Готовый перевод История Королевы Эльфов / The story of the Elf Queen: Глава восьмая. Кирилл. Предвиденная находка Героя Королевы Эльфо

Chapter Eight. Cyrill. The Foreseen Discovery of the Hero of the Elf Queen

* * *

The sensations were quite... unusual. Cyrill was acutely aware that he was dreaming right now. This had happened very rarely in his life when he realized he was dreaming. And usually, after that, the dream ended very quickly. In fact, he could end it at any moment now; thanks to his studies with Andarial and the knowledge he had gained from the Tablet, Cyrill understood perfectly well how to do so. He also understood that he could perform simple manipulations within his dream, such as moving, adjusting the "background," or individual elements of the "decoration." However, he had to be very careful, as any overly abrupt, harsh, or energy-intensive action could very easily disrupt the stability of the dream. Which, in his case, would also lead to awakening.

Although right now, there wasn't much to do, as Cyrill was literally in the middle of endless darkness. And where to go or what to do was a matter of determination...

//"Don't do anything, Kiriall."

Andarial's voice, coming from somewhere off-screen, immediately made Cyrill freeze in place in the middle of nowhere.

//"I'll do everything myself. All you have to do now is not interfere with me. Freeze and don't do anything."

"Okay, most honorable."

At this point, Andarial fell silent, and a few moments later, a man appeared out of nowhere in the vast darkness next to Crill, looking him straight in the eye. For the first few seconds, the young man was frankly stunned, not understanding who stood before him. And then it dawned on him that he was looking at himself. Himself before the elves had worked on his appearance. Dressed in earthly clothes. The very clothes he had worn when he left the apartment, before he was transported. Wow, how unaccustomed he had become to his former self; he had almost forgotten his old face, so familiar had his new appearance become. And, frankly, much more pleasant and attractive, thanks to the elven artisans who had worked on it. Cyrill studied his past self for a few more moments, and then realized, felt, that it wasn't he who was looking at his past self. Or rather, not only him. Not even that.

Andarial looked at the current Cyrill, scanning him with her artifact-like eye like an X-ray. To illuminate his appearance, to see the very essence of how Cyrill arrived in Beriadon. To create, in essence, a point of support from which to launch her further search. At the same time, another young man appeared next to the past-Cyrill. Dressed in neat and expensive clothes, similar to those worn in the Confederacy. He had an aristocratic, haughty face and short dark hair, neatly combed back.

A very familiar young man, one might say, almost painfully so. Master. Or rather, that's how he introduced himself to his accomplices. There was no guarantee this was his real appearance, as the elves emphasized more than once when they briefed Cyrill on the depths of trouble he'd gotten himself into, either immediately upon arriving in Beriadon or almost immediately.

\\"Ciriall, stay calm!"

Andarial's voiceover made the young man flinch, and he realized he'd been clenching his fists at the sight of the damned Master's projection. Relaxing with an effort of will, he continued to watch and feel how the seer was now pouring literally everything the elves had managed to learn about the damned Braniak into the projection (or was it more like a phantom?). Saturating it with this knowledge to the brim, creating not just a point of support, but a goal for the search. And judging by how quickly and easily she did this, pouring a considerable amount of energy into the projection (which Cyrill felt quite distinctly), Andarial had done this many times before...

//"Eleven times, if you count my attempts to see him immediately after the failure in Iyastar, during the pursuit of him through the Underworld and the subsequent searches," the seer confirmed the young man's guess.

\\"Now, I ask you again to completely relax, Ciriall, and do nothing without my command. Do not be afraid of anything; you are in no danger."

\\“Okay...” was all the young man had time to answer when, in the middle of the endless darkness, a female figure appeared, surrounded by a bluish glow.

And then, a natural anti-aircraft searchlight flared on the figure's forehead, blinding Cyrill, shining through him, piercing him, rushing toward the image of Cyrill-the-past, and then from there toward the image of Master. Master instantly dissolved in this blinding beam, absorbed into it, becoming a part of it, while the beam itself rushed onward, into the endless darkness, searching for a trace of the absorbed image.

The sensation of the power coursing through him and the gaze of the seer completely washed all thoughts from Cyrill's head, consuming him completely. It was as if he were peering through the darkness, searching for his intended target. And finding nothing. Cyrill only managed to vaguely comprehend the images that appeared before his gaze amid the darkness. A city by the sea. A ruined estate next to it. Another city, also by the sea. A wealthy mansion in its center. An entrance to the Underworld, explored and well-known, where hundreds of humans and non-humans descend. And nothing. Andarial's gaze scanned all these images in a matter of seconds and literally instantly sifted them out, casting them aside. All wrong... Empty... Empty... Not the slightest trace... Nothing to cling to...

Master was here, in each of these places. Cyrill felt it, or rather, Andarial felt it, but she couldn't find anything beyond the sense of his presence. On and on...

Several underground halls followed, emerging from the endless darkness and disappearing back into it. Nothing. Not a trace. The final hall. Master's last known location, where the pursuit following him ended in tragedy. In fact, it was precisely this moment, this moment of tragedy, that Andarial had foreseen, though it was difficult, as Cyrill sensed very clearly. The underground hall was filled with the rumble of stones collapsing into the abyss, shrouded in thick black smoke. And then a breath of heat blew into the young man's face. A familiar heat. So fucking familiar!!!

Against his will, the image of the damned Balrog and the unforgettable underground afterburner on the dwarven tank surfaced in Cyrill's mind. It became difficult to breathe; the air became hot, scorching, and at the same time heavy and stifling. The roar of stones crashing into the abyss grew louder and louder in his ears; the hall was collapsing somewhere into the very depths of the earth, and it became increasingly difficult to watch.

The image is monstrously clogged with interference, caused first by the fierce battle that had just taken place, and then by the appearance of the Terror of Diyarten—a realization dawns on the tense Andarial. The Seer has filtered out most of it, but there are more than enough left to complicate her work to the utmost. But she watches. She sees. She tries to find something connected to Cyrill. Or rather, someone specific. Find him. Find the trail that was broken off here. Understand where it leads.

The heat, the suffocation, and the roaring noise become simply unbearable; the underground hall has almost completely collapsed into the earthly abyss, and the clouds of smoke make it almost impossible to see anything. Against this backdrop, Cyrill would never have noticed the barely audible, indistinct whisper. But Andarial caught it. Spotted it. Pinpointed it. And immediately, she latched onto it, like a bull terrier, experiencing a surge of wild excitement. There! Finally!

A trace! Not the image of a presence, but a trace! Where to?! From where?! There it was! The hall, collapsing into the abyss, froze, as if someone had pressed the "stop" button on a remote control. The suffocation from the almost completely engulfing black smoke, the searing heat of the crimson flames, and the thundering roar of falling stones, however, did not disappear, continuing to press. But Andarial's beam-gaze, ignoring the interference that could not be cut off, aimed precisely at one of the side walls. The floor of the underground hall before her had almost completely collapsed, and she herself had begun to crumble, crumbling into the depths in enormous... But through the cascade of falling debris and rocks, through the clouds of choking smoke, the melted and shattered passage through which the damned Balrog had emerged was still visible... And from somewhere, through the roar and rumble, came a quiet, but now distinct whisper...

Andarial's passion flared with renewed vigor, and with renewed vigor, at the very limit of that force, her gaze rushed there. Into that nearly collapsed, dark and smoke-shrouded passage, to pierce that darkness and smoke, to overcome those damned obstacles, to see... to see... Come on... NO!!!

The young man didn't have time to comprehend anything at all, only to realize that as soon as the beam-gaze shot into the passage and pierced the darkness and smoke, it immediately plunged further into nothingness, back into the endless darkness. The underground hall vanished, along with the roar, the flames, the suffocating smoke, and the roar of the damned Balrog. In their place, there was once again an endless void. And Cyrill was overcome by a wild mixture of anger, resentment, frustration, and an unwillingness to accept his defeat and oversight!

