Готовый перевод Настучать в бубен / Hit the tambourine: Глава 14_2

The reward is really decent and much better than one would expect from a not-so-difficult assignment. Though? Not having a spiritual form and the ability to directly manipulate ghostly limbs inside another's body, as well as quietly placing the right spirits inside that body's aura and directing them afterward, he couldn't do without summoning some really serious spirits with equally serious rituals and disguise breaking. The second assignment, which came at the same time as the first and did not replace it but only supplemented it, he rejected with indignation, even though he admitted that this Tahira was no innocent daisy, and her adoptive father was no better. It was a typical Autodivine trick: to organize a feast for a cured and very happy girl, in which she would voluntarily become the main course for the whole team, including her “daddy”, consuming no less than two portions of seed from each of the twenty-one participants of the coming orgy.

It's not a bad way to get protein food, but let's do it without Stepan, shall we? He'll cure her, hand her over to the chief, wave a handkerchief, and let her celebrate or not celebrate, or gangbang her whole team, or castrate them all - without him. He, like that birdhouse from the memetic picture on the earthly internet, does not participate in this festival. However, they offered a free talent point for spending on meta-skills and the same free one for spending on minor knowledge. However, if Stepan had been greedy, his life could have turned out quite differently.

In the morning he finally stopped talking, stretched his bones, drank a cold herbal brew - Meld had brewed it, proud of the fact that he was so cool and useful - and met the not-so-sleepy, though sullenly tired gaze of Schirm, who also hadn't slept a minute, having only gone to the toilet a couple of times. Nodding to him and quickly washing himself with cold water, the boy began to describe their further plans for today.

“That's all for now. Let the local women wash her, change her into a clean shirt and nothing else, just a blanket to cover her with, then we put her on the burden and carry her to the river, there is a hill with a cliff nearby, just well adjacent.” The man listened attentively, and he was already calm and collected, he saw that his valuable specialist became noticeably easier and he was convinced of the shaman's professionalism, as well as of the fact that he had not lied about the fact that everything was not so serious. “There's somewhere around four or five thousand paces, but you can't follow the river, the echo of the river will stay on her. It'll be harder later, so tell your people you'll have to carry the weights for a bit. First, I think, breakfast, while they change your sick one's clothes, and then let's get to work. I'm tired, it's time to finish.”

Stepan bit his lip, almost calling the girl by her name, even though no one had told him her name, which would have been a failure and would have aroused suspicion. It was good that he realized his blunder in time and did not make a blunder. The smuggler, who listened attentively, chuckled audibly, then stood up and walked over to the patient still in the analog of a medical coma, stroking her sweaty forehead with some touching care.

“To carry this fish? Fuck, such a burden will not break the back of a dead nag, Tahira has not had enough of the lord's bodies.” He joked, and he laughed himself. Stepan even envied such a sense of humor, at least he could not be sad and make stand-ups for himself. "Heh, we have enough strength for that, the main thing is not to fail, I beg you by all the gods, please note, with all the politeness."

Stepan was already leaving the house, but then he turned and met the calm gaze of the almost-not-bandit with an equally calm gaze of his own, clearly seeing there a very simple truth. If a stray shaman makes a mistake, he will be beaten or even killed, despite his “ politeness” and kind attitude. Well, if they didn't want to sell him to someone to compensate for the losses from the death of their gifted one. Stepan realized all this and somehow he wanted to just cure the maiden, wait for the whole gang to leave, and then send something hungry and evil after them, so that not even planks of their boat were left. He could, now he could. Although collecting the planks would have to be a separate task for the spirit group, but he could still do it. And, hell knows, maybe that's exactly what he would do.

Just in case.

* * *

Stepan was enthusiastically drawing all sorts of useful patterns on the wrists and ankles of the comatose maiden with a little alchemical blue paint: health, vigor, strengthening, tranquility, peace, and a bunch of other symbols, embodying a kind of reflection of the spirit world on reality. Not runes, not ritualism in its purest form, but a subtype of shamanism and witchcraft at the same time, revealed within the framework of general erudition in the connection of call practice and work with the territory. In fact, these signs, quite working and useful, were about as useful to the patient as a cold compress or, say, the sixth finger on the left hand, that is, nothing at all. It is of no use, but it looks beautiful and works for the public, which today is especially demanding.

A dozen tall and not-at-all-righteous men did not go with them, and even if they had, Stepan would not even bring them to the treatment, but would simply go further away from the village and kill them all, having tested the retinue because it would be obvious that they were up to no good. All in all, six people went to the noticeable hillock, not counting the shaman and Meld, who had asked for the role of fetch-and-deliver, and Stepan did not refuse him. Four big men dragged a homemade stretcher, on which lay Tahira considered the fifth, dressed and covered with a blanket, and the gloomily hopeful Captain Gulash stomped along beside them. A warm breeze was blowing, and the weather was fine and even hot for those carrying the still-living load, the mud on the forest path had dried a little and therefore it was easy to walk.

There was no special conversation. Stepan went straight to work, asking Meld in passing to give him this or that thing or reagent. The teenager tried his best to pretend he was not gawking at the almost undressed girl, because her father, though not her own, was literally two steps away, and he had a dirk. Stepan did not stare at all, even when drawing signs, because he had put himself into a trance and was calmly preparing the call of a long-ago-summoned spirit, hovering a few moments away from reality. The young man also maintained two independent shields. A weaker and more obvious one, and a second, much more powerful and hidden in the shadow of the summoner's aura along with the spirit that created the shield. The retinue of three strong fighters and a dozen specific trifles was also nearby and ready to act: there was no more convenient moment to grab a stranger's magician as a consolation prize.

Stepan, to be honest, almost wished that he had been attacked by these guys so that everything would be simple and clear again, and there would be no need to play complicated social comedy. How simple things are when the enemy can be simply and uncomplicatedly fucking killed. Well, first interrogate him, and then kill him, but to hell. However, if he was attacked, it would be after the treatment was over, and the suspects themselves were clearly not going to fight. It was felt in their movements and emotions. Stepan's thoughts were not read, at the moment, but the surface plans of Schirm had been considered in the morning and treachery was not there. If the shamaness, of course, would fulfill his promises. If he screwed up, then there were options, but what Stepan did not doubt was the ability to fulfill the System assignment. This poor girl he will treat to perfect condition, even if he has to kill all the others first, except for Meld, he is definitely normal. A bit of a moron, of course. He is annoying beyond measure, but normal, probably, just not for sure.

The ritual passed, well, as it should have. No differences. Stepan pumped up his throat singing skill a little, but without any comments from the system, played with his necklace, shook it over the patient's body, and then the girl inhaled sharply, as if she were drowning, and opened her eyes, twitching like a paralytic. She had her mind back completely now, but her body still didn't obey her normally. Brain damage was a thing. Stepan could let her regain her reflexes on her own, but the System wouldn't count that as a full cure. So it would be necessary to plant a couple of spirits in her and manually adjust the areas of the aura responsible for the connection of muscles and thoughts with reflexes. Nothing complicated against the background of his knowledge, but it would eat up half an hour of time. And to prevent the gifted magician from realizing that Stepan was demonstrating skills that were not at all student-like, a pair of invisible, even in the magical background, non-leeches had already been sucked to her temples, sucking out not magic or life, but thoughts, perception, and memory, even the very process of awareness. If he wanted to, she wouldn't notice even if he started cutting her right there, or, given the nature of these spirits, raping her in every possible way.

“Easy, don't twitch, I'm treating you now not so you can get mangled again. Your captain, over there, just a little to the left, you're fine.” The shaman speaks indifferently and slightly irritated, showing exactly how he feels in general. “You've been unconscious for a long time, your body has become weaned from being guided by your mind, I'm re-establishing that connection now. You'll start cramping after a hundred heartbeats, so to make sure you don't break anything, I'm going to immobilize you, but you'll be able to talk, here, have some water.”

Meld, red as a crab, immediately bent over Tahira, bringing the bowl of long-cooled potion to her lips. Greedily drinking some of it and spilling some of it on herself, which would have been dangerous if he had not insulated the air near her with a separate spirit, the heavy-breathing lady calmed down and began to wheeze something indistinctly, slowly recovering her voice too. Stepan did not pay much attention, as well as to the cheerful congratulations on her survival, and warm greetings from all her colleagues in the dangerous illegal game with customs and border services. But he paid attention to something else, at first raising his eyebrows in surprise, and then simply shrugging and calming down, because he was ready for something similar, albeit in a different setting.

"Vih... Vihras..." Quietly hissed the patient already quite legible putting letters into words about three minutes later, when Stepan started to restore her fine motor skills, not letting the girl even think about using the gift, or else she would disturb the spirits. "Vihras..."

“Yeah, he's the one who spotted you, Tair, and actually saved you, heh.” One of his colleagues supported her, smiling cheerfully. “If it hadn't been for him yelling that you'd flopped, we'd all be sailing by. We'd have almost sailed by, you went by the stern, and you fucked up your legs, it was a miracle we had time to pour the potion in, and they found a mage here. Don't mind that he's small, he's as sharp as a fucking pike, and he knows his business.”

"Vihras. He pushed me off the boat, asshole, fucking cocksucker. He hit me in the head with something and pushed me off, fucking bitch!" Stepan nodded respectfully at the purity of her speech and the consistency of her speech constructions. His systemic knowledge of the language and internal translation were able to cope with these swear words, but not without difficulty; some of the terms did not seem to exist in the usual Earth dialects at all. "And before that, the fucking cocksucking catfucking whore-lover had spoken, ha-ha-ha, offered to stand for him, promised fucking knowledge and the opportunity to learn something from normal magicians."

The words of Tahira, who had come to her senses, first caused silence, then a slight murmur, and then a very, very grim expression on the face of Schirm Gulash, who may not have gotten his nickname for his love of bloodshed, but now he was ready to do just that, along with torture and slow feeding of the traitor to magical magical predatory catfish, preliminarily smeared with rot and rottenness, so that not especially predatory fish, preferring carrion, would eat human meat at all. Such is the traditional execution for rats and scavengers among river criminals along the entire Dantra, a sacred tradition, you might think. Stepan, who had managed to get into the heads of his “clients” during the night, lost all sympathy for them and almost begged them mentally to give him a reason, so he would fight back. Noble, bitch, smugglers in fact, of course, quite reasonably considered themselves better than pirates, raiders, or slavers, but against the background of earthly standards and norms, Stepan would put them all in coffins and build a lead sarcophagus on top.

The problem for both Schirm and his six men was that there were five of them, and they were armed only with ordinary weapons. They were wearing minimal or even no armor. They didn't take special amulets with no charge recovery option - but for obvious reasons, they don't carry iron at all, and some of the amulets are worn only before a fight - while a crowd of seven snouts, armed for battle, had already appeared near the hill. They also brought with them five powerful arguments in the form of light but powerful crossbows. The main one of them, probably the same Vihras, stood out with a particularly impudent face, a good protective amulet, better than Gulash's, and a full-fledged one, which could be carried on his person without taking it off - more against physics, against magic much less helpful, but also working - as well as a classic magic wand made of varnished wood, which had already been pulled out of the belt holster. Apparently, this classic strikes with no less classic fire in the form of a fire arrow with the ability to change intensity. Not a bad thing. It's useful, especially when trying to whack your own superiors.

“Vihras-Vihras, I got you out of the shit. I brought you into the world, and here you are thanking me.” In spite of his confident and cheerfully condemning tone, Schirm's mood is simply grave and he already understands that he's going to die, but he has no right to show weakness in front of the people who are still loyal to him. “So what did the Schmalevs offer you? Was it worth it, eh?”

Vihras spat contemptuously on the ground showing his attitude to his interlocutor's words, but apparently, he couldn't deny himself the opportunity to show off. Stepan, who was reading everyone around him, and who, thanks to a recent property, was not even dizzy from so many parallel dialogs and transmissions of images, could clearly see what this individual was breathing. And how much he hated his chief for the fact that he, such a bitch, “noble”, helped and saved him, and then all his life reminded him of it, reminded him, and, bitch, reminded him! Because he's just a bitch and all. And Vihras wants more. And now he's, like, a bitch himself because he kinda betrays. Classic hatred for someone who showed even the slightest bit of better morals. The desire to kill the one so that the realization of his own lowliness wouldn't give him an annoying itch anymore. And also the thirst for money, power, and girls, including the still-paralyzed Tahira.

