Готовый перевод История Королевы Эльфов / The story of the Elf Queen: Глава десятая. Мастер. Новые замыслы и новые проблемы архиврага Героя Королевы Эльфов

Chapter Ten. Master. New Plans and New Problems for the Arch-Enemy of the Hero of the Elf Queen.

* * *

DIyarten. Underground.

"Master! Master, what’s wrong?! Master! Calm down, you’re alright! Master!"

Frozen in his chair, Master—who had been convulsing and breathing heavily—stared for a few agonizingly long moments at the terrified faces of Saya and Bazita, who were leaning over him and trying to hold him steady. Behind them, the equally worried faces of the dark elves and Violetta were visible, while the head of the Petty One poked out near the armrest. *Damn it...* With a deep, heavy sigh, Master ran his hand over his body, confirming that the flames of the deep hadn't burned him alive—that he was perfectly fine, safe and sound. The same went for his subtle body; it hadn't been scorched by the crimson fire either. Those sensations had all belonged to the spider-woman. The moment Master realized this, he practically lunged out of the chair, shoving the girls and Violetta aside and barking only a brief word at them:

"I'm fine!"

He then fixed an intense gaze on the reflections in the mirrors arranged on the table, trying to fathom what had actually happened. Alas, the mirrors that had previously shown the spider-queen’s temporary lair by the fissure now revealed nothing but thick billows of black smoke streaked with occasional flashes of crimson flame—or else the images had vanished entirely. This could mean only one thing: the monitoring crystals to which they were attuned had been destroyed.

Cursing, Master extinguished all the temporarily useless mirrors with a single wave of his hand and projected a 3D map of the entire city above the table instead; at the same time, he fully activated the palace’s defensive, offensive, and scanning wards—casting all concerns about secrecy aside. He needed to understand immediately what was happening in the city! What about the ritual? What about the Terror?! Come on, damn it... Aha!

The projected city map transformed before their eyes as it gained access to the scanning and search systems of the occupied Dark Elf palace—systems Master had brought to full power, using them to literally X-ray the city, particularly the area around the fissure that had split it apart. The first thing the systems revealed—after struggling somewhat to pierce the billowing clouds of suffocating black smoke that blanketed the area—was highly encouraging. The fissure was effectively gone! In its place lay a massive, solid mound of debris formed by the collapse of its walls and fragments of several nearby structures that had finally given way. Even more buildings had been damaged by the liquid subterranean fire spraying in all directions; fires were already beginning to smolder in a couple of them.

The sight, however, brought Master a wave of immense relief. It had worked! Since the fissure was sealed and the Terror of Diyarten wasn't bursting out, the ritual had succeeded after all! Now, what about the cocoon? I need to gauge the extent of the damage... Right, let's tune into the necessary spectrum... What the...

For a few seconds, Master stared at the city’s projection in bewilderment. Then he shifted the spectrum of his magical sight. Then again. And once more. But the result remained the same. Fear pierced his heart as the realization of what had happened struck him, yet he refused to believe it until the very last moment, frantically recalibrating the palace’s search and scanning systems. Because if his hunch was right... The city’s projection shifted again, and Master peered feverishly at Diyarten’s magical background—specifically at the areas surrounding the city along the perimeter of the underground cavern where it was situated. And his terrible suspicion was fully confirmed. No—no, no, dammit!!!

Realizing that his assumption was correct after all, Master could not contain his emotions; slamming his fist onto the table, he shouted at the top of his lungs.

"Spawn of the depths, damn you! Abyssal monstrosity! Why—why did you have to show up now?! Right now, of all times—not a day later—damn you, you wretched assholet!"

"Master..."

Violetta’s quiet, wary voice made Master—breathing heavily—turn around sharply. His puppets and the Edelhart family were gazing at him with expressions of extreme tension—if not outright fear—clearly unable to fathom what had happened or the cause of his anger. Taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly, Master snatched his goblet, which still held a little water, from the table and drained it in a few gulps, spilling some onto his chest. After setting it back down and wiping his lips and chin, he let out a heavy sigh and spoke.

"We have a serious problem. That accursed Terror of Diyarten disrupted the ritual at the last moment with its parting gift. I had already activated it in a desperate rush, without proper preparation, and then that spawn of the depths had to go and interfere with its fire—damn it all..."

After exchanging glances with her children and Master’s puppets, Violetta cautiously asked for clarification.

"And just how bad is it?"

With a darkened expression, Master turned back to the projection of the city and pointed at it, illuminating sections of the magical background along the perimeter of the underground hall.

"Right now, things are going pretty well. But the key word is "right now." And it is very hard to say how long this "now" will last."

Frowning, Violetta peered intently at the projection of the city, trying to understand what Master meant. After examining the highlighted areas several times, she asked for clarification, her voice still cautious.

"I don't quite understand what you mean, Master. As far as I can see, everything turned out exactly as we wanted—the city is now in a spatial lacuna..."

Turning to Violetta, Master fixed a gaze upon her that was at once heavy and sympathetic, then said with a grim smile.

"Which merely indicates your lack of sufficient qualifications as a specialist of the School of Space."

"I never even laid claim to that title," Violetta parried instantly and with perfect composure.

"That’s a pity—it’s an extremely useful School, even if it’s quite difficult to master," Master said, smirking grimly again as he turned back to the city projection. "Though right now, even my knowledge wouldn't be enough to fix the situation. Take a look..."

Zooming in on a section of the underground hall's side wall, he explained.

"As I said, the Ritual was distorted by the interference of that accursed Terror. We are not currently inside a stable, enclosed spatial pocket as I had intended—though it might appear that way. But no! Look at the streams of energy surrounding this underground chamber! They are not static! That means we are in the midst of being transported. Because of that accursed Terror, the cocoon failed to create a spatial pocket; instead, it teleported the entire underground hall!"

Violetta’s eyes widened at what she heard. And she wasn’t the only one; her children and Master’s puppets were just as shocked.

"What?! But... how... that... that would require a simply enormous amount of energy..."

"Or a very good foundation. For example, a gigantic cocoon created by a Master of the School of the Silken Web."

"Where will we be transported? And when?" Dacus interjected, casting tense glances back and forth between Master and the projection of Diyarten.

"Now that, Detective, is the right question," Master said, smirking grimly once more and again uttering that word no one understood. "Both of them, actually. I’m unlikely to be able to give a precise answer to the first one, for the simple reason that no movement vector was set in the first place. The only thing I can surmise is that it’s highly unlikely we’ll be spat out onto the surface. In all likelihood, the transit will take place within the confines of the Underworld. As for the second..."

After casting a glance over the currents of magical energy surrounding the city, Master spoke slowly.

"Given the absence of an initial displacement vector, the ritual's original purpose, and its sheer power... I believe we have about twenty days—though, again, I’ll only be able to make reasonably accurate calculations once I’ve properly analyzed the aftermath of the Terror’s interference and assessed the results..."

"Are you absolutely certain there’s no way to fix this? Not even with the help of the Tablet?" Violetta asked with undisguised hope.

Lost in thought, Master addressed—with a mental command—lines invisible to anyone else. Glancing over them, he slowly shook his head without turning toward Violetta and spoke thoughtfully.

"Completely? No. Not even with the power of the Tablet. Although if I were to use all the gifts I’ve acquired... Hmm... No, even then, it’s unlikely I could change anything fundamentally. It’s not my area of ​​expertise. I’m quite good—without false modesty—at creating and using portals, but this requires something else. Something the Apostate was famous for. If I had a specialization like "Architect of Space," then yes, perhaps I could have fully repaired the damage... I’ll certainly try to do *something*, but a fundamental fix is ​​unlikely. And it’s all because of that damned Terror—damn it all..."

"Did he damage the cocoon that badly?" Violetta asked cautiously.

"Worse," Master said, shaking his head and hissing viciously. "He destroyed it."

"What?! How?!" the Edelhart family and Master’s puppets cried out, almost in unison.

"That last bit of interference—damn him! Fire and webbing mix about as well as oil and water, as you’ve likely noticed! Under normal circumstances, his parting gift would have merely damaged isolated patches of the cocoon—just like last time. Unpleasant, sure, but nothing our spider-lady couldn't handle. Hell, even I could have patched it up if I put my mind to it! Well, maybe not quite as fast, but... That’s beside the point! The key thing is that only *parts* of it would have been damaged. But the cocoon was absolutely saturated with energy, primed and ready for the ritual!"

With a wave of his hand, Master added a schematic image of the destroyed cocoon to the city projection, visually illustrating his words.

"It was like setting fire to an ordinary thread versus one soaked in a mixture for alchemical fire! The result was that, under the influence of the Terror’s abyssal flame, the entire cocoon instantly burst into flames and burned away in a flash!"

Obeying Master’s will, a swift wave of fire swept across the schematic image of the cocoon enveloping the entire city.

"In a way, this actually intensified the ritual's effect! However, instead of serving as the foundation for a stable, self-contained spatial pocket, the burnt-out cocoon acted as a single, massive portal for the entire underground hall."

Silence fell over the room for a few seconds, broken first by the grim and tense Dacius.

"And what are we supposed to do now?"

Turning toward Violetta’s son, the Master muttered grimly.

"To begin with, deal with our dear spiders! Well, those that haven’t burned yet. And at the same time, we need to put out the remnants of this damn flame. Then we will think about what to do when we are moved somewhere."