Again, the image of the collapsing underground hall. Again, attempts to find, to see the passage, to hear, to feel, to sense the whisper-trace. But all was in vain; all the seer's attempts ran into a literally solid wall of interference, perceived as the energies of the damned Balrog and the natural background of the Underworld. The feeling of anger, frustration, resentment, and rejection of defeat intensified to the limit, as did the sensation of a gaze penetrating Cyrill. The Andarial anti-aircraft searchlight, casting aside the image of the underground hall, began searching the endless darkness with redoubled intensity, now searching for anything connected to the image of Cyrill-the-Past. Trying to find, to see, to cling to anything...

The sudden music was barely louder than the previous whisper, but Andarial reacted instantly. Her beam-gaze shifted, and almost immediately, as Cyrill realized, "locked on." In a flash, the endless darkness gave way to a seashore on which a city sprawled, the sea before it filled with various ships. Her gaze lingered on it for only a brief moment, confidently recognizing it, and then moved on. Beyond the fields, villages, and smaller towns surrounding the city. Even further. To where the villages and towns became noticeably fewer, as did the fields, and the forests more numerous. Even further, to where there were no longer any fields or villages, only small fortified settlements fortified with walls and moats, surrounded by forests that had become noticeably denser. Even further. To where the forest became even denser, and even the fortified settlements were no longer there...

The music, which seemed vaguely familiar to Cyrill, grew clearer and clearer until it sounded absolutely pure in the midst of a dense forest. It was a small clearing surrounded by centuries-old trees. There was nothing around but forest, but the music, the vaguely familiar music, the music Cyrill clearly knew, resonated especially powerfully here... And then everything suddenly vanished, plunging back into darkness...

* * *

With great difficulty, Cyrill opened his eyelids and struggled to focus his vision, staring at the ceiling of Andarial's sanctum sanctorum, its dimly glowing crystals. His head felt heavy, and he couldn't think clearly. His body felt like it had been filled with lead. He was thirsty; his throat was dry, as were his lips and mouth. Cyrill was soaked with sweat. Ugh...

Trying to sit up made his head spin and his vision blur. So awful... And yet, barely a quarter of his reserve was used up...

"Welcome back, Cirial."

Turning carefully, Cyrill saw that Andarial had already woken up and was standing next to his chair. The elven seer looked, judging by her appearance, little better than the young man himself. Her hair was matted and tangled with sweat, her housecoat was rumpled, and her pale face was gloomy and tired, with not a trace of her former smile remaining. But only the silver goblet of water in Andarial's hand, which she held out to the young man, caught Cyrill's attention.

Nodding gratefully, he barely resisted the urge to grab it, but he began drinking greedily. The water was beyond praise! Cool but not cold, delicious, and yet saturated with the most neutral magic. Just what he needed to restore his strength! Surely from some special source.

"From the Crystal Spring, one of the best sources of magic-infused water, flowing in one of the Reserve Groves of the Forest,” Andarial nodded.

Cyrill froze for a moment in surprise: had she read his mind? But a second later, he mentally slapped himself. Of course, he was speaking with one of the best clairvoyants in the Forest; such classic mind-reading was completely unnecessary; she could probably anticipate such questions even before they were voiced.

"Not always and not everything, but simple and insignificant questions do not require much effort to gain insight,” Andarial nodded again.

Having drained the glass in a few gulps, Cyrill nodded gratefully and returned it to the seer.

"Thank you, most honorable."

Glancing at the table between the two chairs, where a pair of crystals was glowing, the young man asked.

"Did you manage to see anything? I mean, you did manage to see something; I remember that, I mean..."

"I have achieved certain results," Andarial nodded, but her expression remained just as grim as she took the crystals with imprinted images from the table. "But not the ones I was hoping for. Come, Cyriall. We need to get ourselves together and then report to the High Hierarchs, who are already languishing with impatience, awaiting news."

Without even thinking of arguing with the seer, Cyrill rose to his feet and followed her out of her inner sanctum. Nodding to the companions who had greeted them and were waiting, the young man headed to the washroom, while Andarial went straight to the bathhouse. While Cyrill simply rinsed off, which made him feel better, the seer soaked in the tub dragged into the living quarters for nearly an hour. But to her credit, she emerged from behind the screen fully dressed, her hair neatly combed, and noticeably refreshed. Just a couple of minutes remained before the last of her five spent time-stretching tokens expired.

By this point, Diantrel, Armina, and Gata were already languishing with curiosity, but they barely showed it outwardly, and they didn't even bother asking Cyrill any questions. Nodding to them, Andarial said, heading for the door.

"Please follow me, honorable ones. We are about to speak with the High Hierarchs of the Forest, and afterwards I invite you all to dine with me."

"We are pleased to accept your offer, most honorable one," nodded Diantrel, following the seer

Andarial opened the door with a light touch and stepped outside. The majordomo was already waiting for her in the corridor by the wall opposite. Regnold immediately bowed, pressing his right hand to his heart and said:

"Mistress, welcome back."

"Regnold, I need to conduct some important conversations. Order dinner to be served in..."

For a moment, Andarial fell silent, covering her sightless eyes and flashing her artifact eye.

"... in an hour and three-quarters. To the guest room."

"Of course, mistress. I'll order the cooks to begin preparations immediately."

"All the things you brought can be returned to their places, and the previous environment can be restored."

"I have already made arrangements, mistress."

Giving the straightened majordomo a weak smile, Andarial nodded her head slightly.

"I never doubted you for a moment, Regnold."

After which, the elven seer, with a confident gait, headed down the corridor toward the stairs. Cyrill and his companions followed her. A few steps behind, Regnold followed. Having reached the third floor, Andarial headed toward her office, where she had first met Cyrill, but stopped a dozen meters short of him, stopping at another pair of locked doors.

Opening them with the same light touch, she gestured for the young man and his companions to enter, while the majordomo remained waiting outside. Inside, they found a relatively small, windowless room with a wide table on which stood a trio of mirrors in heavy bronze frames, along with a dozen and a half high-quality communication amulets, some of which rhythmically shimmered with their crystals. Several more mirrors, including a couple of full-length ones, stood in the corners and hung on the walls. As soon as the doors closed, the room's wards activated, aimed primarily at repelling not magical or physical attacks, but rather against a wide variety of eavesdropping devices. Taking the only chair, identical to the ones in the office and her holy of holies, Andarial settled comfortably behind the table. Cyrill, along with Armina and Gata, stood to the left of the seer, and Diantrel to the right.

Andarial carefully removed a pair of crystals imprinted with images from the pockets of her robe-dress, placing them on stands built into the tabletop. Her fingertips touched the amulets, whose crystals shimmered rhythmically. Immediately, all three mirrors on the table rippled like the surface of water, and a few moments later, three elves were reflected in them. Cyrill recognized them: Queen Sivila, Elder Enchantress Mirael, and an unknown elf in gray robes with a youthful face utterly devoid of any emotion. Bowing her head slightly, Andarial greeted them in turn.

"Honorable Sivila, Honorable Mirael, Honorable Third."

\\"The Head of the Secret Guard," Diantrel explained mentally to Cyrill.

All three nodded respectfully in response.

"Most honorable."

Looking at Cyrill and then at Diantrel, Sivila also nodded briefly.

"Honorable Ciriall. Honorable Diantrel."

The young man immediately bowed in return, Diantrell nodded respectfully, and Gata and Armina performed perfect curtsies. Sivila scanned all five of them with her emerald eye and asked politely.

"Can I hope that the insight of the most venerable Andarial, which cost half of the truly unique opportunity granted to Сirial by the Tablet, was not in vain?"

A charming smile appeared on Andarial's face. She leaned back in her chair, folded her hands on her stomach, nodded slightly, and said in a satisfied voice.

"You can certainly hope, venerable Sivila. And I'll say more: your hopes will be justified, albeit partially..."

"Most Honorable..." The voice of the elf, called Third and the head of the elven special services, was completely devoid of emotion.

Completly. Just like his gaze, which glanced off to the side and then at Andarial. But the seer instantly became extremely collected, the smile vanished from her face, and her voice became completely serious and businesslike. However, she continued to sit comfortably, leaning back in her chair.

