Готовый перевод Настучать в бубен / Hit the tambourine: Глава 12

Chapter 12
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The first thing Stepan did was not even think about breaking the curse, and there was only one reason for that, but it was an ironclad reason. The experience bar by the sixteenth level was not just almost full, it literally froze in nano meters from the transition to the new stage. The new upgrade was so close that Stepan could expect to be promoted simply by sneezing too loudly, though he was already overdoing it a bit. The important thing was that before starting such a serious business, it would not hurt him to solve this issue beforehand, just so that later, when he would receive the reward for closing the task and raising the level at the same time, he would not suffer from a migraine, digesting several new gifts, especially if the Autogoddess would add something from herself. That's why he sat down in a meditation pose and began to conduct a completely trivial adjustment of the totem network, preparing it for the next ritual. The experience for this came real crumbs, despite the developed in the emphasis peaceful pumping, but even these tiny crumbs on the promotion was still enough. He had expected to be done in two or three hours, but he was seriously mistaken, the process took barely more than forty minutes, with some of that time spent on preparation and planning.

The system tinkled with that inexpressible and inaudible stream of images that signaled a level up, and then goosebumps ran down his spine as the gift block went off and he received an additional skill from the Autogoddess. Even in a normal situation, the shadow of her presence at the moment of gifting could make his pants feel tight, but after a gift lesson from the best tutor he'd ever had, the tightness almost turned into wetness. He had to take control of his own aura and body functions again, literally on a biological level forbidding his body to reach release. It worked, though it was quite close and even risky - such manipulations with one's own aura had an unpleasant tendency to lead to injury or damage. The Earthman could only hope that such methods would not be necessary any time soon.

Received: “advanced basic techniques for inducing and correcting dreams”.

The acquired talent is added to the overall Player status.

This time the gift of Milf Goddess was of relatively low uselessness, so he didn't have to anger too much. As it was, he used all sorts of sleepwalkers quite actively, constantly summoning them regardless of the fact that the talent had been given by the Autogoddess, and the synergy with the same healing was quite pleasant and useful, even if it did not compare to how effectively this talent interacted with love charms. Combat attacks and curses, coming through the dream world or through the dream allowing to find and calculate the victim, resonating effects on the area, due to the work with the territory to create common dreams for entire groups or filter these dreams in several directions, even the ability to look into dreams from a very long distance in many days of travel, which opened up due to synergy with remote control. As a result of increasing the old skill, which he would have been definitely sorry to spend talents himself, Stepan was very satisfied.

He even analyzed the influence of his renewed talent on the charms, almost calmly and deliberately, just to systematize what he had received from the bounty of the divine. He had received a lot, he had long ago noticed that spirits of the sphere of feelings, passions, willlessness or desire with lust through sleep often act much easier than to influence those who were awake. Well, how often? Not to say that this is directly axiomatic, because there were also enough refutations with a huge reserve, but such a tendency for very many spirits is characteristic, in all spheres and aspects. Still while a person or any other sentient being sleeps, their energy is calm and defenseless as possible, and the spirit becomes close to the spheres as possible. Cursers, seekers and even healers all use this same approach, searching for a loophole in the subtle body relaxed in sleep. He had more tricks in the framework of healing dreams, so why wouldn't he have more in the framework of subjugating dreams? The only difference is that he can use some of them, while others he would prefer to put in the far corner of his memory and not to remember them.

He finished analyzing the new knowledge much slower than he had been grinding in the last crumbs of experience, an hour and a half, maybe more. Every time he meditated like this for longer and longer, more and more time had to be spent even on a single added talent. It's a consequence of the very synergy that adds huge amounts of knowledge related to the already opened specialties, which in fact is much more than the base of the next gift. He involuntarily recalls the first of his promotions, when he still had relatively few talents: the blocks of information were much less massive then. On the other hand, it was due to such a gradual increase in rates that he was able to keep up with this train and the time of self-digging after the promotions grew not by orders of magnitude and not even by times. His brains, spurred on by his aura and gift, were slowly getting used to assimilating such huge arrays of knowledge.

However, in spite of the fact that he had already fully internalized the improvement of his abilities, Stepan didn't even think of investing a free talent point in any of the directions. He had an important task, for which he was promised one point in the characteristic of corporeality or resistance, well, if he did not fail the assignment and fulfill according to the upper bar. And having received this characteristic he would be able to raise his long-desired ++“warrior's grasp” up one rank, which would make him not only more dangerous, but also more adapted to all kinds of murderous behavior. He never wanted to kill everyone around him, nor will he want to after the promotion, but the young man will be extremely pleased with the possibility of preventing the killers from killing him. Again, if after increasing the characteristic will open some other, no less pleasant and useful options for leveling, then you can always think and choose them. Stepan had little doubt that he would be able to cope with the assignment, even that he would succeed at the first attempt. He had simply prepared too well, summoned and prepared a whole host of spirits, envisioned even the worst scenarios of the situation. No, he believed in his ability to spoil any advantages and to fuck up everything, even more than Rodislav Gastoldovich Yanin, but there was a limit to his ability to make trouble for himself.

It should be.

As practice had shown there was indeed a boundary, and, moreover, he had never crossed it. Preparing three spirits who were accustomed to acting in a bundle, each of whom was not inferior to SpongeBob, and this one was also summoned and assisted the three, in case they made a mistake cost the most. He had to order a little extra of the various offerings he couldn't get or replace on his own, but it was a real waste. tolerable, so he didn't have to go broke. Fibers from the rope of a hanged man, the kind that had been used to hang several men before it snapped, and dried mud from the battlefield, collected on the third day after the battle, in which neither side had won, but much blood had been spilled. Reagents of those that are not particularly expensive, just to get them right at the right moment is quite difficult, and to find out that a particular spirit likes this particular offering is even more difficult. Again to the question of the advantage of System knowledge, which allowed to know exactly about these properties of inexpensive and unusual reagents, as well as about what spirits and invocations they are most suitable.

The trio looked like amorphous amoebas of dark gray and violet-purple colors, circling around the naked shaman lying on the cold ground, every now and then giving off a bone-penetrating spiritual vibration, probing the dormant curse deep within the patient's aura. If it weren't for his systemic knowledge and soothing meditation, supplemented by an equally soothing herbal collection, there was no way in hell he'd have let those things into his aura with such calmness, he'd be exhausted from the strain. Luckily, despite the dark directionality of the spheres and aspects, as well as the ominous appearance, all three of them turned out to be very peaceful beings, no comparison to the leech that tried to kill him.

The call was going on more and more intensely, the young man was literally filling his aura faster and faster with circulating power. Threads of magic reserve, literally threads woven by the will of the shaman, came out of the main auric nodes, were picked up by all three cloud-spirits, passed through their bodies too, and then returned back into the body and aura, but already bearing the stamp of their will. In this very clever way, they would get a more detailed view of the curse itself without merging with the shaman's aura directly, which would be too dangerous and crude a way to interact. Crude, for such a subtle curse, requiring a particularly careful approach, literally surgical precision.

The spirits began to pour more and more of their strength into the shaman's reserve, pulling a new thread out of it every now and then, so that the reserve did not overflow and did not harm the subtle bodies, despite the fact that in this circulation not two or even three patient's reserves were already flowing from circle to circle. He looked at himself through the eyes of another specialized spirit, which made him see how the three were literally illuminating the necessary areas, obscuring the others with a fog of their own will. From the outside it seemed as if he had become translucent and faded in his magical vision, that there was only one single bright spot left of him - a softly glowing gold concentrated in his loins and scrotum, forming into something like a ravenous ivy, a beautiful flower, a wheat ear, a woman's palm. The prayer of repentance supported itself, giving shape to itself, and spiritual vision allowed him to see his “enemy” not only in the form of a weave, but also as an allegorical picture-image.

The spirits begin the third stage only at his command and quite abruptly, impetuously even. Previously deceptively slow amoeba literally flow into the body and aura of the shaman, performing a modification of the classical posession and immediately out of it, and alternating. As soon as one spirit dives into the maelstrom of a body alien to him, the other two pick up the remaining threads, maintaining the circulation and illuminating the curse with spiritual vibrations, properly framed images. As soon as the one who had dived out, quickly but gently, without burdening the aura even in the minimum, the second one immediately dives in, and after his diving out the third one. And again, and again, and again in a circle, only now, after each dive, after the usual threads of reserve, there are threads of gold of divine magic. The trio mixes her, his and the goddess's power into a single whole, and then, using the principle of similarity, washes out all traces of unwanted energy from the victim.

It was not even necessary to help himself with his hand or memories of the Autogoddess's tits to release the remnants of the power-soaked seed, as it would have been necessary to do if the situation had gone according to a more dangerous scenario. The spirits silently and without distractions drew out all the divine power, and then began, under the active guidance of Stepan, to drain the excess energy, taking the temporarily given own and giving the young man his personal. The reserve swelled a little, but not to an uncomfortable sensation, this procedure even slightly increased the reserve, even if it was not enough for an increase in the full characteristic. At this point in time the assignment was already completed, and at the highest rate and at the first attempt, but for Stepan nothing was over yet, and the system - thanks to its administrators, only on them and hope with this arbitrariness of the Autogoddess - did not begin to pour a bunch of messages, so as not to interfere with the user and not to become a cause of injury.

Stepan got to his feet, fully healthy and full of strength, not even cold, but rather sweating in three sweats, approaching the opposite end of the clearing. Here was burning, blazing with an even and unnaturally pale flame, a fire lit in advance, in which were thrown the necessary offerings and even the right spirits that this flame supported and gave it strange properties, he had managed to plant directly in the wood. A trio of curse breakers flew up to the fire, circling around it and absorbing the offerings thrown there. The ritual was too subtle, too heavy, and the exotic properties of the materials being sacrificed were too exotic, so Stepan worked the old-fashioned way, throwing reagents into the fire with his hands, not even thinking about helping himself with his spiritual grip. Not the case and not those types of donations, here the key aspect of primary importance will be the purification in the flames, its property of renewal and rebirth, for which so fondly remembered damn bird Phoenix. Each of the spirits was now full of not only power, not only gifts, but also imprints of Stepan's aura, subtle body, and even his soul, which was a risk. Ordinary shamans wouldn't care about such a risk, on the contrary, they would be glad to be associated with this trio, which could then be used for repeated invocations. But Stepan was accustomed to using his knowledge to the full, according to the perfect molds and was going to make sure that no traces and impressions of his essence were left in anyone's ghostly limbs.

The easiest thing was to capture the spirits and tear out the excess from them, or simply destroy their vessels, or seal them for a thousand hundred years. But this is still not Stepan's method, since they helped him and honestly fulfilled all the deals so far. Yes, honestly, and so three dozen specialized spirits, a pack of jackal-wolves, used to torment their fellow spirits, now hidden in one of the totems, drinking his power and waiting for the order to attack or pursue the fugitives, was not useful. The spirits who had received the last of the offerings were one by one thrown into the flames, which temporarily began to burn them too, completely and finally burning in that fire, without a trace. And a moment later the burned one rose from the same fire, only now it was a slightly different, completely renewed spirit, in which there was no trace of the work with Stepan's subtle bodies. The spirits were reborn in this fire, their and the borrowed power burned, but they rose stronger than they had been. That was why they had volunteered for such a radical cleanup of all traces that they had become five to seven percent stronger for just one single task.

For spirits, of course, such a procedure is not the norm and not a daily routine; it is something comparable to moving abroad and settling in a new place for an ordinary earthling. So they changed their essence, nature, even sphere and aspects, becoming from dark neutrals-healers to noticeably lighter fire healers. Now, if the need arose, they could not pull out curses by threads and piece by piece, carefully and gently, but burn them, even if still carefully and gently, piece by piece, so as not to damage the cursed. In short, it was better not to throw away their contacts, figuratively speaking, even if I had to check whether they had changed too much to become useless entities. The character could have changed.