With these words, Master settled back into his chair and closed his eyes, mentally leaving his physical body and speeding back toward the former fissure. At the same time, he focused on the invisible threads the matriarch spider used to control her puppets and worker spiders—threads he had so skillfully wrested from her grasp that she hadn't even realized it! Yet, his pride in such incredible mastery was almost instantly overshadowed by the realization that most of those threads had burned away along with the creatures they controlled. The bulk of the spider-matriarch’s chimeroids had been right beside her when the Terror of Diyarten appeared, and the abyssal flame struck them along with her. Only a few survived—those that had been in the city hunting for new prey, plus the pair tending to the worker-spider clutches. Even among the city-based survivors, several were wounded—seriously so. They had been caught in the Terror’s blast, which had swept across... Wait, what?!

For a moment, Master was utterly stunned when his mental projection reached the crumbling fissure. It couldn't be... Just imagine that! The matriarch spider was still alive! Despite taking a near-direct hit from the Terror and suffering horrific wounds, the ancient creature still lived! The spray of abyssal fire had literally pulverized her massive spider abdomen and legs, reducing them to a nearly shapeless, charred heap of flesh, chitin, and hemolymph. The giant scorpion-like pincers—which she had seemingly used in her final moments to shield the humanoid portion of her body—were riddled with holes, yet they had nonetheless served their purpose.

Compared to the other parts, the humanoid part of the spider’s body was almost undamaged, having lost only the right side of both pairs of arms, burnt hair, and several burns from small splashes of fire. And with her mind literally raped in the crudest form, she stubbornly clung to life, trying to regenerate the damage she had received. And in general, she even had a chance of success. If you discard the spider part of the body and the scorpion claws, and use the remaining strength to regenerate the humanoid part... ideally, using the surviving parts of the spider body as material for regeneration and growing at least some legs... then there are chances, and quite good ones. True, after this the strength will remain an order of magnitude less than it was, as if not at the level of not even a master, but a very strong adept; after all, a significant part of the spider’s magical power relied on the spider’s body... But in general, she has a chance to survive.

Well, or rather—Master corrected himself—she would have had them, had he not just moments ago violated her mind with direct and brutally crude control. Consequently, her attempts to regenerate now looked more like chaotic convulsions; far too much energy was being squandered rather than used to heal her wounds. Her subtle bodies had been badly mangled, too—after all, the fire of the depths is a truly vile substance, burning away not just flesh but one’s very energy essence. Grimacing with distaste at the sight of the ancient creature writhing in agony, Master tuned in to her shattered mind to put an end to the spider-thing’s torment. What a shame—he had had such plans...

Attention!

You have been entrusted with the first trial by the Greatest!

Prove your mastery! Heal the mind and body of She-Who-Spins-in-the-Darkness, restoring her original form and making her your loyal and submissive servant (modifications to her original form to suit personal preferences are permitted)!

Bonus option: restore the original form of all surviving servants of She-Who-Spins-in-the-Dark, freeing their bodies and minds from the effects of her venom and webs.

Reward: completion of the current level, two free talent points, an increase in one of the Auxiliary Knowledge, one elite trait, and two elite tokens.

Bonus reward: two limited talent points, one elite minor knowledge, and an upgrade of one of the secondary knowledge.

Restrictions: none.

Failure conditions: allowing the death or complete dissolution/degradation of the personality of She-Who-Spins-in-the-Dark or any of her servants.

Penalty for failure: hidden.

Having read and grasped the lines that had appeared directly in his mind, Master glanced at the dying female spider. Then, instead of delivering a mercy blow, he seized control of her mind once more and simultaneously used one of his four remaining ++"Life Hold" charges on her, for her condition was truly dire. At the same time, he urgently summoned Saya and Bazita to her side, along with the four dark elves still at his disposal, the squads of surviving worker spiders, and the chimeroids commanding them. Damn it—there were wounded among them too, and seriously so! No, no, no—you bastards aren't dying on me! Don't you dare, damn you! How did you manage to get hit like that, you fools!

No, no, no—don't you dare drop dead and cheat me out of the extra reward from the Greatest for their first trial! Oh, they’ll see my mastery; they’ll appreciate it! Damn it, how did you manage to get into a mess like this—especially you, you ancient wretch!

Even with the ability to split his consciousness into multiple streams of thought, keeping both the spider-queen and a couple of her chimeroids from perishing was no easy task. Without that ability, it would have been flat-out impossible; their wounds were severe, requiring him to use direct external control over their subtle and physical bodies just to patch them up somehow. The spider-queen was the hardest case—and Master had actually created the main problem for himself! He had to manually control and guide her regeneration process while simultaneously holding her mind back from total disintegration. It was a stroke of luck that the fire of the depths hadn't touched her head; had the damage extended to the parts of her subtle bodies directly linked to her mind, it would have been an absolute catastrophe. Damn it—it was all because of that accursed Terror of Diyarten! Couldn't the spawn of the abyss have shown up a day later?

Oh, damnit—stop fighting me, you eight-legged fool; I’m trying to save you! I need to sever the spider half to preserve the human one. There’s barely anything left to save as it is; if I don’t get rid of it, the last of your hemolymph will just drain out through there... Oh, fantastic—of course you moved almost all your vital organs into the spider half, including your primary and auxiliary hearts! Just wonderful—damn you, you amateur chimera-maker! Fine, fine—I’ll take direct control of the blood flow and block off everything below the humanoid torso; let it wither away. It's okay...

Damn it, Saya, where are you?! Hurry up—that creature desperately needs healing alchemy! And it’s not the only one! You’ve left the palace?! Good! Right! You—take Nydira and her hunters, run to this part of the city, and treat those chimeroids! Start with this one! Bazita and Shira, run to the spider-woman! Faster! Oh, dammit, you green-skinned fool—just pick her up and run for all you're worth! Good, that's it—that's exactly why I dolled you up, my little doll! Don't hold back! Saya, this applies to you too! No—don't pick her up!!! Run yourself—faster! Use Blink, or that chimeroid is going to die! The pointy-ears will catch up to you! Good girl, that's my smart girl...

* * *

Having finished greedily drinking the magic-infused water from the palace spring—sipping it from a silver pitcher—Master handed the vessel to Bazita; then, wiping his wet lips and chin, he let out a heavy breath. Phew... That hadn't been easy... Especially with that cursed she-spider... But he had managed it nonetheless! Immensely pleased with himself, Master surveyed the results of his work.

In one of the spacious storage chambers in the palace dungeons—hastily cleared of virtually everything that had remained there—sat seven spherical cocoons, spun in record time by the surviving squads of worker spiders. Six were smaller, intended for the chimeroids, while one was exceptionally large—for the spider-queen herself. How fortunate it was that she controlled the worker spiders and her assistants through a superior form of command webbing! Without it, keeping the hundred-plus remaining worker spiders in line while simultaneously providing urgent aid to the spider-queen would have been simply impossible. Even for him.

Meanwhile, while he and the puppets were busy keeping the spider-queen and her injured chimeroids from dying, the worker spiders—along with the uninjured chimeroids—successfully wove those cocoons. Under Master’s direct control, they then helped move both the injured chimeroids and the spider-queen into the cocoons. He had to open a portal for this, as dragging the queen—or rather, what was left of her—across half the city would have been far too risky. It wasn't just a matter of the severity of her wounds; there was simply a massive amount of her left—she was a huge creature, after all. Even though a significant portion of her spider-body had essentially been destroyed by the fire of the Terror, the remains were still enough to fill the cocoon—which was by no means small—almost to the brim. There was even enough left over to toss some into the cocoons of the two most severely injured chimeroids.

The sight was—to put it mildly—far from pleasant: essentially a shapeless mash of flesh, internal organs, chitin fragments, and hemolymph, in which the humanoid portion of the body was submerged. Master, however, had seen far worse things in his time. The Edelhart family, on the other hand—having ventured to witness the final stages of the rescue operation in person—turned a sickly green as they watched worker spiders and surviving chimeroids emerge from the portal, hauling in more and more body parts belonging to their former mistress. Violetta and her children began to look like Bazita’s kin. Lenora actually fled the scene but didn't make it to a restroom in time to relieve her stomach, vomiting instead in the dungeon corridor. Dacius held out a little longer than his sister but still managed to reach the nearest restroom. Violetta, however—to her credit—managed to keep herself under control, albeit by using direct control over her subtle bodies to do so.

Master’s puppets, however, had absolutely no issues with squeamishness. Still, for the sake of their comfort—and his own—he had to surround them all with filtration barriers; otherwise, the stench of charred spider flesh would have been simply unbearable. Besides, the living chimeroids overseeing the creation process and assisting with the filling of the cocoons possessed an extremely… distinctive odor.

Once the cocoons intended for the injured were ready and filled, the uninjured chimeroids—obeying Master’s will—took their places in their own cocoons. Instead of the spider-queen’s flesh, the material used to fill the remaining space consisted largely of worker-spider eggs—some laid in Diyarten, others hauled up from the depths. Finally, before sealing the cocoons, a generous amount of alchemical mixture was poured in; this included both existing stock and concoctions that Violetta and her children had hastily brewed in the laboratory under Master’s remote supervision. Naturally, he hadn't assigned them anything overly complex—after all, they weren't professional alchemists. Yet, they weren't completely ignorant either, thanks to their training at the Neirat Academium, where the fundamentals of alchemy were a mandatory part of the curriculum. Consequently, Master didn't need to oversee every step of their work as they hurriedly prepared the healing compounds designed to accelerate regeneration. The excellent quality of the laboratory equipment played a part in this as well.

