Готовый перевод Настучать в бубен / Hit the tambourine: Глава 19-7

* * *

Singha took a long look at Pann, who had disappeared into the green wall of unfamiliar and very lush trees, exhaled a little indignantly, and stomped her foot in anger, but she did not even allow herself to disrespect him with words. First, she's in the shadow of his khao's veil and may her skill be enough to see their intent to protect and keep those inside the circle, but they might remember her words. Secondly, this stranger-khanur with his obnoxious temper and profanity-loving mouth-was mostly right in his profanity. The shamaness, an experienced gifted with many generations of khao-seahar behind her back, clearly understood that anyone else in his place would have simply cut the throat of the maiden who had almost killed him twice and would have fed his khao with her life. But he had tolerated her words and actions, saving her time after time and as if he saw nothing wrong in it-she had shared her self with him, too, when they had fled the Heaven that had fallen beneath them when the khao abode had almost dissolved their bodies.

Pann did not seek profit or favor in her rescue, nor did he act out of sympathy or carnal lust, certainly not the latter. He had a fierce dislike for her. No, he just didn't see or acknowledge it, as if he didn't realize it was possible to do otherwise. To him, saving her, dying and perishing, was not a matter of profit or sympathy. It was not a question for him at all, a cause for reflection. He saw her ruinous situation and helped as he could and in whatever way he could. It was hard for her to follow his thinking, his behavior, and his understanding of the world, especially given the depth, the ease with which he commanded the innumerable Khaos clung to him like steppe grass to a body lying in that grass, like a foal to a mare. It was hard for her to comprehend this understanding of life and her place in it, but the last thing she wanted was to offend or insult the man who had saved her, to disappoint him even more.

It was even painful in its simplicity. The way he'd been disappointed in her and her actions, how angry and profane he'd been, and yet he'd still helped, protected and covered, guided and sharpened the path. She had almost said goodbye to eternity too many times in the last couple of turns of the sun, but especially memorable were the words of that vile brat from the lake. The moment when it had offered, honestly and without lie, a path to salvation for him alone, but without her. Then she realized very clearly that flash, not even of anger or rage, but of disgust and rejection, when Pann had smiled, and with mere words and the power invested in them had forced the ancient evil to retreat. For the sake of her, Singha, daughter of Maega, daughter of Maedra, to continue to live, to breathe, to exist. As her father or, more likely, her constantly making inappropriate jokes, her paternal uncle, would say in this situation: “After doing something like that, even very decent girls are quite indecent to puled up their dress.” Singha realized that if he had only hinted, she would have pulled up too, not out of love or passion. Simply because of such an act, it paid off. Refusal would have been an even greater despicable act for her.

She didn't know whether it was good or bad that he didn't see in her someone who could ignite the fire of desire in his eyes. One who could share his passion, lie down, and give herself to him under this strange and alien sky. And that cloak! She had only heard of houses of spirits converted into such relics in legends, and she did not believe in them. In the tent and the central hearth of that tent, where Khailan-Khan's ancestors and ancestors' ancestors had lived, there always lived and never slept two old Khao, mighty, but only together equal to the one given to her by the Soul Tablet. That the ancient and so akin to human consciousness that he understood them with half a mind from the mere image of desire, the khao, allowed to place himself in an ordinary-looking cloak, yes with all his immensely powerful retinue. Singha realized she was simply afraid of doing the wrong thing because she couldn't understand how Pann would behave. People don't behave like that! They don't!

She had sensed his power, and remembered how he had listened to insulting orders from a mere khanur, even without a gift! She had seen his khao retinue, immense and so diverse as to make her dizzy, and remembered how he had tolerated her addressing him, her superior, and demanding orders to speak at her will! She saw him fight, let himself be led by his images, his spirit saw with his eyes how he calculated hundreds of variations of every move of his, hers, and the enemy, weaving them into the pattern of the coming victory, avoiding the doom that seemed inevitable, and remembered how stupid and pompous in his importance the obnoxious Nertm had uttered through his teeth the words against him with slight contempt!

He's strange, that's for sure. The all-seeing Heaven and all the khao of all the winds can see that, but still, she did not want to be ungrateful and answer evil with good. Yes, he spoke mean words, for some of which others paid with their lives or gold if they had time to buy their lives back. Yes, he said them sincerely and fully realizing to whom exactly, but she recognized that at that moment these words, at least partially, deserved. And it was not words that spoke for Pann, but deeds. She had seen and listened to too many people whose speeches were full of honey and flattery, and whose deeds were more venomous than a steppe viper. Pann was not one of them, and his deeds had never brought her harm, though, truth be told, they should have. She deserved that harm, she deserved a lot.

Pann went into his trial of the one or the other of the khao-yanash-mal who had lavished him with her attention. She only exhaled and sat down on the khao-insulated ground, wrapping herself in her marvelous gift, covering her naked body beneath it, and hugging her legs. Singha realized now that she had studied her gifts better, that he had never understood, never realized that one of her gifts was hidden from him, unseen to his inner sight. Singha did not want to hide anything from the one who had done her nothing but good, but she was afraid to admit it because she did not know how he would react. She remembered his words that he would not allow her to summon that khao, the knowledge of whose call and power was poured into her like milk poured into a jug. She understood why he had said that. Why he had warned her of his prohibition. The power of a khao is great, such a one could, if summoned stealthily and in advance, penetrate even that wall of indestructibility which she saw as his defense, penetrate even one whose spirit itself has become like a khao even more than a man. Singha was not going to call this khao even if she could call him stealthily, even if she could get him to attack her savior before the punishment fell upon her.

She has honor!

There is pride!

There is gratitude!

But there was also an understanding, a caution, a realization that Pann's caution might be more than his benefactor more than all the good he had done for her. For she could sense his irritation and dislike when he remembered the evil she had brought, the trouble she had foolishly given him. So she did not care to check what Pann would have done if she had learned that another line had appeared on her Tablet, marked by the Tablet itself with the note “invisible to members of the group.” She had already noticed, it was hard not to realize, that Pann could see her Tablet by the right of the one who had given it to her, but he had hidden his Tablet. And she understood him; there wasn't even a shadow of resentment. Who wouldn't want to keep their secrets, if there was a way to keep them? But she kept hers, too, because she was afraid that otherwise her danger to Pann would outweigh his strange and incomprehensible kindness and she would find herself in an unpleasant position. She did not want to be in that position. She didn't intend to use the gift, not on Pann, certainly not on Pann, but, khao witnessed, she was afraid that she wouldn't be able to prove her reluctance.