“Well, first of all, it's not Shmalevy, it's Reed, but you must not give a shit. That's the end for you.” He's showing off, baring his teeth, giving a taste of strength and courage to those who came with him. They are already tied up, but it's better to draw a line once more. “Big search is going on, fuck, Rotten is out, Batrak is out with him, Yelnik can barely protect his ass now, or they'll fuck him. Reed's in the main stream now. He should be the helmsman, and you're in the way, bitch. You don't get it, do you? They're dividing the Dantra again, like ten winters ago, only this time, Gulashik, they didn't give you a portion of earfish, yeah. Understand, cook? It's fucking over. We were supposed to be in Chalnaya, not here, but your flat whore had to be so resilient.”

It seems that's why he tried to eliminate her first. Schirm understood, and Stepan was read from him. She could sense an ambush in her native cove. Her charms were there, and with time to prepare, on a familiar boat, the Reader of the currents could reverse the outcome of the fight, or simply escape by speeding up the boat so they decided not to risk it. At first, they offered to participate, and when she refused, she was immediately hit over the head. They should have gotten the dead body, but apparently, the hit was weak. Stepan noted the girl's traumatic brain injury was strange, but he wrote it off as a very unlucky fall and a blow against the side of the ship. He should have listened to the agent's work and checked everything properly. But no, he decided not to stand out... He doesn't care, of course, but the fact of missing the picture is annoying. Next time he could miss something really important.

Stepan did not listen to the bickering of this truly worthy company, preferring to finish his business. It would take about five minutes until the victim, who was swearing sluggishly at the traitor, would be completely back to normal, even her legs had already fused, but he would tell her not to walk much for another week for conspiracy's sake. But his luck ran out, and the next phrase was meant for his ears, and it was a characteristic one, with all the necessary markers.

“So, Magik, let's go and stand aside, over there, then we'll deal with you and, hee-hee, we'll talk about what to charge you for pushing my oar across the fucking sail.” Well, you don't even need intuition to foresee the scenario in which the shaman would be taken as an additional trophy. “Don't be stupid, I'm not afraid of fire, but I'll roast your heels later, the fire's already burning.”

Stepan involuntarily glanced at the fire lit for warmth and then continued to finish his work. He would even fulfill this demand, let the bastards kill each other, and kill the survivors, and afterward, he would think how to disguise it all as “kind gentlemen, they did it all themselves, and I just happened to be alive”. From his side, this conflict was an example of sexual relations between an aspid and a tropical frog, and therefore he sincerely wished both sides success and the highest possible kill count. Except that he felt sorry for the healed one, and not even because she was a woman, and certainly not because she was innocent, but because he had treated her so much, and there was such a thing. And they would not kill her quickly, which could not help but infuriate Stepan, who did not like blood and all kinds of torture, violence, beatings, and all that.
ебелал жаба гадюку.

“No problem, just let me finish in a couple minutes and I'll stay and warm up by the fire.” He said peacefully and even a little submissively, but the bastard who had already tried on the crown of the king of waters did not like this attitude, which resulted in a sharp gesture behind the back of one of the crossbowmen. “But don't be in such a hurry, I'm not a refu..., you bitch! Why don't you all take care of yourselves!"

The young man's conciliatory speeches were interrupted by a crossbow bolt that flew straight into his face. This one seemed to have been enchanted a little and badly, because the first shield, weak and more for show, was almost pierced. The air that had been condensed into a barrier, created by a feather woven into his hair, not the same one that had been originally used for such an effect, repelled the threat, though it shook, and then Stepan struck back. He was still trying to act within the framework of “just a talented apprentice”, so he couldn't call up Sprut and organize tentacle porn for the bad guys, otherwise he would have to leave no witnesses, except for Meld, whose memory would have to be cleaned.

Instead, on the last syllable of his outraged shout, the crossbows of all the remaining crossbows snapped at once, rotting away. It was a trick he had long ago prepared. It was a perfect remedy against bows and other shooting junk, and it was all done by one small spirit with the right exotic property, rather than a bunch of separate calls of simpler ones, which would spoil each bowstring separately. Just rotted all the targets in the radius of the hill. Only no one but the enemy here had crossbows or anything else. Is that a bad thing? Good! Too bad, Vihras, a bad man, didn't share Stepan's opinion. He shouted something insulting, called the good guy Pann a bad word, and, transferring his wand, obviously given by his patrons, who had provoked this dispute between economic agents, to the maximum power mode, released not even an arrow of fire, but a full-fledged spit of flame in the direction of the shaman. And not just at him, but also at the unhealed Tahira, the bastard!

//“My free meta-skill!” - He mentally shouted, clasping his hands, physically piling on the patient, covering her with his protection and calling out from the necklace of a specific small spirit, just for such situations and called on the basis of knowledge in the framework of combat calls. The spirit manifested in Reality but remained invisible to anyone without magical sight, but soon it became very distinguishable. The entity draws in fire magic, like smoke from a hookah, and then flashes very bright and at the same time not a bit blinding light. But the other flash both blinded and stunned, and even maimed, if not killed. The spirit attuned to the source of the magic that directed the flame and sent the flame back to the sender with a little bit of the spirit's own power. If it was a spell performed by a mage, the aura would have been deformed and twisted a bit, but if he wasn't a complete ignoramus, he would have quickly gotten rid of the attack through the envoltive semblance. But the spell was created by the wand, and it returned to the wand tearing to shit the product of very dubious quality and Vihras's arm just above the elbow which made Stepan smile a little bloodthirstily. Mentally, because aloud, when everyone blinked and began to perceive the world, he said something completely different:

"Wow, it really worked!" And there was so much surprise in these words that you can't even say he lied because he was really surprised that the normal kind of wand did not have any protection against destabilization. "I can't believe it!"

The rebellious part of the team did not care about the shaman's belief or disbelief, because Vihras opened his mouth like a fish, looking at the blood-spurting stump, as if he expected it to come back together and the numerous injuries, including a very severe burn on the right side of his body, to heal by magic. Oddly enough, they didn't heal, the stump didn't regrow and the wand didn't regenerate from splinters. Some kind of one continuous mess, not a successful revolt, rebellion, and change of the throne! But the leader was lucky, or vice versa, for his neighbor was killed instantly by a piece of the rod that had entered halfway through his skull. Another was just wounded, screaming that his leg had been blown off, though it was just a couple of splinters driven into the meat. The others were trying to figure out how the situation had shifted from a simple and uncomplicated slaughter of the commanders, helpless against wands and crossbows, to such an outrage.

Schirm didn't let them figure it out. With a cry so obscene that it would have been censored even if it had been dubbed by Cubic in Cube, he rushed to cut the traitors into the same bloody gulyash. Two he cut down without any resistance at all, then the rest of the allies pulled up, having come to their senses sufficiently, and there everything ended with only one wound, a scratch even, which was received by the very talker who praised Vihras as the savior of a drowning woman. There was only one individual who cleverly and deliberately ran around the general skirmish and tried to stab the shaman or take Tahira hostage, but Meld, who bravely shouted something unintelligible, jumped under the man's feet, restraining his movements and gave Stepan time to react. Meld got a boot in his nose for this feat, but there was no way to avenge his assistant because one of the “allied” guys appeared from behind the attacker and beat him to death with an axe. It was good that his brains weren't splattered, or his skull was split in two.
Кубик в Кубе

In the meantime, Schirm began to command, swearing and pulling a piece of rope over the arm of the sluggish Vihras, but not out of mercy. The smuggler wanted to know where the idea of the change of commander, the new amulet and wand, as well as the general outline of the upcoming big divisions between the gangs, had come from. Somehow it became clear that it would be better for the asshole to die right here, because now his death would not be easy, and neither would the questions that would have to be answered.

"That's it, I'm done, please pay up," Stepan said, instantly silencing the others and looking at him. -"She is healthy and can probably even walk. But I'd advise you to take care of her arm and legs for a week, because the bones are fused, and they may crack again in the same places. Uh, Tahira, can you say something?"

Her father answered instead of Tahira, looking at the boy a little warily, but generally positively, even a bit gratefully. Tahira's gratefully positive look was much more pleasant, but only because she was still a very pretty and poorly dressed girl.

“Listen, Pann, buddy, are you sure you're a, well, fucking healer?” Eloquently looking around the battlefield, Schirm looked at the shaman again and continued his thought. "I'm not making a charge, no-no, but somehow this is all... uh, sudden."

"I'm not just a healer - I'm a shaman-healer." Explains the guy, kneading his hands and lower back. "Shamans are all, how can I put this delicately?"

"Six months dancing naked around the fire, shaking their balls, not drinking anything hot, and eating bull cocks and hare shit every morning, but when they need to, they strike almost like normal mages, only then they dance again for six months. Have I never seen a shaman?" Instead of him, Tahira, who had taken a sitting position, finished her thought, glaring angrily at everyone around her and trying to cover her body clad only in a short shirt. "What the fuck are you fucking doing, glaring like idiots on a magistrate's seal?! Throw me my clothes, now! Or did you manage not to bring them with you?"

While everyone was expressing strong emotions and handed Tahira her cloak, in which she wrapped herself and began to look angrily at those who had looked at her before, Stepan thought a little and asked himself. He couldn't help asking, because his professional subject was also affected, and his erudition could not give an answer.

"Okay, I can understand naked dancing and no alcohol, these are frequent restrictions and requirements to the rituals of invocation, I can understand even bull genitalia, quite a strong symbol, for such a condition their contracts will be found, but why, for the sake of all the gods and spirits, someone to eat hare shit at all?" Of course, spirits have very exotic requests, but we are talking about shamans in general, as a stereotype, and those shades of spiritual images, that can be obtained from such a sweet treat, are practically useless. "There is no aspectual connection, no sympathetic window, or anything useful! What the hell is the joke, or is it some kind of joke that I do not understand?"

Tahira looked at him with slight surprise, but then chuckled, suppressing her laughter at the very last moment, as the shaman's gaze was very eloquent. Coughing, she explained through the laughter of both herself, her “father-in-law” and the rest of their team:

"It's a kind of strength replenishment, for men, to make the hook last longer." In response to his bulging eyes, she only shrugged her shoulders, saying, “I don't know anything, it's tradition. It's bullshit, I know, but the villagers believe in it, even trade in potions sometimes. Maybe they feed the hares some herbs, but I don't know, am I fucking stupid to ask?"

Ah, well, if it's a cultural tradition, Stepan washes his hands of it, his knowledge fortunately doesn't extend to such things.

* * *

In addition to the seven dead traitors, two other men who remained loyal to Gulash had been killed when they noticed the suspicious actions of the enemy while they were assembling. Well, the crew of the Little Leshch, as the boat of Gulash was called was almost halved, but they could sail, as it seemed even now, for they had gone to scout the ways and check the caches left for the winter with an overcrowded crew. However, they decided to stay a few days to bury their boys on the same hill where they had treated Tahira, and to think over their further actions. As Stepan suspected, it was also to let the bones of their gifted one heal properly, which even after regaining consciousness had to be carried back.

Stepan was paid his coins for the treatment, even honestly offered to pay the combat coins as well, but the young man in a fit of bad temper, refused. Not out of nobility, but because he attacked only after they had already hit him. If it wasn't for Kirik's request and the System's assignment, he wouldn't have treated her, or would have done the minimum, just so she wouldn't die. Although, okay, he's overreacting here - he would have helped and pulled her out. He simply and succinctly “explained” to Schirm that if he had let him kill or abuse the girl he had just cured, his grandfather would have killed him with a shovel on his head from the other side of the world. They seemed to believe him, especially after listening to the rumors going around the village and probably began to consider Stepan's grandfather a very stern man, a man of iron, but not Felix.
Железный Феликс

Meld, who had received the treatment for his broken and skewed nose from Stepan, now boasted and pontificated as if he had discovered his Kazakh roots and become the star of the whole village for an indefinite time. Kirik, on the one hand, was rubbing his hands together, because the sub-deckers had brought a lot of money to the village, but on the other hand, on the contrary, he wrinkled his nose in displeasure and forbade the girls to wander alone. Of course, he and the rest of the village had never seen much evil from Gulash and his crew, but this crew with the captain at its head had never been here longer than one evening, and here they had been here for several days, and angry, and after the battle, and with losses, and all together. In general, Kirik slept vigilantly and kept his boarding axe under his pillow, as well as his cleaver folded at the bottom of the chest in an oiled cloth.

