wearing plain gray clothes that resembled something between a monk’s habit and a robe. Stretching sleepily and shaking the straws out of his greasy hair, he set off toward the houses with a surprisingly brisk stride. At the village entrance, he picked up a sturdy woven basket that someone had left behind and, passing by a couple of vegetable gardens, plucked a few nice little cucumbers. And then he pulled up a couple of excellent carrots as well. The last thing to go into the basket was a small but sturdy and attractive little eggplant. After washing his entire harvest in a bucket at the village well, he walked—almost skipping—into the very same house where the fair-haired woman was still sleeping on the bench.

Pausing in the doorway, he stared at her for a few seconds. There was something to see there. Then he licked his lips naturally, like a cat eyeing sour cream, and began carefully arranging the vegetables he’d gathered on the table, all the while flashing blatantly lecherous grins at the sleeping woman, whose chest he couldn’t even reach with the top of his head. After arranging the vegetables on the table, he began hastily stripping off his clothes, under which, as it turned out, he was wearing nothing at all. Kneeling next to the sleeping woman, he ran his hand several times over her body, from her groin to her face and back. He squeezed her breasts a couple of times, teased her hardened nipples with his fingers, penetrated her with them several times, then ran them over her lips. His touches made the woman stir—quite noticeably, in fact—but she didn’t wake up. She couldn’t wake up, he suddenly realized, even if she’d wanted to very much.

After playing around with the sleeping girl for a while longer, the young man—who could no longer hold back his satisfied smile—leaned toward her and kissed her passionately on the lips. It was a deep, tongue-filled kiss, which made her squirm even more. And then, abruptly and suddenly, she opened her dazed eyes, looking puzzled at the skinny young man kissing her. As the final stage of the “Sleeping Beauty” scenario unfolded, another realization suddenly dawned on Cyrill.

However, he immediately forgot about it when the woman, awakened, suddenly grabbed the boy who was kissing her with both arms, pulling him close and renewing the kiss. This nearly caused her to fall off the bench. And then she did fall, right on top of him, somehow managing not to break the kiss.

What followed was a series of nonstop debauchery. Here, a young guy, wrapping his arms around a woman’s breasts from behind, quickly thrusts his hips while she stands with her hands braced on the table, her legs spread wide. Here, the young man—having finished and caught his breath—offers his victim some pickles with a lewd grin, having first “dipped” each one into her several times, which each time elicited nothing but a completely idiotic smile and a silly giggle from the blonde. But she ate the pickles with obvious pleasure. Now they’re in a heated village bathhouse; the young man is lying on a bench, and the woman first scrubs him thoroughly from head to toe and steams him while he’s getting off. Here she is, riding him right there. Here she is washing him again, especially one specific part of him that could only be cleaned with her mouth. Here they are in the same haystack from which the young man had climbed out. Then in a huge bathing barrel. There seemed to be no end to the debauchery set against the backdrop of a village idyll that never came to be...

Cyrill didn’t realize at what exact moment all this obscene chaos had come to an end. He simply suddenly realized that he was looking at the same fair-haired woman, but now dressed in quite modern clothes, albeit of an unusual design. She was sitting at a table for two in what was clearly an expensive café or restaurant, decorated in a high-tech style. Only now, she no longer radiated scorching heat, but rather a barely perceptible warmth. Across from her, with his back to Cyrill, sat a completely unremarkable middle-aged man, to whom the woman was telling something, her face contorted with anger and indignation, while gesturing wildly with her hands.

It was hard to make out what she was talking about amid the torrent of outrage and curses; Cyrill could only make out her promises to track down that wayward asshole and kick his ass. Her companion prudently agreed with her on everything, occasionally interjecting comments about how the culprit behind his companion’s outrage absolutely had to be exposed on some Forum. It all ended quite unexpectedly. A waiter approached the couple sitting at the table and placed a “compliment from the chef” in front of the woman. It was a salad made from fresh vegetables grown entirely naturally on real black soil. The last thing Cyrill saw was the leaves of that very salad, tomatoes, some greens, and finely chopped cucumbers flying in all directions...

* * *

When he woke up, Cyrill stared at the ceiling of his bedroom for a few seconds, then yawned sleepily and stretched, savoring the comfort of his absolutely gorgeous bed, as well as the warmth that had already become so familiar... Whoa! Memories of yesterday—and, to some extent, the day before yesterday—made him almost jump out of bed, where, as it turned out, he was already alone. Diantrel’s confession, the difficult conversation that followed, and...