Again and again she looked at that line, not understanding why had the Khao-yanash-mal given her such a gift in the first place, why had she decided to test her honor and gratitude?

Reward Tokens (invisible to group members): Sweet Feet (25)

It was a powerful gift, a staggeringly absolute gift that stood above Heaven and any hao she knew, if only by rumor. But at the same time, it was obscene, and also very sneaky, insidious, and dangerous in equal measure. She listened to her Tablet and blushed involuntarily, time after time, at what the Tablet revealed to her, time after time the genuine embarrassment of it growing stronger and stronger. And then there was the realization of being able to use this gift and thereby solve so many of her problems - to rid herself of a threat, to assure her safety, and the certainty of her salvation. It was the meanness of the reward - the temptation to use it, to strike the unsuspecting Pann and get what she wanted, or at least to avoid a sad outcome.

If he were like those “friends” of hers who smiled in public and held hidden contempt, envy, rejection, contrived and real grudges in the grip of self-control, she wouldn't have hesitated at all to simply strike first. But he meant no harm. He was saying exactly what he thought, and he had no intention of bestowing harm on Singha in his power. And it made her painfully ashamed to even think of using this cursed and poisonous gift on Panna. It made her feel disgusted with herself, with the part of her self that saw the profit in harnessing the mighty and too trusting, too kind khanur like a good stallion to a harness. It is not for nothing the Slavers of the steppe tribes say that sometimes the best harness for a mighty and unruly stallion is a meek and gentle filly.

This gift would be perfect for such a dastardly deed. If ыhe wished to use it, a gradually increasing obsession would fall upon the man, gathering all his attention on Singha's feet. At first, he would just stare, dream, and wish, but at some point, it would seem completely normal for him to start touching, kissing, and licking them. In this state, he will be completely relaxed, gradually becoming more and more excited. She should only put both feet at once to the face of the victim so that he released the semen and became for a moment very obedient. In this way one can persuade the victim to fulfill a single request, even one that is obviously harmful to the obsessor, one can order him to sleep or to give her something valuable, to tell his secret or someone else's secret. And there is no defense against it, none. Neither mighty khao, nor the strongest charms, nor the most powerful temple will not help, with the same ease before this gift will fall the will of a simple yalom or the Great Khan. And no one will even suspect Singha. The victim of obsession will not forget about what happened to him, but simply will not pay attention to it, and will treat it as something ordinary, more ordinary than even going to the bath. The mystery will always remain a mystery, a secret as only she, gifted with a great dastardly temptation, knows.

"Unshai uk marakh-tash!" Said the steppe girl, as she spat, switching to her native dialect, the part of it for which her mother would have struck her lips with the palm of her hand until they bled, but now, having discharged her anger and contempt for herself, she felt a little better. "I know honor! And gratitude!"

She said it as if she'd been cut off. Only now she felt how her underlying and mean, low and unworthy desire to solve all her problems in the way best for her, not for her savior, had finally let go. And having refused, it was as if she could breathe more freely at once. It was as if the air around her, cooled and slightly dried by perfume, had become sweeter, and a light breeze brought freshness to her thoughts. She would not tell. She would keep silent out of apprehension and fear; there was no point in lying to herself. It was even worse than trying to deceive the bargain-breaking khao. But this secret will remain just a secret, but no more. Her secret. She would know and remember that she could have betrayed but didn't, that she could have taken control of Pann's mind and heart but didn't. And that made her feel a little better, or maybe it was just the improving sense of recovering health.

Left alone, the shamaness quickly calmed down and got into a rhythm, meditating a little, helping a little the exhausted hao-amal on her blood, which helped her in escape and battle, and just admiring the landscape. Though, admittedly, she got bored of this forest rather quickly. The unusual trees and grasses are only unusual for the first thousand breaths, and then they become just trees and grass. The dirty and almost brown water of the river did not appeal to her either, although she wanted to wash her body, in this river, as it seemed to Singha, that there was a good chance she would only stain herself more, coming out dirtier than she had entered its waters. But she liked the soft and like a little magic, very pleasantly crusty bread, she would have eaten such a thing every day, but she didn't know the variety and didn't think to ask. She would have to tell the servants to look for it at the market when she got home, it was delicious. Especially with the jam, which was also delicious - the soft and tight layer of sweetness seemed to cover her mouth, and the individual large cherries seemed so sweet that if it weren't for a hint of sourness, she might have been sick. But the combination of sour and sweet was soothing, and Singha did not notice that she had rid herself of the stock of sweets, leaving only an empty jar and a long glass spoon.

If this mysterious Soul Tablet allowed her to summon such delicious things with a single wish, then she understood why its owners were so sought after. Envy, perhaps. No, it was a joke, of course, she wouldn't anger Hao, and she knew all too well what the Master was being sought for. But still, even jokingly, it was very tasty bread and excellent jam, it would not be a shame to pay gold for it. A lot of gold. For example, as a sprout of the snow-white inflorescence of Usanarax flower - very rare and fastidious, growing only on the rivers and floods of those rivers in the hot tropics of the south. They grow it only on magical places, and they do not want to share their secrets, taking so much for each sprig-flower that my mother every time remembered someone's greed. In the coastal lands, these flowers have long since disappeared. If they existed in the wild, it was only in the depths of the jungle, where they could grow and bloom, parasitizing on the half-rotten trunks of dead trees.

It was like that log that had floated past their little temporary camp, caught on a snag about a hundred feet from the edge of the guard circle. Singha even wiped her eyes, and then, wincing at the slight pain and weakness, looked at the flower with the eyes of a couple of khao. Both her own and the ones who had been ordered to listen to her will, doing Pann's will. Indeed, that very flower was a long and smooth white twig stretching upward, and on the side opposite the sun gathered small flowers that looked like little steppe bells. She had seen this flower many times, held it in her hands, and brought it to Khao as a gift, so it was easy to recognize its true reflection, but here the flower was still alive. Not just alive, but fully intact and, as Singha knew, of the five delivered by her father's errandmen and traders she knew, it was good if at least one of them retained all its properties. And here she could preserve them herself, treat the stem properly, and collect the inflorescences. The price would be enough for a dozen new dresses.