But that was the routine, the usual actions of working with new and unfamiliar spirits, as these three had become after the fiery modification. And he, with the offerings he had selected, which were burned in that fire, tried to influence what his contracts would be reborn as, making them even more peaceful and contractual, even better healers than they were. All of this is the very basics of spiritual sculpting, of nurturing spirits and cultivating them to certain requirements, instead of finding a one-in-a-million suitable individual with the right exotic ones abilities. Having finished watching the spirits play a little more in the embrace of the now harmless for them flame, the young man gave them permission to leave, after which the whole three immediately dived into the fire, disappearing into the depths of the flame abyss, going to a new for them sphere of the spiritual world. Once again speaking in earthly analogies, Stepan had provided them not only with a move to the other side of the planet, but also with a green card, an allowance for the first few years, normal housing and medical insurance, so they were not moving blindly and with luck, but knowing for sure that everything would be fine, even better than it was.

"Goodbye, assholes, good bye." The shaman said huskily and tiredly after them, however, without any aggression, almost wiping away a tear in memory of such useful and, most importantly, honestly fulfilled their deal, entities.

Having exhaled, he recognized one more stage of work as finished, and after that he moved on to a new phase of his biggest ritual so far: dissolution of the prepared insurance and reserve groups. Here with howling and cheerful yapping the jackals-wolves, which today had neither to fight nor to catch up with the fugitives who had deceived Stepan's trust, but they were paid in full and with a bonus for good behavior. Here sighed a little disappointed, but still happy, sailing away independently Sponge Bob, who did not have a chance to eat divine power. He could just let him go, this spirit-polyp is not aggressive and not dangerous, but the jackals had to be escorted through the portal to the depths of the spheres, so that they did not decide to stay here and start to rule on the territory imbued with spiritual power and thus supporting them. Still, Stepan allowed them to stay here, and they could, in theory, use this loophole, deciding to hunt animals or people in the material world, or even drawing power from the totemic structure built by the shaman. A few healer spirits went about their business, which did not have to patch up the damaged aura, if the curse happened to be pulled out not “gently” enough. They were followed by a few spare curse specialists who didn't have any work to do, because the main three had worked cleanly.

By the moment when all the temporary contracts, called for a limited period of time and strictly for a single task, had left, having received payment for staying with him and a little more on top, Stepan had time to cool down after the treatment and freeze like a dog in winter. Quickly dressed, pulling up his pants with his fingers, he wrapped himself in a cloak and for another half an hour just sat next to a quite normal fire, warming himself up. After the temperature balance of his body had returned to normal, he went back to the house, talked a little with Meld, took a quick test of his knowledge of herbs, forced himself to eat dinner, though he had no appetite at all, and lay down on the bed. He could not sleep. He felt like a good massage: his body was like a leaden statue, and he could not move, though nothing seemed to hurt.

He checked his own aura over and over again, and found no traces of hostile or not-so-hostile influence, but he was almost physically unable to stop checking it. Yes, he definitely did not like the process of being under such an effect, and he would not repeat such a thing, and even voluntarily. The main thing was that he would not be provided with similar or worse things without his good will, so to speak, suppressing someone else's desires by life circumstances. Only when his consciousness finally found its balance, when the last vestiges of joyful excitement as well as angry irritation had passed, only then he allowed himself to relax and start receiving system messages, assessing what exactly had changed in him and what he had been given. And even before he began to perceive the gifts for the task at hand, it was obvious that the work with his own healing had not gone unnoticed by the system either.

Gained: “advanced basic techniques for countering curses”; increased affinity with dark and cursed spheres; increased likelihood of gaining knowledge and properties of the Maleficism and Healing branches.

The acquired talent is added to the overall Player status.

It was the second time in 24 hours that his initial knowledge had suddenly been increased by one point, but this time he was certainly not in a hurry, breathing slowly and calmly, inhaling and exhaling, slowly releasing the feverish tension and digesting the gift. But no, it wasn't really a gift, he'd put a lot of effort into it, even if it seemed ridiculous against the backdrop of what a normal gifted person would have to go to acquire such a wealth. That is, if he had no other knowledge, then the advanced basics obtained could be considered analogous to a full-fledged five-year study with the best teachers, well, three years at most. But in combination with all the other knowledge, each of which had also expanded to counteract curses.... you can talk about years and years, if only because it's very difficult to find such a lot of knowledge in one place under normal circumstances. And those who will help to bind them into one and adjust them to each other are even harder to find.

Combat blows with curses of various sorts and methods of fighting with Malefics of the classical school, calculating their actions and creating an opportunity for your blow. In-depth healing, aimed at working with subtle bodies, to correct the damage that these bodies receive, and not only from curses or the consequences of emergency burning of curses, but in general, in general. Even more sophisticated hexes, and with an inclination to make them as invisible as possible or extremely difficult to remove, or even all of this together. Heretical, from the Autogoddess's point of view, but not in Stepan's opinion, work with deactivation and calculation of charms, with how to remove them safely from themselves or others. Every bit of knowledge, every drop, every skimpy line in the Status at least somehow interacted with the gift he had received, even the tantric practices! Especially the latter, because, as it turned out, there were surprisingly many ways to remove the negative impact on the body, aura and spirit with the help of synchronization of reserves and the subsequent resonance of subtle bodies in the most intimate sense of the phrase, and they were quite diverse. Not very good medicine. He would have asked for another doctor or at least a nurse, but seriously, it would be possible to treat himself from all sorts of crap by visiting a brothel. The main thing was not to treat oneself after the brothel, but from other shit.

Having finished with the self-acquired knowledge, Stepan moved on to the completed task, gritting his teeth and expecting to see another unnecessary shit when he looked at the meta-skills, but immediately changed his mind. Of all the meta-skills taken, the only one that was still within the development limit was “lecherous development II”, so there was only one option for which skill he should have increased. Except that here Stepan was waiting for a pleasant surprise, for which he looked with wide-open eyes to the heavens and said to the admins of his system sincere, full of gratitude “Thank you!”, barely restraining a smile of delight, begging on his tired face. Instead of the useless Autogoddess meta-skill he got another, also formally present from the first day, just not displayed in the Status, even though not so long ago Stepan had thought - not seriously, but as a joke - to level it up. Yes, yes, that's right, no mistake - his built-in clock increased by one point!

Even though he realized that it was even more useless than Milfasta's gift, because he would use that one at least sometimes, and had already used it, it was nice to be able to break the wait for the inevitable for once. But the more he read, the more his mood improved, because the improved clock, which the system called “temporal awareness II”, wasn't as useless as he'd expected. This meta-skill allowed to feel time very clearly, always knowing it down to milliseconds, which was a great help in precise rituals, where the order of actions was important. Yes, shamanism has a much lower dependence on such precision than the magicians of classical schools, but “less” does not mean complete absence. In addition to the main property of this kind of an unswitchable timer, he could now always sleep exactly as long as he wanted, waking up exactly at the right second, unless he drugged himself with sleeping pills or got hit on the head, and also... space-time distortion anomalies were affecting him less. No, he wasn't ignoring them or even gaining resistance, it was just that he would now always know if he was in a distorted time stream. In fact, the last aspect, although it sounds pretty cool, but even just to meet anomalies with space distortion - next to which and time often malfunctions - is hardly possible. It's too exotic shit.

But anyway it feels good.

From the usual and already learned knowledge the promotion had already received the third initial talent in 24 hours. Now, the status was flashing with the update “Advanced Basic Practice of Remote Control of Spiritual Entities”, which suggested certain thoughts. It seemed that in situations like this, the system tended to raise not just random talents, but also those that were less developed than others. It made sense, and here he was also lucky that it wasn't some tantric rituals that had been raised, but a really useful thing that he would have raised himself if he had free points and wasn't so greedy. There were always more promising directions, so he had to look at those options that lacked the usefulness to get to the top of the list of desires. This particular improvement greatly expanded the arsenal of tactical ways to hurt or please those around Stepan, especially those surrounding the shaman from a very respectful distance. It was already clear that almost any long-range effects, of those with which remote use was possible, would increase in strength, accuracy, and range. He could easily send a cursing leech, a relentless spy, an analog of a lightning strike, or a damn hex to fifty kilometers.

What is there! Fifty kilometers is so, a zone of sure defeat and control of the sent spirit, and if you get fancy, deliberately conduct a lot of strengthening rituals, use the totem glade as a resonator, then you can get to Fantrel. To visit one magician, honorable artifactor, check, thank him for all the good things. If the primary base of remote control and direction of spirits worked with the shaman himself and his aura, the second rank of knowledge, even though it strengthened the original idea, but much more focused on the possibility of creating artificial “extenders of the signal line”, so the greatest synergy of skills was manifested in relation to totem practice and work with sources. In other cases, the interpenetration of knowledge was simpler and was usually reduced to methods of attack, healing, spells and the like, but at a greater than usual distance.

This skill was even easier to assimilate than the previous two, though it was nowhere near enough: as it happened, the young man was unwittingly moving in this direction himself, only his long-range actions had little to do with the real world. He, especially when searching for spirits to work with a gift from Gaia, used the clearing in the same way in a resonating call. Totems in such a case acted, in addition to the standard roles, as a kind of telescope to look into the world of high spheres not with one eye and on the edge, but deep and wide. A kind of a mixture of a telescope and a probe, giving a glimpse where a normal shaman with his characteristics to look into is not so easy, if possible at all. Not leaving the body and searching for the necessary entities, knowledge and images directly in the world of spirits, but something inferior to such a technique only a little, the very little. At least in a narrow direction, for which the lens was created together with the “filters” of that lens.

The last of the system's gifts for the completed assignment was an increase in the characteristic that fell on Constitution, bringing it up to two. The sensations were quite tolerable and even pleasant, but the increase from one to two was the minimum modification at all, so there was no special tension in the body and aura. It was as if every cell of his body, every bone, had been pierced with cold needles and washed in hot water at the same time - not too pleasant, but certainly not painful. Separately, he noted that of all the sensations from the increase in attributes, it was Constitution that felt the most material, tied to a physical body rather than an energetic one. At high attribute values, it would probably feel quite different, but with his class, a new increase in Constitution would be far from quick. Still not the most useful direction of development for a shaman, though not without some pleasantries in case of its choice.

He left the status alone, got to his feet, and began to warm up, feeling how easily his body, which was literally singing from the influx of strength, could be controlled. He, of course, was not a slouch, but he was not a gym bro either, and all physical exercises were reduced to an active rhythm of life and morning exercises, occasionally with a jog, so for him the spurt was noticeable. The growth of the characteristic didn't make him extremely developed, stronger, more resilient, and faster, but it was still a very, very noticeable upward and forward movement. Not only strength, but also body plasticity, flexibility, and accuracy had increased, coordination and speed of reaction even not accelerated by aura had increased, and the limit of acceleration had also risen, though it was still worth checking. The ligaments and muscles became stronger, the bones also became stronger, and even though a quick inspection of himself did not show any increased number of muscles and explosive growth spurt, the body seemed to harden a little, the muscles became like lumps of dry veins, if you tense them and try to feel them, even vision and hearing became better.

And also, as he felt from a cursory scan of himself, there was more life force, the very prana that could be responsible for a life bar (there really was one, by the way, but it wasn't usually spent on anything, so Stepan didn't look at it too often). Life became purer and thicker. With this stat increase alone he had added about thirty years to his life, even without alchemy. Not only did it make him more resistant to stress, injury, and wounds, not only did it speed up his healing and resistance to vampiric effects, but it also increased the value of his life force in a normal way to the spirits it can be sacrificed to. And for vampires, too. In general, most spirits accept magical power as payment, and simply offerings that please them personally, and therefore there are not so many entities that like blood and life, even if there are those among them who would not accept any other payment. Stepan had never thrown away his life and blood before, he had about as much life as any other gifted person of comparable strength. Yes, a unit of Constitution in an ordinary man and the same unit in a highly trained Adept are two very different units, but still, he preferred not to take risks.

The young man had only worked with sacrificing his life a few times: a few trial balls at the beginning of his career, just to understand what the life force was and how to control it, and he sacrificed the crumbs, a mere pittance of a pittance, as well as a case of mass healing of villagers who had inhaled toxic mold, and then it wasn't just crumbs, which made him feel bad. Now. no, he still hadn't thought about going that way, but if it was under extremely controlled conditions and with the utmost care, especially if it was on an assignment with a good reward, then yes, he might consider trying to feed the spirits with shaman life. This is actually not as dangerous as it may seem, though it is noticeably riskier than regular and classic shamanism. A lot of weak shamans, who either have a very small reserve or no source at all, use life instead of fuel. The same green-skinned people, whose traditional bias towards life force has become a racial peculiarity that has seeped into Earth fantasy folklore, could consider such shamanism a full-fledged tradition. Dark spirits, again, are much easier to talk to, they love blood, they love it very much, the main thing is that they do not decide to take it all at once, instead of some stupid deals and agreements.