The shaman returned back to his cabin, looked a little at the ceiling, sighed about the bloodiness and cruelty of this world, and then took up his new meta-skill - “replenishment of life I”, which is a very nice complement to the “replenishment of reserve”, but was hardly more useful, albeit with a longer rollback. Once a month from the moment of obtaining the skill Stepan could replenish the missing life force literally instantaneously, even if he was almost dried up by some vampires or sucked by a lecherous demoness - at this moment half asleep young man was very surprised at how he even had such an idea, but habitually blamed the Autogoddess with her regular tasks - would be enough only consciousness to just wish to activate the skill. However, updating the scale of life force was a trifle, Stepan almost did not use those calls, where the spirits needed life with blood, because there were simpler ways, not so dangerous, and at the same time no less effective. And most of the blood lovers could be persuaded to use a little more pure magic. Comparing the Source and Constitution parameters, it was still more favorable.

The trick is that this trick heals wounds, any wounds at all. At this stage, only physical wounds or those with a minimal magical component, do not help against poisons, curses, or other long-lasting effects. But meta-skill levels will continue to rise and underestimate the possibility of instantly repairing a hole in his chest the size of his chest itself if you manage to apply the skill and keep enough self-control to remember him at such a moment... No, with his life, it would be impossible to underestimate such a lifeline. No matter how much Stepan tries to avoid conflicts, but they still find him, no effort is required. With such thoughts, remembering the world of dark and evil fantasy with kind words, Stepan met the sudden knock at the door.

He was surprised that there was a suicide who wanted to disturb him again, but he looked through the door - with a ten in Sensitivity he could do that without having to switch completely to magical perception - and was even more surprised at what he saw behind the door. He thought for a few seconds about pretending to be dead or running away into the night, but he thought that was unworthy of his remarkable awesomeness, so he got up and went to open the door.

“You've come to the fucking end of the world, shaman.” In a slightly annoyed voice, which, because of the noticeable hoarseness always seemed to be annoyed, Tahira said to his face. “What are you looking at? Are you going to let me warm my broken bones, or are you going to tell me to get the fuck out of here?”

He would not have said such a thing, even if he had wanted to, because he was like that hare from the cartoon, a very polite boy, but the temptation was there. And the second temptation was the appearance of his guest, dressed only in light pants and a shirt under a cloak. The weather was certainly spring-like, but the breath of winter could still be felt, and the present evening was already turning to night. Judging by the Sensitivity she warmed herself with the most primitive magic, instinctive, reflexive, and ineffective to the extreme. The outflow of power, parasitic and useless, almost brought tears to his eyes. No, of course, there was a possibility that she was fine, and her nipples were showing through the thin and obviously “festive” shirt of white and red fabric because she was very happy to see him, but one had to be realistic.

"Come in, I'll make you something hot to drink." He didn't find the girl, who was barely three or four years older than he was, so attractive, but he wasn't going to refuse her hints, and he wasn't going to forget to be careful. "Take off your shoes, make yourself at home and all that."

//“Just don't forget you're a guest,” Stepan added mentally.

“It's nice here, I can feel the power, I can't even see it from the outside, but here, bitch, it's hot, whispered normally, not worse than in my Lyashc.” She would have smelled much more, but Stepan had warned his spirits not to show too much in the perception, she was a gifted one, and a trained one at that, not an ordinary girl. “Get the hot stuff right away the mood's right for a goblet of wine minimum, a total fucking mess. We've sailed, they call it, we've seen Dantra, we've felt the creeks, I've fucked it all with a boarding hook.”

The young man thought for a while and pretended to bend down for the bottle, but in fact, he bought it directly from the System store. It was some kind of strengthening-healing tincture with a bunch of positive properties. Stepan nodded politely at the satisfied whistling of Tahira, who herself put a bottle with some liquid, apparently stronger than wine, on the table. There was no tension or falsity in her, and the spirits could detect none in her emotions, words, or surface thoughts. Their conversation and her remarks gave away only a certain kind of thoughts, mixed with gratitude for the treatment and the cover from the flames, as well as a desire to get laid “with someone quite handsome and washed more than once a year, and only after being caught in the rain”. Not to mention the fact that she wasn't going to give anyone on the ship, or else there would be only trouble, and Tahira had long outgrown her snotty teenage crush on her adoptive father.

All of which Stepan read off of her with ease. The gifted one's aura was of little help against his methods, not in a place of his partial power, filled with the shaman's will, and not after he had worked so intimately with her subtle body and aura. Therefore there was no chance of hiding her thoughts. That's why he hadn't killed her yet, as soon as he'd felt the slightest, lightest even, influence from her. A classic witch's spell, but soft, not rough. Not even a suppression of will, but just an increase in attractiveness, so that touching her and to her was more pleasant, the smell was more arousing, and sex was more pleasurable. A kind of fusion of desires and feelings, without direct contact of auras, but working with him too, later, when the bodies become, hehe, contact. And it works both ways. As Stepan thought, the girl who was used to taking what she wanted to perceive it as an analog of battle makeup, not as an insidious attempt to influence the will, because it was very hard to achieve some kind of submission, not a desire to fuck, in this way, at the initial stages.

//“Why the fuck not?” - Thought Stepan in a flash, as she told another funny story from her practice of sneaking contraband and scouting routes, leaning a little closer and lower.

The kiss was one of those both sides were waiting for, especially the girl who was losing patience, heated by a couple of sips of a magic tincture, but it was no less harsh and even conflictual. Neither the girl who was used to being on top, nor Stepan, was going to cede the initiative, but on the side of the guy was an extra unit in Constitution, and on the side of Tahira only experience and nasty character. And also the gift, which she accelerated, it seems, not even realizing that her partner sees and realizes her actions. The trick was really subtle and weak, no wonder she didn't consider it something dangerous for her and capable of giving her away, but at the same time it was almost impossible to catch. Even if she'd dragged gifted people into the bed before there were hardly any individuals sensitive enough to notice her little trick.

Which untied the hands of the shaman, who had long been tormented by curiosity about some of his tantric practices.

"Haaaaah! Fuck, oh fuck, Pann, what the fuck are you, doing..... fuck!!!" The first orgasm hits her just from the tentative caresses, Stepan not holding back and not shying away from affecting her through the feedback of her own trick, which she would have torn apart by now, just not keeping control, but she can't. "Yes, yes, yes, yes, come on, more, more, daaaaaah!!!"

Tahira was so flat-chested that on earth she wouldn't wear a bra with her A size, but her buttocks were not large, but tightened by regular physical activity and movement, as well as moderate consumption of all unhealthy things and a normal diet. Dark hair cut short enough and tied back in a tiny ponytail, smooth skin, and clean teeth. Her gift helped to reveal and not lose the positive qualities of her initially not particularly outstanding by Earth standards, even if she did not try to maintain beauty. Her charm was more honest, without potions, alchemy, or rejuvenating procedures, and therefore more appealing.

Stepan did not play fair. He started to stimulate her subtle body, playing with her physical body: the lightest touches of his lips and fingers to her nipples in resonant contact with her aura literally drove Tahira crazy, making her cum and moan a second and then a third time. It could not be considered something natural, but she was unable to realize what had happened, while the guy was pushing the rest of the resistance, bringing the consciousness floating from pleasure into a stupor, gradually turning into a deep trance. And the fourth orgasm made the moaning girl moan more quietly and as if dumbfounded to give almost classical ahegao, but without drooling and sticking out her tongue, though no, with tongue. After that, there were already more calm movements, which could be taken as a massage of the neck, arms, and absent tits, before the young man, who was also breathing heavily and could hardly resist the desire to pounce on his partner and fuck her until morning, stepped back, let her sit on the bed and calmly, even
mundanely asked.

"I'll ask the questions, and you answer, okay?" Watching carefully for reactions, he finds no missteps in his actions, nodding satisfied.

"Yeah, okay." There's no sleepiness, no relaxation, not even a trace of resistance in her demeanor or words, just a dash of unnaturalness, an overly absent look, and a slightly frozen smile. "I will answer."

"Then tell me, what plans do you and your commander have for me at all, are you up to something bad?" The question flowed into her ears and immediately went into her brain, and her brain still swimming in multiple orgasms produced an answer without pause or editing.

“Nah, nothing planned at all, or I don't know, Schirm doesn't tell me everything.” She even shrugs her shoulders, perplexed, not seeing the problem in her answers. “There's enough trouble already, and there's no telling what the big gatherings will get up to, and we'd like to keep our own. Another time, of course, we could try. Selling a gifted man isn't like stealing a girl off the beach, it's a fucking prize, we could try our luck and then turn you over to Ivy. But he wouldn't send me with a naked slit, he never did that, and I would have sent him to suck his dicks. I have respect...."

At some point, Stepan asked her to speak without swearing, because it was painful to listen to her, and the further she went, the more she began to drift until even the translation malfunctioned, so specific expressions and jargon were used. Judging by her answers, the shaman from the Upper Ladys was considered quite experienced and agile. It was worth mentioning such a one, but only in passing. Just that he is very young and already talented. In the times of the great search for any information about the outstanding gifted or at least unusual, and in general for everything unusual, it can pay well. They're looking for someone, they're looking hard. Tahira doesn't know who exactly, but they've shaken almost all of Dantra and its honest boatmen. And not just Dantra - all the Free Cities are shaking, too.

It was her favorite trick, the one she used when she liked guys and didn't have time for courtship or lovey-dovey shit. That means, most of the time. Her grandmother had taught it while she was still alive and in her right mind. She was just going to put Stepan on his back, bring him to a state where he didn't want to resist, and then ride him for all he was worth. She wasn't lying about the fact that a girl on a ship couldn't get laid. It will show her as affordable. and then it was only a matter of finding a new place, gifted her or not. Well, if her spell had worked like a charm, and it often did, once even with a student of a respected magician, then she would persuade him in gratitude to work with her tongue a little, but first, she would wash herself. Pann had saved her life, after all, and making him lick up his own splashes was just plain piggish of her. But she still doubted that the young man would get that much of a kick out of it. He wasn't as stupid and narcissistic as that boy, and he was a couple of years older than him.

Stepan realized two things during the interrogation. The first was that they did not wish him anything evil, while the second required a little adjustment in the thinking of the remaining witnesses, shifting the accents just a little. They had already successfully finalized everything necessary. They think that the shaman was waiting for a set-up, so he prepared for a fight, and the fight happened, but the wrong people set him up. He gave out everything he had saved up all winter or longer, shamans know how to do that, Schirm himself was a witness and so was Tahir. So they need to be convinced of what they believed in. Blur their perception a little, to be sure that the wand was of poor quality and barely broke with minimal help. The shaman almost fell down from fatigue after destroying the bowstrings and intercepting the fire blow.

He was also a little ashamed that he had behaved so, well, ugly with a girl who had come to him with quite pure intentions. He was not too ashamed but still, a charm was a charm, and much more obvious than the Shera's aura of the fertility goddess Shera, so he was not going to tear his hair out. But still, he asked Tahira what he could do to her, what she really wanted. He expected to hear the standard answers about money, power, knowledge, and might, but he heard something else.

“I want big tits.” Dreamily smiling and caressing the still naked nipples, which brought her, with the help of the earthman, so much pleasure, she said, not seeing how her “interlocutor” bulged his eyes. “All my life I've been flat as a ferry deck. It's infuriating. I always wanted to have tits, to be able to hold on to them, to shake them in someone's face, to show them the neckline, and they are already drooling stupid bulls. I even thought about alchemy, there is not expensive, so everyone will understand, they will laugh, they will say, sluts envied. I am envied! But even I dare to tell myself about it every once in a while, so I don't use alchemy. I'd used it, but a cheap one can hurt, and a quality one is expensive, and it's not easy to buy. But I want boobs. Big ones. Soft. Then every asshole will want me, and I still will not give, I will take and only the one I want...”.

The monologue about the size of her breasts, about how powerful and strong girls deserve equally powerful tits, and about how this size determines advantages in life, was so expressive that Stepan even thought that she was about to fall out of a trance, but no, she calmed down. And the young man thought about the fact that he could fulfill her request. Not right away, not now, because it would be suspicious if she showed up in the morning with a melon-sized can of water. And there's no way he'd be able to pull it off so quickly and harmlessly. But taking blood samples from her, waiting a couple of months, and sending a special contract on the trail, that's doable. There are already suitable perfumes, there are plenty of those who work with the appearance in the block of knowledge about charmers, and there are a lot of boob enlargers there. Stepan hadn't called on them before, but since there was such a chance to use a gift from the Autogoddess with a pure heart and without harming anyone, why not? Of course, he realized that Tahira's sincere desire didn't mean she wouldn't freak out later, looking for the person who'd given her the alchemy to grow into her upper nineties, but that was even better. He'd make harmless jokes too, just like she'd tried with him.