Well, she doesn't need to. She will come back from this trouble anyway with a profit simply obscene. If she comes back. But the future khao-seahar kept such thoughts away from herself but it is possible to present the flower to the same Pann. He also speaks, he also hears khao and can't fail to appreciate it. She wanted to show herself not only as a useless child, which mother wolf or furry brother Yarsha covers from evil! She was sick of thinking even about what her mother would say and how much she would be whipped with a rod when she returned to her native house and white yurt. One could only hope that she would never find out that it was her call to her khao had been the sweep of the wide-brimmed cloak on which the insecure prisoner of the magic tower had pounced like an enraged buffalo. And it would be pleasant to see in Pann's gaze, as he returned from his proclamation, surprise, and approval, pleasant to her, for then she would not be so useless.

She knew she shouldn't leave the protection of the spirits, the enchanted circle, but she also knew he hadn't locked her away or sworn her in. He had simply asked her not to leave the protection, especially while she was powerless. But she wasn't far away! Literally a hundred paces away, she wouldn't go far! And even if she did, even her strength would be enough for her to call for help! Biting her lip and once again barely holding back the weakness, she took a closer look at the precious flower, ensuring her eyes had not deceived her and she was not being baited by a predatory something. She remembered very well the cute and so funny bird she had almost stepped towards there by the lake. Singha had made her decision. She waited a moment, counting her breaths to a hundred until her body calmed down and her weakness subsided, then she rose carefully, without putting on the cloak she had temporarily lost her strength in, and walked briskly toward the spot, taking care to tread as carefully as she could.

The incredibly humid stifling heat immediately hit her in the face as she left the circle. The heat covered her with a heavy woolen blanket and wrapped her in three hides, her breath was knocked out of her chest, but she did not fall or even stagger, no. She walked cautiously, leisurely, to the bank, wondering how to pluck the sturdy stalk - the bank here is very steep. If she jumped into the river, it would be difficult to get out, especially with a delicate flower that could not be soaked with water. She began to think about how to call her or one of her trusted khao more carefully, so he could cut off the stem with a blade of his will, and the second one could bring the stem to her without taking even a speck of dust from it. She even picked up a careful and soft call, not to strain her gift, but then she had to step back two steps, quietly whispering a few words in her father's dialect, which her mother would not approve, as well as her father. From here she would have been more comfortable pointing her target with her chosen khao, but before she could speak and call, a heavy and rather long dart whistled past her, a couple of feet away, hitting the water about half a step from the flower and very close to the log.

Shrieking in surprise and consternation, Singha immediately shifted, preparing to run under the protection of the circle of hao and call out to them for help. At her call they would come, she knew it, Pann had given her the right to do so. At the same time assessing the one who had dared to attack her. She was not attacked, as became clear a moment later, though she was startled at first to see a long, six-foot-tall snake-maiden from tail to top, armed with several more heavy darts, a blowpipe, and a long wooden dagger of clearly not simple wood. The swarthy almost-skin of the human part of the body, which was in fact only very fine scales, as Singha knew, was covered only by the straps for weapons and a wide belt, while the snake part was traditionally not covered at all. Her shoulders, chest, and belly were covered with some tribal symbols, which Singha sensed as strange magic, not calling to the Khao, but also connected with their world.

She smiled a predatory and dangerous smile, showing slightly different and unhumanly shaped teeth, but she didn't rush to attack. A moment later, flashing bright aquamarine eyes that were dimming with the drop of magic that had passed through them, snake folk pointed a finger at the river. Singha was not the sort of fool to fall for such a childish trick, but neither was she foolish enough to believe such a ridiculous blunder by an experienced hunter. And her words, spoken in broken and very heavily accented Confederate, finally convinced her to look back at the spot where the dart had struck.

T.N. The snake speaks in a broken language with a snake accent.

"You move away in time, think rightly, or else be prey, be eaten." And it was hard for Singha to argue with this when she saw that under the log with the rare flower there was a creature, invisible to her other eyes, like a monkey covered with fish and snake scales with very long claws on each of its arms and legs. "Hmpassash is so hunted. Looking for a flower. Seeks fruit. Magic. And waits for someone to come along."

"Thank you, honored one.' Singha's reply was no longer as strained, but he still took a few steps towards the temporary shelter, preparing to call for help from the hao at any moment. "I could have... died."

Singha lies a little because she believes the Pann's khao would have pulled her out in time to hit the ravenous creature, but why not thank the one who decided to help? Snake girl only flashed her deep turquoise eyes, and then began to pull the body of the killed creature to the shore, pulling out a dart and a log with a flower. Now the young Khao-Seymar did not dare to demand the flower for herself - she did not deserve it. She felt uncomfortable. It was stuffy, hot, humid, and as if pressed all around her, but she could not just walk away, showing her back and disrespecting the one who had helped her. Boldly meeting the gaze of the snake-elf's bright emerald eyes, she gives a quiet bow and thanks, trying to speak as slowly and simply as possible. She was used to the difficulty of switching from one language to another, but she knew how to communicate with someone who understood you but did not understand you well.

“No, just recently here, hunting ground, good place.” She says, carefully and properly withdrawing the flower, wrapping it in an opaque section of dense snake scales. “Sees you, watch you. Then you come up. I'll help. I am Seishassasssssss, and who are you, human maiden?”

Singha, trying to get closer to the sheltered camp without being seen, told her and Pann's story briefly and allegorically. Snake girl had seen the moment of his departure, but had not dared to approach. She referred to the fact they had gotten lost on the khao trails and were here by chance. She thought the golden-eyed snake maiden had conveniently appeared after Pann had finished sending out the distant packs of khao seekers that was why she had slipped invisibly so close to them. Still, even though she was clearly gifted. Singha could smell her magic. And she could hide herself since Singha hadn't sensed it in the first place, but she wouldn't have been able to hide from the eye of a Khao-seran as powerful as Pann was. His eye was attentive, and the steppe girl appreciated and realized how he approached the inspection of their camping place. She could not understand why she was telling the blue-eyed serpentess, who listened attentively and nodded when necessary.