The young man couldn't help himself and did the standard warm-up routine once more, even trying to do a somersault over his head. Well, the increased physical abilities allowed, that was a fact, but it would be worth a little practice, because at the first attempt it came out only almost smashed his face. Fortunately, the guardian spirits of his dwelling assessed the rapid convergence of Stepan's face and the table as definitely risky, instantly creating a protective field, against which the head and face of the guy who had stumbled and flown somersaulted softly sprung. Standing up on his feet and rubbing his head, which was slightly buzzing as if after a powerful blow with a pillow, Stepan gave himself a mental kick and stopped fooling around, instead checking his aura once more. Just in case.

There was no sign of the curse or the damage it had left behind, so he mentally sent another ray of goodwill in the direction of the trio of spirits reborn in the flames. He even regretted a little that his new meta-skill of gifting characteristics didn't work on spirits, because he could have thanked at least one of them for all the good and professionalism he'd shown. He regretted it, and then nearly smashed his face in again, only now against the door, frozen in surprise for a long, long few minutes. Why on earth did he think it wouldn't work? A few frantic minutes of fiddling with the certificate ended with him never finding anything that prohibited such an action. He had thought such an approach and its prohibition to be self-evident, intuitive, just like the impossibility of imposing the gift on himself or reapplying it to someone already gifted, but he had been wrong. Even checked again, but no, it is still impossible to apply the gift to oneself and still only a one-time gift to one person or entity.

This changed quite a lot, because even Vedemeyer, as cool and good as he was, would agree to sign another contract for such a blessing, already much more useful for Stepan, and also for life and with the transfer to his descendants. Frozen once again, the guy thought, thought again and realized that it can not be so easy, otherwise he now has a way right at this very moment to recruit a huge retinue of older and higher spirits, with which and even the world can be captured. After torturing the help for several hours under the roar of his hungry stomach, he still came to a paradoxical conclusion, and the help confirmed it only after a direct and maximally specific request: he could amplify spirits with the system gift, but he could not use it as an aspect of payment and contract. This system prohibition, which, thank the admins, he came to at the moment of trying, possibly, cheating or bugusing.

Spirits were not human. The concept of a gift through the System might not be understood by them, but it was quite realistic to convey such a thought to the smartest of them, that was a fact. And no less a fact was that it frankly broke the balance - if he could offer his services to the highest mages or rulers of major factions easily, even if it involved a lot of problems, in the case of spirits everything was more complicated. A different type of thinking, different rules of understanding, different everything. And the spirit in such a situation would perceive the System gift as a gift, but a gift from the System and those behind it, not from Stepan, who only pressed the button. He could strengthen his ghostly retinue, he could pump the most useful spirits in this way, but thank all the gods, even Milftrix, that he did not think, for example, to bless the same Sleepwalker with a gift and then demand service from him for it. Because a mighty spirit would have found something to say to such insolence: the gift was given by System power, but the service is demanded by an incomprehensible little shit, which even a senior shaman considers only conditionally, at the expense of knowledge worthy of a master, but not the power of the gift.

At least with people there is no such problem, the reference also emphasized this: if you can agree to exchange something useful for gifting, then okay. Though it's unlikely to happen. It's easier not to mess with such serious players at all, and with small ones too, or they will easily give up those who are serious. Or kill all witnesses to their possession of such a treasure. Or just use it left and right the love charms finally going along with the Autogoddess. In short, before becoming at least a very Serious Senior shaman, about the fact that he has such a useful thing he can do not talk out loud or even mentally. And so that he could not immediately become a Senior Shaman, easily gathering a retinue worthy of Dark Overlord, no less, the system has introduced such a clever handicap. All the same, a couple of useful spirits can and should be checked, and most of all Stepan was interested in the practical question: if he reinforces his call with meta-skill, will not decide reinforced, due to the obliquity and non-linearity of thinking, and raise the price for their services? Laughingly, but the question is actually quite logical and requires a qualitative practical test.

Someday.

Later.

There was only one last thing left on the list of important things to do for the day, and then he could go to bed: investing his free talent. The choice had already been made, so Stepan only looked through the list of available options, updated after the promotion, noting a few particularly interesting ones. He did, but invested his talent exactly where he had been planning to invest it for so long, namely in the +++“martial artist's skills” that had finally opened up by the time he was promoted. To be honest, he invested it, holding his breath and clenching his teeth, because the amount of absorbed and assimilated promised to be very large. This knowledge was clearly non-standard, which was quite obvious from the mere absence of the prefix “basic” or “advanced basic”, and it also fell into the cap of leveling immediately at the first rank, just as the spiritual operation, frozen at the advanced base, had previously fallen into the limit. If this was not a sign of elite talent, Stepan didn't even know what it was. Again, out of all the available knowledge, this was the most substantive, concentrating reflexes and tactics, experience and skill in battle with the use of other open talents.

It took less than a moment for the System to update the status to include a line labeled “mastery of an experienced combat caller”, and Stepan, who hadn't eaten after the increase in Constitution, was immersed under a swath of images and memory that didn't belong to him, but was rapidly becoming his own. The past level of the skill belonged to this incredibly experienced Adept, a real dog of war, who had managed to fight against almost any standard and not so standard types of enemy, both gifted and not. There was also the experience of fighting one in alone, and in pairs, and one against many, and part of a squad, and against a squad, and even the squad leading, as against a loner, and against the same group. Now this knowledge was being supplemented, reflexes were changing, tactical bundles were expanding. Now, instead of a veteran soldier, if we use earthly analogies, Stepan was infused with the reflexes and toughness of a veteran of the Delta special unit; instead of an experienced fighter, some damn professional shamanism breacher was formed; instead of a fighter who could do something in quiet and inconspicuous actions, a master saboteur, an infiltrator and an eliminator-killer was born. Still a very strong Adept or a weak Master, just like the recipient himself, but much, much wider and deeper trained, lovingly coached and damnably experienced in the application of what he had learned.

Where before there were standard and not so standard tactics and combination appeared the ability to modify these combination, to use tricks and stratagems which one would not expect from the opponent, and having seen for the first time would not be able to pass on the experience. Where before there was knowledge and skills to counter standard schools and methods, now there was almost an almanac, representing even exotic directions and ways to resist them. Where there was an understanding of the battle and one's place in it, now there was the ability to change this place smoothly and technically, to go from one role to another in the same moment and then back again. Except that with close combat and pathos fencing with two sacrificial daggers it all did not fit in any way. Downloaded through the System flash drive, a seasoned pro was clearly trained according to the principle that states that a shaman or mage, who found himself in close combat on blades, is a moron worthy of death simply because he allowed himself to be driven into this position. It might have seemed that one heavy-breathing Earthman was now suddenly cooler, if not than Chuck himself, then a hair and a half from his Beard, but Stepan, not without the help of the same knowledge, realized how deceptive it all was.

It's funny to joke about full-fledged masters of magic, not on their own terms, and not from ambush. But there's no need. And the chances of whacking some even young magister or at least forcing him to flee will be extremely low only in case of catching such a magister in an inconvenient place, unprepared and away from any support. They will be extremely low, but they will be, whereas direct confrontation is not considered an option. But yes, now, with such baggage of “tricks,” he can easily pass the interview in any Secret Watch or the Guard. But then he'll have to puff and explain how such a young brat got all the above experience and habits of their old colleague. And then, when you answer, welcome to the prison. You will sit there for the next eternity, if, of course, you are not eliminated earlier just in case.

Stepan woke up a little broken and still hungry, so he started to eat almost immediately, and his body's urges to communicate with the higher ass(t)ral spheres should be quenched too. He came to his senses very slowly, spending the rest of the day and part of the night trying to get used to the new possibilities. Meld did without lessons this time. He was in his thoughts, hovering there with no contact with reality. Was he really getting along with his girlfriend? He didn't ask, of course, but gestured the boy away and continued to try one or the other of the simpler calls, assessing the changes in himself and his aura. He even sent some battle spirits across the river, to the other side, only downstream, so they could shoot lightning at the beach: He evaluated the degree of energy loss during such a transfer of forces. It was much easier to make a path for this transfer through the spirit world by synchronizing with the summoned essence, so combat tactics could and should be diversified by the ability to fuck the enemy before they even approach.

If only he had a machine gun and a strip of mithril bullets, it would be perfect, but he had to use substitutes, what a mess! Putting jokes aside, the young man has noticeably increased his strength, which was not very small before, and all at the expense of a single task. And not thanks to a single trick, but in general, in general, in all directions at once. The basis of strengthening without any doubt should be considered the increased combat talent, but even so, he still did not want to test his newfound coolness in direct confrontation, as well as in confrontation in general. Yes, the system is incredibly cool in this kind of cheating as it will be perceived by all normal and not-so-normal mages, but the experience of a very cool battle shaman with a terrifying record, which became part of his consciousness and essence, does not cancel the fact that Stepan himself is not this mage-shaman-Mr. Bond anyway.

He should, but he would not do it for reasons that were quite clear and did not require explanation. The problem was that Stepan had no doubts about the need to use his combat skills for the intended purpose. The world is such a place that sooner, later, after a month, a week, a year or five minutes, the reason to arrange bloody meat and a pile of corpses will appear even the most peace-loving individual. At the very least, to avoid becoming meat himself and one of the corpses in that pile. It was with this thought that he finished his research, exhaled tiredly, stretched out on the bed, closed his eyes, and went to the world of dream spheres.

His skill at understanding dreams had increased, but that didn't mean that he himself had become immune to dreams, no, he had just learned to get into other people's dreams or to conjure up different images in those dreams. And now the dreams came to him, and he saw in them images of all kinds, constantly changing. And there was a battle against hundreds of thousands of mechanical monsters that looked like humanized Zaporozhtsy Transformers armed with Druzhba chainsaws. There was an escape from a giant hamster ogre, the size of a line cruiser, perched on a child's tricycle with two jet turbines welded to it. The image of Stepan himself, surrounded by hordes of spirits ready for battle, of an unfamiliar half-elf with no marvelous blood, but splashing with it, flashed through his mind. magical power, in the company of a couple of militant elven real, as well as no less unknown man, also very even magically powerful, which was covered by some Asian woman and orcish, and all of them, standing back to back were being pounced on by hordes of demonic creatures, while all three men in this company were shouting in unison that they had seen group quests in their coffins. He had a vision of an old and ruined city in the style of dark fantasy, on which rode, on a partially painted pink APC, some bald man with the face of a porn actor, firing from an autocannon at numerous reanimated mannequins without faces, but with anatomically accurately drawn genitalia, which they used as weapons, and in the places where they were hit, the metal did not bend, but also turned pink, which made one intuitively understand that when the vehicle was completely repainted, something terrible, nightmarish, unforgivable would happen.

Stepan, who woke up in the morning, in addition to the classic statement “Holy admins, what nonsense!”, also decided that after the most active stages of assimilation of system talents, it would be necessary to weave dream catchers before going to bed. The face of the damn hamster-titan even several hours after waking up caused a shiver just thinking about it. And mannequins with Oglaf weapons in their hands also caused involuntary effect of the ominous valley, and it was good that without involuntary defecation. And if among all the nightmares you had dreamed in one night and perfectly remembered, the invasion of demonic hordes was perceived as the most calm and not scary, then perhaps it's time to change something in life. Like not eating too much at bedtime. He was already overreacting, and he couldn't even think of such things, let alone seriously suggest them.

* * *

Life returned to a measured rhythm. The villagers who had gathered the harvest were preparing to go to the auction, and Stepan, who existed in a separate stream from the mass of people, was getting deeper and deeper into the study of other spheres. For a whole week after the curse was lifted, he did a little bit of everything at once, summoned this and that, sometimes bought the necessary small things in the system store, but never took more than the necessary minimum. All the same, skills and experience flow much more actively when the shaman does not just flood any problem with money, sorry, expensive reagents and gifts-sacrifices, but also presses, slyly, defends his point of view, actively bargaining and pushing his will. Stepan practiced to prove this point of view, to use authority and not to spend money where it is possible to do without spending. It was more difficult, but in some ways even more interesting.