System assignment (small): enlarge the breasts of Tahira, adopted daughter of Schirm the Gulash, by at least three sizes by sending a spirit of the desired sphere and aspects; the victim must not know or suspect your involvement in altering her body. It is permissible to use the gifts of Liarat si Merrinal, Lady of Gifts and Giver of Gifts, loyal servant of Innelas Innelay.

Reward: one-fifth of the current level's experience scale; the gift of one random minor knowledge summons; a random material reward from the special collection of Liarat si Merrinal, Lady of Gifts and Gift-giver, loyal servant of Innelas Innelay.

Damn, it's killed all the mood for jokes!

The young man didn't need another stupid summons or an equally stupid gift from the bounty of a perverted System store, which he was tempted to call a System sex store. Another thing is the fifth part of the EXP scale, and not the rest, but from the whole level... and the assignment itself for once falls under the list of those things that can't even be called immoral, if only because the victim himself dreams of something similar, but can't afford it financially. On the other hand, who cares? In the sense, he will not be able to close the assignment, even if he does not refuse it, because of the same conspiracy. It's one thing to send a spirit six months later, but it's quite another if it comes literally the next day. Then even a dumb person will begin to suspect some connection between a strange magician-shaman and the tightness in her shirt. Of course, it is possible to conduct the summoning ritual at once, but to set the start date at half a year, leaving the spirit to simply follow the victim all this time and not show up from the deep layers of the spheres. But it would hardly be taken into account as fulfillment of the task, and therefore, repeating the question Stepan had already asked himself - and what difference would it make?

Stepan didn't think it mattered, so he didn't get angry, writing down a new assignment from himself in his system notebook, and then began to take prints from the aura of the still fondling Tahira. A small strand of hair, a drop of blood from the instantly healed wound on her shoulder, a part of the magical reserve in a special stone storage with a spirit inside that will not allow it to lose the “features” of the owner. And now the shaman could get his lover on the other side of the world, if some powerful magician, not lower than a master, did not begin to seriously hide and protect her. At this point, he decided that he had enough of torturing the girl, he could bring her back to consciousness and do exactly what she had come here to do, and he had let her in.

Tahira woke up smoothly and without any problems, blinking a couple of times, taking her hands off her still-flat breasts, and pulling the half-undressed young man again, not paying attention to the minor discrepancies in their positions and some lost time. The new kiss is more usual, Stepan does not try to overload her consciousness, but much more actively undresses his partner, pulling off the rest of her clothes and laying her back on the bed, kissing, caressing, hugging and almost falling from the sharp jolt, with which she knocked his hands and fell on his back. He almost startled, responding with an attack to the attempted attack, but the river mage did not try to harm, only took her familiar stance, not letting her dominant side be shaken. Since Stepan remembered perfectly well how she, not so long ago, had first cum until she lost consciousness and will, and then sweetly answered all his questions, not even realizing her state, he let her take the initiative. But he smiled a little too meaningfully, which made the girl on top of him frown menacingly:

" Why are you smiling?" She confirmed her question with the beginning movements of her hips and pelvis, sliding her crotch along his cock, without direct penetration, making him clench his teeth from the slightly unnatural pleasure that shot through his body. "Well, well, well, I'll make you scream now, little Pann, but you'll like it, don't worry."

The weak compulsion that had been put into her, which should pass quickly and prevent her from swearing in Stepan's presence, had already paid for itself, and it was much more pleasant to listen to her. Her influence was no less pleasant, the same magical trick that intensified the sensations from the contact of their bodies, thanks to which he could hardly keep from spilling out right at that very moment. She understood it perfectly well and seemed to want to bring her actions to the logical end, forcing him to cum without penetration, but here the guy did not tolerate it and showed a counter-initiative. With a sharp movement, he grabbed Tahira by the waist, slightly lifting her up and immediately lowering her, but already thrusting into her with all his length, with incredible ease entering her wet and flowing womb. The girl growled, biting her lip, both out of annoyance that her game was broken, but also with a new round of passion.

They merge in a single movement, forgetting about the world around them and everything that is in this world, there are only two of them, only an unprincipled battle of two passions, in which there must be a winner and a loser, in which no one wants to give up the primacy without a fight. In contrast to soft and pliable Shera, Tahira was sharp, sharp, and demanding to her partner and the process, she did not recognize measured and calm caresses and did not recognize the possibility of giving in to pleasure. There was only one option for her - to take everything she wanted, to be on top and the first, only like that. She rode like a rider, a surfer on a wave, rhythmically leading the party, her palms clutching Stepan's palms, her whole weight pressing her hands against the bed, not allowing him to change position.

She wanted to make him finish first, but she couldn't, arching her back and piercing the skin of the other man's palms with her fingernails, drawing blood. She wouldn't have been able to, because Stepan had linked their auras and discharges together. Before she realized it, he was already throwing her off, flipping her onto her back and silencing her indignation with another kiss. Now the amplitude of the movements is behind him. Now he chooses a rhythm just as quick and sharp, and hissing wildcat Tahira clutches at his shoulders with her legs wrapped around his waist, herself pitching up to meet him. She does her best, but the shaman's lean and wiry body has one extra unit of corporeality to nip any physical advances in the bud, and a scratch on his shoulders and a little on his back is a small price to pay for the pleasure. Tahira, realizing that she can't - and doesn't much want to - move her lover by force, slyly and anticipatively grinds her teeth in a smile, turning to the gift.

Pleasure shot through with a sharp flash, passion for a couple of moments preparing to cloud the mind and turn into a beast possessed by carnal desire, but this effect Stepan dropped in passing. The secondary effect, provoking release, and subsequent relaxation, he too reflected, but partially. He finished, pouring out into the pussy clenched around him with a new stream of semen, but only the effect on the consciousness he reflected on the creator of the charms, in witchcraft, he was much better than her. The brown-haired maiden who rolled her eyes moaned, relaxing sharply and leaving the young man's scratched shoulders alone again. He, deciding not to lose the pace and not feeling guilty for the repulsed attack, turned lazily and without fire indignant Tahira, who probably considered her charms to be broken and therefore turned on her, on her stomach, adjusting himself to the slightly swarthy buttocks. She had noticeably more volume in the back, just because there was volume at all, and Stepan immediately took hold of the hemispheres of her taut buttocks, slightly moving Tahira upward and entering her again without resistance.

There is no roughness now, not even a sense of haste, he moves slowly and methodically, inevitably bringing another ecstasy to the smuggler's moaning again, bringing her to the peak of bliss. At times like this, he's almost ready to believe that gaining knowledge of tantric practices isn't completely useless. But only almost. Finally dazed or maybe just tired, Tahira no longer tried to take control, allowing him to bring the game to a finale, bringing both of their finishes together again. At this point, fatigue took its toll, and Stepan climbed off his partner, laying down beside her and letting her roll back onto her back.

“It was nice, it was nice. And you acted like a reclusive old man who'd only seen girls in dirty pictures his whole life.” Yawning and pulling him into her arms, she summarizes, lazily snuggling closer. “You say you're from the backwoods, huh? You must have a nice place there, it's a pity I can't go there.

“It's a normal place, no worse than any other.” He languidly defends the honor of his small motherland, as if he really feels resentment for that village of Deep Ass. “And what's the matter, if you're from a back corner, you've only seen pictures? Girls, they're the same in every place. uh. geographical places. Ahem. Whatever. The point is that you can learn to get and bring pleasure in a big city, and on a remote farm if you have someone to learn with. All you need is not to think about yourself and try to make your partner feel good too, but mmmmmm!”

Tahira, who had kissed his mouth shut, did not seem to want to enter into a philosophical debate, having instantly won a decisive victory in a way he did not want to resist. Stepan was only glad to see this, but deep down there was a splinter in his soul, realizing that he was still banally shut up, and he was glad. It seemed to be nothing, but still, you felt some discomfort below the back.... Oh, no, it was the plaque of the belt Tahira had taken off.

"Shut up, Pann, or I'll curse and push you off the bed, let's go to sleep." He wanted to resent the fact that this was his house and that she could only curse her idea of opposing him gift for gift, to argue that he should not be pushed out of bed at least because of the rules of hospitality, but he had no time to even open his mouth. His lover was already sniffing sweetly and was obviously having a pleasant dream.

Why should the dreams be unpleasant, if he calls his house for those very calm and pleasant dreams. Though, it did not help him much. He even checked and strengthened his calls several times. What else to do, if the contact of the shaman with the higher spheres without consequences will not pass, as well as the reforging of the spiritual body. All sorts of visions, some come from the subconscious, and some are broken in human perception of images from the world of spirits. Such visions could even be used to see the future or to perform fortune-telling with a non-zero chance of success, but the system's knowledge also indicated such low efficiency of such attempts to interpret what he saw that Stepan, without proper talents, did not even try to move in this direction, developing in more promising aspects.

The bonus property given by “ lecherous development III” came with a new image: right now it could give Stepan some material reward from the Autogoddess for fulfilling a special condition if he could bring himself and Tahira to another orgasm without waking the sleeper or even magically enhancing her sleep. Stepan, who was in a good and lyrical mood, only smiled at the thought, mentally sending the meta-skill to where it belonged, preferring not to look for the best where it was already good. Maybe if he and Tahira were on good and serious terms, he would have asked her permission to put her to sleep and fuck her in that state. I mean, how many fetishes does a shaman have? Except that their relationship was not so serious, the young man did not intend to take his partner against her will, and with the use of magic, and on a direct request he would try to throw her off the bed. They, after all, were not close enough and did not believe in each other enough for her to let the shaman put any effects on her, especially such, to put it mildly, specific ones.

He shook his head enviously, looking at the contented and calm smile of the sleeping Tahira, who in her sleep seemed not only beautiful and desirable but also kind of sweet. He wouldn't say the latter, though, or she would have to correct her memory to avoid being hunted for her head and having her tongue cut off, if not his balls, then his tongue. Putting aside silly thoughts and nonsense, Stepan gave the last order to the spirits of the guards and fell asleep himself, closing his eyes and sinking into sleep, pressing his face against the top of the warm female body pressed against him. Okay, he was willing to admit it: for a moment like this, it was really worth the misunderstanding that his accidental and unnecessary run-in with a traitorous part of the smuggling crew had been.

Sleep covered him with a blanket of the lightest silk, bringing more and more images. Images delightfully beautiful, images nightmarishly terrible, images absurdly stupid, images, images, images, images... Against the backdrop of the Death Star, attacked by torpedoes in the shape of Teletubbies, reality will indeed seem almost normal. Four Rat Musketeers fighting off Cat-Men Guardsmen with armored spiked slippers and newspapers rolled from solid steel sheets. An image of D'arth Ratman punching Atas, Poltos, and Arahis in the back to shouts of “You such rat!” while the enemy cats run for the point of a laser pointer in the hands of a sinisterly snickering Mickey Mouse. In a scene from the third installment of Pirates of the Caribbean, only instead of Johnny Depp, Arkady Ukupnik took the place of Sparrow (the captain and Jack, of course). A deep dark dungeon, where an infinitely powerful ghost howled and wailed, unable to leave the dungeon, but very much wanting to. He howls, screams, gnashes chains, and tears pieces of cloth from a heavy ghostly robe, promising to calculate, find, and torture someone in the torture room, using the IP method.
Крыса

There was a scene with Tahira, dressed in a familiar scarlet-and-white shirt, almost bursting on her very large breasts. She was yelling and threatening sweating and, apparently, shitting with the fear man selling melons, demanding that he return everything to the way it was. And he begged not to kill, trying to prove that he was just luring customers, saying that a good melon would make tits grow, he didn't know that, his melons were just ordinary melons, only tasty and juicy, and if they could do that, he would sell them for much more. Tahira didn't believe it and promised to feed him alive to the bottom catfish if he didn't start talking if he didn't give up those who had planted the potion-filled melon that made her tits the size of a melon, or she won't hold back and pay the harbor master for his blood later.

In another scene, a vaguely familiar long-eared man, seemingly of elven appearance, but with a face and wrinkles, like a fifty-year-old worker, who was tired of continuous shifts at the factory, is trashing the more familiar-looking elves on the subject of who let the best seductress of the all-high honorable Gradianna to such an important and carefully guarded project. And who delivered to this seductress very bizarrely distorted information on behalf of the most honorable Gradianna? Which in fact no application of influences of the second and third degree with the subsequent binding to respectful lust and marvelous adoration within the standards of work against the object was authorized. And what demons of all vices taken together, selected and trained by them keepers so bad that they got under the influence of a specialist. Was it because someone had given her all the necessary information and keys to protect their wards? At that moment the perception-image of the elf-old man flashed, and he appeared dressed in leather underpants and harness, playing with a whip in front of the faces of the pale elves, telling them that they were not just boys from the neighbor's yard, and they would not get off with three hundred florens for a FAULT.