"What?” she asked, in answer to a question from Singha, who was crouching by a tree to keep her tired legs from wobbling. "What do you want to ask?"

"Hai?" Singha says in surprise, looking into the dark green eyes of her conversation partner. "Did you want something?"

"I wanted to. To see Pann. To talk to him." She had finished butchering her prey and now she was very close, so close that Singha could smell the tart odor of fresh grass coming from her body, looking into her dark brown, almost black eyes. "But I am afraid. I am weak. He is strong. You speak. I'm old. Can you help me? Help me talk? Talk to Pann."

"Hai." Why she stares so intently into the soft turquoise eyes, something as if she wants to remember about eyes and snake folks, but that something slips away, slides away just like the soft movements of Seyshshsh's serpentine body, cool but so scalding at the touch of her body, the touch of her slender and long fingers on Singhi's hot belly and chest. "Hai. Hai. Hai. Hai. Hai! Haiiiiiiii!"

Her touch was so bold and pleasant. It was as if it were stroking her whole, each touch making her agree to something she didn't even realize she was agreeing to. Seyshshsh repeats and asks again if necessary. She talks about herself, asks about Singh, talks about how she wants to talk to Pann, just talk, nothing more. But Pann is so strong, so dangerous, and she is just an ordinary hunter, she is afraid of him, but she wants to look into his eyes, but she is afraid. Singha will help her talk, just talk, just talk? Even if she had to add a drop of special juice from a special herb to Pann's drink, a harmless drop, a good drop that would make Pann feel good, almost as good as Seyshshsh's fingers make Singha feel?

"Hai! Hai! Hai! Hai! Hai!" Singha responds, feeling the snake part of her best friend helping her stand, cool, soft, wrapping her whole body in tight rings, stretching one of the rings along the somehow very hot and humid khanaal, her long fingers rubbing the berries, such hard berries of her taam-tat, she only presses herself harder into the much-needed coolness of the snakegirl's body, looks into the pale violet eyes of Seyshshsh, and says, she has so much to say, so much good to do for those eyes, those fingers, those rings, that best friend of hers. "Haiiii! I can't. Not give. He notices a drop. Want to help. Help. Be able to help. To do. Do. Do it! Haiiiii!"

She slips into an even worse Confederate language than Seyshshsh's, but she is not offended by it, and she is not offended when Singha switches to the steppe language at all, only to help her start to speak clearly again. And the shamaness, flying up again and again, wriggling in the rings of the snake body rubbing against her, tries to say, tries to help. She says that she herself can make it so that Seysshesh is not afraid of Pann so that Pann will not harm Seyshshsh, so that his khao will not do her harm, so that she will do him good as well as Singha. She said she would. He would call off the khao. He would unlock the defenses. He would do everything Singha said. She tried, honestly tried to explain how she would accomplish this, but she didn't seem to be understood. It was getting harder and harder to speak, to remember the words to explain complicated things, and Seyshshsh couldn't understand Singha's babble.

"Hai! Haiiii! Haiiii!!! Him! Do it! Do it! Kiss! Feet! Lick! Him! Hiiiii!!!" With another squeal, she jerked especially hard, nearly breaking free from such gentle cool rings of her friend and sister, staring into her blue-green-white-dark-birch-blue-yellow-black-purple eyes and shuddering finely at the pleasure that shot through her body, feeling the pleasure and passion flowing along her legs. "Hai, I'll forget. Hai, forget. Hai, to do. Hai. Hai. Hai. Hai. Haiiii."

* * *

It was even easier than expected to reach the desired point. His body and spirit in symbiosis carried his feet as fast as the wind. He was not particularly worried about Singha. Even if she decided to escape, and he defiantly did not lock her in the dungeon, she would not get far, except to her own death. But okay, even for this horse, killing herself in the middle of nowhere after all she'd been through was a bit much. No point in making her dumber than she already is, at times. Indeed, Stepan thought, she was a perfect hit in the image of smart but stupid at the same time, just textbook. Nothing, she'll wait. There are guard spirits, which will stop any attack within the closed circle of the amulet, and support spirits, which can attack outside the amulet. Although the latter should be ordered to attack, Singha will cope, it does not even need special strength, and primitive dialog is available to her despite the exhaustion.

A couple of times he watched what she was doing, watching with the eyes of the spirits, trying to be inconspicuous, but she was either meditating, warming up, or eating the treats he had left. The shaman was a little jealous of her eating the tasty jam, but eating sweets and eating in general before the coming call was still contraindicated. He had already reached the level of strength where he could ignore such minor conditions as fasting, a separate type of call, or ritual greetings in the nude and with blue paint on his face. He could, but he saw no reason to bother his own life unnecessarily. However, he wouldn't have smeared his face with blue paint and undressed in this steam room, which was misleadingly called a jungle. The increase in efficiency at his current skill was not so small, but it still didn't pay for the time and effort.

The right tree was found on the first try. There were no others like it here. It was huge, thick, and quite tall, but not much taller than the average forest, but it paid for itself in the width of the trunk and the density of the crown. The tree was also seriously ill and had been dying slowly for decades, having caught a spontaneous curse and become a nesting place for some particularly magical woodworm. The shaman was sure that this kind of parasite was not just magical, it had been growing on this tree for many generations, being a de facto endemic and the only place where this thing, which, by the way, was quite capable of eating birds and animals, crawling under their skin and almost gnawing its way into their spinal cords, had ever lived. Somehow it became clear at once that he would destroy this endemic without special pity for the endangered red-listed species.

To tell the truth, it was much less work than expected, and if Stepan hadn't made all the necessary preparations, he would have done it much faster. Some of the contracts were already ready, and some other spirits he was able to summon with a minimum of preparation, only the good effects, which he decided to do on the verge of shamanism and witchcraft, required work. And that, to be honest, was simply out of a desire to show off, and the fear that if he didn't do the assignment perfectly, the reward would be reduced. Even though small assignments were also becoming more difficult, and originally called small system quests were now hardly small. But his level and skill were still growing faster. Now, after the recent reinforcement, he didn't even doubt the success, he just wanted to get through it as quickly as possible and get back to work on getting home. In fact, he was thinking of using this tree, its essence, grateful for the rescue, to the extent that such a primitive sub-spirit of the reflected type knew gratitude at all, as a support for the leap to the Revealer's abode.