Cyrill’s gaze lingered on one of the dreamcatchers now hanging all over the bedroom walls, on the ceiling, and even one under the bed. That’s it! A dream! A dream... Wait a minute... Concentrating hard, Cyrill honestly tried to remember what he’d dreamed about today! And he realized he couldn’t remember practically anything at all. Some kind of village. A restaurant with some couple. Damn it, what the hell?! Okay, wait a minute! There are dreamcatchers! We’ll figure this out right now!

Getting out of bed, Cyrill headed resolutely toward the nearest amulet hanging on the wall—thankfully, Diantrel had clearly explained to him yesterday how to use them. But before he reached it, someone called out to him:

"Sir?!"

Turning around, Cyrill saw Armina and Gata, who had already managed to get to their feet and were now standing in the doorway leading to the bathing quarters. And at the sight of them, the young man momentarily forgot all about those silly dreams. Because his two fellow maids were standing there, barely holding back smiles on their satisfied faces, dressed in quite earthly lace lingerie and tights, bought yesterday at the Auction. Gata in black, Armina in white. Which suited them perfectly! They’d even struck poses—no doubt on purpose—the most seductive ones possible. As if they were right in the middle of a photo shoot for glossy magazines. Clearly appreciating the effect they’d created, they asked, smiling from ear to ear, almost in unison:

"Do you like it?"

“Girls, you look absolutely amazing,” Cyrill admitted honestly.

The smiles on the faces of his companions grew even wider, but before the young man had time to think about how much time he had left, and whether there was any possibility...

//"Good morning, Ciriall."

Diantrel's voice instantly drove all extraneous thoughts from Cyrill's head.

//"Good morning, honored one!"

//"How was your night?"

Understanding perfectly well that Diantrel was referring to dreams, and not possible sex with Gata and Armina, Cyrill answered honestly:

//"I don't really remember anything. I was just about to check the dreamcatcher."

\\"Very well. In any case, I will arrive through the portal shortly. Be prepared for that moment; we are about to meet with someone who is far more knowledgeable in prophecy than I am."

//"Got it, I'll be waiting for you!"

After saying goodbye to Diantrel and explaining everything to Gata and Armina, Cyrill quickly freshened up, got dressed, and only then finally checked the dreamcatcher. Then another one. Then the next one. By the time Diantrel announced she was ready to arrive, Cyrill, along with Gata and Armina, had already managed to check all the dreamcatchers. As soon as she stepped out of the portal in the mansion’s basement and greeted her apprentice, the elf—dressed in her usual semi-military outfit—could tell right away from their expressions that something was wrong.

"Cirial?"

"Empty. Practically empty," the young man shook his head, holding up small storage crystals he'd removed from the amulets, which were supposed to store the 'captured dreams'.

Diantrel's eyebrows rose slightly, and her expression reflected doubt. She shook her head in disbelief.

"This can't be." She said.

"Please, you can check it out. Just a couple of very vague fragments, from which it's impossible to understand anything at all."

Taking the crystal Cyrill offered her, Diantrel carefully clutched it in her fist and closed her eyes. She stood motionless for a moment, then opened her eyes. She said hesitantly.

"Perhaps we configured them incorrectly..."

Interrupting his mentor with a gesture, Cyrill shook his head.

"Impossible. Gata and Armina's dreams were captured flawlessly. But of what I dreamed, only these fragments remained. Which I barely remembered myself when I woke up."

Diantrel's face instantly became extremely serious.

"This isn't normal. We'll definitely need to report this to the venerable Andarial, whom we're heading to. She understands these matters better than anyone in the Forest. Are you ready to go?"

"Yes, as you said, we are completely ready."

"Okay, then let's leave immediately. They're already waiting for us. But first..."

The fairly detailed briefing took about fifteen minutes. This was because Cyrill was about to meet someone very important to Les and very difficult to deal with. According to Diantrel, interacting with this person required a specific approach. After listening carefully to his mentor and repeating all the instructions he’d received, Cyrill received an approving nod, after which the elf gave him the go-ahead to set off. With Diantrel’s help, he set the portal arch to the new “address” she had given him, made sure it led exactly where it was supposed to, received a response and the password, and configured his own arch to seal itself after they left. Then, along with his companions, Cyrill stepped into the portal. He found himself in a medium-sized, windowless room, lit by magical lamps and featuring a single door. It was also surrounded by a veritable cascade of defensive, offensive, and scanning magical barriers. The moment Cyrill stepped out of the portal, the scanning barriers swept over him in several waves, causing some rather unpleasant sensations.