Again an image, a new dream, only now Stepan sees himself in it, talking about something with some obviously important and very beautiful lady, but, for some reason, all the attention in the dream is drawn not to her and her appearance, but to two material anchors. Fine work gloves up to the elbows, or rather fingers of one of the hands, on which the glove is put, which rhythmically knock on the wooden surface of the table. And to some strange device, reminiscent of Newton's pendulum, inaudible, but for some reason, palpably beating in time with the rhythm of the fingers. This rhythm is so intrusive that one wants to get rid of it somehow, but the conversation is important, he must speak and answer, agree and remember, one cannot hide, one cannot leave, one cannot remember, one cannot forget. But you can hide, hide from the sound and the knocking, from the pendulum and the fingers, duck under the heavy table, hide under the dark blue dress, put your face between the smooth and inviting thighs, the soft and tender thighs, nestle against the wet pussy.. And the pendulum will be silent, and the tapping of fingers will disappear as the palm of his hand rests on the back of her head, leaving only words to be listened to, forgotten, memorized, and done...

Stepan woke up with a wild boner, caused, no other way, by the presence of a naked woman nestled next to him, who brazenly and cynically almost climbed on top of him in his sleep, burying him under her, fortunately, modest weight. The images of the dream drifted away from his consciousness, leaving only bits and pieces, broken and fragmented, his memory unable to hold the visions that were not meant for the physical brain. For a moment Stepan almost decided to leave the body and try to hold a few more memories in his mind, if only he had dreamed something important, some warning about the future impending danger, but this desire was not formed. Stepan checked the spirits, which closely followed the sleeping mistress, reporting that she did not make sorcery, did not wake up, did not arrange mean things, and in general, everything was normal. A quick check of his beloved self for outside influences with the help of one more spirit, as well as a couple of guarding replacements, which he called directly from his left bracelet, showed only the remnants of love charms that had not really worked, which were probably the reason for the morning excitement and night dreams that took a piquant shape.

Concentrating, he tries to distinguish the important images, but it does not work very well: a sword clutched in a rat's paw, a sea surface, on which sailboats armed with cannons are sailing, expensive cloth of dark blue color, a counter with melons, a heavy wooden table, a crowd of depressed elves with their heads down with the look of schoolchildren who have done something wrong.... that's about it. How to put together a coherent picture? Maybe, when there will be time, to bind over his bed the strongest possible spirit, which will memorize dreams and allow them later to see them better? Not everything will be saved there, too, because the resonating lens is too thin, where the shaman's mind serves as a lens, but still at least something. Stepan would think about it later, but now it was important to be able to get out of the ominous captivity unnoticed, or even to persuade Tahira to continue the banquet.

Somehow Stepan had no doubt that she would gladly agree.

* * *

Little Leshch sailed down the Dantra, leaving behind an empty supply of alcohol, a couple of broken faces of the village men, a good profit, and luring one of the young men to join his crew. He had thought about it before and talked about it with his parents, but until now they didn't need this poorly trained fisherman. But here the shortage of laborers affected them, and he got into, as it seemed to him, a better life. Stepan, while he was ruling a little in someone else's memory the impressions of the battle on the now grave mound, looked at the thoughts of Schirm the Gulash and found no intention to quickly knock the newcomer on the head and then sell him. He really needed men.

Again, as Kirik said, smugglers were neither pirates nor slave traders, but Stepan, who had seen through them, was still as far from being imbued with the river thieves' romance as possible. Well, except for Tahira. She came to visit a couple of times afterward, which obviously caused some gossip among the villagers, but not to the extent that they were both gifted and could afford to ignore customs and traditions. In passing, he treated the girl's pancreas problems, which could come out after five to seven years, also cleared the auric nodes, a little clogged from improper methods of development and close binding to the ship, kissed her goodbye, listened to the wish not to die, wished her all the best in return and just did not wave a handkerchief after her.

When they sailed away and Kirik wiped the sweat off his forehead, Stepan wandered quietly to his secret place, where he took up the still-hanging quest from the Autogoddess, which he had neither rejected nor refused. Yes, he still didn't give a shit about the whole reward, except for the experience, but here and just curiosity was present: how exactly the assignment will or won't count, how freely the System and Milf allow creative bending of these assignments? The topic is without a joke an interesting one, it's worth a bit of work for the sake of it. Stepan had no trouble summoning the right entity, which almost caressed him, and was ready to serve him in every possible way, even though it was quite a strong spirit. Blood, hair, a very high-quality auric impression of the target, a lot of details - especially Stepan tried to keep it healthy and out of harm's way.

First of all, strengthening the muscles of the back and spine in general will properly match the grown forms, so as not to spoil either the posture or the chest itself to prevent sagging after five to ten years. Secondly, of course, the mechanics of mass building rely on the nutrition of abundant and good quality. If Tahira will not be able to eat enough the process will be temporarily suspended until she can eat. Well, appetite, while the growth is going on, will grow only in this way, and at the same time, the gastrointestinal tract will be strengthened and will become more stable for the time of “growth” and afterward. Thirdly, the term of activation of the gift from Stepan will come in six and a half months from the day of the contract, not at the same moment. One could only hope that she wouldn't die by then, but if Gulash's thoughts were to be believed, they, who had repulsed a daring attempt to raid their part of the river, had a pretty good chance of finding a new patron or even negotiating with the very one who had bribed the rebellious element.

The system, when he completed the ritual and finished deactivating the totemic feeding and opening the call circles, for a few seconds seemed to think and freeze, but, to his surprise - not pleasant, though not disappointing, just to his surprise - still gave the appropriate image, crediting the completion of the assignment.

Received: “Contract with elder spirit: Vishpley-Schwalstprachtmatt”.

The acquired talent is added to the overall Player Status.

A new contract, a new portion of rolling his eyes to the sky, and a new not very useful load, which, however, did not pull his back, and therefore did not bother him... as it seemed at first. But the closer Stepan looked at the gift, the harder and harder it made his jaw drop. A strong entity, probably the strongest he'd ever received from the Autogoddess, and almost the strongest he'd ever come in contact with. That dark naturalist, the creator of the beacon leaf, was certainly stronger, but not that stunningly so. The spirit with the unpronounceable name, whose images could not even be formalized into words, was close to the edge of the next step after the elders. Exotus, a sphere of hardness and stone. Support for the aspects of storage and hearth, but this was no mere guardian, no.

One summons a year, but each of the summons is a whole year long, so by regularly renewing the summons the spirit could be kept eternally active. The amazing imperceptibility of its effects would make the Sleepwalker weep, and the Joy of the Waves, ask to be his disciple if he thought within human limits. The entity would be summoned in a building of some kind, preferably at least a mansion, not just a hut, with stone walls and many rooms in which its power would operate. The essence of the trick is that this being puts its will in the space of the room, house, mansion, even a palace or a fortress (the last two variants are the most ideal), hiding in the voice and imprints of stones so completely that neither the reading of streams, nor true vision, nor spiritual perception will show anything - that is why it is preferable to settle the spirit in old rooms with history, that it will hide in this history and blur its existence.

And then Stepan, as an ordering contractor, gets the right to target any woman who happens to be within the same walls - if he himself considers her “fuckable”, the Autogoddess could not miss this point, he will have to emphasize this fact in the images of the order, too - and then this woman begins to consider it an absolute norm to agree to any sexual requests from the shaman, as long as they take place within the walls of the house. Moreover, the longer she is exposed to it, the more certain effects take hold, a whole host of them, at Stepan's choice. It is possible to increase tits and ass, to make lips plumper, to increase the sensitivity of erogenous zones and create new ones, to make the character more malleable, to reduce ambition or add passion, to make more absent-minded or even stupid, to insert desire, thought, to reshape memory, to add a new bed preference or to insert a two-stage activator... The longer the victim stays in the assigned territory, the more explicit effects can be conducted, and the faster new ones are imposed or old ones are removed. Also, as soon as the victim leaves the place of stay, all the oddities and out-of-the-norm memories will be sealed in the depths of consciousness and there's no way in hell it will be possible to find traces of the effect without a really deep scan.

Even new shapes and other obvious changes, like a change of hair color or eyes, will seem to be either the former so always or she will remember how she came up with the idea to make these changes, long wanted and in general everything is fine. However, this is only the victim herself, while the rest of her acquaintances may suspect that the transformation of evil and smart bitch into a meek and silly doll with tits the size of watermelons - it is clearly not she so decided to change the image. Stepan, having checked the system's help and his understanding of the contract, recognized that even a master of combat magic (spherical and in a vacuum) could be treated with such bullshit without her noticing. Magistress can also be treated, the chances are there, but there you need luck or additional influence of other contracts, while with a master should, on the contrary, very much more bad luck to happen to her to at least suspect something wrong.

It would seem to be just another useless and corrupted to the extreme crap, which will be used only in very rare conditions, the rest of the time hanging as an eternal reminder of why Stepan “loves” The-One-That-Milf. If Stepan finds a fortress where he can make a permanent base, he will definitely activate this spirit. Essence, among other things, can not only provide male power living in his domain-control shaman, as well as those to whom the male power applies. It can improve health, restore youth or even roll back age, fix old scars or even cure auric distortion, or even remove a curse, and at a level where not every elder spirit or master of magic can cope! The longer Stepan double-checked all these factors, the paler he became and the more he felt his worldview crumbling.

Autogoddess!

Gift!

Useful!

Summon!

Of course, you can try to reassure yourself that a big role was played by the power of the spirit, which was cool enough to be extremely flexible even in the conditions of the contract, which is why it is so useful. But the same Fan is also very flexible and has a lot of secondary specialties, as well as ++Wavebreaker-Slayer, but their contracts are just as typical for Autogoddess. It's not that it's some kind of bug in that version of the system she's remade for herself, or Stepan was lucky, or it's just that Mistress Fortune is in a great mood today and kissed him with a French kiss. It is useless to guess, you can just be happy about the sudden addition in useful contracts and forgive Milf one hundred thousandths of one percent of her tricks.

He hadn't looked at her material gift yet, though. There, lying on the ground was another expensive box, only now it was not a case with stockings, but a small box made of material similar to ivory. Looking inside, Stepan expected to see some particularly powerful magical clamps or plugs, but it was just a bracelet. Fortunately for his mind. It was small, graceful, made of some kind of black bronze, and yet completely ordinary. Attempts to feel the nature of the jewelry showed only a protective amulet against curses, not bad, in the high price segment, but the same armored stockings protected much better, even without taking into account their “hidden specialization”. The magical gift failed, but the system reference opened his eyes, making those eyes twitch alternately in a fit of nervous tics.

This bracelet, if it is tuned to the victim's aura or simply put to that victim, or even just close to a random beauty, caused an instinctive desire to put it on and forget about it. At the same time, the bracelet itself changed appearance and adjusted to what is already worn on the victim, necessarily a woman, of course, necessarily beautiful by the standards of the owner of the bracelet - that is, by Stepan's standards - and also automatically did not allow to remember about itself. The victim would wear the toy without ever taking it off or noticing its presence, without remembering where the bracelet came from and when she put it on. The others, on the contrary, will not notice this bracelet on the victim's body, even if they should have been able to keep track of such trifles: the jewelry merges with the info-field of the world becomes so relevant and normal that even a very tenacious mind will not perceive its sudden appearance.

What was the main feature of this thing, besides its stealth and insidious binding to the victim? Oh, there was a smooth transition from “just” disguise tricks at the crossroads of witchcraft, mentalism, and twisted clairvoyance, to a very advanced mixture of spiritualism, necromancy, and mysticism, with some additions of the very basics of soul magic. Inside the bracelet were stored casts, not so much of personality and memory, but of the experience, skills, and reflexes, of several very advanced female specialists. Obviously, their specialization was not difficult to guess - seduction, corruption, imperceptible influence on consciousness, brainwashing, and work with attachments, not only with magical support but almost without it at all, on pure psychology and masterly reading of aura and emotions of the target, at the expense of this reading, selecting perfectly calibrated impact.