//“I wonder if this is druidism or not.” - He thought as he considered what he was going to use to reinforce the basic call and create the teleport link because the Revealer alone couldn't cover half the world. There was no escaping the call of the Piercing One, whose contract was renewed by a token. - “Obviously, it's the new one, the first of my higher ones, that I'll have to call.”

It was a pity to waste a renewed summoning of a higher spirit but it was just for the record because there were no other options of comparable reliability, speed, and quality. He could, of course, spend a good deal of money to summon several elder spirits and transport them to Dantmark in a series of separate leaps, but that would require an unsustainable amount of time and effort. After all, for what the hell does he need an existing contract if he's going to be constantly regretting to use it and to put it to its intended use? Especially since it's got four summoning charges for a year and he's not going to be traveling much to save now, anyway. The main issue with the upcoming transfer will be the final point. Now that the worm network is out of the way, he can move to Dantmark just fine. The problem is that Piercing is not good at stealth. His forte is the breaking of blockades and barriers, brutal and swift in its irreversibility. So you'll have to provide concealment yourself, and the best way to do that is to go straight to the underground hall.

Only then, even with all the power of ready-made totems and careful preliminary preparation, there is a high risk that the presence of Stepan's underground stronghold will be detected. More precisely, they will detect the very fact someone has installed under the city some analog of a witches' shrine, a divine altar, or a shamanic totem, but not its exact coordinates. The shaman intentionally added the necessary interference and false images to make it more difficult to identify the nature of the anomaly, but this does not cancel the fact of anomalies. Is it worth specifying what kind of emotions this would arouse in the already worried representatives of the secret guards? Or you can transfer to the suburbs of Dantmark, which will be detected with an even greater guarantee and much faster localize the transition. And already there leave through the door of the Revealer, unnoticed and having wiped off all traces. Then these same guards will get much clearer traces of movement and the exact place of the final transition, but it will be even less useful to them than in the previous variant. But, if we go with the second plan, there is a risk of running into trouble. What if, purely by chance, the city authorities or just random witnesses have some important business near the point where he and Singha come out of the teleporter? So they'd react faster, so he'd have less time to cover his tracks and leave more clues.

But at least he had no trouble with the assignment, and he had done it easily, summoning and calling the strong and small spirits, keeping the call of the senior spirits in reserve. The biggest problem was with the woodworms, which were no more dangerous than a dozen nests of Japanese hornets, except that they didn't fly. But their hive mind, or rather, hive instinct, spurred by magic, perfectly sensed where the main flow of magical power was coming from, which was harming them, driving them out of the wood, sealing their burrows and tunnels gnawed in the wood. By the way, with those tunnels, it helped a lot to use the smallest power and quite strongly distorted from the basic basis locking of paths. It also, in a way, locked the passages and cut off the integrity of the collective magical aura of the parasite swarm.

These parasites did not like Stepan, or, on the contrary, liked him.

He didn't like the vermin, either, after he visited the worm queen's realm.

The woodworms, which looked like very overpumped potato beetles, only with a completely black carapace and an extremely heavily modified drill mouth, were eaten by several swarms of small predatory spirits, giving them a real great battle in the labyrinth of gnawed tunnels. It was fun to watch. And then everything became quite simple, heal the tree and strengthen it with a blessing. It was almost pure witchcraft, albeit guided through the spirits. In the end, he helped himself a little by carving signs on the tree's bark, turning these signs into the outline of a strengthening amulet, almost like an under-totem, with the tree at its core. He finished in about three hours if he counted only the active work. Still, with the preliminary preparations and insurance, drawing the ritual line, preparing the support group just in case, and cleaning up all the traces, it took much longer.

He worked all evening and all night, finishing only in the morning, and in the morning he received a reward from the system. It was a pretty good token, with exactly ten charges, called “temporary increase in sensitivity”, which added five points to this characteristic for five hours. Not bad, especially for a shaman, who already develops this characteristic quite a bit, but in combination with such an increase... at the very least, it facilitates spiritual dialogs and easier call search, when the call itself is not so much stronger, but more precise and more narrowly focused. It's a reserve, saving, and it reduces the risks of misguided calls, and the strain on the spirit will be much lower, and more tolerable, even if not directly enhancing that spirit. A good acquisition, he wouldn't mind it for the fight with Uev, especially in the negotiation phase - with a higher intensity it would be easier for him to push through his position and get under the skull of the evil monster. However, he did get in and sold his position, successfully retreating and getting out of the cauldron, but of course, he would like more. For example, in the opportunity to keep the contract with the skinny skeleton-knight, which fell to the death of the brave in an attempt, successful, it is important to note, to win the summoner a fraction of a second to save.

The new contract, also with a senior spirit, was a system one, not a Milfic one. Though, if he had to admit it, the system didn't give him exactly what he wanted, but it was good enough. The image-name of the spirit had a status of “Standing with a Dagger at Your Back,” if you translated those images into human terms. It was not an attacking spirit, but a defensive one, only its defense was subtle and active, more like a counterattack than a shield. The creature had the appearance of a baby and a spider at the same time, with many legs, forming a real halo around the tiny and somehow skewed body. One arm of the image was infantile and rudimentary, but the other, while still thin and brittle, was already a decent length, with nine joints and a dagger image in that hand. The stealth aspect of this spirit was developed to an extreme quality. He had a lot in common with the Suggestors, which was not surprising, given the level of knowledge in Stepan's status.

The essence of the spirit's work is very simple. You summon it, and it comes, immediately hiding in the auric and spiritual echo of the summoner, hiding and falling out of focus. The shaman, in a relaxed and uncollected state, had every chance to forget about this call, despite the fact he activated it. The spirit is sitting, hiding, and waiting, waiting for the moment when the shaman will be killed, attacked or otherwise harmed, intervening at the most decisive moment a second before the successful attack. This, Stepan realized, was a peculiar form of clairvoyance. The spirit always knew, just knew, no matter what, which blow would be missed, which blow could not be repelled by the already available defense, and therefore always attacked the one delivering the blow one breath before it was delivered. It was an extremely amusing set of exotic properties that allowed this spirit to be summoned very quickly, easily, and almost invisibly. Once the contract was signed, and it had already been signed systematically, it was as easy to summon as a kitten would be at a human's beck and call.