"I'll begin by saying that, thanks to the gifts of the Tablet and my modest assistance, Cyrial has mastered the rudiments of dreamwalkig. If he were my student, I would credit him with successfully passing the First Trial. He's not yet capable of achieving more, due to the imperfect development of his subtle bodies. But even this will be a considerable help for both him and us, allowing him to better understand and remember the prophetic dreams his Patroness sends him."

Mirael looked at Cyrill with interest and said thoughtfully.

"Impressive... To master such a complex Lot, even at the student level, in just... five days, right?"

“About three and a half,” Andarial clarified.

"This is truly impressive and is certainly not the only result you have achieved?"

Sivila's voice was perfectly polite, but the gaze of the queen's emerald eyes... was also perfectly polite, yet for some reason Cyrill suddenly felt uneasy. He couldn't for the life of him even guess why.

“Of course,” Andarial nodded.

Reaching out, she touched one of the crystals with her fingertip.

"I'll start with the most important thing. Master. With Cirial's help, using him as a fulcrum, I finally managed to see his trace."

Sivlia and Mirael's faces instantly turned deadly serious, as did those of Diantrel, Armina, and Gata. They all stared greedily at the emerging volumetric projection of a collapsing underground hall, shrouded in black smoke and illuminated by flashes of crimson flame. But Third remained completely emotionless. He barely glanced at the captured image before confidently declaring.

"This is the hall where Master's pursuit encountered the Terror of Diyarten. His last known whereabouts."

The Seer nodded in agreement and, with a slight movement of her hand, "rewound" the captured images to the right moment and pointed to the passage from which the damned Balrog appeared, may he hiccup in his Underworld.

"Absolutely right. And it was here that I was able to directly sense the trail that led to the passage from which the Terror of Diyarten emerged."

"Are you sure?" For the first time, shadows of emotion appeared in Third's voice and on his face.

"Absolutely," Andarial nodded. "The trail was very faint and practically choked with images of Terror itself. I was able to see it only thanks to Ciriall's support, and then I tuned in to it quite clearly. It led precisely there. Not to the portal they were trying to open in the ruins, but to this very passage. But..."

Here, the Seer winced as if she had swallowed a lemon.

"...when I tried to direct my gaze further, following the trail, I encountered active protection from the clairvoyants. A very effective protection, I must admit."

"You couldn't get past it? Were you spotted? Were you expected?" Third blurted out questions, one after another, but still in the same emotionless voice.

Andarial's face became even gloomier and more sour, but she answered honestly.

"I confess, to my deepest shame... I allowed myself... excessive haste... The trail was very faint, but it was there. For the first time since the failed pursuit, I managed to pick it up. Moreover, everything was heavily obscured by interference... And because of this, I didn't notice the defense in time, reflecting my gaze into the void. A classic, but effective and brilliantly executed move. In all likelihood, this was an artifact, specifically aimed against all kinds of seers."

Pursing her lips, the seer added.

"A very fine artifact. Attempts to reconnect with the trail have been unsuccessful. Seeing Diyarten itself is practically impossible. My vision is literally drowned in static; for that, I'd need to conduct a separate insight session, which would require serious preparation. And before that, I'd need at least a couple of days' rest," the Seer added.

Third's face remained expressionless, but Sivila and Mirael exchanged glances. Andarial, still with the same sour expression, continued.

"My own defenses weren't even touched. There were no attempts at returning the gaze, no false images, only a reflection of my gaze into emptiness, so I highly doubt this was intended against me personally. More likely, our dear Master gained something from the Tablet, which essentially conceals him from the gaze of seers."

"We suspected this before." A shadow passed over Third's face.

A barely perceptible resemblance, after which it again became completely indifferent. He asked.

"What are the chances that Master realized that you had found his trail, most honorable?"

"I can't say that for sure." Andarial shook her head in frustration. "There's a chance he'll only find out that they tried to make him see again. But there's also a chance he'll find out that I managed to see his trail and where it led. It depends on what's hiding him and how."

“Then we’ll have to speed up the preparations,” said Third.

Turning to the queen, he asked.

"Sivila?"

“I will inform him,” the queen nodded.

"May I ask what this is all about, honorable?" Cyrill asked cautiously.

Turning to him, Sivila nodded slightly and explained.

"Since the failure of the pursuit of Master, Forest had been planning a new expedition to the underworld halls surrounding Diyarten, intending to find any trace of him. We were also considering the possibility of attempting to penetrate the city itself."

Turning to Third, she clarified.

"I assume this operation is now a priority?"

“Undoubtedly,” Third nodded briefly.

"What help can I provide?" Cyrill immediately perked up.

And then he instantly felt uneasy under the gaze of the Head of the elven Secret Services. There seemed to be no emotion on his face or in his gaze, yet for some reason he felt oh so uneasy. Sivila, however, reacted much more calmly, nodding slightly.

"Of course, Cyriall, your help would be most welcome, as would that of your comrades. But first, we need to scout everything. We can't act practically blind, let alone risk losing you. You are our greatest asset in our confrontation with Master."

"It's even more likely that he left the Underworld long ago," Mirael said. "A considerable amount of time has passed since the pursuit failed."

"It's possible," Andarial nodded, allowing herself another satisfied smile, "for that's not the only thing I've managed to see. When my gaze was reflected, I continued searching, relying on Ciriall, for anything connected to his past. And I managed to see something!"

Reaching out, she touched the second crystal with her fingertips, changing the projection, and spoke with undisguised pride.

The trail was very faint at first, but with considerable effort, I managed to follow it right to its source! And this trail is definitely connected to Ciriall. I'm absolutely certain of it.

Everyone watched the changing images, their gaze fixed on them. Slightly narrowing his eyes, Third spoke confidently, looking at the city by the coast.

"Kaiermark."

\\"A Free City of the Confederation, one of the largest on the northwestern coast of the Middle Sea, west of the Neirat Peninsula," Diantrel explained to Cyrill through a mental connection.

"That's it," Andarial nodded, "but the trail goes further north. To the border of Confederate-inhabited lands, beyond which lie the Lost Kingdoms of the North. And it leads to this very place. Moreover..."

Here, the seer made a meaningful face.

"I recognize this image. Not of a specific place, but of the forest itself. I've encountered it before, when I tried to see Master, but I couldn't discern anything coherent in it. With Cirial's help, however, the clarity has increased."

"One of Master's secret lairs? A possible hideout?" Third suggested.

"I can't say that for sure," Andarial shook her head. "Only that this place is definitely connected to Ciriall."

"What kind of music is this?" Mirael asked. "I've never heard anything like it."

“Me too,” said Sivila thoughtfully, “I don’t remember anything like that.”

"It is directly connected to the trail, but I also..."

“I know it,” Cyrill interrupted Andarial, listening intently to the clearly sounding music.

"Cirial?"

Everyone turned to the young man, but he didn't notice, looking at the forest clearing and listening intently to the familiar, definitely familiar and actually quite good music.

"I... I definitely heard it... somewhere... somewhere... somewhere..."

"Cirial!"

The mentor's sharp voice brought the young man out of his stupor, and he noticed everyone looking at him with concern. What the... F*ck! Cyrill raised his hand and felt blood trickling from his nose. Mirael, looking back at him from the mirror, asked in a tense voice.

"Have you encountered another memory gap?"

“Definitely, the reaction is exactly the same,” Diantrel nodded confidently.

"What are you talking about, honorable ones?" Andarial asked.

It took several minutes to explain to the seer the situation regarding the gaps in Cyrill's memory left by Master, which the young man occasionally "stumbled upon." Or rather, one minute was enough; the rest she saw herself. After which she confidently declared.

"This is further confirmation that, wherever this trail leads, it is definitely connected to Cirial. Therefore, it cannot be ignored."

“Undoubtedly,” the queen nodded decisively.

Turning to Third, she said confidently.

"We can reach this place much faster than Diyarten. We can organize a task force by dawn and..."

ATTENTION!

Chosen by Aurial the Magnificent, Supreme Keeper of the Balance of Worlds, Standing Guard of the Balance of Powers, and his Companions are entrusted with a joint mission.

Objective of the mission: Based on the found trace, uncover the mystery surrounding the stolen past of the Chosen One [additional objectives may be added during the process]

Conditions of completion: use of the System is permitted; participation in the search is permitted only for the Chosen One himself and his Companions.