Give this toy to yesterday's pretty peasant girl, she has every chance to take over a small town. Put the bracelet on the hand of a slave in the harem of some sheikh, the harem will change its mistress, or even the sheikh himself. Hand the artifact to a thief at the market, and the Night Guild will change its head, and if not, the old one will definitely change his life priorities. It would seem - here it is, here it is, finally happened the split of the world, a gift from the Autogoddess, which can and should be used with a normal, understandable, and effective purpose. To find a helper, with whom you will take the strongest vows - you can brainwash beforehand, but this is still not Stepan's method - to give her a toy and then use her services, without interfering with her personal and not-so-personal life. Alas, it all just seemed, although, no doubt, such a thing would be quite possible, but the bracelet had some other functions.

The victim-carrier of other people's casts not only acquired skills and, in case of the absence of a gift, awakened the rudiments of a gift, which, little by little, could make her a full-fledged gifted person in a year or two. No, the fucked up thing is that the Autogoddess doesn't know what to do. Her jokes aren't funny, and she has a conscience only in the foul sense of the word. The victim not only does not realize the bracelet on herself, but she also does not realize the unusualness of the newly appeared skills - and if she is informed in advance, so unnoticeably for herself will forget - taking them for granted and as instinctively uses these skills. Roughly speaking, no vows will not prevent a theoretically “ally” from trying to bewitch an “ally” first of all. Because it will not be perceived as a violation of the oath, as you do not prescribe the oath - at most, you will achieve that the victim immediately dropped dead, if you make the oath extremely rigid and tied not to the perception of the sworn, and on the condition of subtype “if - then”. Any attempt to remind about where the victim got his new passions and skills causes an instinctive desire to forget about it, and also to make the one who told about it forget too.

Stepan tortured the help for quite a long time, already knowing what he would find there, but wanting to get confirmation of his speculations and so found, not surprised at all. The strongest reaction and uncontrollable desire to fuck the target in the head and physically in the victim of the bracelet will be provoked by the one to whom this bracelet is attached. That is, the isekai himself, great and terribly naive, if he dared to use this toy, falling for the trick of Huge Milf. Nothing dangerous, but very diverse and with a lot of perversions, which still and periodically will change with the tastes of the owner of the bracelet, which bracelet finally possessed. To be fair, Stepan was not even particularly offended and certainly not upset. He would have stopped sleeping and tossed and turned at night if he hadn't discovered the prepared trap because he couldn't believe it was missing.

Carefully closing the box at the same time suppressing the desire to go to Dantra and throw the gift into the depths of the river, he went back into the house, either to sleep or to do nothing. He did not throw his gift into the river solely because knowing the law of universal meanness, the jewelry would have floated up and fallen into someone's hands, and Stepan would have met that someone. No, no, let it be better this Great Gift, capable of making an expert of extra-class erotic hypnosis from a market merchant, from a village herbalist master to create love potions, from a weak magician experienced charms, and from the ordinary guard Eugenia Bond on erotic thrust, lies under the bed of the shaman, along with mining saucer, uber-stocking, and common sense, which from the ongoing bedlam also hid under the bed.

But he couldn't get rid of the annoying thought that at this rate, the value of his under-bed space would become comparable to the treasury of a major free city.

* * *

The snowdrifts were gradually disappearing, and even though it would be at least a week before they disappeared completely - the winter had piled up a lot of snowdrifts, and the warming of the first days of spring had receded a little, bringing back the slightly minus temperature - Stepan was somehow hesitant to wait a little longer, as well as to take advantage of the village hospitality. Kirik didn't hint at anything, but the young man realized that if he didn't decide to leave now, he wouldn't be able to leave later either, there would always be some other tasks, ideas, thoughts, and theories that should be checked right now. To strengthen his clearing, to summon several more spirits to a permanent contract, to work on summoning a full-fledged senior, which, in theory, Stepan could already do, to make a couple more spiritual journeys, to search for information in the dreams of the inhabitants of the nearest town, paving the same path to it as once to Fantrel - there was a lot to think of, successfully and even useful. But the road of adventure was calling, and the desire for a change of scenery.

And so Stepan, who had completed the last touches in disguising the clearing, who had finally finished the layout of the “usual” call point of a “simple talented apprentice (tm)”, resolutely began to prepare for departure. He even honestly tried to organize another exit from the body, this time just for a day or two, but even here he failed. First, he couldn't summon his old acquaintance Butterfly Fugitive for a long time, only wasting time and reagents on the ritual. Apparently, the spirit was in dead-undead form, already in a contractual bind with someone else. Then he nearly thwarted the second summoning of another spirit, similar and no less functional, only with a different nature: he deliberately acted without overpaying and even with a little less expenditure than was considered necessary, trying to sell his decision with the echo-enhanced mark of the spheres. He succeeded, but the spirit nearly snapped, at the last moment picking the right combination of images to please him. Unlike the Fugitive, this spirit lived in a small amulet resembling a petrified fern leaf, which was the same thing, only very magical. The entity was planted in the body right at the moment the escape began, dying-reincarnating the moment the spirit's host in the body returned. The efficiency and reliability were the same, but the convenience wasn't the same. With the Fugitive, it was much easier.

Having finalized the preparatory milestones, Stepan received another task, small and not complicated but challenging and time-consuming. Work with lasting blessings for a good harvest. It's not to hang a curse on the whole village, this he would gladly do himself, and for a random property so much more. Experience for the assignment was spared. Increasing affinity with the spheres of life and fertility was not so valuable, but the freely obtained property still overpowered any inconvenience. Until the last Stepan was afraid that the task would not count: in order to fit into a very tight time frame, the shaman began not to prepare the territorial impact himself, but to emphasize the work already done by Shera. He strengthened the already quite strong divine blessing even more noticeably, added to it the properties of protection against insects, pests, diseases, rot, and weeds, and even wove into all this the call of two strong spirits, which he persuaded for ten years and two days invisibly sleep on the place where in the spiritual world reflected in the fields of farmers. And, while they slept, those working in those fields would suffer fewer injuries, sprains, sunstrokes, or burns, and it would become more difficult for them to injure themselves unluckily with a crooked blow of a trowel or to exhaust themselves from the terribly exhausting labor.

The System, much to Stepan's delight counted the result and even gave the property as a reward. To be fair, the reward was not directly delightful, and, to be quite frank, it was on the lower end of usefulness. Though, the shaman was happy about that. Especially since he could still use the “small spiritual-energy protection” considering his hiking life and forced overnight stays under the nearest tree. No, this property, whose ingrowth into the aura was accompanied by the sensation of many hot and cold tongues licking the aura, did not give increased resistance to damage or strengthen shields against attacks. It was exactly the kind of protection that kept you from getting burned by boiling water, catching a cold in the rain, freezing in snowfall, or accidentally cutting your hand with the sharp thorns of a rosebush. A kind of protection from household injuries and road trifles. As a bonus - increased affinity with quite a few spheres, especially those dedicated to elements and elements, but against the background of those properties that are now on the list of desirable to acquire, it was really pale. On the other hand, it strengthened some of the other properties, including tags of all types, and the spiritual form became a bit more stable, as well as the aura in general.

And so, having finished another quest, having looked over his possessions, and also having poked the toe of his boot into the rapidly shrinking snow drift, Stepan realized that it was time to leave. Otherwise, he could seriously settle down in these Lyady, choose one of the maidens to marry, and then turn into a local wizard. And for long, long years, disguised his abilities as gradual progress, spending all his time in the woods, occasionally going out to the inn or the house of... It wasn't even the prospect itself that frightened the Earthman, but the fact that it was beginning to seem not so bad. Meld also calmed down and began to become more and more sedate: if at the beginning of their acquaintance, the rascal had been a devil, and Stepan was sure that he was from the village at the first opportunity, now the almost married boy had become a young man. And all he had to do was to put flatulence once on one swindler and all his problems were solved at once. As they would say on Earth: the solution of the main pro/b/lem of the conflict at the highest level.

No, the boy hadn't stopped being interested in all sorts of things, and he clearly had a good chance of occupying a niche as a local herbalist but his soul was becoming more and more attached to the place and people that had finally accepted him. And when Stepan saw all this, he didn't get upset. He didn't grieve over his unformed plans to take the boy as a real apprentice, using his gifting, no. He just saw that he could repeat his fate if he stayed in Lyadya too long. Comfort binds and constrains, not even so much comfort, which the young man used to earthly standards lacked, but comfortable surroundings. The shaman liked it here, he was respected, valued, and not pestered, not looking for a way to spoil his life or put him under problems, but simply accepted a new element of reality. Of course, in many ways, it was Kirik's merit, as the smartest of the smartest almost not teeth-grindingly admonished, because there was enough insolence and some unhealthy self-confidence in people in both worlds known to Stepan. Especially memorable was one granny, urging her eldest son to go to one of the distant settlements a week's journey away, to a witch living there, in order to buy a spell potion and marry off her granddaughter to a visiting magician!

The only thing that saved the old woman from the already psychologically traumatized young man was the fact that she was really old and therefore a bit senile. Stepan's conscience allowed him to do bad things to old people, but it was not good to offend those who were already mentally distressed. But it was too much to kill for words and intentions, well, by Stepan's standards, not in general. But, bitch, to try to bewitch a very competent magician to a not-too-beautiful girl, counting on the fact that a cheap potion of a weak village witch will be able to get him through, and then believe that the magician will swallow such shit, even if the first stage work? The young man couldn't decide whether to be angry, laugh, or cry. Fortunately, the man was a mama's boy, but he was smart and cowardly, and he listened to Meld's stories about the fight on the hill and didn't want to risk it.

"Because you, old woman, have seen and lived, and I am still young!" He said, closing the subject and going to the inn to drink a mug of booze.

Involuntarily Stepan thanked the talkative brat - only mentally - for the way he had successfully cooled his head and ruined someone else's matrimonial plans. However, the young man flaunting his quickly healed but not completely disappeared bruise on his face like a battle order until it was completely dissolved, got his moment of undying glory, and used it to the full. And in general, the guy remained without overheads and in chocolate. The calls and amulets on his house are worth it. And this is despite the fact that no one but him and his descendants will be able to live here, it will feel uncomfortable and the further away, the more uncomfortable. Amulets of health, watchful spirit, which Meld knows how to feed with primitive offerings, strengthening the roof and general insulation, blessing of the well for disinfection, influence on the land to fertility. A city dweller would have gladly agreed to live in such a house, even though he was reduced in status. But some of the influences had to be removed or disguised as other influences, so as not to “over-salt” them, or Meld would have gotten a stronghold tied to him that any other full-fledged adept with a diploma would envy with black envy.

These tasks and thoughts occupied about a tenth of Stepan's headache. Most of the questions were about the luggage he would want to take with him: some of the totems, some of the materials, some of the valuables would have to be left behind anyway, everything could not be carried on his hands. Stepan was ready to leave some things behind, already being able to make a much better tool, some of the totems could be deactivated freely and without remorse, and the spirits could be disbanded from there, giving them even small thank-you contributions out of generosity, some of them he would try to pull directly from the clearing, using the familiar method of transferring to the spiritual reflection. But some things could not be thrown just because - especially the gifts of the Autogoddess, which for this purpose are too cool, dangerous, and pathetic after all. If not to use it, then to try to understand the methodology of creation to make something of their own, simpler, but normal, was quite a plan of action. The same protection and the effector of mass blessing, woven into the etheric material of the combat stockings... If he could transfer such a structure to a knitted cap, even one with pom-poms, he would be glad.

“So, I take it that you, honorable Pann, have managed to make yourself some magic trinkets that you can't sell, can't keep, and can't even throw away? And you don't want to stay in our Lyadya, because the big world is calling?” Kirik, to his credit, did not try to beg Stepan tearfully to stay in his village, and there was no point because Stepan did not help anyone and interfered in village life only to the minimum. “So don't drive the horses to the watering hole at the wrong time, and get on the boat. I know reliable riverboats, if not to Dantmark, then to Kvar-Imaltom, Roartrak, or Kliuchevoye, and they'll take you there for cheap. Soon, there will be the trappers will be rafted down the river skins and other gifts of our forests, and my acquaintances will be there too. I'll put in a word. I won't promise a discount, that's true, but they'll take you on board. No, don't think anything, I'm not praising myself, it's just that on a voyage, and even with cargo, no one will pick up a random passenger.”

"In general, I am satisfied with this approach, Kirik, and I don't mind paying for it, whether it's a favor or silver," Stepan said at once, thoughtfully thinking over the kind of rituals he would use to protect his luggage from prying fingers. "How much will it cost me, and what percentage will you get as a middleman?"

"You, this, honorable, let's not offend me, with your intermediation, yes." Kirik only shook his head, refusing quite sincerely from possible freebies. "If you can get me drunk at the inn today, and once more before we leave, we're even."