The call from Stepan's side brought the spirit into reality. The spirit immediately flashed before the shaman's spiritual gaze as if it had gone behind his back. In spiritual perception, Stepan still sees everything around him, as if with a sphere of perception. But now the presence of the Standing One felt as if he had entered a blind spot, even though spiritual vision had no blind spots, not at his level and not with his skill. The shaman played with this perception for a while, now and then forcing himself to make more of an effort to remember his new acquisition. The spirit is a good one, useful and necessary. Especially since it's impossible to be ready for a fight constantly, there will always be a good moment to attack. This is exactly the kind of attack his new spirit will prevent because you can call him for as long as you want, keeping him in a suspended-active state for as long as you want. The only problem. Between two of its activities, two prevented attacks, must be at least a month and a half, or more precisely, forty-seven days. That is, even if you carry him in your spiritual shadow for years, without feeding, paying attention, without giving additional sacrifices. The latter is quite realistic given the fallout of the spirit from the focus of attention. But as soon as it strikes its defensive blow, it will immediately retreat, and you can call it up again after the same forty-seven revolutions of the Sun.

The spirit was generally very friendly and pleasant to talk to. Despite its sinister appearance, being an entity that was rather good than the other way around, and also very malleable to change the conditions of its work. It was possible to direct its attack-counterattack to a fatal blow, for example, or it was possible to instantly paralyze and disable consciousness. More the latter than the former, after all, he was at his core a Suggestor. After a brief moment of thought, the shaman chose that as his attack option, at least for now. If Singha were to risk striking and attacking, betraying and killing him, he wouldn't want to kill her in return. No, not because he's so kind, it's just that he has that mark of fate tied by Milfgoddess's will to that steppe family that pisses him off, for a reason. For the time being he recognizes that the actions of his unwilling partner were idiotically stupid, but still somewhere, somehow, in some way, partially, a little, a little, a little justified, but when she risks to hit him, all the moral prohibitions and barriers that Stepan still retained will collapse instantly.

Actually, if she would attack, it would be at the moment of transition. This is the most delicate moment when the step-transition has already been made, but at the same time, the defense of both of them has weakened. And if he “accidentally” drives away even the retinue of the near limit of protection, the girl may be tempted. Yes, perhaps that would be the right thing to do. If she decides to be mean, then let her, and if not then Stepan will have to spend on the already marked higher spirit contract type, one of the spheres of which is the secret, and the second memory. He would not push her himself, but he would not prevent her from making her choice either. People do create their own misfortunes.

The experience for the task was a little low, but still. The main benefit of this quest is not in the experience or even in the token with a contracted spirit but in the tree itself. It doesn't grow on the source, no, but it is a kind of pseudo-source. It's not on the level of Mellorns, which, as it turns out, do exist, not even close, but it's good. The great thing about this tree is that it literally taps its roots into the fabric of both the real and spiritual worlds. A great prop, albeit not perfect, the Piercing Drill will have something to spin the metrics of space on. It's worse than that source on the lake, but there's no net of worms in the sky, and the tree is definitely enough for a jump.

He finished in the morning rain, mechanically ordering the spirits to divert the water away from him, but his feet were still wet and muddy, and he just wanted a banal barrel with water. Having considered all the pros and cons, he even decided to afford it. A dozen levels ago, he could dig a primitive pool in the ground and fill it with clean and filtered water, preheating it. The return showed him a pastoral picture of Singha sitting on the bank of the river, tossing small stones into the river. According to the Earthman - it was an irresponsible mockery of the local predatory crocodiles, because they will smell the blow, but they can not approach the source of annoying throws. The repellent circle is too reliable. The Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals is not on her, ay-ay-ay, what a cruel shamaness!

"Good morning. - She didn't flinch, either, because he'd shown his spirits beforehand, and she could look through them. "I'm done. And I've got the step for the portal ready. We'll jump straight to Dantmark, and I'll take your oath there, near my totems."

"Hai." Expressing her agreement, the girl tossed all the remaining pebbles into the river at once, giving them a slightly distracted and unreadable look. "We then... what are you doing, Pann?"

"The bathtub." He answered briefly, not letting her finish, but judging by the look in his eyes, which had more emotion than Stanislavsky's entire system at once, the threat of a treacherous attack to throw him out of his own micro-pool had jumped to one hundred percent. "Okay, two tubs. And don't peek!"

She only smiled in response but with such grateful satisfaction and not at all easy embarrassment at the last part of the phrase that it became embarrassing. Stepan originally wanted to create mere holes in the ground but quickly discarded the idea. The proximity of the river, groundwater, and the very specific tropical soil dissuaded him from the idea. Instead, he created two barrels-troughs with thick, about twenty centimeters thick, stone walls, just deep enough to sit down and was up to the neck, and a little more than a meter and a half wide. It wasn't the most comfortable kind of washbasin, but he saw no reason to make it particularly comfortable. They had plans to leave in a hurry this evening.

The summoning of water, straight from the river, but through the filter of the spiritual world. The dirty and muddy stuff with a lot of creatures in it turned into crystal-clear water already heated by the spirits of hot springs. Yes, yes, after Lyady, he had switched from heating by sticking fire spirits into the stone to calling more specialized and therefore effective, even a little healing entities. No kidding, such a bath helped to heal wounds faster, and calmed the aura, and the same spiritual spasm of Singha should also have weakened a little more. The Steppe girl looked at him so intensely that the young man was even a little embarrassed, though he had done nothing of the sort, he had simply shown his imagination and had not been too lazy to secure the necessary contracts. Or it was not the contracts and fantasy that played a role, but the fact that he was able to do it all in half an hour and in camping conditions.

"Your left, my right." He said, taking off the rest of his clothes, that is, only torn and shortened pants, and a shirt bought from the system after the escape from the cage. "We've got a couple hours, then we'll get something to eat and then we can move out. And don't worry, I won't peek either."