Reward: individual, variable.

Penalties for refusal/violation of terms/failure: SEVERE [for everyone].

Wow... What a twist... So, Ciryusha, didn't you like the previous assignment offered to you? Did you send it packing? Please, take it and sign for it: here's a new one, not at all vulgar, but downright heroic. And one you can't refuse unless you want to get into trouble. Ugh... Cyrill glanced over the message from the System again, or maybe even directly from the Magnificent One herself, and he glanced around to see that his comrades had clearly received a similar message. And they looked less than inspired by it. Noticing their exchanged glances and their changed expressions, Sivila paused and asked warily.

"Is something wrong, Ciriall?"

"Yes," the young man nodded slowly, his expression dark. "We've just been assigned a group mission to uncover the secret of my past, based on the second vision. And to refuse it..."

After exchanging glances with his companions once more, Cyrill sighed heavily and said.

"...let's just say I won't risk it. My companions and I are facing serious fines for this. I'd even say very serious, given the way it's written."

"Also, no one other than Ciriall and the three of us is allowed to participate in the execution of this assignment from the Tablet," added Diantrel, who had also darkened and become extremely serious, nodding at Gata and Armina.

"Unexpected... I didn't foresee this," Andarial said in a strangely thoughtful voice, looking intently at Cyrill.

Hearing these words, Sivila and Mirael instantly became very tense and wary. They exchanged glances with each other and with someone else "off-screen" in the mirrors, apparently exchanging a few words. But Third remained outwardly completely unperturbed. He glanced briefly off to the side, gave him a barely perceptible nod, and then looked directly at Cyrill:

"Given what you've said, I assume you agree to this assignment? All of you?"

After exchanging glances with his companions once more and receiving brief nods, Cyrill nodded decisively in response, confirming his acceptance.

"We have no choice. So yes, we agree."

Third nodded slightly and said laconically.

"So be it."

* * *

Royal Palace of the Forest. Secret Guard Corps.

Crossing her arms over her chest and demonstratively crossing her legs, Sivila said with displeasure and gloom.

"I don't like this at all."

Third, sitting opposite her, remained absolutely unperturbed and nodded in agreement.

"Me too. But I completely agree with both what the "Guest" said and First's previous conclusions—we simply have no choice. Or rather, we're not being given one. Even if we were to convince the "Guest" to abandon this mission, even at the cost of losing some of the Tablet's gifts or worse, his Patroness would undoubtedly come up with something else. For example, something that would make the operation to get the "Guest" to White Harbor seem like child's play."

Sighing heavily, involuntarily remembering all the mess and horror that had to be cleared up after the massacre carried out by the damned fanatics, Sivila quietly muttered.

"Better not remind me..."

Turning her gaze to Mirael, who was now in direct contact with her student, who was busy with urgent preparations, the queen clarified.

"Are we sure we can't supply the 'Guest' with anything serious?"

The Elder Enchantress, who had already managed to clarify this issue with Diantrel, shook her head wearily.

"To my great regret, definitely not. The Tablet won't allow us to supply them like we did last time from the Forest's arsenals; that would be considered a violation of the terms. They'll have to use only their own personal belongings. Food and basic consumables—yes, we can provide them with those. But providing Cyriall with the same small portal circle, or bags full of elite amulets and alchemical compounds—alas, no. Diantrel, at my request, has already very thoroughly questioned the Tablet about this."

"It's a shame... such a shame..."

Sivila pursed her lips, pondering, trying to find some way to make the situation... less precarious, so to speak, so as not to even think of descending into the low language she'd used during one of her last conversations with the Supreme Treasurer, related to... Speaking of him! Recalling her last, very difficult conversation with him, Sivila perked up and asked.

"What if Ciriall decides to buy something from the Forest at his own expense? Say, buy that same small portal circle? And we, purely out of respect for him, agree to sell it for one silver floren? Would that be considered a violation?"

Mirael raised an eyebrow in surprise, then abruptly grabbed the communication amulet and summoned Diantrel. Third, casting an indifferent glance at the Elder Enchantress as she spoke to her apprentice, shook his head.

"It's unlikely that the Tablet, or those who stand behind its power, will be so easily deceived. And I doubt his Patroness will decide to emulate Damokar in this matter, who always strictly adheres to the letter, not the spirit, of the agreement."

After a few seconds, Mirael put down the communication amulet and nodded gloomily.

"That's right. We can't "sell" an entire arsenal to the 'Guest' for pennies; the Tablet would consider it a violation of the mission's terms. He can only buy anything from us by paying, quote, a fair price... Wait, does he even have any money?"

Silence fell over the conference table where another meeting was taking place. It was broken by one of Third's deputies, who urgently grabbed one of the scrolls lying before him:

"He was given money to go to White Harbor... He was supposed to have some of that money left over... but it was unlikely to be enough for anything serious, considering he spent some of it in the city... He wasn't given any other money... And he certainly didn't take anything from the Vault of Kardarot..."

"It's a shame, it's a shame... And remind me, did anyone ever suggest giving the 'Guest' a stipend on top of everything else?" Sivila asked, feigning thoughtfulness, gazing at the ceiling and shaking her leg. "Hmm... Yes, I think someone did suggest something like that... but her proposal was rejected, because: 'We'll provide him with everything he needs at the first word, why does he need regular money?'"

Towards the end, the queen indulged in a touch of undisguised sarcasm. Mirael and some of the other elves involved in overseeing the 'Guest' visibly darkened but said nothing. Or rather, they didn't have time, as the gloomy First, who had been silent until then, spoke up.

"Enough."

It was said quietly, but all the elves seated at the table immediately turned to him, instantly forgetting the impending squabble. Massaging his eyes, First continued.

"Any attempt to deceive the will of the "Guest"'s patron will lead to nothing good. She clearly wants her Chosen One to carry out this assignment independently, and so be it. We face a far more serious task."

Removing his hand from his face, First looked intently with cold, dark-gray eyes that had seen too much at Sivila, who had instantly straightened up, and asked dryly.

"Can your agent handle it?"

"Luaval will do everything possible. I do not doubt that." Sivila stated firmly. "He has extensive experience in such matters, and he has almost always completed the tasks assigned to him, including the most difficult ones. In those cases where success was impossible, he managed to cope with minimal losses."

"How soon can he move out with a reconnaissance group?"

"He's already getting ready. By dawn, everything will be ready, and they'll be able to set out for Diyarten."

Nodding barely perceptibly, First said dryly.

"Good. Provide them with the best we have – we have no room for error."

"I have already given orders that they will be given the best of everything," Third nodded.

\\"The Supreme Treasurer will be delighted again," thought Sivila, distantly and with a kind of philosophical doom.

Casting a glance at the chief and the chief's mentor, one of Third's assistants carefully clarified.

"What about our allies? Should we inform them?"

First was silent for a few seconds, thinking, then slowly shook his head.

"Until we're sure, there's no point in alerting them. We have no guarantee, and can't have one, that Master hasn't already established his own eyes and ears among them. And we can't afford to scare him off."

"If he's still there, and hasn't fled with his puppets and gone into hiding somewhere. For example, in some old and secure lair. Say, in the lands of the Dead North," Mirael clarified darkly, allowing herself a meaningful glance.

"So we'll look for his tracks, and once we find them, we'll follow them," First shrugged indifferently, completely ignoring the matter. "Which requires first getting back to that damned city of the dark ones. As for your concerns... I'm practically certain the 'Guest' won't meet Master where he's going."

"Why?" asked Sivila.

"Because he has no chance against him now, even with his companions," First replied, still calm and indifferent. "And I seriously doubt that his Patroness, whatever her true motives, would send her Chosen One to certain death or slavery."

No one argued with this. Or perhaps they didn't dare.

"I propose that we consider and prepare possible options for the rapid deployment of our and allied strike groups to the Underworld and various assault scenarios," suggested Third.

“Good,” his mentor nodded briefly.

"Once again I'll have to sacrifice even the smallest bits of personal time," Syvila thought with quiet melancholy, realizing that yet another urgent meeting would drag on for hours. Once again she felt a wild urge, overcome by a sense of cosmic injustice, to do something... bad. Just think... Ten days for the price of ten hours... Ten days... Now it's five... Not fair!!!