Once all the cocoons had been filled with the necessary contents and the worker spiders had diligently sealed them, Master sent them back to the lair, while he moved on to the next stage. Together with Nodri and Violetta—who had volunteered to help and, unlike her offspring, had managed to recover almost completely from the sight of the spider-woman’s remains and the injured chimeroids being loaded into the cocoons—he began to weave. They were not weaving ordinary webbing, however, but magical constructs designed to keep the creatures inside the cocoons alive yet plunged into a deep slumber. This proved to be no easy task. Keeping their minds asleep was no problem at all—Master handled that instantly. Establishing a stable system to sustain their lives, however, was a vastly more complex challenge. After all, the spider-woman had suffered grievous injuries, losing a significant portion of the vital organs located in the arachnid section of her body. Ensuring that her rescued, ostensibly human half did not perish without them required considerable effort to craft the healing enchantments needed to sustain her life.

Without breaking his concentration on weaving and fine-tuning the magical constructs, Master once again mentally wished those pointy-eared degenerates all the "best"! How useful his darling Ayur—his wonderful healer-puppet—would be right now! He could have calmly entrusted these chores to her and turned his attention to more pressing matters! He really ought to find himself a new puppet versed in healing magic. And it wouldn't hurt to brush up on the healer's craft himself... Oh, the lack of time! Where could one find more? A hundred years or so! Or better yet, two hundred—yeah! Oh, then the conversation with those pointy-eared scum and their pathetic lackeys would go very differently...

Taking advantage of the ability to split his train of thought into several simultaneous streams, Master indulged in the pleasure of once again mentally reviewing the list of those he would certainly repay for all the inconveniences endured—all while continuing to fine-tune and weave a network of healing enchantments directly into the cocoons. Ideally, he should have prepared a separate ritual circle for each of them, but then again—there was simply no time! Nor were there any suitable puppet capable of preparing them without Master’s supervision. Not anymore. Sigh...

Once the network was ready, Master double-checked—several times—to ensure there were absolutely no errors and that the lives of the spider-matriarch and the chimeroids were in no danger. Only then did he and his assistants carefully connect all the cocoons to the palace’s power source, running a pair of separate, redundant energy conduits. That was it—everything was finally ready! In this state, they could remain dormant for a decade—or perhaps not quite a decade, but certainly a couple of years—provided the magic kept feeding them, and the cocoons held a sufficient reserve of material.

However, he would carry out the assignment from the Greatest Ones much faster! Exhausted to the limit but highly pleased with himself, Master spoke with satisfaction.

"Well then, the simplest part is behind..."

Violetta, standing beside him—and nearly as exhausted as he was—choked at these words, almost spilling her goblet of water from the palace spring. After clearing her throat, she turned to Master and asked in astonishment.

"What do you mean?! And can I finally find out what all this... was for?"

Reaching out, she pointed to the woven cocoons. Sighing, the Master turned to her and said, with a note of amusement in his voice.

"Of course you can, my dear Lady Edelhart. The Great Ones who bestowed upon me the power of the Tablet have sent me a personal trial, promising a more than generous reward for its successful completion. It entails healing the mind of our dear spider-lady, restoring her original form, and making her my loyal servant—along with her chimeroid minions. It is undoubtedly a challenging task, yet I am confident I shall succeed."

A look of distinct doubt flashed briefly in Violetta’s eyes, and she glanced at the seven cocoons.

"Are you sure about that? Especially since you said it was the easiest part..."

"I said it was the *simplest* task, not the *easiest*, my dear Violetta," Master corrected her with a wry smile. "There was nothing complicated about keeping the spider-woman and her chimeroids from dying. Yes, it was arduous and required considerable effort, but sustaining their lives—especially after my puppets brought them the healing alchemical concoctions—didn't call for any particularly complex manipulations. Healing them and restoring their original forms, however... *that* is a task that is far from simple, even for me. I shall have to think it all through and work out the details carefully... but I am confident I can manage it."

"And just how do you intend to do that?" Violetta asked.

"I’m using the 'chrysalis' method. It’s a perfect fit here, especially considering… the patients' particular nature."

Seeing the lack of understanding in Violetta’s eyes, Master sighed briefly and explained.

"This is one method of body alteration. It is occasionally employed by the most experienced chimerologists. While the technique is quite radical and complex, it is highly effective when executed with the proper skill. Its essence lies in dissolving virtually all excess flesh, transforming the body into a specialized base fluid from which a new body is subsequently formed. Caterpillars undergo a similar process when they pupate before transforming into butterflies—hence the method's name."

"You practice the School of Chimerology as well?" Violetta asked, with surprise that was all but genuine.

"Not at all; as I’ve already told you, I am quite well-versed in the School of Flesh—or biomancy, as it is also known. And those two Schools are closely related. So, while it might not happen instantly, I am confident I can handle the task at hand. It will certainly take a fair bit of effort to isolate and purge all the spider-like elements and then restore their human bodies, but it is nothing impossible. Especially not for me."

"Is that why you stuffed so many of her… scraps… into the cocoons?"

"Exactly," Master nodded. "The more material there is, the easier it will be to create a new body. Ideally, of course, we would need human or elven bodies, but right now, we can't afford that. And by the way..."

"Casting a deliberate glance at Violetta’s chest, he added.

"… just so you know, Lady Edelhart, my offer still stands."

Her expression virtually unchanged, Violetta—clad in a dress taken as a trophy from the late matriarch’s wardrobe, one that was exceedingly modest and high-necked by dark elf standards—gave a brief shake of her head.

"Thank you for such a generous offer, and I have not the slightest doubt about your skill, but I must decline once again. We have a great deal of work ahead of us and very little time."

With a smirk, Master turned toward the cocoons and spoke.

"You’re right. Hmm... I suppose I should start with those spider chimeroids that weren't damaged by the Terror's fire. They’ll be the easiest to handle. Besides, having some extra pairs of hands certainly wouldn't hurt... But I’ll tackle that tomorrow! That’s all for today! It’s been an incredibly grueling day, and we’ve all earned a rest!"

"Agreed," nodded Violetta, who was also thoroughly exhausted.

Having verified once more that the cocoons were safe and the flow of energy to the healing weaves remained stable, Master—accompanied by his pupae and Violetta—left the dungeon of the occupied palace. His mood, previously ruined by the ill-timed appearance of that accursed Terror of Diyarten, lifted noticeably thanks to the grace of the Greatest. He did not doubt for a second that the trial set before him was well within his capabilities. Yes, it would be difficult; it would require hard work and careful planning, but he would succeed! And that meant it was truly a mark of the Greatest’s favor—of that, there was no doubt at all!

And, of course, it was a relief to know he could finally return to a normal life, now that he no longer had to worry about the threat posed by the Cocoon! No more huddling in a couple of wretched rooms like some novice acolyte! The entire palace was at his disposal once again, with all its comforts. So, first things first: the baths! In the company of his lovely puppets, naturally! And afterwards—still in their company—a rest in a proper bed! Yes, there was plenty of work ahead; he would have to deal with the matter of Diyarten being transported to who-knows-where—perhaps even find a way to adjust the process—but all that could wait until tomorrow! For today, he could finally relax!

With these thoughts and his mood fully restored, Master bade farewell to Violetta—who was heading to the rooms assigned to her and her children on the upper floors—and entered the palace baths accompanied by the puppets. He made straight for the most luxurious of them—those reserved for the House’s elite—shedding his garments as he walked; Shira and Naidira, who were bringing up the rear, promptly gathered them up. Upon entering a private chamber featuring a wide, circular bath carved from dark marble with a stunning natural pattern, Master stepped straight into the water.

After all, one of the countless perks of being able to split one’s stream of consciousness is the ability to have marionette-servants prepare everything needed for relaxation in advance, without having to break off from one’s main tasks! The water was already hot and infused with aromatic salts found in the beauty chambers' storerooms—salts that, admittedly, had to be checked several times first (including with alchemical reagents), given the nature of those dark-eared bitches. Sure enough, a couple of sealed salt vessels had to be set aside after very cleverly concealed additives were discovered inside. Then came a re-check of the ones that had passed the initial tests, ultimately revealing unwanted additives in yet another couple of containers—specifically in the vessels themselves, or rather, on their inner walls. Those damned schemers; if the palace’s inhabitants hadn't long since been devoured by the Terror, Master would have hunted them down on principle and treated them to a taste of their own nasty tricks. Oh, it felt so good!

Stepping into the bathing pool, Master sat on the bottom right in the center, submerging himself completely. For a few blissful seconds, he reveled in the streams of water directed through small openings in the walls by enchantments woven into the marble itself. Magnificent... Just what he needed after the day he’d had! He hadn't been this exhausted since the chase and the final battle with his pursuers—and that hadn't been as long ago as he would have liked! Ideally, such things shouldn't happen at all! Those cursed pointy-ears... they would pay for the destroyed laboratory... and the puppets...

Emerging from the water, Master sat on the submerged ledge running along the side of the pool and leaned back against the rim. Saya, already standing ready, immediately stepped up and began lathering his hair, massaging his scalp with her gentle, sensitive fingers. Meanwhile, Bazita slipped into the water opposite Master, holding Nodri tucked under her arm; she promptly began playing with the halfling, much like a mother bathing a small child. The blonde halfling wasn't exactly thrilled about this—she was generally annoyed by the orc woman treating her like a living toy—but there was nothing she could do. Not only was she tiny compared to Bazita, but the orc also possessed significant magic resistance—a trait she’d had even before, thanks to Master’s patterns—and that resistance had grown even stronger after she acquired the Tablet.

So, Nodri—who snorted in annoyance after every dunking—had no choice but to endure the antics of a clearly amused Bazita; the latter thought nothing of openly groping the halfling while making comments about her "little bits." This only further irritated the Petty One, who sullenly insisted that, for a halfling, they were hardly "little." Master generally agreed, having some idea of ​​the typical proportions of her kin—even if none of his own puppets shared that build. Still, he would have to enlarge her breasts when he got around to it.