Among the most memorable moments was the contract concluded in three stages, during which we had to talk to a surprisingly luminous spirit. The first time was a conversation about the prospects, the second act was a discussion of the terms, and only then, at the end, did they come to a consensus. This spirit was not a Solar or even a Lunar, as he already had contracts, but from the same realm, very closely mixed with the subsurface. In fact, a very powerful and rather useless in direct combat, the spirit had once originated from the light of the crystal druse in the local dungeon, where drow and all sorts of other chthon dwell. And its light served not so much as a weapon as a catalyst for a whole host of rituals Stepan was going to use. To summarize, this creature specialized in working with the boundary separating the world of the high spheres from the realm of reality, and it could both strengthen, weaken, and tear that boundary apart.

Stepan used the spirit properly during the entire contract, which lasted three nights. Exactly nights. During the day, the spirit, used to the darkness of the dungeon, or even the Underworld, became almost useless. It lost a lot of its properties and coolness in the open, but it was still a very interesting thing with a great set of abilities. He had warned Meld and even Kirik that he not stay home at all these three nights, sincerely hoping that the villagers didn't pay attention to the midnight illuminations in the middle of the forest. Stepan spent a lot of time and effort, and a couple of times pointed out his place to the spirit checking the length of the leash, because he was so bold that any dark one would be jealous, but the young man achieved his goal. Stepan used these properties to turn his clearing into a strip of traps and obstacles. Both from the side of the real world and from the side of the spirit world: there was no telling what kind of shit would want to come into the glade, attracted by the shining resonance of the totemic structure and the accessible, even if locked and guarded, passage to the world of matter.

He also completed another assignment, one that had to do with Stepan's increased vitality, making several deals where the payment was made in blood and life, not magic or offerings. Small spirits, mostly of little use, but the couple he left allowed to see traces of spilled blood, even weeks later and with some chance to identify the blood, and also, when directly planted, allowed to acquire a kind of “blood vision” that could, with luck, reveal someone's simple disguise. For accomplishing the assignment, he raised a bit of affinity with the bloody sphere and also gave from the generosity of the system a vial additionally saturated with the magic blood of the gifted. And not just blood, but also filtered blood, that is, devoid of auric shades of individual donors, which became a single mass, suitable for assimilation by those who would fall for such a fee.

The second assignment, which offered a much less useful reward and again required him to do something too shady - to be precise, to implant the spirits of death or perdition in recently deceased bodies in the local cemetery - the shaman dropped it with a completely clean heart. The blood, the entire vial, he spent in one go, summoning and contracting a small cloud of small creatures of a leeching nature. The only difference was that these guys were faster and able to slip under or through shields. They even looked not like clouds of ghostly fog, which remotely resemble leeches, but like very thin worms, more like already alive threads, being a gregarious combat call, dangerous and insidious. The vial, by the way, after all these adventures, remained intact and untouched, and Stepan stashed it for the future because a good and slightly enchanted glass could be quite useful. He could use it to draw his own blood for the next ritual.

The first week turned into the second week. The peasants went to their auctions and even invited the shaman, in case he needed something. Well, he would ask to buy something through the villagers. The answer to both questions was negative, and having said goodbye warmly, they left him in complete and long-awaited peace. Again calls, only now already guardian spirits, both permanently, to literally settle in the totem, and those who came at the call one-time or also permanently. Stepan had not forgotten his plans to practice leaving the body, but he persistently laid not even straw, but a three-layer mattress, at the same time surrounding the mattress with barbed wire, watchtowers, and machine-gun points. The traps from the spirit world and the new guards would all be there to cover the young man in case of trouble. It wasn't that he was sure that trouble was inevitable, no, but all his knowledge said that with such out-of-body practices, it was better to be over-insured, because you could run into anything. And, most unpleasantly, anything could be of any level of danger, from a pack of small miscreants to something like that spirit of black roots and the dark side of nature, whose summoning beacon sheet still lay at the bottom of his backpack. Of course, the chances of encountering a weak enemy are much higher than getting a tooth on an invincible one, especially in the relatively close layers of the high spheres, but it's better to overdo the defense than to miss and end up bare-assed against a pack of giant cannibalistic hedgehogs.
Знать бы где упасть

The days went by day and night, with only the occasional sit-down in the tavern and Meld's training. Stepan was tempted to try to use the gifting effect on the boy, the charge of which would have burned up uselessly at this rate, but he didn't know how to justify it. He remembered how he himself sprouted aura deep and wide, if only to increase his characteristics, and he knew perfectly well that the boy would not write off the ten stats added to him on a random cold. And the appeared magic gift, especially if it was not there before, to miss it. Though Meld could do it, Stepan believed in his amazing attention to detail, but his increased stamina, health and aura would be noticed, if not by the villagers, then by the next of Gaia's novices who visited the Lyady. Though it would be an incredible joke to make a potential mage out of this asshole, because it would turn the orphaned boy into the most enviable of suitors. It could have turned him into an outcast, just like the main character in all those books about the offended and kicked vengeance, but with Meld's character, he'd start kicking the locals, especially if he got a couple of points in Constitution.

"And if the fever does not go down even after the decoction, then you can drop a bit of sisoflower vapor under the tongue, but only make sure that the patient does not eat anything and especially not to drink anything strong, or it will only get worse!" Meld, having finished his monologue, exhales contentedly and jumps up on the spot, wanting to know whether he has said everything correctly or whether he has made a mistake again. "Yay! I'm the best, yeah! Ha-ha! My pie, thank you honorable Pann, very tasty!!!"

The boy, who had received his sweet, was ready to run away, but the shaman's attentive gaze and eloquent silence stopped him, and then he quickly finished the pie and started sorting herbs. Stepan didn't really need this sorting, as well as herbs in general. He collected them through the spirits pointing to the right point, and some of them he bought, but he had to pay very little, just to train the guy's skills. If he was going to leave here, Meld would have to leave some useful skills for survival, so that he wouldn't become an outcast in the community, who didn't have anything of his own. He had no relatives left, and Kirik was an honest man, but if he had to, he'd stand up for someone who had someone else, while Meld was on his own, a nobody.

“Meadow Flower can be considered the simplest of all types of medicinal brews. It grows literally underfoot in every clearing and even around the village, but if gathered and brewed correctly, it makes an excellent base for any potion.” The Earthman explained not for the first time, making sure that the listener's eyes did not glaze over, and that his vocabulary remained within the limits of his understanding. “Whatever you add to it, be it a simple Chamomile or a rare Bloodroot, the Meadow Flower will take in the additive and enhance its properties. Even a little, even a drop, but it will strengthen it, not to mention the fact that it has a strengthening effect in general. But in order for this herb to become really useful, and not just a good way to warm the body after the winter cold, it is extremely important... and what is important, Meld?”

"Re-ci-pe is important, honorable Pann!" immediately responds the satisfied boy, completing the process of crushing only the flower petals and the youngest leaves, and its color is tiny at all, in contrast to the more massive leaves. "You should always brew it in boiled water, but not boiling, you know, but slightly cooled. And add reagents should be when the water will lose transparency, but, this, not yet darken completely, only then the grass will strengthen the brew, and drank not loosen stomach. Especially if you add Bloodroot!""

Judging by the boy's face, the fact that such a recipe could ruin someone's mood and clothes with a sudden breakthrough and activation of the “CODE BROWN” signal. He not only remembered, but also understood it in a completely different way than a good guy should, as the village prankster had never been. Again, Meld couldn't help noting the facts Stepan had mentioned in passing that the Bloodroot, which, by the way, helps not only medically, but also by magic in its fleshy trunk, loses its bitter taste and very pungent odor when boiled, and that a pinch of the stem crushed and thrown directly into the boiling pot would be enough for persistent diarrhea.

“You'd better remember that a long upset stomach will drain all the water out of a man, so you can literally die of diarrhea, comedian.” Stepan remarks not too harshly, but weightily, looking into the eyes of the shamefully slumped shoulders of the boy. “Especially if you feed an old man such a drink. Especially if you sprinkle a lot of it on him. Especially if this recipe is probably a couple of people in the village know it, it's not the rarest herb. Especially if the one who added such a seasoning is seen in the process of adding the herb to the broth.”

With each word, the boy only pressed his head into his shoulders harder, and it seemed that the slight condemnation and disappointment in Stepan's voice offended him more than if he had been beaten. He was not pretending but was seriously ashamed, the spirits of meanings would not lie, and a couple of them flying around in his house all the time, not counting the one planted in his ears and eyes. And he was ashamed not because he had been caught, and not even because he wanted to do something bad to a man, but because of Stepan's condemnation, which made him feel embarrassed.

“Come on, what's he like, huh?” He only muttered, pouting and turning away, complaining to himself about the old boatman who was interfering with his young love, and who, even though he had transferred Meld from being a scum to being almost not a scum, still chased him away from his granddaughter. “He behaves worse than he did with some outlaw, and I have every respect for him!”

Stepan only had to shake his head and remind the little one once again not to get crazy, and if he did, not to make a mistake with the dosage, and send him to rest. He had enough conscience to put back the quietly whistled piece of bloodroot, literally a piece of stem, not even a whole herb. Well, he should have been reprimanded or beaten up for such an attitude to the delicate business of medicine, but Stepan was lazy, plus he sort of conveyed to the guy the most important thing. And also, admittedly, some observation of the old boatman and a couple of accidentally caught rumors about him, clearly indicated that this nice grandfather could use a shit, so to speak, in order to remove more shit from the body and thus slightly improve the obnoxious character. According to Meld, if all the shit comes out at once, a new Dantra will flow into the Middle Sea, but not a water one, but a shit one.

The inn was not without adventures, though there were no special celebrations this time. Stepan got into the habit of eating there sometimes, appreciating the not so bad cooking, and also getting used to the fact that there were other people around, not just Meld, who came to visit. He paid for his meals on such occasions, though he had every right to demand free service and send Kirik to pay for it, but he considered it petty. Usually he sat alone at such times, and on his first visit he had hinted, very thickly, but within the limits of politeness, about where exactly he had seen the company and those who wished to sit down to him and ask him about life. So when a vaguely familiar man about seven years older than Stepan, with a pale and twisted face, unceremoniously came to his table, he was a little surprised. It was clear at once that it was not out of idle curiosity that he was so unceremonious. The hand of the man was tightly wrapped in a not particularly clean rag, and even under the bandage it was obvious that the shape of the bones was wrong.

“I'm sorry, Mr. Magik, but I'm having trouble with my arm, I'm asking for help, I just can't work or give the household a job.” To all appearances, he was really afraid that Stepan was going to hit him up on the second arm. It adds one more stroke to the picture of the image of local magicians as personalities. “Our elder, Kirik, told us not to interfere with you, not to disturb you, and not to bother you at all, but it's a shame. I'm not asking you to help me for nothing, I'll pay you back as it is, my father and brother have gone to the auction, they'll come back with money, I'm telling you.”

A wave of a hand from which the man - the shaman's mind finally identified him as a local potter, one of a whole family of them, which all at once are engaged in their craft - immediately shut up as if cut off, and then the young man chewed a piece of scrambled eggs with fried lard, and first of all pointed to his hand.

“Take off the bandage and show me, just don't make a fuss or yell, I don't like that.” The pale potter seemed to have decided to bite off his tongue, but he didn't make a sound as he unwound the makeshift bandage, which made the boy think that this character must have a history with mages, or the rest of the village didn't show such fear when talking to him. “Yeah, that's a pretty bad break you got. How'd you end up here? It wasn't a potter's wheel, was it?”

“No, the gods were merciful. I fell by accident, and a basket of clay fell on my exposed hand. I didn't have time to take it away.” Stepan only nodded at this explanation and applied one of the countless small amulets to his swollen and bluish hand, only for a moment, but it was enough for the man. “Oh, what's that? It doesn't hurt anymore, it doesn't hurt at all!”