* * *

The Reserve Grove, somewhere in the Forest.

On the one hand, the packing was frantic, as he didn't want to waste time, or maybe even couldn't, but on the other hand, it wasn't particularly long. Cyrill didn't really have anything to pack. He hadn't yet managed to accumulate a significant amount of things. Like, say, a mythical-rank Archmage outfit, a similarly mythical-rank Worldshaker staff, or anything else that would allow him to vanquish everyone and everything with a single blow. Back home, there were anime about such heroes; he'd even watched a couple, albeit not fully, just for laughs. So why didn't he have anything like that? Ah... It's truly a universal injustice, hmm...

Well, since there are no mythical items, he'll have to make do with what he has. And what he has—his arsenal of amulets, wands, and other tools of the magical craft—Cyrill always kept fully prepared and charged. Thanks to Diantrel. She literally drilled this rule into him through numerous training sessions, and after each one, he diligently recharged all his depleted accumulators. The elf herself, however, had prepared herself far more thoroughly and for far longer. Over her long years of life and, more importantly, her service in the Forest Guard, she had accumulated a great deal that could be useful in the upcoming undertaking.

Cyrill, along with Armina and Gata, relatively quickly gathered everything they might need, then checked to make sure they hadn't forgotten anything and that everything was charged and powered. He spent far more time and effort meticulously preparing his mansion for sealing. And it wasn't just about preparing everything; they also had to ensure that the weaves would be reliably powered from the unstable source, and that there were no leaks or sags.

Only when the mansion was fully prepared for its owner's long absence did Cyrill, having reported to Diantrell, go to bed with Armina and Gata, having arranged a specific time for the mentor to arrive through the portal in the morning. By this point, it was already deep into the night, but the elf, having said goodbye to Cyrill through a mental connection, was still gathering her things, of which she had considerably more than the young man.

After quickly refreshing himself in the bathhouse, exhausted from the past day (or rather, from the past five days in his personal time), Cyrill really wanted to just collapse into bed with Armina and Gata, but first there was something else he needed to do...

Dinner with Andarial after the meeting with Sivila, Mirael, and Third was beyond praise. The seer's cooks did a superb job, as Cyrill and his companions repeatedly informed both the seer herself and her majordomo, who personally served them at the table. It looked, incidentally, quite original and cool. Regnold, apparently using some special amulets hidden in his gloves, single-handedly set out and cleared away all the dishes. This was because they simply hovered in the air above his open left palm, arranged in several tiers. With his right palm, like a conductor, he directed them, and they neatly took their places at the wide, long table.

Earthly waiters at high-end restaurants, and elsewhere, would likely kill for such magical culinary high-tech. The owners of those restaurants, especially high-end ones, would certainly try to lure the chefs away. No, Cyrill had been fed fantastically since the moment he woke up. He had never complained about the food, and never once thought of complaining. But Andarial definitely had not just good chefs, but excellent ones! All the dishes were not only incredibly delicious, but also presented as if they were works of art, not food. He even had to restrain himself several times from bingeing in the most vulgar and banal way, because there was so much of everything, and he wanted more than just a bite of each dish.

Even Diantrel, judging by the emotion emanating from her, was more than pleased with the food prepared. Armina and Gata weren't even worth mentioning. Andarial clearly saw this and was very pleased with the impression she made. After dinner, which concluded with magnificent fruit desserts, Cyrill's favorite of which were the chilled and candied wild berries. The Seer and her majordomo personally escorted them to the portal. There, before activating it, Regnold ceremoniously presented Cyrill with a medium-sized wooden chest, carved and enchanted to protect its contents.

Inside was a genuine treasure, worth a very substantial sum of money. A trio of the same flawless, transparent crystals as those in which Andarial had sealed their shared dreams. A separate crystal, containing a sealed vision of a distant northern forest, was housed in a special container-box. A projector stand for working with these crystals. A silver hoop adorned with the same flawless, but smaller, crystals. A set of amulets, personally crafted by Andarial, designed to protect the sleeping dreamer and to cut off "junk" dreams. And two more sealed tubes containing scrolls, also authored by the seer herself. They were dedicated, as one might easily guess or predict, to dreamwalking. Essentially, they were textbooks for beginners mastering this not-so-simple magical lot.

After explaining in detail how to use the gifted treasure to continue his independent dreamwalking training, it was given to him specifically for this purpose. Andarial emphasized this several times. Giving several more valuable tips, she said goodbye to Cyrill and his companions, wishing them every success.

At that moment, the young man, frankly, was bursting with the desire to ask Andarial if she could try to see what awaited them and what to prepare for. He was stopped not only by the fact that it would violate the terms of the assignment, but also by the fact that he had already come to understand how fed up the seer was with such requests. And how stupid they were.

So he limited himself to a heartfelt thank-you (which brought a broad smile to Andarial's face) and swore he would definitely continue his training. And Diantrel, in all seriousness, assured the seer that she would personally oversee it.

Well, words must be kept. So instead of going to bed, hugging his companions, Cyrill spent some time tuning the gifted amulets and synchronizing them with his existing dreamcatchers. Only after double-checking that he'd set everything up correctly did he allow himself to lie down. The temptation to use one of the five remaining tokens to give himself more time to sleep was overwhelming, but Cyrill resisted. For if he wasted a truly unique resource simply for sleep... It was best not to even imagine Diantrel's reaction...

With these thoughts in mind, the young man closed his eyes and concentrated. The last thing he needed to do was to set himself up for normal sleep. Or better yet, dreamless sleep. Andarial had explained to Cyrill, among other things, that turning every dream into a dreamwalking session was a terrible idea. He absolutely had to take breaks, giving himself, or, if you prefer, his third eye, a chance to rest. Otherwise, you'd go blind from overwork.

The last was practically a verbatim quote. In fact, it was confirmed by their shared activities. The first time, Cyrill had four dreams, but the next day, only one. The young man had no intention of going blind in his third eye, even with the System, which could theoretically correct such a flaw, so he carefully prepared himself for a dreamless night and...

Cyrill opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling for a few seconds, listening to the local magical alarm clock play a pleasant melody. Blinking a few times, he realized it was already morning and time to get up. Ugh... It felt like he'd just closed his eyes, and now it was morning... Damn, that's not cool at all. He seemed to have gotten enough sleep, but it felt like he hadn't slept at all. He really should have gotten into the right mindset for normal dreams... Oh well, experience is the son of hard mistakes, or something like that...

With these thoughts in mind, the young man, along with Gata and Armina, who were now tossing and turning, climbed out of bed. Having washed and refreshed themselves, the three of them dressed immediately for the exit, fully equipped with everything they needed. After double-checking that they hadn't forgotten anything, that all their amulets were equipped and charged, and that their supplies were stowed in their extended-capacity bags, they descended into the basement toward the portal.

Having contacted Diantrel, who was also already prepared, Cyrill activated the portal. A few seconds later, after all the necessary checks, the mentor stepped out. Although the young man had mentally prepared himself for what awaited him, he was still a little stunned when he saw it in person. But Gata and Armina were absolutely stunned. Their jaws even dropped. Because instead of the usual and, one might say, unchanging paramilitary suit she wore almost all the time, Diantrel was now wearing a completely different outfit. Over a tight-fitting silver robe that covered her entire body except her head, with purple patterns resembling stylized air currents, exactly the color of the elf's eyes, she wore something reminiscent of a one-piece swimsuit of the same purple color. It was also quite tight-fitting and flatteringly accentuated her figure. She wore matching elbow-length purple gloves and mid-thigh boots. Just above the elf's chest, a small purple crystal, set in a silver frame, was either sewn into the "swimsuit" or attached to it somehow.

The image of some textbook superheroine from the comic book multiverse of his native Earth was only slightly marred by a pair of duffel bags, obviously with extra space, slung over her shoulders. The only things missing to complete the look were a cape on her back and a mask on her face. Oh, and red panties over the main silver robe and "swimsuit." Oh, no, this outfit does have a half-mask; it's just that Diantrel wasn't "wearing" it right now. Smiling faintly, clearly pleased with the effect she'd produced, the elf asked the classic question.