While Saya lathered the hair of the blissfully relaxed Master, and Bazita played in the bath with Nodti, Shira and Nydira—having modestly taken a spot in the corner—diligently washed themselves, making do with loofahs and pitchers enchanted to keep the water warm. Personally, Master had no objection to them joining him in the bath, but he decided—at least for today—not to interfere with Saya’s pedagogical methods. She, true to the customs of her people, believed that any concubine had to earn the privilege of bathing alongside her master—a point she had explained quite clearly to Nydira and, to some extent, Shira. Oh well, let her have her fun; she’s earned it. Mmm, pure bliss...

Master was enjoying the way the skillful hands of his almond-eyed assassin massaged his head. Bazita, having finished playing with Nodry, leaned back comfortably against the edge of the bathing pool—just as he had—and settled the Petty One onto her lap. Looking thoroughly displeased, she immediately latched onto Bazita’s ample breast, drawing a brief, amused smile from Master as he watched.

The token’s effect wore off ages ago, yet both Bazita and Violetta continue to periodically "feed" their offspring, doing so almost unconsciously—even if not quite as often as when the token was active. It is highly amusing to watch, especially in Violetta’s case. It would be even funnier to point it out to her, but doing so right now would be counterproductive. They may be in the same boat now, but given the circumstances, unnecessary friction and fresh grievances are the last thing anyone needs. First, they have to deal with the mess caused by that accursed Terror...

At the thought of the destroyed cocoon, Master felt his mood sour once more. That cursed spawn of the depths had deprived him of such a masterpiece! And how much simpler everything would have been with it... Right! Enough! He would think about all that tomorrow! For now, he needed to rest.

Once Saya had finished washing his hair, the languid Master stepped out of the pool and lay down on the massage table; his almond-eyed assassin—who had also long since shed her clothes—began the massage, a skill she had mastered better than any of his other puppets. After pouring aromatic oil over Master’s back, she began to knead his muscles, running her palms along his spine from neck to tailbone. Mmm, it felt so good... For this skill alone—even had she not been an assassin of the Unseen Clan—she would have been worth claiming. Squinting in pleasure, Master could literally feel the tension of the past few days—compounded by the appearance of the Terror—melting away from his shoulders under the touch of her skillful palms gliding across his back.

All in all, things hadn't turned out too badly. True, it wasn't exactly how he’d wanted, but the main thing was that he was alive, free, and in possession of the Tablet! As for the rest—those were just problems he would certainly solve. And he would repay everyone in full—especially the pointy-ears—just give him a chance...

Oh, for heaven's sake! Master groaned inwardly upon realizing that, instead of simply enjoying the massage, he had—without even noticing—split his train of thought again to consider his next moves and specific ways to show his gratitude. After all, this property had a serious downside to go along with its obvious advantages. Sighing, he forced himself to stop thinking about the tasks ahead and simply enjoy the massage from Saya, who had long since straddled him and was using more than just her hands for the job.

After savoring the sensation of her breasts sliding against his back a moment longer, Master carefully rolled over beneath the rising Saya; she immediately leaned over him again, brushing her breasts against his body as she kissed him. Eagerly returning the kiss of his almond-eyed puppet, Master ran his hands along her body, delighting in the silky skin that concealed clearly defined, steely muscles. Breaking the kiss, Saya gave a pleased giggle and shifted slightly to straddle her master more comfortably. Languid and relaxed, Master surrendered the initiative entirely to her, doing nothing more than steadying her by the hips.

Naturally, given that kind of preparatory massage, he didn't last long. He could have delayed the inevitable conclusion by manipulating his subtle bodies, of course, but he chose not to, and soon reached his climax. After catching his breath and letting Saya tidy herself up, Master remained lying on the table, trying to clear his mind. His almond-eyed assassin, looking extremely pleased with herself, headed off to the bathing area. Nydira, having already finished washing, immediately approached her with a respectful bow of her head. As Saya stepped into the pool, the dark-skinned, pointed-eared woman began carefully washing and then combing out her long hair.

Watching the scene through half-lidded eyes, Master chuckled inwardly. Saya hadn't had much time lately to properly train the Dark Elf; she had other priorities. After all, as the most experienced of them, she had to venture into the city several times to help Master weave a web for—ha-ha—what was now definitely his spider-woman. Yet, she hadn't completely neglected the matter, managing to find at least an hour here and there to work with Nydira. As a result, the sharp-eared Dark Elf was steadily turning into something akin to Saya’s personal handmaiden—an arrangement Master didn't mind in the slightest. His almond-eyed assassin had earned a reward, after all, so why shouldn't she have a plaything-companion like that? After all, Bazita had found one for herself, too.

Bazita, sitting on the opposite side of the pool, had long since finished feeding PettyOne; she now had the girl seated on her knee, facing away, and was vigorously caressing her between the legs with one massive hand while fondling her "little bits" with the other. Bazita paid no heed to the increasingly loud moans or the increasingly feeble protests, and before long, both reached the inevitable climax. Letting out a loud, slightly guttural laugh, Bazita planted a passionate kiss on the now-limp Nodri. To an observer, it might have looked as though the orc-woman intended to devour her. In principle, many of Bazita’s kin might well have done just that, but Master had long since thoroughly purged his puppet of even the slightest trace of such inclinations. If one were to "taste" such cuties, it would be in a very different sense. Ah, if only one could find the spare time to properly work on Petty One—tweaking her appearance and transforming her into... well, not a full-fledged puppet, perhaps, but at least a middling one. Just average. So she’d be of more use. Although if she were gifted with enhancements and further empowered by the Tablet... Damn...

Realizing that he had once again nearly split his consciousness into separate streams of thought, Master sighed resignedly and closed his eyes. No, this property definitely had its downsides. He would have to work on it. But later.

After lying on the massage table a little longer, Master carefully stepped down and, draping a looted robe of dark spider-silk over himself, signaled his puppets. By then, Bazita had finished playing with Petty One, while Nydira had thoroughly washed Saya, carefully drying and combing her hair with a specialized household wand. Leaving the bathing chamber, Master headed to what were now his private quarters, accompanied by them, having dismissed the halfling and the dark elves to rest.

After ascending to the top floor and quickly verifying once more that all the palace’s controlled weaves were functioning normally—and that the worker spiders weren't aimlessly wandering the city but were instead either guarding the remaining eggs or hunting for prey—Master finally collapsed back onto his magnificent new bed with a sigh of pure bliss, spreading his arms wide and gazing up at the ceiling. Oh, he had so much work ahead of him—tomorrow, the day after, and the day after that... But for now...

Master’s thoughts were interrupted by Bazita, who loomed over him demandingly with a satisfied smile—one that, on her, looked more like a bared-teeth snarl. He closed his eyes and chuckled inwardly. Well, he might as well reward his second puppet, too, even if she’d had less work to do. Letting her straddle him—just as Saya had done in the bath—Master lazily draped one arm behind his head while running the other along the orc woman’s thigh, watching the sway of Bazita’s massive breasts. He was so languid from the bath and Saya’s massage that he didn’t even feel the urge to grope them; instead, he simply lay there, letting the orc woman do all the work as he watched the rhythmic bobbing of her huge bosom and stroked her steel-hard, sculpted muscles...

Appearing out of nowhere behind Bazita, Saya wrapped her right arm around her companion’s chest and her left around her waist, placing her palm right against the lower belly. At the same time, she playfully nipped the orc woman’s neck. All of this was accompanied by precise touches to key points of the subtle bodies. Bazita jerked for a moment, eyes and mouth wide with surprise, but then—as if nothing had happened—resumed the rhythmic swaying of her hips while straddling the Master. Breaking off the playful nip, Saya gave a pleased giggle, leaned in close to Bazita’s ear, and gave it a playful lick. But before she could say a word, Master spoke wearily:

"Saya."

His almond-eyed assassin, having understood everything perfectly, immediately put on a pitiful little face.

"Not now. And not today. Later."

Letting out a pointedly wistful sigh, his almond-eyed assassin refrained from snapping her captive friend out of the trance she had induced through precise stimulation of the subtle energy bodies—yet she took things no further. She contented herself with simply fondling the orc woman’s breasts, gradually stoking her arousal and eliciting satisfied, guttural moans. In the end, both Master and Bazita climaxed simultaneously; the orc woman held nothing back, letting out a growl so loud that, were it not for the chamber’s protective wards, half the palace would have heard her. Breathing heavily, Bazita all but slid off Master, collapsing onto the bed beside him and staring up at the ceiling. Saya immediately settled in next to her, draping a leg over her and smiling contentedly. Master himself moved to her other side, resting his head on her shoulder and using a mental touch to gently shift the orc woman’s trance into natural sleep.

Ah, those Harem wars.. Watching them was actually quite entertaining, and Master generally didn't interfere with their course. But right now, the balance of power was tipped too heavily in Saya's favor, and that wasn't interesting. Bazita herself certainly wouldn't have minded putting Saya in her place, but she stood little chance of doing so—especially now that Saya knew about one of the Orc-girl's Tablet gifts and wouldn't fall for it so easily a second time. It wasn't without reason that she was lying so calmly beside her now. Oh well, he would deal with the matter of resuming that fascinating pastime—watching his puppets vie for his attention—later, once he had replenished their ranks, at least partially. If only he could find the time for it... Sigh... No matter. He’d manage. Fortunately, he already had candidates in mind; he just needed to reach out and claim them...

With these thoughts—fully content and satisfied—Master soon fell asleep in the embrace of his precious puppet, utterly confident of the victories that lay ahead...