The further conversation showed that such a passenger seat with a minimum of comfort and the possibility to add his luggage to the cargo would not cost much even for an ordinary inhabitant of this world, not to mention Stepan, who could simply materialize the proper amount of coins at the expense of the system store. Having scratched his head and agreed on the price, the young man began to wait for the necessary boat, which was about to take place in a few days. There were already some ships on the river, but they were not those captains and crews for whose honesty and integrity Kirik was ready to vouch before Pann. The shaman did not have time to get bored, because he had enough worries, and if not worries, then ways of training. Since the clearing had already been put into sleep mode, and it was risky to wander the spirit world without it, but not suicidal, Stepan started practicing the exercise of implanting a strong and dangerous entity in himself.

The young man already had a few specific one-time or reusable contracts with spirits that emphasized this direction of interaction, and all he had to do was to train, train, and train again. In percentage terms, this approach is most often practiced with animal spirits, for which the appearance and sphere of the beast prevail and are basic. There is even a whole list of practices that allows one to turn oneself into a controlled werewolf, shifting into a meat-cutting machine and back again even to an ungifted person. However, the gift will still be in place, and such practices also develop it, especially the corporeality that prevails in such a class. Stepan did not intend to follow this path, which was very specific, and closed some of the roads of others. So for the next five days, he simply and uncomplicatedly planted the essence in himself and learned to walk, run, attack, and interact with the world around him in this state.

He tried to instill in himself full-fledged spirit-beasts, from which even the body morphed, acquiring frankly sinister features, claws, and fangs, only that Stepan deliberately did not sprout fur, even forbade it to grow, if it was part of the natural partial transformation. His erudition suggested, among other things, such trifles as the problem of fur, which in the reverse transformation may not disappear, being not only a very pesky thing but also a ready envolt for a curse, no worse than an ordinary strand of hair, left unknown where. I also worked with a spirit without a distinct shape or sphere, which even allowed it to become completely ghostly, to seep into door and floor - no dirty connotations - crevices, and to make short bursts through the spirit world, a kind of short-range teleportation-not-teleportation. In training exercises it worked well, the spirit behaved quite obediently, the skills allowed him to maintain his body and control the entity, and even direct other spirits by calls, thanks to the plurality of awareness. But such techniques could be fully tested only in battle or in very risky rituals, for which they were created, and Stepan did not like and did not want to take risks.

Some spirits made strange demands when signing a contract, like the need to experience a hangover through a mediator in the form of a shaman's body. He signed the contract, because the possibility of not getting intoxicated and remembering everything, even when drunk on the fiercest booze, was worth several hours of agony... which could not be removed by magic or weakened by meditation. The technique, by the way, is from the section of agency work, and there were hundreds and hundreds of variations of contract or witchcraft practices that could help not to get drunk or adequately remember and perceive information despite intoxication. But for every type of subjugated spirit willing to enjoy a hangover in exchange for information and sobriety, there were many purely martial invocations or simply risky tricks in the course of which too easily things can go wrong. Though, of course, some things were simply hilarious and drove him into the blue screen. A spirit planted in the loins and moving into the mistress, or even just a living or not so living creature, or even not especially fresh corpse, during the eruption, turning the victim into a perfect puppet, partially preserving reflexes, memory, and personality.... a very conceptual approach, in the spirit not even of porn, but of some horror movies.

In addition to such important and necessary training, Stepan finally invested a talent point, although the pause for thought took much longer than expected. Soon the twenty-second could be closed, and he had only decided to invest what he had received for the twenty-first. In Stepan's defense, it was worth saying that a large part of his work recently did not require any new improvements in status, and it was becoming more and more difficult to decide with each level. There were so many free directions. This time the free point was invested mirroring the previous one, which was given for class rank upgrades. Only instead of dialog, it increased the practice of shamanism. Still, the basis of shamanism as such is his, Stepan's, bread. The ++“Master's practice of kamlanie” expectedly put a serious strain on his brain, forcing him to spend at least seven hours in cognitive meditation, with a break to drink water and go to the wind. Being the key basis of the class, the talent synergized with absolutely any direction of development, which was why it showed such a bright load on the shaman's brain and mental body.

First of all, of course, it enriched the set of all sorts of ways of invocation and summoning, different variants of ritual and payment, and, importantly, among them those intended to communicate strictly with senior spirits. Not ways to mimic the desired effects or enhance a weaker version of the summoning by marking the aura and spirit, but exactly the original perfectly matched methods of working with senior entities. The breakthrough to the mastery rank turned out to be no less of an amplification than the same breakthrough, only with dialog. New approaches, methods of mass or very specialized summoning, multi-stage calls, ways to properly sort out the spirits coming to the unformed free calls, strengthening protective barriers and ritual drawing, creating multi-stage defenses or deceptive defenses, which will lure an aggressive spirit with deceptive weakness, convincing him to attack, so that then the attacker can be taken by the energy balls and induce much stronger cooperation.

A huge potential in the calls of the corresponding direction of knowledge - charmers and suggestors, fighters and concealers, cursers and healers, different spheres, different aspects, reliance on different elements of calls. Approaches to working through totems or connection with the source, power over the area of high spheres or mystical practices of connection with the controlled territory, the mechanics of using new knowledge in combat or agency work. Hundreds of ways to combine the conditions of summons so that the spirit of one specialty does things that are not entirely peculiar to it, at the expense of a shifting type of chanting - a way to make the same “love and passion” act as if not full-fledged combatants, at least combat support. Ineffective and, by and large, unnecessary, but the very fact of being able to pull this off in defiance of Milf will improve his mood to near-cosmic proportions.

Deepening of contractual practice and interaction, weaving this practice into a ready-made summons, when the spirit who appeared at the call concludes a contract already on the fact of appearance. Ways to make such deals as honesty just maximally accelerated, and vice versa, to give one thing for another and change the contractual terms at the last moment. Work with dreams and in dreams, ways that allow, after a certain preparation, to call the necessary spirits without waking up, or to realize themselves in a dream to the extent sufficient to conduct such a call at all. Out-of-body work with reliance on preparation or without anything, with pure spirit, helping himself only with what he managed to take with him on the journey, as well as ways to quickly figure out the call of the necessary and not called spirit in advance in such a state. Optionally added precautionary methods to prevent being devoured by his summoner as soon as he sees a vulnerable shaman without the cover of a full ritual and closed barriers. Symbolic ritual battles right in the spirit world customized for entities that will not contract until you defeat them or at least show worthy resistance, confirming your worthiness and dignity.

Images, images, images....

It was only after he had finished assimilating the talent, cleaned himself up, and dived headfirst into a barrel of cold water that Stepan allowed himself to pass out in the bed of an almost stranger - not forgetting to clean the house of traces of his auric presence as thoroughly as possible - forgetting himself in his sleep. His training with his spiritual neighbors, augmented by images from his talent enhancement, made his dreams exceptionally stupid. Especially remembered was some adept of witchcraft, armed with a dozen clubs and mentioning Oleg, as well as Stepan's unforgettable namesake. Oh, the namesake burst into Stepan's dreams with all his mass accelerated by physics, which seemed to have shrunk a little, just a little. Waving two glowing scarlet blades quite professionally - one long, the other shorter, a kind of daga, all in the tradition of the best fencing schools - the earthling, a little more trim, but still fat and pimply, was chopping apart the demonic cultists who were attacking him, humming a song about how he was a retro-Paladin, and he would overpower them all alone. The main demoness, demonically insidious and evil but at the same time demonically beautiful, for some reason, not inspired by the prospect, desperately shoots combat magic on an infernal basis in fatty jumping as an impossibly fast flea. The smile on the face of Stepan the Alternate finishing the second verse of Stepan's song became more and more vicious, and the demoness's panic became more and more obvious.

The awakened shaman meditated for a while, trying to catch the remnants of the remarkably clear vision-dream, at the same time looking at the remnants of the images in the special dream catcher.

A moment later, as if they had been waiting for it, the spirits sent to guard the wharf sent an image of a boat, quite large, not smaller, even noticeably larger than Little Lech.

It was time for Stepan to leave such a hospitable place.

Can't say that without regrets.

* * *

The captain of the Bead - in honor of the long-dead songbird of the captain's favorite wife - was a man of medium height and build with a Nordic weathered face, only without a beard and Viking pigtails. His name was Bastius, and he was well acquainted with Kirik, for Kirik had sailed on his Businka for almost eight years. The merchant captain had not forgotten about the former guard who had become the headman of his native village. He regularly used Upper Lyady as a place to stop, buy some perishable provisions, and rest for the sailors. Considering the fact that three men of the ship's crew were from the same village the relationship was very strong.

The small but good-quality berth, of course, could hardly serve a very large boat. There was no serious rigging or hull work to be done, but it was still a good place to be. And also here one could not be afraid that the robbers or pirates, allied to the villagers, who ransack the village or are villagers and are there at all, when they do not rob, would decide to take the guards and the merchant to the knives. Still, the goods were not super-valuable, but only comparatively: ordinary, not elite furs - there were elite furs, too, but not much, if you start buying more, they will tear off the sail to the very stern - deer antlers, some insignificant amount of amber, not the most expensive and long-stored herbs and roots. Bastius Float, nicknamed so for the fact that three times in his youth during three different battles he was kicked overboard, but he never drowned, held his piece tightly. He paid all the taxes to the guild, did not engage in dubious bullshit, and therefore prospered. If you don't count small smuggling, as Stepan realized from the images of the spirits' untold words.

“A gifted man on board is always a good thing, if only for the cost of recharging amulets if you can't do anything. But you, according to Kirik, are not inept, and he's not very generous with praise, especially undeserved. You'll have the role of healer.” He spoke when Kirik left them both at a table in the inn, where they had already served roast goose with small and sour apples, taken straight from the glacier. “Honestly, if he hadn't guaranteed you, I wouldn't have taken you. Nobody takes passengers in the middle of a journey, except river caravans, when there are only a dozen ships and guards for a small army. The wavecutters like to arrange all sorts of nasty surprises because they don't keep normal ships. They always have less storage and shields, and even if the magicians are strong, they don't need a fair fight. To pour poison into the common cauldron, damage the ship's charms or just leave a beacon, so as not to miss a prey - it's all for them.”

"And Kirik's words convinced you?" The young man, eating one of the legs of a bird that had fallen in the name of gluttony, allowed himself to be interested. "Or the fact that I've lived here all winter?"

“Well, more like the first, he's always had a sense for people, like a pike for blood, but not without the second.” The interlocutor, who himself did not forget about food, answered eagerly, but his gaze was attentive and did not correspond to the relaxed general appearance. “If I bring nuggeted gold and silver, pure amber, sables, or even magical beasts' skins, then yes, they think up more than that, vultures. When they took Dabrik the Barrel they were not lazy to send him the fry a year and a half in advance. They knew that once in three years he made a big trip almost to the mouth of the river, by a miracle they managed with little blood, and hired in Morgrave a team of adventurers with a master of magic. But still, so many good men were buried by the shore. It's only for the sake of my merchandise to weave such intrigues as to wrap seaweed around an oar, and there's no need for it. I'm not worth it. That's why I agree.”

The young man was impressed by the extent of the conspiracies that were going on among the river traders and did not hesitate to ask questions, because his legend about a savage boy who ran away from a strict teacher and his family had already been “in confidence” retold by Kirik to his captain. To be fair, he had scanned this man by all available and unnoticeable means, quickly bypassing the work of very mediocre amulets without finding anything bloody or mean. The idea to try to recruit a useful healer and not only permanently, in the depths of the merchant's soul flashed, his magician was more on the currents and tailwind specialist and could cure only from life. He thought about it, but not too seriously, not the fact that the adventure-seeking young man would even agree, and two mages are expensive to keep, especially if the healer - these rates are so ungodly that it's easier to make do with potions and amulets, which will give to last to the city, as well as to guard against serious injuries.

Bead's crew, together with the captain, amounted to thirty-two people, or rather, thirty people exactly, one quarter-orc and one halfling half-breed, of whom only eight were pure guards without the duties of sailors and yet professional warriors. In case of conflict, of course, all of them armed themselves and fought back, but only the guards carried armor and weapons without taking them off, except for sleeping in shifts, and in battle they were the first to defend the ship. The effectiveness of an ordinary sailor and a pro-fighter, who has devoted his life to battles and training, is still very different. It's not because the sailors are lousy at fighting, they're a tough and skillful crowd. The position of such a guard, in fact, is not so hard and often happens so that you do not have to take the weapon out of the sheaths, but you can't do it without guards. All eight men in the crew were under contract with the captain personally, and they received payment for each voyage only from him personally, so they had to protect their employer. It wasn't a very good insurance against a dishonest bastard, but the fact that they had been working together for years and knew each other well played a role.