"How do I look?"

“Just like the legendary heroines from my home world,” Cyrill answered honestly, involuntarily admiring.

Because there was something to look at, the new outfit was quite tight, and Diantrel had plenty to be tight about. Thanks in part to Снrill, yeah... Turning to Gata and Armina, who were completely baffled and still stunned by Diantrel's appearance, the young man explained.

This is one of the gifts I received from the Tablet, which I gave to the venerable Diantrel. An artifact-robe, it is ideal for an adept of the air element...
https://ibb.co/WNHXTkNG
https://ibb.co/7xyK0s4H

"It increases flight speed and maneuverability, reduces energy costs for flight itself, and serves as an excellent concentrator and amplifier of weaves," the elf finished for Cyrill in a satisfied voice.

Raising her right hand in front of her, she moved her fingers, and from her shoulder to the very tips of her fingers, a swift wave of light ran along the purple patterns of the silver base garment, turning into an electric arc between her thumb and forefinger.

"Both offensive and defensive. It also has excellent volume, allowing it to store a considerable amount of energy," Diantrel concluded, touching the crystal on her chest with her fingertip.

Even without any context, Cyrill could sense his mentor's satisfaction with the gift she'd received. After all, she didn't just like flying; she really did. It made you think that specializing in a specific element has its advantages. And then again, Diantrel looked quite striking as some sort of superheroine from either the Marvel or DC universe. And seductive. Although, to be fair, Cyrill always remembered her looking beautiful, whether in her uniform or a swimsuit.

Armin and Gata, appreciating not only the appearance but also the coolness of the artifact-clothing, kept their expressions quite calm. But thanks to that same connection with them, Cyrill felt the emanations of a classic feminine "I want the same handbag and shoes"! Imagining Gata clad in black latex and wielding a whip for a moment, the young man had to restrain himself from smiling. Diantrel, enjoying the effect, assumed a stern and serious expression and asked:

"Are you completely ready? Have you gathered everything? Everything is ready."

"Yes, everything is assembled; the mansion is ready to be sealed."

"Okay. Then listen to me carefully. First, we'll travel to one of the Forest Guard's secret strongholds, located outside the Forest. Only the commander, the portalist, and Secret Guard agents will know of our arrival. Or rather, they'll know of the arrival of certain agents, as we're traveling incognito. From there, we'll be transported by portal to the very edge of settled lands, north of the Confederation. From there, the place Andarial saw is about a couple of hours away, if you walk normally through the forest."

This last clarification made Cyrill sigh mentally. A normal walk in the elven sense, of course. For a normal person, that would be a marathon, especially through bushes, ravines, windfalls, and other delights of a wild forest, not a pristine city park.

"But we will proceed with extreme caution, camouflaged and observing all precautions," Diantrel continued. "The chances of us encountering any truly dangerous beasts, let alone greater undead, are very slim. The former rarely approach the borders of settled lands, while the latter prefer to stick to their necropolis cities. But such a possibility can never be ruled out; sometimes both make forays, which often leads to the borders of settled lands being pushed back."

This information made Cyrill even more cheerful. Yeah, right, what were the chances of running into elite undead or some particularly hardened monster, like the ones he'd seen in his dream about the horde of steppe dwellers and the wooden mag-mech? With his luck? No more than running into a whole cell of fanatical killers in an elven city. He'd gone to a restaurant once, and then had a forced stroll through the steppe at night, then admired dwarven architecture, appreciated their auto industry, and topped it all off with a boat cruise. So why not take a stroll through some woods where all sorts of people live and don't live... Fuck, spit three times, you'll croak, you idiot!

"But even if so, they are not our main potential threat."

Looking meaningfully at all three of them, Diantrel said in a serious and stern voice.

"We don't know for sure what exactly awaits us there. Only that the place is definitely connected to Ciriall. Which means we must prepare for the worst-case scenario: that it might turn out to be one of Master's own hideouts."

Looking straight into the eyes of Cyrill, who had thrown all “extra thoughts” out of his head by an effort of will, the elf said.

"Therefore, we exercise maximum caution and remain camouflaged at all times. This task is entirely yours, Ciriall. And if our worst fears are confirmed and Master's lair really is there..."

After a moment of silence, Diantrel said decisively.

"..then no matter what punishments your patroness, Ciriall, threatens you with for a failed mission, I conjure you by the First Tree to agree to them and call upon the Forest for aid. For..."

"...this enemy is too tough for us for now, and we can't risk me falling into his hands again," Cyrill finished for his mentor, nodding gloomily. "I know, and I completely agree with you, honored one."

"I'm truly glad to hear that. In that case, I'll ask you, Ciriall, to immediately provide us all with disguises. Especially my attire. It's not a good idea for prying eyes to see... your gift."

Cyrill nodded and set to work, carefully concealing himself and his comrades in dense illusions, first changing their appearances to faceless dummies, then blurring those dummies as well, simultaneously concealing as much as possible any trace of their subtle bodies. Only after confirming the effectiveness of the disguise did Diantrel give Cyrill the coordinates, as well as the password keys for accessing the portal. This was accomplished without much difficulty, and after receiving a response confirming that the passage could be opened, the young man awakened the archway. First, of course, he arranged for it to close and seal after they left. Only then did Diantrel step inside the newly opened portal.

A few seconds seemed like an eternity to Cyrill, but then she sent him a mental message that all was well. Nodding to Gata and Armina, he confidently stepped forward. A moment later, he emerged into a typically well-protected portal room, windowless and with a single door. They were met by a pair of silent agents from the Secret Guard and a pair of Diantrell's colleagues from the Forest Guard. One wore the garb of a battlemage and leaned on a carved dark wood staff; the other wore light armor with the insignia of a commander. A glance at the system map revealed that they had now moved far north of the Forest, somewhere near the northeastern coast of the Middle Sea.

Their colleague, Diantrell, wearing the insignia of a commander, greeted them briefly and informed them that his fortress's portalist was ready to begin breaking through the portal. All they needed were the coordinates. Having received them from Cyrill's mentor and asked if they required any further assistance from him, he, upon hearing a negative reply, also said a brief farewell and left the portal room. He wished them all good luck, whatever their task. The portalist immediately set to work, announcing that it would take at least an hour. It couldn't be done any faster; otherwise the light would be too strong. He had to break through the portal anyway, not open it by leaning on the exit arch, which is always more noticeable. And Cyrill and his comrades had absolutely no need to attract unnecessary attention.

For this reason, they had no intention of rushing the portalist, and while he worked, the room was almost completely silent. While waiting for the portal to open, Cyrill sat down with his companions on a bench located along one of the side walls. And since there was absolutely nothing else to do, and the mood was, frankly, tense and nervous—after all, he wasn't planning on going out for bread—all sorts of nonsense naturally began to creep into his head.

What if they actually stumbled upon Master's hideout, the one he'd prepared long ago? Which he'd already reached, as soon as he'd shaken off pursuit? And if so, what if he detected their arrival as soon as they approached? Or had he already detected the portal in preparation, somehow having divined it? Who said he couldn't? Or... Yeah, fuck, enough of this, enough of this hype! If that bastard were really that badass, he'd have everyone in stitches by now, and you wouldn't be sitting here nervous!

And your Patroness wouldn't send you on a Commander Shepard-style suicide mission... well, so early, I mean. Level twenty-eight is definitely cool, but it's far from the limit. But that doesn't mean her mission will be a cakewalk... Okay, enough, enough! You can handle it! Whatever it is, you, or rather, YOU, can handle it! Just keep your wits about you, act carefully and cautiously, and everything will be awesome!

\\"Are you nervous?"

The mentor's mental voice made Cyrill involuntarily flinch. Without turning to face her, he nodded silently in response.

\\"Of course. Who knows what we'll find there? It might actually be the worst-case scenario..."

\\"That's normal. Everyone's always nervous on their first mission. In your case, it's your first solo mission, without backup. So we'll exercise extreme caution. And if our worst-case scenario comes true, we'll retreat."

The confidence in Diantrel's voice was downright reassuring.