* * *

The dream was vivid and absolutely surreal…

A sense of stubborn hopelessness seemed to descend upon Master from all sides, compounded by a dull—and not-so-dull—malice and rage directed at unknown yet numerous, seemingly endless enemies with whom an equally endless war was being waged—and here, there was nothing but that war…

Surrounding him was a vast—no, truly gigantic—hall, likely an order of magnitude larger than the inner sanctum of the First Temple in Iyastar. Opposite the entrance—an opening wide enough for even an adult dragon to pass through without needing to tuck in its wings—stood a dais of colossal, almost grotesquely massive proportions. Upon it rested a throne-artifact of titanic size, clearly of a malevolent nature. There was no doubt about that; Master could distinctly perceive the raw flow of energy coursing through it, within which the flickering lights of alien lives could be discerned—hundreds of lights merging into thousands. And this entire stream was being consumed, utterly and completely, by the entity seated upon that grotesquely colossal throne—the creation of a necromancer-artificer who was clearly far from sanity.

The withered figure of a man—once clearly very tall, indeed immense—was partially encased in grotesque plate armor that appeared to be crafted from gold metal and was richly ornamented. The rest of the body was entwined with vines that had dug directly into the shriveled flesh—or into the artifacts that had replaced entire sections of that flesh.

This creation of an unknown necromancer-artificer radiated such monstrous power that Master felt a genuine chill of dread. Even the Terror of Diyarten would have fled from it—ha-ha—in terror. If it could. No, if it were allowed to. Why, compared to this necro-construct, even any of those self-important celestials—whether Ascended or Ancient—would be like a mere adept facing an archmage. Or rather, a novice apprentice. What kind of… creature… is this? Some sort of deity? Yet it is clearly—if not dead—then very close to it… And what could possibly have killed it, possessing such monstrous power?!

To wound. Understanding arrives suddenly, from an unknown source. The creature is wounded—gravely, almost mortally. Yet that entire colossal structure—that truly monstrous torrent of vital energy it absorbs completely—is being expended solely to keep it from dying completely.

Master’s reflections—as he gazed with awe and dread at the mysterious creature—were interrupted by movement at the foot of the giant throne. Before him, drawn up in a tight rank, stood veritable giants clad in grotesque golden plate armor, towering nearly three meters tall. They were armed with colossal spears, shields, swords, and magical staves that seemed vaguely familiar. In each of them, Master clearly sensed immense power; they were not "gifted" in the sense he was accustomed to, yet they undeniably possessed a formidable strength.

And standing before this rank of giants—who were arrayed in a tight formation at the foot of the throne—was yet another giant, towering just as high as the rest. Unlike the others, however, he was clad in blue armor and wore no full-face helmet, revealing a rugged, masculine face framed by short golden hair and adorned with a golden wreath. Standing right beside him—practically shoulder-to-shoulder—was a very tall woman; she was scarcely shorter than the three-meter giants themselves. Her elaborate headdress of emerald feathers and long, silvery hair—styled in a towering updo—served to further minimize the height difference. At a single glance, Master instantly recognized her as an elf. Though her appearance differed somewhat from the pointed-eared folk he knew so well, he wasn't easily fooled; he knew that breed inside out. One had only to look at her haughty expression to know exactly what she was. Only the eternally youthful could pull off that particular brand of arrogance! And yet, there was something very strange about her... Hmm... Could she be some sort of elven subspecies? Perhaps...

After giving the pair a close, scrutinizing look, Master realized something else and chuckled inwardly. He wondered if the blond giant’s equipment matched his stature. If so, it would be interesting to see how he’d been plowing that pointy-eared female—assuming she was still alive and able to stand, that is. Because Master was instantly convinced the two of them were sleeping together; a single glance had been enough to tell. The way they stood side by side, the way they carried themselves—that was all he needed to see; experience, after all. Still, this blond fellow—clearly no ordinary man—could probably have found himself a prettier elf. Or at least handed her over to the artisans to make her look more desirable and feminine. Then again, аll the colors taste different...

Master’s train of thought was interrupted by a third figure standing before the blond youth and the elf. It was clad in plate armor as grotesque as that of the giants—though black in color—and stood barely half their height. Yet, it was noticeably broader. Far broader. So much so that the armor gave the figure a somewhat spherical appearance. It looked almost comical; Master had never before seen plate armor designed for such a corpulent individual. However, his amusement vanished instantly the moment he took a closer look at the fatty. He could sense power radiating from him. It was nowhere near the magnitude of the necro-construct on the giant throne—indeed, it seemed insignificant by comparison—yet it was far from negligible. But Master’s guard went up instantly for another reason. There was something familiar about this fat man in black-and-gold armor—something familiar, perhaps even akin to a blood tie—in the unappealing face left exposed without a helmet.

Master, now on his guard, peered closely at the fat man (he felt like he’d seen him somewhere before... or had he?) and suddenly realized the fellow was consumed by a burning sense of injustice. While the three-meter-tall blond—looking for all the world like a priest delivering a sermon—spoke with fervor about the necro-construct on the throne and paused repeatedly to thank Stefaron the Immense for the massive aid he and his comrades had provided in the fight against some Chaos worshippers, Stefaron himself was thinking only of the unfairness of the world he’d been dumped into thanks to some guy named Willi. After all, why did this Guilliman get to have his own top-tier tsundere elf-girl without anyone saying a word, whereas when he tried to snag a couple of those BDSM-loving elf-girls, the locals nearly shot him dead? Sure, they apologized later and admitted they’d never imagined such rapid and effective methods for interrogating Drukhari prisoners... but they still didn't let him keep them. Oh well—to hell with the local Dark Elf women—but they could have at least handed over a local cat-girl... but no... It’s just not fair!

Stefaron’s musings on the cosmic injustice of the world were abruptly and horrifyingly interrupted. Quite suddenly—while the blond giant named Guilliman continued to speak with fervor to the fatty about the necro-construct upon the throne—that very construct rose to its feet, stood on tiptoe, and stretched. It did so in utter silence. No one witnessed it—save for Stefaron, whose eyes bulged with terror and whose jaw dropped open. The golden giants stood with their backs to the throne, their gaze fixed upon it and the pair of lovebirds. The latter also had their backs to the throne, looking instead at the fatty: the blond one with gratitude, the elf-woman with textbook haughtiness and a mere hint of fastidiousness.

Stefaron—who was practically shitting himself with primal terror (and Master understood him perfectly)—stared with wide eyes and a gaping mouth at the necro-construct rising from the throne, desperately trying to force a sound out. But his throat seized up; instead of a scream, only an incoherent rasp emerged. The blond one and those around him clearly mistook this reaction for a fit of awe, and the young man continued his impassioned oration. Yet, just a moment before the fat man could overcome his paralysis and scream in terror, the necro-construct—now fully upright—pressed a withered finger against its lips with a single, swift motion of a withered hand. Or rather, against what remained of them. Then, just as quickly, it drew that finger across its throat, fixing its single, surprisingly lifelike eye directly on Stefaron. Stefaron instantly snapped his mouth shut, afraid not only to move but even to breathe. Having stretched its limbs, the necro-construct silently sank back onto its throne and resumed its original pose. As if nothing had happened at all.

The fatty, pale as death, managed to swallow—a gesture the blond fellow, now touched, interpreted in his own way, booming good-naturedly.

"I see that you, too, are struck by my father's story and the sacrifice he made, esteemed Stepharon."

Licking his parched lips, Stepharon managed to force out.

"I am struck to the very depths of my soul…"

The dream changes, yet remains just as colorful and surreal…

A heavy, oppressive sense of wrongness washes over the Master. Of imperfection. Of corruption. As if the world around him were broken…

He is standing in the square of a fairly large city, beside a tall stone building—likely the palace of the local ruler. Its facades are richly adorned with numerous, intricately detailed reliefs. Master has no time to examine them closely, however, as his attention is drawn to a middle-aged man dressed in dark robes of an unusual cut, with short dark hair and a neatly trimmed beard. The man exuded a power that hinted at darkness and cruel mockery. He was no Magister, yet clearly on the level of a master—though it was hard to be more precise than that. The man looked Master straight in the eye—with a look that suggested a sense of recognition (had he seen him somewhere before? Or perhaps not?)...—then nodded toward a group of people walking across the square behind him, heading for the ruler’s palace, and spoke.

"Yeah, these are the guys."
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RA3ULeZViLA

Beckoning Master—who was instantly intrigued—to follow, he walked calmly and confidently toward them. The group was led by a young man with a look of extreme displeasure on his face. Some sort of noble with an entourage, Master realized. And clearly not one of the impoverished sort; the garments worn by both him and his retinue were made of fine, high-quality fabric. Yet, for some reason, they bore utterly absurd coats of arms featuring cat faces—designs that looked ridiculous, though perhaps a little cute. Upon reaching them, the man in dark clothing offered a calm greeting:

"Greetings."

His words produced an unexpected effect. The entire group of people practically jumped in unison. The young man leading them—who sported a cat’s face right on the chest of his magnificent doublet—actually squealed at the sight of the man.

"YOU!!!! Guards! Guards! He's here!!! Guards!"

He, too, reached for his weapon, as did his retinue. Yet, for some reason, he did not dare be the first to attack the man in dark clothing—who remained utterly calm—even though he could sense power in him as well. It was not a vast amount of power—somewhere around the level of an Adept, perhaps... it was hard to tell, no matter how closely Master tried to scrutinize him. His retainers—some of whom also possessed power and had drawn their weapons—likewise refrained from charging. Instead, they began to slowly encircle the man who had greeted them. Passersby in the square also began to stop, watching the unfolding spectacle with interest; fortunately, the stage had been prepared beforehand with great care. Once a sufficient crowd had gathered—including a few guards who had run over—the man, who had been holding his hands raised before him, began the performance by speaking with perfect composure.

"Calm down, I’m not going anywhere. I just wanted to ask you something."