Of course, he had spent the anesthesia effect renewed every five days on this wound. Well, not exactly anesthesia, although it is also in the arsenal of the young man, but rather a complete disconnection of pain in the area of the body and aura, which the spirit takes in payment. In his system notebook Stepan signed him Zaher-Masoch, in honor of that very, still earthly figure. He literally craved human pain, and only for human pain, so there was not even an admixture of other blood in the nearest five tribes. So much so that he fed on it and got high from it, like a damn junkie. In fact, if you were serious about bargaining, you could make the spirit pay for such anesthesia, but then the reliability would fall. A full-fed entity could leave at any moment, and with a normal contract would sit until they let him go. And why not sit, suckling on the reflection of the wound in the thin body, if they fed and paid?

"I've anesthetized the wound, but it's only temporary, so that you don't fall down while I finish eating." Stepan explained, continuing to savor his breakfast and lunch, deftly wielding his knife and wooden spoon, regretting that he had not taken his multitool knife from home, where the fork was included. "On payment... I won't pull money from you, especially since you don't have it now. Are you a potter? I need a dozen pots, low, rounded and with a tight lid. I don't care about decorations, I don't care if they're pretty, I just want them to be sturdy and without cracks or holes."

He didn't seem to have overdone it. Considering the prices for healing services and the fact that he was guaranteed to fix the fracture, but rather cheapened it again. Though, for conspiracy's sake, he'd make the poor guy walk around with a non-working arm for a while. Judging by the patient's shining face he was also surprisingly pleased with the price, and pleasantly excited. He ordered some hot porridge for himself since his appetite had returned without constant pain, but to his credit, he didn't even think of ordering a drink.

“I can pay such a fee right now, not even a dozen, but two of them. Well, if Mr. Magik doesn't care about beauty, you can take from the culls. No, no, no, not from the completely rejected, but from those that are a little uneven, but without cracks and all that, just not for sale. They still accumulate half a storeroom from spring to spring, so that then on spring holidays they can be beaten into shards. For luck, yeah. If such a thing suits you, you can have half a truckload. But I'll find a dozen good pots too, just to be sure, if the rejects don't fit. All right?”

The young man, only now learning that there was such a fun tradition of breaking pots and other clay utensils for good luck, nodded silently at the pleased man, finally getting his name out of his memory - Ryakr. He even had to go into a little trance to get the slipped detail out of his mind. When he finished, he silently followed Ryakr into his house, learning a whole bunch of other junk he didn't need like the best places to gather clay near the river, prices for beautifully patterned pots, and the bad character of Zobrik's mother-in-law, who is still sad that a lot of good people died of that disease, while his mother-in-law, the old karga, was saved by Mr. Magik. By God, but the latter almost made Stepan ashamed, especially when he remembered the despair with which the villager thanked him for saving his beloved mother-in-law.

In the house he ordered to open the window and give more light and clean air, starting to fix broken bones, at the same time correcting micro-damages with his spiritual body, cleaning wounds and blood flow. Ryakr tolerated, as it is supposed to a severe medieval man, but his brother's wife, who came for some reason to watch, on every movement of the shaman's hands only yelped and cried, as if it was her bones being set, and alive and without anesthesia. Stepan tolerated it for a couple of minutes, but at the next particularly nasty sobbing he couldn't stand it and turned to the hysterical woman, expressing his indignation in a dry tone.

"I feel like I'm not treating his injury, I'm treating yours. Or has someone cursed you, and you feel all the pain of your brother-in-law instead of him?" Looking into the uncomprehending eyes, which began to fill with indignation, Stepan was losing patience. "So you tell me, I'll fix it for free. No? Then sit the hell down. Or let him ask you for Ryakr's unevenly mended bones."

It should be said that the man coped with it himself, sending the woman away, and the rest of the procedure went quietly. Occasionally interrupted by quiet throat singing, more like simulating work than actually working, the guy removed the swelling, began the process of bone splicing, and even cleaned the blood from bone marrow fragments. In the end, when the whole family was watching his work, even the one who had been sent away was looking through the doorway, thinking that the shaman sitting sideways couldn't see her, the young man demanded to bring him some broken pot from the ones that didn't work out. From the sound of it, no one was looking for broken shards, but they just broke the first one they could find, probably one of the ones that had been rejected and were only good enough to be smashed for luck.

The young man took the fragments in his hands and called a couple of very specific spirits, silently and without chanting he in a few minutes turned the fragments back into soft and pliable clay. Only this clay resembled the consistency of plasticine, not the finished material of the pot. Having finished with the processing of the homogeneous mass, and in fact, just taking more time not to create his treatment too quickly, he waited until clean and boiled rags were brought, making quite a normal bandage by Earth standards of the first medical treatment, and then began to paste on top of the rapidly solidifying clay, now sterile and even slightly healing. Why shouldn't it heal, if it had a small healing spirit and a couple of spirits of purity in it?

“That's it. Finished.” Stepan summarized, critically assessing his work, which he sincerely tried to do as badly and unkemptly as possible, but it turned out somehow not so good. “For five days don't get your hand and fingers wet or twitch unnecessarily. Then either remind me to take it off, or, if I disappear in the forest again, just carefully break the clay, it will be brittle and crumbly by then, take off the bandage, take a good bath in warm water, even in a barrel, and you can go back to work. Bring my pots in before tomorrow morning.”

The joyful potter did not wait until tomorrow, ordering to bring the desired right now, so that Mr. Magik could evaluate and choose. Stepan honestly pointed to the first suitable ones - yes, the culled ones really suited his needs and demands - but he was still given two and a half times as much, as well as a normal set of earthenware decorated with primitive patterns, just as a thank you. The little ones and one of Ryakr's friends volunteered to pay for it and deliver it to Stepan's door. However, before leaving, the young man asked him in a soft tone that aroused some underlying apprehension not to bother him about trifles, like exorcising mice in the barns, unless someone was dying, otherwise, he would be angry.

By evening, he had already begun filling the pots with a mixture of herbs and charcoal created with the help of spirits, a few store-bought reagents, and stones heated to very high temperatures. He covered the ignited offerings with a lid and turned the pots into airtight containers, splicing the edges of the lid and pot together, sealing them forever. The spirits of the air-sphere planted in the clay itself pumped up oxygen, pumping out the carbon monoxide, allowing the fire to burn continuously, and the smoke to go directly to the higher spheres, but some of it also accumulated inside, in a physically impossible but real magical way feeding the flames even more strongly. In a way, it was a mixture of an amulet, a totem, and an actively working miniature altar, closed to itself and directed inward.

For the next couple of days, he made these pots on a regular basis, in passing accomplishing another small assignment and receiving as a reward an evergreen herb of little use to him at the moment, which he had to put in his bag until better times. He carried the finished pots through the forest around the clearing, forcing the earth to part and dipping his products into the damp earth and leaving them there. For half a year these preparations would be enough, and then he would either renew and strengthen them, or they would become obsolete and he would think of something better. He intended to use such peculiar amplifiers of rather specific shamanic techniques, aimed at strengthening the call and opposing aggressive spirits as another line of defense.

The same line of defense was a line of many thin strips of cloth, with small spirits of mostly air spheres tied to those strips. The ability to control the air currents or to strike with an air battering ram, but all of this pales before the possibility of activating all these ribbons at once creating a stream of specific wind. In the real world, this wind is almost not physically perceptible. But the spirits, even very strong ones, will simply be lifted by such a tornado and blown upwards, higher into the sky, like Dorothy girl. But nothing will stop the spirits back, it's unlikely that they will be blown more than a couple of kilometers up and they will come back quickly. Only Stepan, too, during this time can have time, for example, to reconfigure the defense or call for help, or at least just return to his native body and continue the showdown in a more solid format. Nothing will not prevent you from carrying out all of the above maneuvers simultaneously and immediately, if, of course, you can. And if you do not spare the very foundation of the defensive line, making the ribbons light up, so you can even force not-wind to blow so that the spirits, even not the weakest, as if lost in a maze of streams of air and not immediately find the right path.

An equally important element was the work with some trees around the clearing, not exactly next to it, but a little further away. Here he showed himself from the side of witchcraft and totemization. He actually turns these trees into quasi-totems, by territorial magic securing the authority over them and the spirits planted in the green plantation over the territory, albeit through subordination to the shaman, and by spiritual control literally changing the properties of the reflection of trees in the worlds of spheres, intensifying its effect and making it as imperceptible as it was possible. In the corporeal world, signs carved with a bone knife remained on the trees folding into rather long chains of symbols closing around the trunk. In Stepan's hopes and plans, this fencing and camouflage barrier would hide the clearing from scanning or long-range detection if someone started looking for this place. And if there was a fight in the clearing itself, the cloaking line would hide the fight from the same villagers or sensitive gifted passing through Dantra.

In addition to the assignments which were all mostly small, that is, tiny, Stepan also paid some attention to the “offerings of the week”, but even though not every one of them was from the personal pantry of the Milfsent Lady, but still he did not buy anything from the offerings. Both because he spent about the same amount of funds as he was getting from assignments and upgrades buying more and more materials, and because even very useful things had a very narrow utility. For example, a drop of unicorn blood, one drop, but given voluntarily, placed in a vial of maximum isolation, which itself cost a considerable fortune, keeping the blood fresh and extremely saturated with those essences for which unicorn blood is valued. In general, drop this drop on the head of a weak lich and he can be put to rest even without any extra work on this drop.

The question for connoisseurs is this: what should Stepan do with this blood if such a reagent itself is stupidly higher than anything a young man can do with it? He will not be physically able to conduct a ritual of summoning and treaty with those who are at least a little worthy of such payment, and just to keep the vial at his place just to have it, he, alas, is not interested. Many similar words can be said about a small clay tablet, on which were drawn many little men with spears, hunting for prey and, it seems, successfully hunting it. If one did not pay attention to the fact the prey was a schematically depicted adult dragon, one might mistake it for some not-too-valuable museum piece. But in fact, this useless old thing was a one-time anchor of summoning, or rather, not even summoning, but unsealing: break the plate and from it will pop out extremely active and quite preserved mind with skills ghost spirits, or rather, the ghosts of dead hunters who managed to become spirits. And if even truer, the spirit embodiment of the very tribe of hunters which is the essence of a single, despite the number of ghostly warriors in this unit of air defense of fantasy type. And yes, such an entity will be most effective against dragons, especially young and not too experienced, not yet accustomed to the fact that they too can be considered a set of meat loin, but other air and flying targets may well be removed from the sky and brought down to the sinful earth.

Stepan would have bought such a thing without a second thought, but even in the form of an offer of the week, this treasure cost so much that one couldn't help but associate it with a brand-new Maserati or even a Missile Frigate. It wasn't enough, even if you counted all the supplies available since the very first day he'd found the store. Even though he had gotten a lot from closing the average assignment from the System, three such assignments might not be enough. Four would have been enough, and there would still be some stock left. So it turned out that either you want to, but there is no money, even if the system, or you want to, but use the desired will be able at best in twenty levels.

Against this background, a small trinket from the Autogoddess, allowing to attract the sleeping consciousness of the owner into the dream of some real beauty, making this dream as vulgar and erotic as possible, with the ability to influence the will of the woman through this dream, leaving a long-lasting and extremely imperceptible impact, seemed not the worst option. It was not only an opportunity to learn something new for himself in the subject of working with dreams - the level of the amulet corresponded to the magister level, and it was achieved by classical magic and artifacts, not by shamanic direction - but also a way of passive pumping, every night, each time with a new lady, and therefore the inflow of experience would be wow! In general, the failed patroness of a somewhat different Stepan was, as always.

To hell with such offers and a variety of dirty dreams! Stepan already had more awesome dreams than any other, and the battle with a horde of cow-like xenomorphs, who had Sviborg's face on the tip of their tongues instead of a second mouth, in company with Pahom and Bratishka, who were joking with each other, was not the craziest thing he had seen in those dreams. And yes, as the raid boss of that battle, a green elephant the height of a five-story building came out against the three of them, dropping that same five-story building on the three of them.
Свиборг

* * *

This summoning was potentially not the most difficult of those already performed, but it was definitely the most expensive. Because the spirit, which Stepan intended to curb, knew the price of himself and his services, and to eat in the offerings preferred only pollen of the rarest plants that bloom, to put it mildly, infrequently, and even in different climatic zones. Collect such an offering as a loner shaman sitting in the middle of nowhere impossible without the help of VIPs in the local society and a lot of money, or without the use of legal cheats in the form of System Purchases. If Stepan didn't have access to this meta-skill, he would certainly have adjusted his plans rather than cancel them, simply summoning a few spirits with more modest requests rather than one extra-professional. Still, it wasn't even greed that pressed him, but some sincere proletarian resentment of other's greed.