The eight were armed with short spear-darts, small shields, a cleaver or hatchet, a dagger, and a simple protective amulet, a normal one, worn all the time, not one worn only for combat because of the lack of charge replenishment. Schirm, who had long ago left for his own affairs, also had such amulets, though worse, but they were in the chest of the captain, who apparently had never trusted his men completely, and the rebels had not been able to break into that chest. In addition to the eight, who allowed themselves only a glass of wine, while the whole crew was resting, the captain, his bosun-magician, and assistant were protected, and at the same time the nephew, who buried his son, - and who had only spawned daughters not particularly willing to meddle in men's affairs, - the man planned to transfer the case. It was not God knows what kind of power, but taking into account the fact that the captain's goods belonged to the lowest bar of the upper price segment, as well as payment of all legal taxes and “illegal taxes”, it was enough to survive.

“No, Pann, having a medallion with the seal of someone from the Night Guild certainly cools some heads. But in reality, it just slightly reduces the risks of being hunted down on purpose.” In the captain's words stale and tired not even angry, just a burning resentment at something that can't be changed, but still annoying. “If Wavebreaker sees an opportunity to gnaw into someone's underbelly with impunity, he won't miss the chance, and whether or not the medallion was there, they'll ask about it later. Even if there will be a witness, then try to prove it, and if you prove it, you will get the heads of “not looking” at most, but certainly not a refund of goods. To return the money, honorably and in line with the loss, at least with the purchase price, and not with an increase in profit ... No, Pann, I don't like that kind of talk - such talk starts only where there are rivers of gold and banks of silver. And not just no one's silver."

“Like shipments under the auspices of the aristocracy or orders from powerful gifted individuals for rare reagents?” The young man clarified the obvious, remembering in passing the almost forgotten accidental barrel, the contents of which had nearly killed the entire village, and the fate of which had been taken care of by the guys from all sorts of important services. “Or, through third hands belonging to the very patrons of certain pirate gangs?”

“It's not for nothing that Kirik praised your grandfather, it's obvious that you're hooked on the move.” Bastius nodded approvingly, wrinkling his face at the particularly sour apple. “Yes, that's exactly the kind of decision one makes, almost always. Even if it's a loud and ugly scandal, when it's not too noble, but it's dirty. Blackness of any kind, related to magic, or even demon worship.... though with the latter they don't return the money, they hang all the filth of the shoreline as a warning.”

Stepan was tempted to ask about the relationship of the locals with demons, but he had enough sense not to ask because his personal erudition was limited only by some ways of recognizing and counteracting this type of opponents, as well as very convincing arguments “not to get involved, or it would be worse than just death”. His question about what kind of relationship here is not with worship but with classical demonology will become, to put it mildly, suspicious and even dangerous for Stepan. After that, respectively, for Captain Bastia who began to suspect different things.

“All right, young magician, I've been sitting up too long. Tomorrow at noon, so that the team can get some sleep, we'll leave here, but I advise you to bring your things in advance because I know how people remember at the last moment that they forgot their grandmother's favorite night pot.” Standing up from the table, leaning his arms heavily to his sides and breathing heavily from the dense dinner, he began to say goodbye until the next meeting. “Put up a magical lock, of course. I know you magicians and I know my own, even if they don't steal anything, they might just try to dig through it. But, I warn you at once that the protection is not dangerous for the ship and the crew. Nothing killing or maiming, things happen, they may just accidentally touch yours, and if not, I'll cut off the thief's fingers myself. And no fire, or you'll swim further, rowing with your hands, no offense. That'll be all, see you tomorrow, Pann.”

“Well, they are understandable demands, I approve and understand them, and I don't want to swim to the shore, the water is still cold.” They shook hands in the local manner and said goodbye, satisfied with each other in principle. “See you tomorrow, Bastia.”

The next morning, standing next to Cherl the ship's magician yawning moodily on the stern, where there was the free place and quiet place, Stepan looked at the gradually receding pier of the Upper Lady and Meld with Kirik waving to him. Both of them had received farewell amulets from him, “good luck symbols” with a weak shield, as Stepan had told them. In fact, the shield wasn't exactly weak, combining a mild deflection of physical and magical blows and hard barriers against directed and undirected blows, as well as the ability to knock out the aim of homing spells. In addition to the above, Stepan added a health function, life support, curse absorption, activation of body enhancement and reaction in case of mortal danger, self-charging, and protection from theft along with binding to the owner. Still, both of them had done a lot for him. There are no ways to see the real properties of these bracelets in Upper Lyady. The second totem-guardian completed this attraction of hearsay and unprecedented generosity, similar to the wedding gift, but personally in Kirik's hands. He thanked sincerely, and just as sincerely shoved in his hands a very good dagger with an ivory hilt, a trophy from his youth and a memory of the river pirate who had nearly cut him in the belly with that very knife. From the look in Kirik's eyes the young man realized that the thing was really expensive and memorable, but if he tried not to take it, he would offend the headman to death.

He took it, of course, though he checked it later for any surprises, and then hung it on his belt instead of his own dagger, which was also good and high-quality, but still worse at least because of the lack of a bonus of plus twenty units to stylishness. They drank late that night, but not too much, and Kirik also gave some advice on how to behave in the big world.

And so they set sail. It means - that's it. Another page in the life of an earthling-crosser has been turned and now he is free again. A little sad, but still he is intoxicated by this aroma... No, not the river and the reeds, and not the coming adventures - may all gods, including the Mighty Milf, forbid him to find those adventures again! - but change, new events, new landscapes, and new discoveries. Stepan will gladly settle down, and build himself a new glade-fortress, but first, he needs to provide himself with a sufficient level of comfort, which an ordinary village can not give him. If you live in the world of magic and sorcery, being able to do all sorts of anti-scientific and very magical things, you should make your life so that it would be pleasant to live it.

It's the kind of thing you can put up with on the river.

But not the snoring of the sailors, no, not it.

"Well, well, well. Where were my sound absorber contracts?"

Stepan wanted very much to believe that it was the suppression of snoring and the eradication of the odor from the mass of sweating bodies that would be the most terrible ordeal of the journey. After all, it was really a routine trade rafting on the river, though not safe, though full of risk, but Bastius had already sailed like this a hundred times and was alive. After all, would something start to go critically wrong, especially for Stepan's visit? He wasn't in the anime and certainly wasn't the Chosen One the Autogoddess was looking for, so let him be lucky, eh?

He'll be lucky, right?

At the very least, he's a full-fledged Senior Shaman by the standards of the System. Any typical enemy that a ship like Bead and her crew would have to fear, he would be able to wipe out, if not wipe out, then he could certainly run away.

After all, he just needs to reach any major town, it's not like he's ordered the twelve feats of Hercules!

What could possibly go wrong?
* * *

THE STATUS OF STEPAN "NORMAL" AT THE END OF CHAPTER FOURTEENTH

Name: Stepan

Level: 21

Class: Senior Shaman

Characteristics: (free: 0)

Talents (free): 0

Constitution: 2

Sensitivity: 11

Power: 6

Control: 5

Source: 5

Spirit: 13

Resistance: 1

Knowledge acquired: speaking and writing: Free Cities, academic Neirat, Island Kingdom; call practice of master level; master level of spiritual dialog; wilderness hermit; advanced basics of working with healing spirits; advanced developed techniques of casting shamanic charms (GIFT); advanced basic techniques of dream-inducing and dream correction (GIFT); the advanced basic practice of combat calls; advanced basic techniques of interaction with magical sources; advanced basic techniques of countering curses: basic fundamentals of fast call; the advanced basic practice of spiritual operation; the mastery of an experienced martial caller; basics of spiritual haggling and contract agreements with otherworldly entities; the advanced basic practice of remote control of spiritual entities; basic methods of teaching magical sciences; basic methods of tantric practices; advanced basic methods of territorial influences; basics of work with totems; advanced basic techniques of building defensive formations; advanced techniques of spiritual wandering; advanced basic skills of spiritual conflict outside the physical body; advanced developed techniques of suggestive influences based on shamanism (GIFT); methods of undercover work

Minor knowledge: contract with an elder spirit: Sleepwalker (GIFT); contract with the elder spirits: The Shroud of Touch and the Creator of Decisions (GIFT); a contract with a strong spirit: The Eater of Diseases; defense by distortion of the anteroom of the spheres; contract with a strong spirit: Cheesh'sh'shuya; contract with a strong spirit: Jolly Milker; contract with a strong spirit: ++Sneaking Glow; contract with a senior spirit: Joy of the Waves; contract with a senior spirit: Vishpli-Schwalstprachtmatt; contract with a senior spirit: Vishpli-Schwalstprachtmatt

Obtained properties: blessings of health and long life; toughness of spirit; resilience of subtle bodies; small mark of spiritual spheres: spiritual shroud of higher auric concealment (GIFT); flexible transformation of the spiritual body; marking of fallen leaves and black roots; a tantric spiritual hearth; recognition of creators of passions and weavers of feelings (GIFT); heritage in blood and spirit (GIFT); patchwork spiritual echo (GIFT); plurality of spiritual awareness; small spiritual and energetic protection

System modifiers: peaceful development III; issuance of system assignments III; lecherous development III; access to system purchases III; small system endowment of characteristics; temporal awareness III; reserve renewal II; replenishment of life I

Special: Blessing of Liarat si Merrinal, Lady of Gifts and Giver of Gifts, loyal servant of Innelas Innelay: likely to grant additional talents as you level up; grant specific System quests with increased rewards; Mark of Destinies: Singha, daughter of Maega, and Maega, daughter of Maedra; hidden effects

* * *
Author's Note:

Well, it was not the most action-packed chapter, in fact, only one small and not dangerous for MC personally. It was impossible to lose it and the maximum that threatened Stepan was to reveal his awesomeness or be forced to kill all the smugglers and then explain why he was the last survivor. But there was half a whole hentai scene... Yeah, endless dumb hentai is not working again.

Moreover: from the already made rolls for the next chapter it becomes clear that our shaman will be able to get fucked up only allegorically, and he will not like rafting on the river too much. I won't spoiler. I'll only say that several factors will play a role and it will be difficult for the hero to escape unless he really starts to swim the river.

The main rolls in this chapter were spent on leveling and its success and they were really good, not awesome, but good. In case of critical success, the hero could have a senior spirit in his retinue but not on a full-fledged eternal contract, a one-time summoning - only then a roll would have to be made against Stepan's usual prudence and caution. But even so, Squidward Plus turned out to be a surprisingly powerful summoning, for the sake of which he had to really sweat with the ritual, which was tied to time and season, go broke on reagents for summoning a bunch of moon-suns, as well as twice use his trump card with replenishing the reserve.

Successfully.

The hero did things he could have done a long time ago if it hadn't been for the desire to wander around out of the body, and then to take revenge for the attempts to use the body for spare parts. Well, he had to recover after each of these activities, that was no denying. Now, having set himself the task of making normal contracts, even those recognized as reliable by the System. With the Lizard, everything was quite simple. There initially was the willingness to cooperate, and with the Milker so and so in general - crit, a pure hundred and another 37. With the latter it was literally a perpetual contract, and without the need to fuel it additionally, just by the fact of its existence.

Also from the crites the pure 100 and another 91 on the spirit with an unpronounceable name from the Autogoddess, and there is not only strength, but also usefulness was incredible, as for the gifts of this lady! Perhaps the first entity of her gifts, which can and should be called even without vulgar purposes, on the rights of the guardian of the hearth-home-abode. Very harsh shit, the hero did not get such a break in the template for nothing, and the “special” properties of the contract of the spirit do not greatly interfere with the real benefit under the snickering of MC. Was it just luck, a mistake of the Autogoddess, who gives up her position, or, on the contrary, a cunning plan to pull the hero to her side? Who knows, who knows?

Material gift - as always, goes under the category of incredibly cool and completely useless. No, if you are uninhibited and in the character of THIS Stepan, the benefit is obvious. You give a toy to a brainwashed slave, and her inevitable attempts to bewitch the isekai are perceived in the vein of “More”. But since the hero is not so accustomed to the high culture, he just got another toy, which it is not clear where to put, but it is a pity to throw away.

Well, until next time, apricots and mulberries for everyone, and I'm off to wait for the update to Hero. :)

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