"I’ll question you myself, you cursed jester! I’ll make you answer for every single one of your filthy little jokes—there’s no wriggling out of this, and you won’t be getting away this time!!!" shrieked the young man, clad in a garment featuring a cat’s face on the chest and brandishing an enchanted rapier, waves of light rippling intermittently along its blade.

"I would be happy to answer all your questions. But first, allow me to ask one. These are your ancestors, aren't they?" The man nodded toward the numerous and highly detailed reliefs adorning the walls of the city ruler's palace.

It depicted two armies poised to clash in a brutal battle. One consisted of humans, the other of various types of monsters. A man clad in dark robes pointed to one of the human groups standing beneath a banner bearing the image of a lion’s head—a motif that also adorned their armor and shields. The young man—still spraying spittle as he spoke, and wearing garments decorated with images of feline faces—screeched even louder.

"Yes, these are my ancestors—who, among other noble Houses, defended this city against the invasion of the Twisted!!! And you shall pay for defiling our coat of arms…"

The man, who remained completely calm—even though he was already surrounded by a fairly dense crowd that included not only ordinary onlookers but also a considerable number of guards, some of whom possessed special powers—interrupted him and asked.

"And who is this? Your great-grandfather?"

Everyone involuntarily turned their gaze to the relief—and froze in astonishment. For a new figure had appeared in the intricately detailed scene depicting a battle between the armies of men and some sort of hideous creatures. Standing precisely between the forces poised to clash was a young man in fine robes adorned with cat faces; his eyes were wide and his features twisted in terror as he stared directly at the onlookers—who, in turn, were staring back at him. At that moment, a man clad in dark garments exchanged a meaningful look with Master, then quickly walked away, leaving the scene. And just as he reached the edge of the square, shouts rang out behind him.

"Holy crap!!! What have you done?! Bring back our master!!! Seize him!!! Grab that damned harlequin!!!"

But the man, having sharply picked up his pace, had already turned into a side alley, vanishing without a trace.

The dream shifts again, remaining just as colorful yet just as surreal.

Master is practically overwhelmed by a quiet yet potent rage, mingled with a dull, simmering irritation. The source of this anger—which he is forced to suppress with all his might—stands right before him. It is a young half-elf clad in white and emerald robes, flanked by a white-haired female elf in an unusual white-and-violet outfit, as well as a red-haired cat-girl and a blonde human woman wearing attire similar to Saya’s. All four are glaring at Master with undisguised hostility; their very presence infuriates him, stirring a dark urge to do something terrible. This is especially true of the half-elf, whose appearance and essence seem utterly false, deceptive, and illusory.

The reason for Master’s simmering irritation stands a little to the side, positioned between him and the half-elf: a young man wearing a shamanic headdress made from the feathers of some exotic bird, holding a tambourine and a mallet. To his right—though slightly behind him—stands a girl from the steppes with a wary, disgruntled expression and slanted eyes; she is clearly a shaman as well. To his left stands a scrawny tomboy. Judging by her face and bearing, one might think she had just been dragged out of a slum alleyway. Yet she radiates power—and considerable power at that—though it is tainted by something putrid and deeply unpleasant. Both she and the steppe girl are casting hostile, wary glances at Master—unlike their patron.

There wasn’t a trace of fear on his face—only boundless weariness mixed with a similarly dull irritation. You didn’t even need to read his thoughts to see just how sick and tired he was of the whole situation. Sighing heavily and practically rolling his eyes, he spoke—clearly not for the first time.

"Let's put an end to this circus. Either the three of us come to an agreement, or we go our separate ways and try to sort out this whole shitshow on our own."

Master’s simmering irritation intensified sharply, eclipsing even his anger toward the half-elf. The reason was simple: the Shaman was right. That was precisely what infuriated him—to the point of grinding his teeth. Master acknowledged the truth of the words, yet accepting them was no easier for him. Judging by the look on his face—an expression practically begging for a close encounter with Bazita’s fist—the Half-elf was feeling much the same way. Twisting his haughty, quintessentially elven features into a sneer, he grumbled.

"Without knowing the conditions, we are all taking a huge risk. And if we fail, the situation will become even worse for us."

Sighing heavily once more and finally rolling his eyes, the Shaman said.

"It’s already lousy! And it’s going to get even worse soon. We need a reward for this trial. All of us," he added, casting a meaningful glance at both Master and the Half-elf.

The dull irritation intensified even further.

"I agree that agreeing to the trial without knowing the terms is very risky. But I’m certain that three magisters—with their retinues—can handle it. Especially if we work together. And without any bullshit," the Shaman added, giving a look that was even more meaningful.

Master’s simmering irritation reached a boiling point; he felt an urge—if not to smash everything around him to smithereens—then at least to let out a furious shout. Yet, to his immense vexation, the shaman was right. Pressing his lips together, Master gave a slow nod and clipped out.

"Okay."

The Half-elf standing opposite, with a grim and disgruntled expression, also spoke briefly and curtly.

"Okay."

The Shaman nodded, though the effort was great—yet he had already breathed a sigh of relief for the third time.

"Okay."

Consent to the joint trial of the Greatest was given. At that very instant, the three of them—along with their retinues—found themselves in a strange, circular chamber devoid of windows or doors, divided into three sectors. Each sector contained sleeping quarters, dining areas, and screened-off lavatories—in short, everything necessary for a temporary stay. In the center of the room lay a communal area featuring a round table. Five unusual-looking armchairs sat around it, complete with comfortable armrests, high backs with headrests, and soft seats. Five wide, rectangular magic mirrors stood upon the table, while strange artifacts rested beneath it. Master felt as though he had seen them somewhere before, though he couldn't recall exactly where, as a sudden realization dawned on him.

The terms of the upcoming trial. Upon realizing them, he felt a wave of immense relief. They had to select five members of their retinue; these individuals, acting as a team, would simply need to win a competition in a game with an obscure name—a game played using those strange artifacts. They had three days to prepare. During this time, they could assist their chosen team members in any way they saw fit. Afterward, however, they could offer only advice. They could not play directly for them or control them via mind-reading or mental influence—that was the restriction. Ha, so this was the trial? Nothing more than a game. And to think he had feared they might have to…

"Dammit!!!"

"Fuck!!!"

The simultaneous reaction of the Half-elf and the Shaman—both clutching their heads—instantly put Master on alert and made him suspect something was amiss…

The next moment, a wave of utter despair and anger washed over him—directed both at himself and at the two who had finally talked him into this reckless scheme, a venture now threatening to result in problems a hundred times worse than anything they had faced before. The cause was the realization of a simple truth: in the three days allotted for preparation—two of which had already slipped by—it was impossible to teach the members of his retinue to play this cursed game even passably well. Simply impossible! True, they were all trying hard, and he had even helped transfer the rules of the game—shared by the Shaman and the Half-elf (who had practically dripped venom at the necessity of letting Master into his mind)—directly into their heads. But…

Clutching his head, the Half-elf voiced the general opinion.

"We fucked up..."

The shaman didn't exactly radiate optimism either, yet he ventured a suggestion tinged with a glimmer of hope.

"Maybe we’ll get lucky. We might run into some rookie recruits... or just a bunch of beer-loving crabs..."

"Yeah, right! That would’ve been too easy! As if they’d just throw opponents like that our way for the promised reward? They’ll probably pit us against some The International champions, and we’re fucking done for! Damn it, what a diabolical setup! Why the hell did it have to be *this* specific challenge?! What kind of bastard set this up for us?!"

At these words, the shaman’s eye twitched involuntarily, though the half-elf—unlike Master—failed to notice. In any case, Master had other things on his mind; he needed to find a way to avert the looming catastrophe. Yet he was completely devoid of ideas on how to do so! Judging by his expression, the shaman—let alone the half-elf—was equally at a loss, though he tried to remain optimistic:

"Well, there is some hope. After all…"

"They fucked your mom by the whole neighborhood! That's how you were made! You lost mid—so shut up, you useless crab!

The voice of the tomboy sitting at the central table—clearly a shaman picked up in some flea-ridden slum—and never once taking her eyes off the artifact mirror, held equal measures of anger, thrill, and smugness.

"He collected God knows what and boasted! If you don't know how to play, don't interfere with the one who is carrying the game for you! Stop, stop, they're biting you! Fuck yes, I told you so! Bitch, got it, mute and report!"

“…we have one decent player,” the shaman concluded.

Master and the half-elf glanced simultaneously toward the central table; there, alongside the tomboy, Shira and Saya were practicing, joined by the steppe shamaness and the cat-girl. Of all their shared retinue, these four had adapted best to this cursed game. Yet "best" did not mean "well"—it was simply that the others fared even worse. Bazita, in fact, had nearly smashed the artifacts and the table to bits after yet another defeat; the Master had been forced to calm her down using direct control. So, unlike the tomboy—who had taken to this cursed game quite well—the other four wore expressions of utter gloom and fury. They were struggling mightily with the wretched game. Worst of all, their abilities offered little help here. Truly, they would have been better off if the Greatest Ones had sent the three of them to repel a demonic invasion or something of the sort...

"She won't be able to pull it off alone," the half-elf said wistfully.

"But I did click it! What the—khear-shayar, khanur ash tak lak!" the steppe girl suddenly screamed, turning bright red with rage; she had switched to her native tongue and nearly flung aside one of the artifact pieces needed for the game.

"A silence hung over you," said the red-haired cat-girl—her tail fully fluffed and twitching from side to side—without tearing her tense gaze away from her mirror.

"What the... ah... how... but why!? I..."

"Well, we still have a day," the shaman said with a note of doomed hope.