The call went smoothly. The first part of the offerings went to other spheres, which he habitually forwarded with his spiritual grip, strengthening the effect of the beckon even more and in passing giving orders to the watchful spirits to drive away all kinds of small and not so small things that could fly into the light and try to steal someone else's offerings. By the time the expected guest appeared, no less than a dozen of them had already been torn up, and one of the torn up ones not only fought off the five who attacked him quite stubbornly, but also managed towound one of the guards. A new group of guards immediately took the place of the wounded who hid to heal in the central totem. But Stepan made a note about the necessity to send hounds after the insolent one, because the shaman and a group of seeing spirits in one of the auxiliary totems remembered the shell of the spirit-vulture. Actually, in parallel with the original call he began to instruct and send these hounds, both calls were not considered complicated, just the main of the two was expensive, very expensive.

Stepan could tell with millisecond accuracy the moment when the summoned contract would appear, because his clock was so advanced that he could do such things with ease. It was fortunate the spirit had decided to show up before the shaman, unaccustomed to such neglect, would have run out of patience. The being was not strong, Stepan already had much stronger contracts, both in direct combat and in general, but the guest behaved with the aplomb of a superstar who had entered the diner. However, there were notes in the guy's knowledge about the characteristic manners of this spirit, as well as about his highest professionalism. That's why he chose him, and not less reliable and sometimes dangerous analogs, which took cheaper and were accommodating together with fawning reverence.

Belonging to the natural and two more difficult to read spheres, this spirit appeared right in the ritual circle that had been grown especially for it, the boundary and the line of which were wildflowers that had to be forced to bloom in the very late fall. The spirit looked the same in the real world as in the world of high spheres - a small butterfly with white wings, something reminiscent of a common cabbage butterfly. This spirit was not for fighting, and it could not fight at all, as opposed to drawing pollen streams directly into its wings, which were in fact its mouth, not its flying organs. This spirit was called in order to avoid combat, to avoid such a battle, where the shaman a priori in a losing position. Butterfly Fugitive called those who would like to leave his body and wander the world of spirits at very far distances from the abandoned body, but at the same time afraid to run into a terrible shit, which will eat the traveler, no matter whether it will be Dora or even Oleg.

The Fugitive himself, each time, after each call, passes through death-rebirth, like that fiery combustion that the three anti-cursing spirits did, but, unlike them, each time he remained almost the same, getting rid only of traces of other people's auras and spiritual bodies, of other people's imprints and remnants of will. This is a very important clarification, because the knowledge in Stepan's head pointed to one of the similar contacts, which it was necessary and obligatory to disembody or seal after the completion of the transaction, because he would leave the shaman and would not bring him any problems, but his grandchildren, taking advantage of the bloody and aural connection, would not give life. The Fugitive took care of such problems himself, regularly renewing himself and resurrecting for each summoner.

Why does he need such radical methods of purification? It is because after the deal is made, he literally settles inside the aura and subtle body of the summoner for three years, no less and no more. A literal butterfly in the stomach, not to say otherwise, which will also eat up some insignificant percentage of the reserve, because the Fugitive will never spend his reserve, except for the fulfillment of what he was contracted for. If. If the out-of-body shaman loses contact with his body. If he falls into a trap or a trap specifically targeting such newcomers hunted by the spiritual beast. Then it is the turn of the Fugitive, who at one moment finds a connection with the real body of the shaman, makes a path and carries the one who has left the body back into the vessel of flesh, and then leaves the flesh and subtle bodies at the same time, crumbling with shining pollen, from which he appears and is born again, but a little stronger, a little bit stronger, but still.

The essence of his main skill is that this butterfly in essence is not one, but a double one, simply they are both superimposed on each other and always move synchronously, being one whole in all senses that ordinary words can accommodate. And so, when the shaman separates his spirit from his flesh, the Fugitive is not separated, he continues to be both there and there, simultaneously and uninterruptedly, which means that he cannot lose touch with his body either. Not even so - his second image always follows the first, attracts one to the second, no matter what the situation is - the one that remains in the spiritual body will always be attracted to the material body and the shaman who has thrown off the shackles of the flesh is primary here, while the meat body that remains without him is only a secondary factor.

If to explain this nonsense as substantially as possible, which even a shaman can't understand easily, we will get a very funny picture. So, two shamans simultaneously decide to leave the body, but only one of them has the Fugitive, and otherwise it can not be. This spirit is unique and doesn't have many peers in the specialty. Both shamans depart from their mortal shells, and then one of them, who has the Fugitive inside, decides that he will not go further, that he wants to return and better let the second one take the risk. And then the first one just takes, withdraws the sleeping and inactive Fugitive from himself-spiritually, handing him over to his coworker and friend. The second one carefully and gently immerses the rescue beacon into himself and at the same moment the second image of the Fugitive disappears from the meat body of the first shaman, who refused to risk appearing in the body of the second one, who transplanted the spirit into his subtle body. Fucking quantum entanglement in the shamanistic way, which you can't understand without eating hallucinogenic fly agaric and smoking a joint made of Schrodinger's mammoth wool!

Thanks to this peculiarity, Stepan was told by the knowledge of the System, often whole circles of shamans summoned only one Fugitive-like spirit with a similar property for all, so the one who makes his way through the world of spirits and risks more than others could always retreat, and then the links of the circle changed roles and the lifeline crossed with a catapult went to the one who replaces the next in front. And to carry out such a transplant, of course, is not easy, but if the shaman can leave the body and travel through the world of spirits, then such an operation he can do. Ideal evacuator, literally the best in its price segment, which is not shameful to use in the most extreme case, even Senior, and the Highest Shaman, that is, the analog of the magister, fucking it, classical magic. A universal wand, and that's putting it mildly. Another treasure, obtained through precise knowledge of the call procedure and correct selection of offerings, another reason for ordinary gifted people to hate Stepan as sincerely as possible.

That's why the young man watches how the little butterfly finishes its pollen, and then, having made a deal and waited until the essence of the spirit accepts the concept of the contract, he carefully and almost gently squeezes the butterfly with a ghostly hand, as gently putting it under the solar plexus feeling how the spirit settled there beginning to pull a thin stream of reserve sinking into the absolute stasis of nothingness. Now, until the end of the contract or until Stepan uses the evacuation, this spirit does not even exist in the full sense of the word, becoming something like another auric node in the shaman's body. Only this auric node is like a flash card on a removable plug. It can be taken out of the slot and transplanted to someone else. Well, in theory, since Pann has no allied shamans and is unlikely to have any, even if he decides to use the gifting on Meld or someone else.

Tiredly exhaling, the young man, barefoot and wearing only light pants, leaned his bare back against the totem heated by the internal pulsation of energies and dozed off without getting dressed. Fortunately, he had no dreams, but he woke up rested and even replenished his powers after a very strenuous ritual, but he was stiff to the point of stiffness. When he got up, he checked his aura and that of the Fugitive, making sure he was inactive, and began to think about what he could do before nightfall and whether he should return to the house now. On the other hand, he'd had a good night's sleep. He'd had the butterfly call from morning to noon, and then he'd been knocked out almost immediately, and now he didn't want to sleep but didn't feel like doing anything.

"And why not?" Shrugging and smiling with an anticipatory grin, Stepan asked himself, answering for himself. "Why not, yes! It's already getting close to the deadline anyway, we need to check, so why not today?"

It took barely five minutes to quickly summon the most common air sphere spirit, a primitive martial arts spirit. The spirit was able to strike with an air arrow or a fist, which could kill a man without amulets or armor, or it could create a cool breeze or blow dust away. The most common air spirit, which Stepan, who had recently become accustomed to the totemic support, summoned in packs of five or seven and brought them to the contract. The only difference was that he chose a contract for life with the right of transmission by blood and with the obligatory residence inside the small house of spirits, part of his rosary. The offering included a few burned feathers of a rare species of falcon, sent through the spirit grip, and before that bought back through the store. To say that it was Stepan who had overpaid was to belittle it, for well, very serious and unjustifiable charity.

He was about to apply the gift of the System to the spirit when it occurred to him that what he was testing was whether or not the spirit would demand a higher fee after he improved. And he had already overpaid the spirit so much that it, even improved, could hold on to its fee and not react to the possibility of changing the conditions. Well, it's a mistake.

"Well, I overdid it. The main thing is that at least he understood in time." Stepan calmed himself down, but he wasn't very calm. "Take two, an easier choice."

Another ordinary conscript, a spirit of the same sphere, type, and aspects, - so not to change the contour of the call, - only slightly different, as if this one is a little easier to clean the air from dust. Now the contract for lifetime service was as standard as possible. Stepan even habitually pushes with authority and will the lower requirements to which the spirit has habitually agreed. And so, when the contract was concluded, the young man placed the spirit in another link of rosary beads. It was a different one. In the previous was not enough space. Then he called him again and wished to use a new meta-skill. It came out on the first try and was so easy that he was even surprised. There were no special sensations, just suddenly such a “HOP!” and he already knew that the effect worked, and he could see too.

Judging by what he saw, the spirit was not particularly lucky, because with all his Sensivity and the support of the clearing's scanning systems, he could almost guarantee that out of a ten units of possible freebies, the spirit had gotten three, four at most, but mostly in Control and Spirit, which was an even more important stat for spiritual beings than for shamans. Well, at least not Constitution, though in the case of spirits Stepan wasn't sure that they had it, or that it hadn't been replaced by some other characteristic, or rather, he was sure of the latter, even though he understood roughly how to perceive it. For a few seconds Stepan waited for a reaction, but it did not come. The spirit realized what exactly happened to him, all immersed in himself, but responded to commands and at the same time did not hurry to shout that he was entitled to a big reward, because he is now badass. Well, this is not bad in itself, and the spirit itself has become stronger, not so useless, more mobile, controlling large masses of native elements, even the images of communication with him became clearer and smarter, still the spirit (essence) spirit (characteristic) has grown up, no matter how punning and absurd it sounds.

“Well, it seems that the autopsy has revealed that the deceased died as a result of the autopsy.” The muttering under his breath took on a somewhat irritated tone. “We'll have to tag the homes of the couple's spirits, keep an eye on them, see the effects of contact with the gift, and use the other one as a control sample. But that would be tomorrow. Or the day after tomorrow. Or another year.”

For the next couple of days, Stepan just rested. The Fugitive's summoning and the process of the negotiation with him had taken a lot of energy out of him. Having decided to allow himself two days off, during which he did nothing but sleep and eat, even giving Meld a vacation. Stepan fulfilled his plans brilliantly, and no one dared to interfere with his rest. Since Shera's departure, a month had passed without a couple of days winter was coming soon, though it could be considered that winter had already come. The cold, especially at night, had become noticeable, and the spirits of winter as such were already feeling their time, flying to the shaman's call at a reduced rate. The forest was falling asleep, the last harvestable herbs were fading, the mighty Dantra was covered with a thin crust of ice, the remaining leaves, which by some miracle still lingered on the

He didn't think about the priestess who had returned to her temple assignments very often and reluctantly. Mostly because blaming her for anything didn't work unless he started blaming himself. Stepan didn't like the regular denunciation of his own mistakes along with the creation of images of how things could have gone differently if he had acted differently on Earth, and he didn't like it here either. A turned page of life, a moral kick in the ass, and a spoiled mood - that was all that was left of that idiotic situation. The young man even thought about writing a letter to the priestess thanking her for her “lesson”, saying that I didn't hold a grudge and understood everything, but he didn't do it either. Yes, there was no anger at her, and if there was any, there was no anger left, but there was no desire to continue communication, to be honest. The very memory of the priestess reminded him of his stupidity, and there was no more reliable way to break off contact with anyone than to make a fool of himself in front of them.