\\"In addition..."

Here, some philosophical notes appeared in the elf's voice.

//"... I don't think that what awaits us will be more terrible than meeting the Terror of Diyarten."

Involuntarily shuddering from the memories of an unforgettable trip through the Underworld, Cyrill smiled wryly.

"Indeed, honorable... And if it's not a secret, what was your first independent mission?"

\\"The destruction of a band of robbers on the western borders of the Forest, who secretly walked under the hand of one of the nobles of the Most Serene Caliph and robbed merchants on the land route between the Forest and the Caliphate."

"Were you causing problems for your neighbor-competitor?" Снrill suggested.

"Right."

\\"And how did your first assignment go?"

Diantrel didn't have time to answer.

"Everything is ready. I'm starting the piercing."

The portalist's voice, thundering through the silent room, nearly made Cyrill flinch. Diantrel immediately rose smoothly to her feet and nodded briefly.

"Nice."

Turning to the young man, she gave a mental command, and Cyrill immediately began reorganizing the illusions that concealed them. What was needed now was not just blurriness, but full invisibility across all possible spectra without it being disrupted by the portal's passage. Fortunately, this task was now well within his grasp.

By the time the portal was breached and the portalist stepped away from the arch, all four had become practically invisible. After bidding farewell to the portalist and the Secret Guard agents, Diantrel stepped through the portal first, her staff at the ready. A few seconds again seemed like an eternity to Cyrill. Then a laconic "clear" came through the mental link, and he, along with Gata and Armina, also stepped through the portal.

The next moment, they found themselves in a small forest clearing, surrounded by dense woods. The tall, spreading crowns of the ancient trees obscured the sky and sun, casting a twilight below. Cyrill, frozen in place and having shielded everyone there with both illusions and the most inconspicuous protective barriers, stood motionless for a few seconds, looking around and listening. Clean. Nothing. All around was forest, its silence broken only by the occasional bird. But not like that forest, the Forest. This one felt different, something Cyrill sensed immediately; after all, a three in Spirit is not a one. This one felt ancient, but not quite that ancient. And even darker. Unkind. And... there was something rotten about it. Just barely. But there it was.

While Cyrill and his companions were looking around and listening, the portal mirror behind him dimmed and vanished completely. And to their credit, the Forest Guard portalist had done a superb job – there were practically no traces of the portal that had just activated. No, they were there, and Cyrill could see them with his magical vision, but they faded very quickly.

Diantrel, completely invisible to everyone except those covered by the same illusions (after all, mastery in the School of Illusions allows for a lot!), quietly said.

"Let's move out. Stay together and move as carefully as possible. Regularly scan your surroundings using different spectra. I'll cover you from above and scout the route."

With these words, the crystal on the chest of her artifact-robe sparkled, the elf's face briefly glowed with silver light, and a purple half-mask appeared out of nowhere. Then, Diantrel gracefully soared upward, soaring toward the treetops, disappearing among the branches. Watching her go, Cyrill thought again that, despite all its drawbacks, a narrow specialization certainly had its advantages. Then, adjusting his travel bag on his shoulder, he nodded to Gata and Armina.

"Let's go."

The girls nodded silently and, holding their magic wands at the ready, moved forward. Gata led the way, followed by Cyrill, with Armina bringing up the rear. At first, moving was not easy, for this forest was so different from those Cyrill had been through before his arrival. This wasn't a city park with its manicured lawns and neatly trimmed bushes. Here you'd find fallen trees and, in places, simply impenetrable undergrowth.

Two things really helped. First, his honed training in navigating difficult terrain, using both internal energy control and barriers. Mastery is no joke, after all. The tiny barrier platforms created right under his feet were a real lifesaver when he needed to cross some flooded area or windbreak.

The second thing that helped, or rather, who helped, was Diantrel. The elf moved in short flights from one tree branch to another, scouting the way forward and suggesting the optimal route. Yes, it was so good to have acquired the ability to fly, like a real comic book superhero. Especially since she now had a matching costume. Armina and Gata completely agreed with Cyrill on this point, even if they didn't say so out loud. Well, the ability to fly is really cool and very helpful in a variety of situations.

And when Diantrel, flying ahead on yet another reconnaissance mission, spotted an animal trail heading in exactly the right direction and led the others onto it, everything became even better, and their speed increased. Well, relatively speaking, since Cyrill and his companions were glancing around almost every five minutes, looking for anything suspicious, and Gata was even sniffing.

But so far, no results. No traces of humans or non-humans, no suspicious magical activity. Animal tracks—yes, there were plenty of them, and of all sorts. It was clear that game was plentiful in this forest. However, there was still the question of what constitutes game in these lovely woods. Among the tracks spotted were all sorts. Including a couple that belonged to creatures never encountered on Earth, due to the absence of such a phenomenon as mutations caused by wild magic. Otherwise, the animal wouldn't have front paws with huge claws, like some bears', and a hind leg with obvious hooves.

They even discovered a couple of such small sources of wild magic. Frankly, they were lousy and weak, but useful... No, they would be useful, but to "civilize" one, to purify its energy, which emanates from the depths of the earth, of harmful impurities, requires a great deal of effort, and the return would be meager. Spend a dollar, earn a dollar and a few cents, something like that. Animals and plants, however, were unaware of the harmful effects of such sources. One of them grew a fine bush, with lush green leaves and large bluish berries. It also had finger-long thorns, coated in an oily poison. And the fruits themselves were also full of the same poison. Judging by the numerous rotting carcasses of birds and small animals at the roots of this bush.

However, it was noticeable that these berries, imbued not only with poison but also with magic, were periodically eaten by someone as they ripened. According to the tracks spotted by Diantrel, this was precisely the owner of the clawed and hoofed feet. As the elf who flew down to the bush reported, apparently, the ripe berries were quite harmless and would even be beneficial to a gifted person as a source of power replenishment. However, in moderation, and preferably for someone with an affinity for the earth element. And right now, there were no berries on the bush at all, only unripe ones.

The second discovered spring, a chunk of rock jutting out of the ground near an animal trail, was home to a three-headed snake mutated by its energy. A veritable larva of the Gorynych serpent. Lacking fire but highly venomous, it had made its lair in a burrow at the base of the rock. The creature could have been a formidable opponent for Cyrill, thanks to its powerful venom, which it could also spit in three directions. That was about twenty or twenty-five levels ago. Now, it would have been dangerous even for Gata and Armina, provided they were caught off guard and stung. For this reason, no one bothered it, which had just crawled out to bask on the perpetually warm top of the rock.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Zmei_(Russian_folklore)

Such mutants should be killed while they're still small. Because if you don't do it, as Diantrel explained to Cyrill, they might stop being small. Unless they die from mutations, of course. Or from a lack of magical energy from the source they've become dependent on, but have already outgrown. However, they have a much more important goal now, and they can't afford to be distracted, much less leave such a clear trace.

So the three-headed snake remained basking on its spring-like rock, slightly off the beast trail, while Cyrill and his companions moved on, continuing to look out for signs not of beasts, but of intelligent beings. And, frankly, he was only glad there were none. Who the hell knows what awaits him ahead, what secrets of the past? The main thing is not to run into one fucking degenerate. He's not going to run into one now, but in fifty levels, he might consider that option. Especially if he's not leveling up himself...

Cyrill was brought out of his thoughts by Gata, who stopped abruptly and raised her left hand towards one of the centuries-old trees growing slightly off the path.

"Hunter's mark! Old."

Looking in the direction indicated, Cyrill indeed discerned a mark carved into the tree bark, resembling a schematic wolf's head. Silently gliding from the treetop, Diantrel hovered above her and confidently said.

"Orcs or beastfolk, from those clans or small tribes that manage to survive in the lands of the Dead North."

“Come to think of it, he’s not so dead,” Cyrill said quietly, not forgetting to look around.

"Because we're still quite far from the nearest major necropolis, Ciriall. And it's still daytime, and most undead aren't particularly fond of sunlight," the elf, hovering in the air, explained without turning around. "The mark is old. It hasn't been updated in a very long time. Whatever clan or tribe left it hasn't been seen in these parts for a long time. Let's move on and stay vigilant."