It wouldn’t help, tMaster realized. And he was right. Watching the decisive match—which was increasingly turning against their team, despite the best efforts of the tomboy who had truly settled into her role—he felt a quiet panic rising in his chest. For what were already very serious problems now threatened, following the failure of the joint trial, to turn into an outright catastrophe. The shaman and the half-elf stood nearby with equally grim, resigned expressions, evidently thinking the very same thing. Biting his lip, the latter spoke in desperationю

"We need to come up with something!"

Master’s irritation and anger instantly soared to extreme heights, and he could not restrain himself:

"What?! There’s no way we can help them! And we can’t do anything about their rivals, either! Even if we track them down, they’re in your world! We can’t reach them…"

The half-elf, who had spun sharply toward him, widened his eyes and blurted out.

"What did you say?!"

"I’m saying that we can't reach..."

"Before! What did you say?!"

Suppressing the urge to lunge at the idiot with his fists, Master hissed.

"What if we track them out…"

With a look of sheer astonishment, the half-elf interrupted him again.

"You’re not such a fucking moron after all…"

Master nearly choked with indignation but didn't get a word out, as the half-elf rushed to his cot and flopped down, closing his eyes and instantly falling asleep—leaving everyone around him staring in astonishment. He lay there for several minutes, during which the party’s situation—despite the tombo's desperate attempts to carry the match—deteriorated significantly. Master had just firmly resolved that, should he survive the fallout of their failed trial, he would never—under no circumstances and for no reward—team up with these two again, when the half-elf’s eyes flew open, and he sprang from the bed. He nearly fell over, his legs tangling beneath him. Brushing aside his female elf—who was, in all likelihood, his true master—he stumbled a couple of times before rushing toward his cat-girl with a look of near-madness on his face; she had just been killed yet again, the victim of a blatantly stupid mistake.

"So! Listen up! I strongly advise you to write the following: you’re fucking done for, you fucking cheater. Write it—write exactly what I’m telling you... I mean, advising! I’ve tracked you down by your IP! IP—write exactly that, yeah. Kukoshkin Dmitry Vagifovich, Ust-Usryupinsk, Leninsky Prospekt, Building 39, Apartment 21! Don’t even try to run; they’re already on their way to you! They’ll be there in seven minutes. Yeah, write that down! Oof..."

Under the genuinely dumbfounded gaze of the shaman and Master—who hadn't a clue what was going on—the cat-girl carried out the order. A minute later, she let out a cry of astonishment.

"He disconnected! And another one... They all disconnected! The entire enemy team! We won!!!"

For a few seconds, everyone—including Master—simply could not believe what had just happened. Then, shouts of jubilation and relief erupted as the Tablet confirmed the trial’s completion. For a fleeting moment, the thought even crossed the Master’s mind that the half-elf wasn’t such a worthless nobody after all. Just for a moment. The shaman, no less stunned than those around him, spoke with undisguised surprise and a hint of respect.

"That's brutal. Did you actually track them down via their IP address?"

"Well, not exactly by IP address, but I did track them down," the half-elf sighed with a strained smile.

"Oh! We just got a message! From some guy named Valve..." the shaman's scrawny apprentice—who had remained seated at the table—interrupted the general jubilation.

Everyone turned toward her at once, and she continued.

"They write that our actions toward other players have been deemed unacceptable and unsportsmanlike. And that their company has decided to take the most drastic measures against you. Agents are already on their way."

At these words, the half-elf and the shaman nearly choked, and the former asked incredulously.

"What?! What measures? What agents? We’re in a completely different…"

The room they were all in was suddenly violently shaken; the lights flickered, and the world went topsy-turvy. The last thing the panicked Master heard was an incomprehensible, terror-filled scream.

"Dammit, it's the Gaben's agents!!! Fuck!!!"

* * *

Opening his eyes, Master stared at the ceiling for a few moments. What the… His mind was a chaotic jumble. Giants in golden armor, a palace adorned with reliefs, cursing slum tomboy. He closed his eyes and concentrated, but could recall almost nothing else. Right. Opening his eyes again, he grimaced in displeasure. This wasn't good. And he needed to sort it out. When he had the time. If only he could find the time…

Yawning and stretching, Master used a mental command to silence the music box whose melody had woken him. Beside him, Bazita stirred grumpily, burying her face in the pillow; Sai was already out of bed. Having finished stretching, Master sat on the late matriarch’s lavish queen-size bed and let his gaze wander over the naked orc woman’s body—barely covered by the blanket—lingering on her massive yet firm buttocks. A thought crossed his mind to put them to their intended use, but after a moment’s reflection, Master dismissed the idea with considerable regret. There was so much to do, and time was... well... No. Later. Grimacing, Master settled for a single, resounding smack on Bazita’s backside, effectively shaking the last remnants of sleep from the disgruntled orc woman.

Master also thwarted her sly attempt to roll onto her back and seduce him with her ample tits—hoping to linger in bed a little longer—though not without some effort. He would have dearly loved to rest after the encounter with the spider-woman, which had ended so unpleasantly, but there were still some pressing matters to attend to first. So, he settled for giving Bazita’s nipples a couple of pinches and climbed out of bed.

As he tidied himself up, he simultaneously checked the locations of the other puppets and marionettes, as well as Violetta and her children. Good—they were already waiting for him in the dining room for breakfast. Excellent—there had been no incidents overnight. Splendid—the palace’s magical wards were functioning normally. If only it were always like this!

Having finished tidying himself up and getting dressed, Master—accompanied by Bazita, who was still yawning widely—went down a floor and headed toward one of the palace dining halls, where he knew he was expected. Upon entering, he gave a polite nod to Violetta; she had already finished her meal and was seated at the head table, wearing one of the captured dresses. Her children were seated beside her, and a small stack of paper along with writing implements lay on the table. Opposite her sat Saya, clad not in her usual assassin’s garb, but in a captured robe of bright scarlet and gold spider-silk, embroidered with spider-themed patterns. The almond-eyed puppet had already finished breakfast and was now leisurely sipping herbal tea.

Nydira, standing at attention beside her—also clad in a looted robe, though one of black-and-silver silk—poured tea into her cup. This attire, combined with her hair styled in an Eastern fashion, made her look like the concubine of some high-ranking noble from the Empire of the Rising Sun. A short distance away from the Edelhart family and Saya with her charge sat Shira and Nodri; while the former was finishing her breakfast with decorum and leisure, the halfling was devouring her food with gusto—it was a mystery how she managed to put in so much.

At a nearby separate table, the rest of the marionettes—including a pair of dark elves—were finishing their meal. Under normal circumstances, the very idea of ​​such a disgrace—sharing a table with slave-servants—would have made them sick to their stomachs! But he had successfully rid them of that prejudice, along with a number of others. Not all of them, though; ideally, they—like the rest of the marionettes—would need to undergo a proper, thorough conditioning process... Sigh—time; if only one could find a little extra time!

"Greetings, honored Master," Violetta nodded politely in return.

"Lady Edelhart. Young Lady Edelhart. Dacius."

After greeting his partner and her children—who were frankly afraid of him—Master took his seat at the head of the table. Bazita plopped down right next to him, sitting ostentatiously close. One of the marionettes, having paused its meal the moment he entered the dining hall, immediately set an enchanted tray of food before Master, followed by two more trays for Bazita. It then hurried off to fetch a third tray for her, along with drinks. Grinning broadly, the orc woman—completely ignoring Saya’s disapproving glare—promptly stuffed an entire loaf of bread into her mouth, chewing and swallowing it in a flash.

"Today we opened our last sack of flour," said Violetta, glancing first at Bazita and then shifting her gaze meaningfully to Master.

Grimacing, he nodded.

"Yes, I remember, but for now, we still have other supplies."

"There are," Violetta nodded, "but not as many as I would like. And I would very much like—if, of course, it is possible for you—to discuss this and other pressing matters with you right now, honored Master."

Smiling, he popped a handful of dried forest berries into his mouth and said.

"To you, my dear Violetta, I am simply Master. And I am listening to you closely."

Casting a glance at the marionettes sitting at the neighboring table, then at Master’s puppets, and only last of all at her own children seated on either side of her, Violetta cautiously asked.

"Right there?"

With a smirk, Master leaned back in his chair, accepting a glass of water from the palace spring from the hands of a marionette that had approached with yet another tray for Bazita; then, taking a sip, he asked.

"Why not? There’s no one else around, is there? You, your children, and I are all in the same very tight boat now. My little puppets are absolutely devoted to me. Right, Shira?"

The dark elf froze for a moment, the slice of meat skewered on her silver fork halfway to her lips. Placing it back on her plate and bowing her head, she spoke, striving to sound as calm as possible.

"I strive very hard to be your loyal slave, Master. And so, I cannot lie to you and promise that I would not betray your secrets if I were to fall into the hands of enemies who know how to properly extract answers. Therefore…"

Pausing for a brief moment, she resolutely continued.

"… I think you should not entrust your secrets to anyone without taking measures to ensure they do not fall into the hands of your enemies—even if the person who knows them falls into their power. Master."

Unable to hold it back, Master chuckled softly and rose to his feet with a broad smile. Approaching Shira, who stood frozen in place, he placed his hands on her shoulders and kissed the top of her head.

"Oh, how delightful! Such care for her master—simply the perfect slave! And all this without any alteration of her consciousness on my part!"

Letting his hands slide from her shoulders down to her tits, Master squeezed her through her hunter’s garb, pressing his fingers against her nipples, and leaned toward Shira’s pointed ear:

"Go on, my dear; you're doing a great job. And I really like it."

"Thank you, Master," said Shira, frozen in place, as he continued to fondle her breasts.