With all these frantic preparations for winter, the seventeenth level was taken just a day and a half before the village men returned from the market. Everyone returned safe, alive, and even almost healthy, although a couple of particularly bad-tempered individuals were crushed in the conflict with neighboring villages. But valor, courage, honor and willingness to fight to the end helped even the lesser men of Lyady to finish off the enemy in a battle worthy of legends. Well, judging by what the participants said, the epicness was on the level of low flying dragons and a demonic invasion repelled in passing. And, as Kirik chuckled in his mustache, commenting on the juiciest moments with sudden “as it really was” inserts, not only the valor and might, but also the fact that the Southern Furs were more drunk to the point of unsteady standing on their feet. However, a certain Little Wull successfully used a drunken comrade instead of a club, saying how he beat the others fools with his own fool.

Characteristically, no one came to the shaman with requests for treatment of bruises under the eye, definetly Kirik trained them, which pleasantly surprised Stepan. Or they considered these bruises, which had already turned yellow, to be analogous to a battle medal and could not think of bringing them down voluntarily. Kirik's face was completely untouched, for none of the rival men had hit the fidgety beast. They did not come even after they had chatted with the local potter, who was showing everyone the clay sleeve he had carefully removed. Yes, he had broken it himself, he didn't go to Mr. Magik, he managed it by his own efforts, carefully nailed it in the right places and then put it back together, even glued it with primitive glue, for memory, it seems. Well, or not for memory, but in order to patent the invention, but Stepan still bet on an ordinary souvenir, the local magicians will not be surprised by such a trick, they themselves probably know about gypsum and similar substitutes.

So he chatted with the satisfied and well bargained headman, who did not even hide his emotions about the successful trip to the auction, and went back to grinding. There was a sense of reticence in the air: Kirik had hardly forgotten that he had offered to close the payment as soon as he got free money after the auction, but Stepan did not trifle with it, especially since his lodging and food were really provided at a decent level, as for the village. Kirik, realizing that the shaman was not going to bring up the subject, did not raise it himself, reasoning that it was better for him.

The seventeenth level, to return to this topic, was taken during another session of strengthening the spiritual boundary, when the young man created another additional “wolf pit”, only for hungry and predatory creatures that could try to ram through the woven shields and webs, and force the guards to retreat. The sixth trap, as usual, in a slightly different modification, was an artificial multidimensional pocket, in which the trapped spirit closes and begins to drain power, but to renew its reserves, on the contrary, does not give, either completely cutting off replenishment, or very slowing it down. And as soon as he was able to weave the last elements of this web, manually assisting several spider spirits with his own ghostly hand, the promotion came. He let the spirits go at once, though they were ready to work through the contract before sunset. And start checking what was new in his Status.

This time there were no gifts from the Autogoddess, which Stepan was only glad about albeit silently. However, there were some updates in the list of options open for promotion or choice of reinforcement. These changes didn't affect the plans he had beforehand, so the choice didn't change from the one he had made immediately after taking a new rank in combat skills. Scratching the bridge of his nose, Stepan found no flaw in his thoughts and plans, so he didn't increase his knowledge or meta-skills. At the moment, he had the necessary lines in his Status, some of his abilities were still being mastered, and some of them he was not in a hurry to master. In the latter case, of course, it was about charms, not about ordinary knowledge. So the young man turned to the list of available properties, which had also expanded and improved in recent months, choosing the only one he considered vital for himself.

He still did not deepen some facets of the gift by cutting others, which was powerful in the current perspective, but shortsighted in general. So he chose the property that did not bring any bonuses to his characteristics but could help him in his current research and, most importantly, in future research, which he had planned for this winter with a large reserve. A moment, and the aura, as well as the subtle bodies, was twisted into a tight spiral and bagel by a simultaneous transformation. It could not be considered pain, but the intensity of the load on the consciousness was unpleasantly high, yet the modification was not serious, turning the previously taken property “fortitude of subtle bodies” into its advanced version, called “high fortitude of subtle bodies” and, it must be said that more pronounced intensity of restructuring Stepan experienced only when unfolding elite properties for the tenth level.

Even in its improved form, this property, as well as its initial manifestation did not enhance his shamanism skills, nor did it make it easier to call for any group of spirits. But all of the things for which he had once taken the usual fortitude after the increase were revealed in new ways. It's not just the ability to train with absolute dedication and without fear of injuring the aura or even mutilation of the spiritual body. This is also an increase in the resistance of the very spiritual body, which Stepan was going to expose, separate from the physical body, and go for a walk in the world of spirits, for a fun walk. In principle, he was sure that only very specific shamans, probably using family secrets, managed to achieve such resistance just for their deep spiritual body, not just the outer layers of the aura. It's not that it's unnecessary. It's very necessary, and for a chance to get such a property, many people risk their lives and postmortem. It's just very difficult. Even among covens and long lineages of shamans forced to reign the use of special companion spirits, which cover the shaman and help him move. It reminds him of using a wheelchair, and even one that is pushed and guided not by you, but not from a good life is sophisticated with such contracts.

A modest earthling, who diligently reminds himself of this modesty, has at the same time spiritual transformation, spiritual operation, and now even more resistant subtle bodies - this will not make him equal to the native inhabitants of the world of spirits, where any man and non-human, accustomed to the Reality, born and raised in it, will be on the rights of a diver underwater, but still quite a lot will increase safety and combat capability. You can dive to the bottom to the sharks in just swimming trunks and flippers, armed with a penknife, and you can dive in a deep diving suit, with a waterproof chainsaw and a pneumatic needle gun at your belt. Stepan tried to crawl towards the second picture in his brain, building his awesomeness brick by brick.

Why do shamans go into that spirit world in the first place, and why is it so important for Stepan, despite the presence of a cheater System? Oh, here you can arrange a whole lecture, so if someone asked about it from a fellow isekai, he would be buried under a pile of indisputable facts, confirmed theories, statistical calculations, and quite reasonable assumptions. The most basic, in addition to the experience and self-discovered skills that surely await him, is, of course, the opportunity to interact more purely and qualitatively with the spiritual world. The call goes further, clearer, and more correct, the spirits come to the call more willingly, and when contracting can not spend time and effort on the process of transferring images from reality to the subtle spheres and vice versa, from which the shaman and the spirits ping high ping is formed and the signal catches lags. This alone pays off the risks, but there was something else - little by little, a little at a time, but every second of being in the spiritual world in the form of pure spirit, this very spirit transforms and changes, qualitatively improves and adapts to new conditions.

The essence of all such transformations is that from the point of view of the spirits, any shaman is initially crippled in his attachment to the real world. He is like a blind kitten, which pokes its face wherever it is and by the method of selection learns those things that the spirits realize instinctively and by birthright. To be born with such a birthright - what is there in the world, even with a shadow, a fragment of it! - It was practically unreal for a person living in reality, except for the extremely cool dynasties, as well as a couple of talents offered at the tenth level, which Stepan refused. First of all, his current talents were not worse. Secondly, at the expense of his current talents, he had a chance to develop what he had missed and even acquire something more serious.

Returning to the theme of transformation and re-forging of one's spirit. This gradual adaptation to new conditions allows you to strengthen the qualities of shamanic chanting, influences, and in general any interactions with the world of spirits in all directions at once, and in the real world too. To become a partially spiritual being, while retaining all the advantages of a material being, taking the best of both states. After all, even returning back to land and communicating with the inhabitants of the ocean through the same standard calls the one who has undergone such a transformation will still understand, see, and realize more. At higher stages, when a shaman literally becomes akin to the spirit worlds, when he feels himself in the higher spheres no worse than in Reality, he can quite easily cross the edge together with his body, crossing himself and at will, rather than using the help of spirits or open gates. And then, combining the abilities of a walker with a spiritual body, as well as constantly staying in another plane of existence anchor of the body of the present - that's when you get the most real supreme shaman, the elite of the elites, the analog of the master of classical magical schools minimum. In reality, of course, there are many paths to power and many Supreme Shamans still have not mastered the full transition or use some supports but still remain worthy of their title. But to step up a notch, to the power beyond the simple Magister, corresponding to the Archimagister.... Here it is already very difficult to take such a boundary for a shaman if he has not melted his spirit and not affinity with the spheres sufficiently.

In general, the reason why Stepan was preparing to storm this peak day and night, at the same time reinsuring himself against additional risks in every possible way was quite clear. The only thing he did not intend to do from the list of precautions of a novice paranoid shaman was to hire a driver for a wheelchair. He could move his body himself, if to speak allegorically, even though on crutches, crawling and pulling himself up on one arm. The Fugitive would provide the evacuation, he would prepare the protection, he would prepare a number of contracts to follow him directly, he had also picked up a number of contracts to follow him directly, he would do everything, but he would go, he would go by himself, by his efforts.

* * *

The new assignment caught him selecting the security guards, who would have to cover his nowhere noble ass from the angry claws, fangs, and tentacles of all kinds of evil shit. The preliminary negotiation of the terms of the deal was already completed and Stepan just let go of the images of the spirits with whom he was negotiating. The price suited both sides, and both sides - he was sure of it - had already realized the deal would be done, but they had stipulated all sorts of smaller details. Two highly unusual spirits were strong, dangerous, and powerful adversaries, but only if it came to a battle with spirits in the spirit world. In reality, they posed no threat, or rather became so vulnerable that they simply refused to come into it even for generous offerings: at the final stage Stepan will have to literally pull them into Reality, and even create for them a favorable saturation of the territory of the spiritual power. The latter, without skills in totem shamanism, the full power of the forest glade, and the help of territorial magic, was still a complicated task, even if it could be accomplished by Stepan. In the sense that he would have to once again create an analog of the glade and totems if they did not already exist.

The entities belonged simultaneously to the animal, water, and dark spheres, but they remained quite adequate and capable of dialog, even melancholically benevolent to the shaman, which was rare for the dark ones. Their images-reflections looked like two jellyfish of dark blue, almost black in some places as if floating on the waves of an invisible current. Sluggish, vulnerable, and easily destroyed in the material world, in the spiritual world they promised to run like racing bolides, flutter like butterflies, and sting like swarms of Japanese hornets, no less. Not only promise, they had every reason to consider themselves so cool, and at the same time, they also emphasized the increase in their pay. This payment, especially if he wanted not just a one-time contract, but a full-fledged deal, would have to be obtained through the system store because he personally would not be able to afford such reagents for a long time.

When the negotiations were over, and the spirits had gone about their business, but not far away, remaining within the reflection of the glade and the surrounding forest in the subtle spheres, his consciousness was pierced with images of the task that had come. Stepan was first pleased, then angry, and then pensive. He was happy about the opportunity to pump himself with the assignment and to replenish the stock of purchasing capacity. He was angry because the assignment was small but with the coloring of the Autogoddess. In general, the young man almost reflexively grabbed the image-inscription “...Liarat si Merrinal, Lady of Gifts and Giver of Gifts, faithful servant of Innelas Innelay”, so immediately and prepared to throw the assignment into the trash. He was about to do the same here, ignoring the reward of a considerable amount of experience and everything else, but then he realized the read-accepted assignment and became thoughtful.

System assignment (small) received: make contracts with at least two strong spirits of a charming nature while maintaining standard controls and invocations. Use of contracts already granted in the name of Liarat si Merrinal, Lord of Gifts and Giver of Gifts, loyal servant of Innelas Innelay will not be counted.

Reward: half of the remaining experience scale to complete; one of the previously unacquired specially offered system store items; a significant increase in the effectiveness of love spellcasting and suggestive influences.

At first, Stepan was just a little surprised because it was probably the first time that the Autogoddess, with her supreme will had not approved the use of the same Sleepawalker for an assignment. No, it was understandable that a contract with the senior spirits could not be considered as the fulfillment of the task, but the image phrase was unfamiliar, and that made him pay attention to it. But then, having properly realized the assignment set by Bulk Milf, the young shaman thought seriously. Yes, it was foolish and shortsighted to count on an elite artifact, like a tear-stained plaque with the call of the spirit army of dragon fighters. If Stepan understood anything about the Autobogina and its tricks, this item would be one of the “specified” incredibly cool artifacts that could not be used anyway. Like the same jewelry, which allows you to get into women's dreams and make them very vulgar: in theory, you can pump yourself up, and use it for espionage, and stamp double agents by the packs, but in reality, Stepan saw such cases and pumping up in the grave. No, you don't even need to look at an artifact or a rare reagent, it's all bullshit.
В гробу видал.