The next two hours passed without incident. Cyrill and his companions continued north along the game trail, which so conveniently led in the right direction. During this time, they encountered three more similar markings on trees. All very old. They also encountered a herd of wild boars, happily churning through the mud in a flooded depression off the trail, watched over by a huge, huge boar with enormous tusks. Cyrill even suspected it was another mutant, but no, it was simply a seasoned and well-fed animal, a true trophy for a terrestrial hunter. Provided, of course, you can hunt it down.

Cyrill and his companions, of course, didn't even think of disturbing the herd. And the herd didn't even notice them, thanks to their camouflage, happily continuing to roll around in the mud, escaping the bloodsuckers. Which, by the way, didn't bother Cyrill and his companions at all. Thanks to their camouflage! After all, being a mage, walking through the woods is much more pleasant than being sprayed with all sorts of repellents.

Nor did the creature possessing those very same clawed, hooved paws they encountered at yet another wild spring—slightly larger than the previous ones—notice them. Previously, that beast had apparently been a large moose—until it mutated due to wild magic. Its front legs became one and a half times longer than its hind legs, transforming into powerful, clawed paws. The hind legs, on the other hand, had become shorter and noticeably more massive; not a trace remained of the moose’s familiar slenderness. Its muzzle had also changed, developing an elongated, toothy mouth with impressive fangs—though they grew unevenly. The only thing that remained unchanged was its powerful, branched antlers.

Which literally sparkled in his magical vision, while the beast, sitting on its hind legs, used its forepaws to nibble with surprising precision on a tree growing on the spring, bearing fruit resembling small apples. Such pretty apples, glowing with magic. Perhaps slightly poisonous, perhaps, and because of that very magic. Well, the ones that weren't ripe yet. Eat one of those, and along with a dose of magical energy, you'll also receive serious poisoning of your subtle bodies. Cyrill, glancing at them in his magical vision, easily discerned this.

But the ripe ones were a different matter! They were practically free of the junk of wild magic. And it was these that the mutated beast devoured, one after another, crunching with relish. Having assessed the former moose, and the way its horns glittered, and even its claws and fangs, Cyrill figured he'd prefer not to encounter such a creature until level twenty. One-on-one. And even with support... Doubtful.

It was obvious the beast was a seasoned beast, had been living here for a long time, and was feeding on magically infused fruits. And certainly not just from the two sources noted. Otherwise, it wouldn't have gorged itself so much. It likely has a substantial territory with several such sources, where it feeds. A creature like this definitely needs to be destroyed. Otherwise, it will come out to humans or non-humans and destroy someone. And in theory, this could have been a good training test for Gata and Armina. The System would have definitely given them some experience for defeating such a beast. But not now...

It would have been possible to kill this creature with one blow, thanks to the element of surprise, but who could guarantee it wasn't a living beacon? That somewhere in the bastard's lab-hideout there wasn't a miniature toy of his, that upon death the moose calf would crumble to dust and sound the alarm? That's right, no one.

So, passing a mutant moose, still munching on wild apples and oblivious to the intruders, Cyrill and his companions moved on. Their destination was steadily approaching. And the closer it got, the more frequently and intently the four of them looked around. But they still found literally no trace of intelligent beings, save for one lingering mark in the shape of a wolf's head. When, according to Diantrel's measurements, they were just under an hour away from their destination. Cyrill, with her approval, called a halt and consulted the crystal in which the vision was imprinted.

Closing his eyes, the young man immersed himself in it. Yes, that's right. They were heading in the right direction, and their destination was already close. He could practically feel it in the vaguely familiar music. If only he knew where he'd heard it... Fucking Master!

After a short rest, their small squad checked their gear once more and cautiously moved on. From that moment on, Diantrel didn't stray far from them, clinging to the middle branches of the ancient trees and never letting go of her staff. As did Armina and Gata. Cyrill, meanwhile, pulled his light-wood staff from his spatial pocket, barely fitting inside. If necessary, he would use the Drawer (praise be to Diantrel for remembering to fill it with various ritual circles!) and act from a prepared position. And then, the staff would be preferable. But then again, it wasn't their primary weapon. Nor was Diantrel's lightning. Stealth and surprise were!

Reassuring himself with these thoughts and the fact that the disguise was holding as perfectly as possible at his skill level, Cyrill and his companions continued moving toward their goal. Step by step. Continuously scanning the surrounding forest. And still not seeing anything. No sign of intelligent beings. No, on the one hand, that's good. Maybe there's nothing there. Well, more accurately, nothing dangerous. No secret lairs of fucking brainwashers, for example. But on the other hand... Okay, stop, stop thinking like that. This isn't an ambush; only in stupid movies do the villains allow the heroes to enter their lair until the very end, only to then greet them there with pomp and circumstance and tell them how long they've been waiting for them...

"Get ready! We're getting really close."

Cyrill nodded, paused, and wove several weaves one after another. Offensive. Defensive. Search. Illusions and deceptions of various types. Phew. Done. All that's left is to invest power in them and give the command. Cyrill exchanged a glance with Diantrell, frozen on the middle branch of a spreading tree, who had also prepared a dozen weaves, and with a brief nod, their squad moved on.

By the time they reached the clearing, along the edge of which ran an animal trail, everyone's nerves were on edge. They held their weapons at the ready. They scanned the surroundings in various spectra, searching for any traces of magic, signal traps, or ordinary traps—anything! And noticed nothing.

No magic. No ancient ruins leading to secret laboratories. Nothing. Exhaling heavily, Cyrill whispered.

"It's empty. There's nothing here. At least, I don't see anything at all that would distinguish this clearing from the rest of the forest."

Next to the young man, who was flanked by Gata and Armina, who were turning their heads like owls, Diantrel landed smoothly, nodding gloomily.

"Me too. And there are no traces of any settlements nearby either."

Looking at her student, she asked briefly.

"Cirial?"

Sighing, Cyrill wiped the sweat that had involuntarily appeared on his forehead with his sleeve and said.

"Let's see."

Taking out the crystal with the imprinted vision, he immersed himself in it again, closing his eyes. Music, unknown music, began to sound so clear and distinct. Familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. Where are you coming from? Where is the source? It hadn't been clear before, but once he was there... There it is! Okay, hold on, hold on, don't lose the source!

Opening his eyes, Cyrill, still hearing the music from the vision, slowly raised his right hand before him under the watchful gaze of his wary companions, forming a weave of barriers. A moment later, they enclosed a patch of earth at the bottom of a good-sized pit, almost completely overgrown with grass, on the opposite side of the clearing from where they had emerged.

Another moment, and the cube of earth, roughly half a meter on each side, obeyed Cyrill's will, rising up along with the cut plants and flying toward him. The thought flashed through his mind that the master of Barrier magic was replacing the excavator, but it was immediately driven out by the music playing from within the cube! Cyrill could practically hear it! But he couldn't see or feel any magic at all!

As the barrier-bound cube of earth hovered before him and his companions, he altered the weave's structure, shifting its bottom edge slightly downward and transforming it into a sieve. Beneath it, he projected three more, each smaller than the last. The cube's side walls began to vibrate gently. The earth immediately began to crumble, breaking into clumps and sifting. And a few seconds later, something glittered in one of the fallen clumps, caught in the first sieve! So, so, so what... What the fuck!?

Cyrill's eyes widened, now glowing with a magical fire, and he refused to believe them for a few seconds. Then, as if mesmerized, he reached forward, clutching the find. Raising her eyebrows, Diantrel asked warily.

"What is this, Cirial?"

Running his hand over the familiar but forgotten surface, clearing away some of the sticky, wet earth, the young man said in a stunned voice:

"It's. My. Phone."
* * *

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

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) ; (limited) 0

Talents: (free) 1; (limited): 0

Companion Modification Points (4)

Constitution: 3

Sensitivity: 3

Power: 11

Control: 12

Source: 11

Spirit: 3

Resistance: 3

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.", "developed basics of the simplest methods of dreaming", "developed basics of the simplest methods of conscious work in dreams".

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 5/10".

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

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/86674/597926

Переводчики: Camrad_RIP