"Venerable Master…"

Heaving a heavy sigh, he shifted his gaze to Violetta, who—along with her kids—was pointedly looking away. Right, sure. Snorting, Master gave Shira’s tits another squeeze and planted a tender kiss on the crown of her head before heading back to his seat. As he walked, he wove a protective spell; once seated, he enveloped the entire table in a barrier dome that shut out the sounds of the outside world.

"I highly doubt anyone could be eavesdropping on us; otherwise, we wouldn't be talking right now. And naturally, I will take great care to ensure that no harm comes to either Violetta or her children. But there is a good deal of truth in what you say, Shira—one can never be too careful—and we shall have to give this matter proper attention later on. For the moment, however, I believe this suffices. So, what was it you wished to discuss with me, my dear Violetta?"

Lady Edelhart seemed instantly transformed; pulling a stack of sheets toward herself, she said.

"A lot, venerable Master. I shall begin with what has already been mentioned—the most pressing and mundane, yet no less important, matter: food. Our supplies are running low, and we must decide how to replenish them."

"I’ve already given that some thought," Master nodded. "For the time being, we can use the remaining spiders to hunt local wildlife. There isn't as much left as I’d like, but it’ll be enough for us. Besides, there are still a few wild orchards in the city with subterranean plants. We’re bound to find some fruit there. This will be enough for us for the time being."

"Good." Violetta nodded, quickly making a note on one of the sheets.

Or rather, Dacius—to whom she had handed the sheet—made it. Lady Edelhart herself moved on to the next question:

"The second matter concerns the palace. We have managed to get it into some semblance of order, but we are desperately short of the manpower needed to maintain that state. And it is not just ordinary servants we lack; we need at least a few gifted individuals to whom we can entrust the upkeep and servicing of the palace’s—at the very least—domestic weaves."

"I’ve been thinking about that, too," Master nodded thoughtfully. "In theory, this issue can be resolved. I know—indirectly, of course—people from whom one can purchase ready-made household servants or place a custom order. The only question is how to get in touch with them..."

"If you mean the Os’Olon Trading House, I strongly advise against having any contact with them whatsoever," Violetta said, shaking her head immediately.

In response to Master’s questioning look, she explained.

"Right at the start of the hunt for you, it became known that you had made use of their services—albeit indirectly. That is why they attracted—and, I am certain, still attract—such intense scrutiny. It was already significant, given their… primary commodity. And now, it will be even greater."

Grimacing, Master swore softly.

"Those cursed pointy-eared bastards… Fine, I have other contacts—contacts who, naturally, had not the faintest idea they were dealing with me. The key issue lies elsewhere. Until I sort out the matter of the entire underground hall’s relocation—a little surprise orchestrated by that Accursed Terror—I won’t risk leaving it. Not even via the portal in our palace, or any other located in the city."

"Is that too complicated?" Violetta asked.

Casting a sour look at her, Master replied with a smirk.

"It is too dangerous. Space strongly resists any kind of alteration—especially on such a massive scale. I do not want to run even the slightest risk that our underground hall might be displaced piecemeal rather than as a whole—with disastrous consequences for those inside. Yet opening any portal leading out of the hall carries precisely that risk."

"I completely agree with you and fully approve," Violetta tossed out. "In that case, let's put off resolving this matter until the issue of the relocation is settled."

"Perhaps I’ll be able to put some of the spider-queen’s servants to use once I restore them to their former shapes…"

"That would be wonderful."

While Dacius made another note, Violetta continued, picking up another sheet.

"In that case, I would suggest resolving this issue as a priority. Unless, of course, your assignment can wait," Violetta added.

"It’s highly unlikely I’ll be able to solve it—after all, I already…"

"You understand what I mean, Master," Lady Edelhart interrupted him.

Wincing inwardly—having grown quite unaccustomed to such a manner of speaking—Master spoke.

"It’s hard to say, but the analysis will almost certainly take a couple of days. Maybe longer."

"In that case, I would suggest resolving this issue a priority. Unless, of course, your assignment can wait," Violetta added.

"It can," Master sighed. "Actually, I had planned to first deal with the teleportation the Terror had set up—damn it..."

"Good. Good."

Glancing briefly over her notes, Violetta gave a short nod and said.

"In that case, most of the other issues can wait for now, since they all hinge—one way or another—on the problem of transportation. But there is one I would still like to discuss with you right now, Master. The most important issue of all."

"Oh, and which one is that, Lady Edelhart?"

"What shall we do next, honored Master?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean what I said." Violetta said, as if it went without saying, “What do we do next? We’ve managed to escape our pursuers and deal with the spider for now. But what comes next?”

Looking meaningfully into Master’s eyes, she continued.

"I sincerely hope you aren't counting on the sun-worshippers or the elves to forget about you. And not just them. Many are still looking for you; you yourself mentioned that your mirror continues to reflect the gazes of all manner of seers and visionaries. And if nothing is done, sooner or later, they will find you. They will find us. That is why…"

Leaning forward and clasping her hands in front of her, Violetta asked.

"So, what shall we do next, Master?"

Leaning back in his chair, he thoughtfully scratched his chin and said.

"Now that, Detective, is a good question…"
* * *

Master's status at the end of Chapter 10:

Name: FORGOTTEN "Master"

Level: 64

Class: Wizard

Specialization: Mind Sculptor/Body Sculptor

Characteristics: 2

Talents: 4

Constitution: 2

Sensitivity: 7

Power: 16

Control: 23

Source: 17

Spirit: 4

Resistance: 3

Knowledge:

CORE/ROOT: "Advanced Mastery of Mind Magic:

Methods of consciousness/personality adjustment (subtle/imperceptible, ordinary, coarse); methods for creating a new personality/consciousness + a wide selection of ready-made templates; methods for combining/mixing individual fragments and/or entire parts of a personality/consciousness; dividing a single personality/consciousness into separate fragments, entire parts, or complete personalities/consciousnesses; methods of working with memories (subtle/imperceptible, ordinary, coarse); methods of degradation/destruction of personality/consciousness (subtle/imperceptible, ordinary, coarse); methods of strengthening consciousness/personality (subtle/imperceptible, ordinary, coarse); methods of direct and remote control of consciousness/personality; methods of partial or complete transfer of one's own or another's consciousness/personality to a new host body or material storage device; methods of transferring one's own mind beyond the limits of one's own body;

AUXILIARY:

"Mastery of control and management of internal energies

Methods of cleansing subtle bodies from extraneous energies; methods of healing damaged areas of subtle bodies; methods of direct application of internal energy (concentration/projection/dispersion/extinction);»

Silk Thread School Mastery:

Methods of creating weaving threads (very thin/small/medium); methods of creating nets/webs (very thin/small/medium); combat techniques of using attacking threads (entangling/cutting/piercing); methods of weaving threads into the target's subtle bodies (inconspicuous/aggressive/neutral);"

Puppet School Mastery:

Methods of creating Puppets (techniques/materials/forms); specializations of Dolls (positive/destructive/protective/controlling/masking/universal);»

Mastery of the Tattoo School:

Application methods (techniques/materials/methods); pattern specialization (protective/attacking/enhancing/healing/controlling/masking/universal/specific);»

Mastery of the School of Branding:

Application methods (techniques/materials/methods); brand specialization (control/punishment/surveillance/liquidation);»

"Master Artifact Skills:

Methods for creating broad-based artifacts (techniques/materials/forms); methods for creating narrow-based artifacts (techniques/materials/forms); skills in working with specialized tools for creating artifacts; an expanded set of ready-made templates and concepts for creating artifacts.»

Mastery of the School of Space:

Methods of working with portal arches of short, medium, and long distances (activation/setting/stabilization); methods of creating portals without a material base at short and medium distances (formation/setting/stabilization); methods of direct movement of objects at short distances.»

Advanced Weaves of the School of Flesh Alteration/Biomancy):

Methods of working with individual organs, major parts, or the whole body (enhancement/change/destruction); methods of transplantation and engraftment of organs, major parts, or the body; methods of restoration of organs, major parts, or the whole body.»

Advanced Alchemy of a wide range:

Methods of working with a wide range of alchemical reagents (common/rare/exotic); a set of alchemical recipes of a wide range (common/rare/exotic); methods of working with alchemical tools;»

SECONDARY:

"Master methods of magical hacking", "Advanced methods of working with artifacts and amulets", "Advanced methods of working with external sources of magic", "Advanced methods of conspiracy", "Advanced weaving of a wide profile"

Oral and Written: Free Cities, Academium Neirat, Northern Kingdoms, Classical Elvish (Dark/Light), Dwarven Undermountain.

Minor knowledge:

"Small Space Dissection" (Elite)

Properties:

"Separation of Thought Streams IV", "Weightlessness of Magic III", "Stability of Magic III", "Strengthening of Subtle Bodies IV", "Blessing of Health and Longevity IV", "Sense of Danger IV", "Mind Without Boundaries I" (Elite)

Soul Tablet Modifiers:

"Access to the Goods of the Greatest IV", "Creation of Group III", "Territorial-Spatial Orientation III", "Spatial Pocket II", "Trial of the Greatest" (Elite)

Tokens: "Mind Imprint 1/1", "Ignored Orgasm 100/100", ++"Spatial Beacon 5/5", "Life Preservation 4/5", "Drop of the Source 5/5"

SPECIAL:

Recognition of the Greatest.

A select few among countless intelligent beings are granted the Power of the Greatest, known as the Tablet of the Soul. You were not one of those chosen ones, but you worked hard to prove otherwise. With your mind, talent, and perseverance, you found a way to gain knowledge hidden in the lines of the Tablets through indirect means. As a reward for finding this path, which will now be closed, and for your perseverance, the Great Ones have recognized your merits and granted you a full Tablet of the Soul.

Awards: Tablet of the Soul, “HIDDEN.”

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