What was important was the very significant increase in experience. The level had been taken relatively recently and had filled up to just under a quarter of the milestone. And another extremely interesting detail was the fact that this assignment did not require the spirits of charms to be used against random victims or to wonk with thoughts of divine tits! In principle, yes, on such terms, yes, if there was no catch - and he was diligently looking for it and still does not find it - then he can try to fulfill the assignment. Yes, it will be necessary to buy at the very minimum in the store, to spend the whole evening and the next day on appeals, but he will cope. The love spells, at the expense of the Autogoddess, he pumped better than any other direction.

It was said and done. The moment of summoning came. It goes as smoothly and quietly as possible. From the funny details, Stepan noticed that the “depraved development II” seemed to add its bonus to the bonuses from the peaceful training even when summoning such specific spirits. A reason to think about changing the approach to pumping... and then send such changes where they belong. As it is, he's already growing very fast, and with the store, life has improved! Both spirits were summoned without problems, haggled, and pressed to the bare minimum, and generally, they behaved in an exemplary manner. If only all sorts of dark or just stupid entities also put themselves and behaved, there would be a little fewer difficulties and sorrows in Stepan's life

The first of the two spirits specialized not in subtle and cunning influence, but in coarse and extremely harsh, in fact, not even a charm, but a direct brainwashing. The entity sucked on the aura in the area of the brain, and through this section of the aura passes to the mental body and begins to fill the mind with corrective and direct images. The image of the master, the desire to obey, the desire to give, the impossibility to disobey, the unwillingness to upset the master, the thirst for approval, the disregard for one's own past, the embedded triggers (two-stage acoustically activated behavioral reactions, if scientifically and correctly, so as not to be looked at as a layman), prohibitions to attack, escape, kill and harm - a standard package of what mental processing of a standard enslaving type does to sex-and-not-so-slaves and slaves. After which they turn out to be obedient and efficient dummies that never lose their inexorable popularity.

In fact, it is the same as giving the victim to the same specialists that are available at any slave market, only here the specialist himself will come on call. And just like in slave markets, it is preferable to first fix the victim well and pump the victim with accompanying alchemy that relaxes the consciousness and suppresses the will. Spirit, in principle, is able to change the flow of images adjusting them, as well as the final result, depending on the wishes of the shaman. In theory, it can be used to work with ordinary slaves, not just sexual ones, but the spirit is used as its specialty. And now he is sitting in a small piece of cut crystal, as if covered from the inside with a barely visible greenish cobweb, and waiting for the order of the shaman who called him. It is a very valuable thing, in fact, it can be sold or given to someone, only slightly adjusting the conditions for the spirit, so that it knows whose commands to follow. This is no longer silver, no, here they will sell and buy only for gold and still be happy that money - to normal specialists is often not easy to negotiate even with the necessary finances.

The second of the summons was placed in a golden and beautiful coin. The most common Floren bought from the store. Its nature was quite related to money and gold. Quite a rare and narrow sphere, even a mixture of these spheres, at first glance even close to something unpleasantly demonic, but the spirit is still a spirit, not infernal something, just the nature of it is so, strange and greedy in all senses. Actually, the impact of the spirit is such that offering this coin to someone, just showing it, and then activating the contract. The victim will be ready for this coin to give in any position and form, considering such a deal extremely profitable and taken for granted. What is funny, it is to give oneself, to have sex, and not something else, though the most harmless, and to change this effect in the direction of “change the coin for the rest of the treasury” will not work, because it is also a limitation of the nature of the spirit.

It is a very powerful and penetrating thing, an ultimatum against a defenseless gifted, but good protective amulets will definitely repel such a blow, and not too good also have a chance to reflect or at least weaken. From the problematic moments: the coin does not correct the memory and does not blur the memories, and the effect of distorted thirst to possess a gold roundel passes for half a day. After that, it is better to be as far away from the victim as possible, or they may stick a pitchfork in his ass. Still, the individual who used such a donation will have a lot of questions about who he paid with a coin with a spirit planted in it and which one has already come to his senses. Although no, not so, the spirit in the coin is not planted, he temporarily became this coin and then died, stopped being a spirit, in fact becoming an artifact created from his own spiritual body. It was a difficult concept to understand and an extremely rare spirit, so maybe Stepan had overreacted and not-too-good amulets would be powerless against it, and the good ones wouldn't work properly.

Is it any wonder that both calls were counted by the Autogoddess as fully complying with the conditions of the completed assignment? A quiet whisper of approval behind him, as if nails were running along his spine, made him jerk habitually, but no more than that. The experience bar had grown normally, the spirit body was marked with the appropriate marks to facilitate the work with spirits of the love charm type, and the aura had undergone a slight modification, simplifying even more the sides of the use of his own gift specified in the assignment. Stepan intentionally tried not to blink, but, as always, the system reward materialized unnoticeably and suddenly - an oblong case made of wood covered with exquisite patterns emerged from the void, and the young man immediately guessed what was stored in that box, without any intuition or system hints. Carefully lifting the lid, which opened easily and silently, he only nodded at his own guesses.

"Well, who'd doubt it? They've caught up with me." The young man muttered, looking at the snow-white stockings with lace patterns, tightly and neatly folded in his vault, looking as if he was looking at a poisonous insect, and in some ways he was even right, because this artifact in anyone's hands is much more dangerous than any caracourt or scorpion. "And I can't throw it away, or someone might find it. And it's not easy to destroy them, because they're more armored than Abrams."

No, if he set his mind to it, he would undoubtedly ruin this truly powerful artifact, but it would take a lot of effort, as well as time, and maybe he would have to buy reagents. In the end, it was too much trouble just to show his own stupidity, and Stepan decided that one does not look a gift horse in the mouth. There would be many more volcanoes on his way. He could throw the super-artifact in one of these volcanoes, together with the container, if he happened to pass by. Although, no, not together. The package is made of rare wood, the patterns are effective enchantments disguised as decorations, and the box itself is quite suitable as a storage for rare reagents which are contraindicated to be in the fresh air, as they give their own magic outside and thus shrink. In the box, shrinkage will stop, as well as the leakage of power.

After sending rays of goodness to the Autogoddess, who had configured a very normal OP System in such a way that getting something useful out of this System became an extraordinary task. Stepan breathed for a few minutes, gradually accelerating, bringing his body and spirit to a normal balance and replenishing his strength a little. And only then, having finally calmed down, he slowly raised both anchors of the contract simultaneously sending a complex and predetermined chain of images to each of them, which could be deciphered as an assurance of early completion of their contract without penalty payments on their part, as well as with the the absence of any claims for the fact that they had already received full payment and the assurance that it could not be returned in any form. To put it simply, it was something like, “Everyone, get out while I'm being kind, keep the fee, ciao-cacao.” Naturally, the spirits, as well as any other entities possessing a specific mind, perfectly understood the degree of benefit of this or that action, and therefore were not annoyed by such a statement of the question, as well as to ask a hundred times whether the shaman is sure of his order. They only once clarified whether they had deciphered the images correctly, and then they really left, taking advantage of the totems in the clearing to quickly dive into their native spheres. Well, the one in the crystal clarified, because the minted one left silently, though satisfied with the payment, even the process of resurrection-death did not disturb him.

A piece of crystal with a spider web inside it cracked and almost burst, which, by the way, could hurt Stepan, forcing him to pull the fragments out of his flesh, and the coin simply faded, as if it were not gold at all, but made of an incomprehensible viscous and easily crumpled material of unknown nature. And even though the young man was a little sorry, or rather greedy, to waste good contracts, which turned out to be not so easy to conclude, but throwing his efforts in vain, he was very pleased, a smile was begging on his face. Never could he have imagined that he would be so uplifted and self-important by being a character from an anecdote. The trickster who'd cheated the cab driver by paying the money but never going.

The super stockings were hidden under the bed in the village house, and Stepan wrapped the case in a clean cloth and hung a couple of separate protective spirits on top, just in case. It was uncomfortable to leave such an artifact unattended, given that it was worth as much as several villages with all its contents. Even including Stepan, if we took away his System. Otherwise, the work continued, and every day Stepan realized more and more clearly that he was a little bit, just a little bit, drifting on the twists and turns as to the degrees of precautions taken. New traps, new lines of defense, another batch of sealed pots buried around the clearing with offerings and spiritual structures burning in them, which would have to create a complex influence on the territory around. It seemed to him that the system would increase his skills, if not in totemic practice, then in territorial magic, but he was wrong - the System revealed a whole new talent.

Received: “basic techniques for building defensive arrays”; significantly increased affinity with higher spheres; significantly increased effectiveness of territorial influences; increased probability of acquiring knowledge and properties of the branch of barriers, druidism, witchcraft.

The acquired talent is added to the overall Player status.

Stepan had to sit down right there, by the tree and began to absorb the gift into his already creaking brain, roughly assessing both what he had gotten and what he could do with it. And there was a lot to do. It was as if the knowledge had been created for a fierce synergy with practically any of the already existing ones, even love spells and tantric magic. However, the highest form of mutual reinforcement was obtained in conjunction with totems, territorial influences, and work with sources. In fact, he had literally suffered for this entire preparatory operation, during each of the days spent on it. He already had the knowledge that could be referred to this block, but it was just that each of them belonged to a different direction because the three “maximally related” to the protective arrays of knowledge could not contain them in one way or another.

Totems are strongest in a long and high-quality defense, territorial influences in general live and exist by that defense, and the magical source can not be put in a pocket and take with you (not at the current level of understanding of their nature certainly). That's why the defense line for maximum squeezing of all the potential from himself and blood from the ill-wishers who came to visit uninvited can be built on the basis of totem shamanism, and at the expense of ordinary calls, and with the help of a bunch of witchcraft practices, and taking into account the experience of a fighter, and with the use of contract reserves from each of the directions of development that he has in the Status. And he used all of the above, and also created successful combinations, as well as tried out a couple of novelties from himself, which resulted in the disclosure of full-fledged knowledge.

This knowledge touched on all the same topics that he had used to acquire it, only now it systematized the approaches, improved the understanding of the results of the actions already performed and, of course, revealed many new ways. That's when he, who had already evaluated all the ways in which his line of defense could be strengthened, reinforced, and made the training complex as steep as possible, realized that it was time to exhale a little.

What he had already done was almost everything that could be done quickly, efficiently, and without attracting a flow of expensive resources that would have to be thrown into the furnace of a running steam train. Stepan stood up from the cold ground and shook off his clothes, clearly deciding that he was done with the preparations, building new lines as needed, not paranoia. In fact, he would still spend about a week more going over what had already been done, fitting the individual elements of the built structure to each other and reducing the conflict between those elements, but beyond that, stop.

He returned to the house and spent the next three days finalizing plans for further actions, testing his creation at the same time. The distance from the clearing to the cabin meant little to him now, and he could successfully control most of the structure and the overall array without getting up from the table and without stopping to reprimand the desperately dumb Meld. Yes, he was also busy teaching the boy, giving him a marathon of herbalist skills, and at the same time telling him how to deal with all sorts of nasty things, not necessarily even spirits, and the same undead. Most of these tricks were unknown to the villagers - it was one thing to know that a dead man from the grave could be put to rest with silver, it was certainly not a secret. And the idea to roll small silver crumbs into the meat gut of the bait, and then feed the result to a flying ghoul, an ogre, can also be thought of. But more interesting things, like the possibility of passing silver coins through the fire, fusing them, then wash them in the spring river under the spring rain, and then pour their own blood, and leave them for a moon and a half in a box with dried motherwort, wormwood and a couple of magic herbs villagers have no way to know. And after such treatment the silver ball could kill weak and wild undead even without direct touching, by its mere presence. It also would scare away and burn ghosts. If they weak and not protected by specific shields in the necromancer's performance.

* * *

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Переведено на Нотабеноиде
http://notabenoid.org/book/86785/571907

Переводчики: Camrad_RIP