"You've already seen me without clothes, Pann." Singha remarked reasonably, quickly throwing off her super-cloak and diving headfirst into the only slightly warm, perfect-for-this-weather water. "Pfuh! Thank you so much! After all the things I've seen. And what I haven't seen. I want to wash myself clean. All of it."

"The worst of it was over, and that shit was left sitting there." He shrugged, either because he was too thick-skinned or because the spiritual calmness of the property made it easier to return to normalcy after the kinds of things that would put an unprepared person in a nuthouse. "From what I understood, it hadn't even been rotting there for thousands of years, it seemed to be more than a dozen of those thousands of years. The creatures that used to live there. They weren't human. Or any other race I know of. You saw the dream yourself."

"I wish I hadn't seen it, uk mash-lan." He didn't look in her direction, but she shuddered at that point. He could tell by her tone. "But, hai, I did. Didn't recognize them either. They weren't like the Eternals. I know for a fact. I've seen Eternals up close. I've felt them. But these unfortunates, they were different, also full of life, but... different. I'd never even heard of them."

"I haven't heard either." The shaman admitted, not hiding his ignorance, especially since it was quite understandable. "They even had elongated skulls, like an egg. And this is not a separate modification of some kind, but a general phenotype."

"Her mother's mother always said that only the Khao remembered everything under the sky, but they were rarely willing to talk about what they saw." She did not say this with a frown but with a melancholy and depressed expression. "She said many wonders and beauties hidden in centuries past, as old as the Steppe. But there were many more horrors in the past centuries. Now I understand what she said, every word."

For some time they exchanged phrases, or simply remained cozily silent, splashing in the newly clean water, which the spirits who were supposed to be working diligently changed for fresh water. Stepan almost dozed off, he was so relaxed, so he was soaked, but he overpowered himself and began to get up. Singha, on the other hand, seemed either embarrassed to be out of the water fresh and naked, or she was just going to splash around a little longer. He couldn't blame her, because if it weren't for the ticking timer of his partner's temporarily incapacitated mother above him, he'd have gotten some rest himself. At least he would have fished, and caught some local crocodile. He would fly a kite and test the summoning of a spirit whose attack resembled a napalm bombardment.

You can't just go to the jungle and not breathe the smell of napalm in the morning. Jokes aside, this is a very strong, but very noticeable call, which can be used in training only far away from any residential settlements, as well as where it is possible to quickly extinguish the fire. In such humidity he would be able to summon an absolute downpour, a natural wall of rain, with the movement of an eyebrow and a minimum of investment. The local spirits love rain, especially in this season.

"Pann." Asked Singha suddenly in a very strange, as if a little lost tone, making him turn to face her. "Are we going to go to the khao path today?"

He was even surprised at the question. Because that was not what they had just discussed. But as he turned toward his companion, his arm over the edge of the under-bath, he was momentarily embarrassed and hesitated to answer. Singha could not lie down fully and comfortably in the not particularly long stone basin, so she simply hid under the water up to her neck, with only her head and feet on the opposite side of the basin. Since their containers were quite close, Stepan turned around and his face was about thirty centimeters away from the bare and wet sole of the shamaness's right foot, which was dripping water droplets. Involuntarily glancing at the neat and obviously well-groomed foot of his partner, he hesitated with his answer for at least a dozen seconds, from which she, having perfectly seen where he was looking, only fascinatingly wiggled her toes, moving the foot left-right, fixing his gaze for a longer time, as if trying to hypnotize him with the movements of the foot. Stepan, to be honest, didn't mind that she tried to hypnotize him, mesmerized by the movements of her foot and toes, as if he was glued to the sight, left-right, left-right, left-right.

“Uh, yes, today.” Still, he answered, not taking his gaze off the girl's foot, feeling the sight of it awakening in him the tension hidden by water. “Yes, today.”

For a few minutes, he still tried to make conversation with her, answering her questions and words as she recounted the battle with Ichthyander. Stepan had never caught himself liking women's feet, the only times he had caressed them with his tongue had been during mental defense training with Sylvia, and even then, when she had subdued him in the ruins of the ruined settlement. But now, looking at Singha's feet, shiny from the water, he found himself thinking that he wouldn't mind touching them. He might even touch them with his lips. They were clean, delicate, graceful, and so tantalizing that it was hard to keep from jerking himself off in the tub. He didn't hold back too much, though. The desire was not all-encompassing; he wanted to touch her more than he wanted to touch himself, to touch and kiss her.

And the damn steppe girl clearly saw his interest, smiled a very sly smile and beckoned him every now and then with movements of her fingers, waving her feet right in front of his face. He couldn't stand it, seeing perfectly well that she didn't mind in the least, he climbed out of the water, leaving the bathtub, finding himself next to his companion's tub, kneeling down to make it more comfortable to touch. For a moment he let himself admire the perfect skin of her soles, the well-defined and manicured toes, the graceful heel, the curves so tantalizing, and then he simply took and kissed her foot. Tenderly, as tenderly as he would not kiss his beloved on his wedding night if he were to lose his mind and get married, he touched the sole with his lips, ran his tongue from the heel to the toes, and began to kiss them slowly, one by one.

Singha didn't even pretend to be uncomfortable, smiling with such a satisfied grin that she wished she could say something wry, but she just placed the toe of her other foot on his lips, clamping her mouth shut and forcing him to do something equally pleasurable. He seemed to fall into some sort of trance, covering her feet with kisses, letting her toes slip between his lips, licking, kissing, and even occasionally biting his lips a little. At some moments, especially when he caressed the soles with quick strokes of the very tip of his tongue, she giggled and laughed, afraid of tickling, which made him smile even more contentedly than she did, intensifying his caresses, giving attention to both feet in turn.

"Get in with me, Pann. Come on, " she says, pulling back a little. Instantly, he is in the same tub as her, making the water spill over the edges. "Haiii..."

She bent over amusingly, burying her knees into her own breasts, covering herself with them as if in embarrassment, but Stepan did not care about the tits of this insidious and seductive steppe girl. He was much more interested in the feet, which were right in front of his face, literally a couple of centimeters away, one and the other, which he licked and kissed so that he forgot about everything. His cock, straining and throbbing, rests against Singh, causing her to blush and blush, and then, even more embarrassed, to spread her thighs a little, clutching the passionate rod in a firm and gentle grip, right between her thighs. She doesn't try to pleasure him, and he doesn't demand it, for the first time since they've known each other, he is completely satisfied with what Singha is doing, allowing her to kiss and lick her delicate feet, wiggling her toes, flaunting her feet as if they were a hypnotic pendulum.