But he didn’t even think to shield himself, having been warned by Diantrel. The guests were greeted by a pair of elves in the understated gray robes of the Secret Guard, their faces obscured by half-masks, as well as a tall, broad-shouldered man, who looked to be about fifty but was completely gray-haired, with short hair slicked back, a well-groomed short beard and sideburns, but no mustache. He was dressed in an impeccable black-and-white, almost classic butler’s suit. All three greeters also personally checked the guests using handheld amulets designed to detect illusions or other forms of disguise. And only after they were convinced that the arrivals were indeed the ones they were expecting did all three nod in greeting. The elves bowed their heads slightly. The man in the butler’s uniform, however, performed a flawless bow and said:

"I am pleased to welcome honored guests to the home of my venerable Lady Andarial of the House of Lake Blossoms."

Straightening up, he introduced himself.

"My name is Regnold, Lady Andarial's majordomo and her trusted servant. I have been entrusted with escorting you personally. Please follow me; the lady is expecting you."

Nodding to the butler in response, Cyrill and his companions followed him. The Secret Guard agents set about extinguishing and sealing the portal. Beyond the door lay a bright corridor, also well-lit by magical lamps and ending in a spiral staircase. What immediately caught Cyrill’s eye were the handrails protruding from the walls on both sides at arm’s length. As it turned out, there were similar handrails on the staircase they climbed to reach the upper floor—which, by all appearances, was a residential floor, just as bright. And there, too, on every wall of the central corridor running the length of the floor, were handrails.

Leading the guests to the solid-wood doors, adorned with intricate carvings depicting floral motifs, Regnold reached out to knock. But a moment before, a clear “Come in”—which could only have been muffled by special threads built into the doors—came from behind them. The butler, apparently long accustomed to such things, immediately stepped slightly aside and swung the doors open for the guests, bowing his head slightly:

"Please, honorable."

Nodding to Regnold, who remained outside, Cyrill went inside with his companions. Beyond the doors lay a spacious living room, furnished with luxury that rivaled the chambers of the Royal Palace, where the young man had lived before his ill-fated journey to White Harbor. The furniture, made of light or white woods and crafted in the classical elven style, was complemented by numerous paintings depicting a wide variety of subjects, ranging from landscapes to portraits of both elves and members of other races. Tall floor-to-ceiling windows, beyond which lay, of course, the endless forest, were half-covered by white lace curtains. And the same handrails were running along each wall of the room. And a plush carpet, firmly affixed to the hardwood floor, running in a relatively narrow strip from the front door to the center of the room. From there, it branched out in three directions in equally narrow strips. To a luxurious, plush sofa with a pair of equally luxurious armchairs—large enough to comfortably seat even a full-grown orc—standing against the wall to the left of the entrance. To a wide writing desk—cluttered, though, not with paper and scrolls, but with stands holding various magical crystals designed for capturing and storing images—standing against the wall opposite the entrance. And to yet another massive door made of dark wood—the only dark spot in the entire room—located exactly in the middle of the wall to the right of the entrance.

When Kirill entered with his companions, an elf rose gracefully from one of the armchairs next to the sofa, dressed in a loose, light white house dress that looked more like a robe. It suited her very well, however, accentuating her slender waist and full bust. She had long, snow-white hair—almost like Diantrel’s—a youthful, slightly smiling face, and pale blue eyes. Eyes that were completely un-elvish in their dullness, incapable of seeing anything. In contrast to the glowing tattoo in the shape of an eye right in the center of her forehead, which Cyrill easily recognized as the “Third Eye” artifact.

When Regnold closed the door behind the guests, the elf gracefully pointed to the sofa and, with a noticeably wider smile, said in a pleasant and melodious voice.

"Greetings, honored ones. I am extremely glad to see you in my home. Especially you, honored Ciriall."

Here, the smile on Andarial’s face took on some strange, mischievous notes.

"Please, sit down. We have a lot to discuss..."
* * *

Statuses at the end of the sixth 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.

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, Spatial pocket I

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", "Surge of Life 3/3", "Restoration 3/3", "All-Seeing Eye 50/50", "The Grace of the Chosen One 5/5", "A Wonderful Moment 10/10".

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: 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

___________________________________________

Name: Gata, daughter of Barías.

Level: 17

Connection level with the Chosen One: 2 (increased)

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

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

Characteristics: 0

Talents (free): 0 (limited): 0

Constitution: 7

Sensitivity: 4

Power: 1

Control: 2

Source: 1

Spirit: 1

Resistance: 2

Knowledge:

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

General knowledge:

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

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

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

System modifiers: Intensive Development II

Companion Modifiers: Physical Enhancement II

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

Переведено на Нотабеноиде
http://notabenoid.org/book/86674/597470

Переводчики: Camrad_RIP