He's fully aroused, but he's not even trying to cum, just not wanting to be distracted from her toes, her heels, her soles, those movements and touches. Squeezed in the tight grip of her hips, he doesn't even think about cumming and he doesn't want to, to be honest. This would be taking the relationship to a level he'd like to avoid. It's one thing to play with her feet in an essentially innocent way, casual and not even too intimate, but it's another thing to help yourself reach orgasm during these games. It is not difficult to start moving his pelvis, rubbing against her thighs, almost touching her crotch, he would cum so quickly, but it would be the wrong thing to do - she would not refuse, he was sure, but he would feel as if he had forced her, taking advantage of his position as savior. It's unnecessary, completely unnecessary, unlike his fingers and toes, his kisses and touches, her soft, warm skin.

He deliberately took his time, even avoided it, even though Singha, breathing hard, smiling, and giggling not just from the tickling, was clearly deliberately squeezing him, rubbing against his throbbing cock. His self-control was enough to keep him from discharging and the unpleasant consequences of the moment of pleasure. But that was until Singha decided to pleasure him with both feet at once, slowly and leisurely as if to show off, resting them on his face, forcing him to lean his back against the wall of the tub and exhale slowly, feeling the pressure and tenderness of the touch at the same time. He felt for a moment as a liquid-soaked sponge should feel when stepped on by the magic foot of a steppe shamaness. Press down and the same pressure would squeeze everything out of him. It was as if he felt, mentally rather than physically, the gentle and burningly irresistible pressure of the feet piercing him through the skin and bones of his skull, all the way to his brain, squeezing, squeezing, squeezing!

But it wasn't his brain spurting out of his ears and eyes, no. It spurted in a violent white stream from the cock clamped between Singha's thighs, when Stepan suddenly and completely uncontrollably cummed, feeling like a punctured balloon from which the pressurized air was escaping. He even managed, with some edge of consciousness, to marvel at the fact that so much seed had come out of him in one orgasm. He felt each sliver pouring out into the water and onto the stepparent's skin as if he were giving her a part of his soul. Moaning softly and contentedly, he let her feet pressing into his face squeeze more and more out of him, releasing with the seed all unnecessary worries, thoughts, anxieties, and will, feeling as good as if he had lifted a weight the weight of the whole world from his shoulders.

"Open the circle's defenses, Pann," Singha said to him in a strange, dreamy tone. "Open and call off all your лhao-dash, all the khao, for the battle called, khao, for the gaze called, khao, for the protection called, call them all off."

At another time he would have said a great deal about such a request, but right now, still feeling the last drops drain from the twitching rod, he didn't argue, didn't want to argue. If she wants to go unprotected, then so be it, he'll comply. Just because why not fulfill the request of a good and kind girl whose sweet feet are now pressed against his face, covering it completely, pressing into him, and depriving him of even the illusion of choice. He could only agree, only give the appropriate orders to the spirits, continuing to sit relaxedly with those sweet feet on his face, not thinking about anything, only enjoying this brief moment of peace and tenderness.

A perfectly normal and not at all suspicious condition, as for the consequences of close contact with his partner's tender feet.

* * *

Seyshassass once again emerged from the water to take another breath of air, showing only the very edge of herself, trying to hide from the intangible servants of the one speaking to the unseen. Strong, very strong, very worthy prey. She couldn't believe her own luck, having originally thought not just to snatch the tailless-walking girl, or just to watch from afar, not approaching at all, but finding a way to catch both the female and her companion in the harness. The patterns on her skin that concealed life and magic were of little help, as was the protection of the river, which washed away any trace of her, whether visible or invisible. The only saving grace was that she had actually come here just as the speaker had finished sifting through the dense ring of protection. She wouldn't, and most likely she would have just left, floated away, silently and invisibly, just as she had come. It was not the kind of prey that could be taken, it would be easier to sell the knowledge of it at the camp, to exchange it for the favor of one of the Mothers, because anyway, these two would not go anywhere, they would not go far, they could not walk in the hunting lands.

But the girl stepped out of the ring, and took the bait of the river's filth, so how could she resist? She had saved her life, so let the two-legged walker thank the one who saved her. She's the one who looked her in the eye. ++Seyshassasssss was always good at charming with her eyes. Snakelady did not understand, she could not speak the language of the deceitful and dangerous white-skinned peddlers who sometimes came to the big herds with trade and business. She could not understand what she was saying, especially when the huntress's eyes had already pierced too many holes in her mind. This walker was sure she could get her stronger counterpart to do as ++Seyshassasssss asked her to do. She didn't want to risk it, she was very impressed with the protection of the amulet ring, very much so, but she didn't want to miss the chance to swaddle two such powerful gifted ones even less.

She decided to at least give it a try. If it doesn't work, she can just let go of the snag she wrapped her tail around and let the current carry her away. The patterns on her scales would protect her from what lived in the river, and then she would hide in the green wall of her home and no strangers would be able to find her there. But to her surprise and joy, there was no need to leave. She could not believe what she saw, but the young man was clearly a wingman in their pair, well, or she just did not understand the customs of white-skinned walkers. It was no surprise that he started caressing the girl's legs with his tongue, but the fact that she could just ask him to open the ring and he seemed to comply was ridiculous. How much should one be absorbed in oneself and in the caresses given to you to do such a foolish thing without any compulsion and witch's eyes, distracted by the feet of his female? The huntress didn't know the answer to that, because she didn't have those two absurd and unflexible outgrowths, but she was going to use the fruits of someone else's mistake as much as she could.

Her flexible and strong body released the driftwood from its embrace, and she swept downstream, emerging from the river three hundred paces from the amulet circle. She went around their parking lot, came out on the right side, time after time putting the gift and the will in her eyes, searching, searching, searching and not finding that monolithic rock of unbreakable barrier, which was in the invisible reflection of the world, just not finding what she was looking for. Not finding the evil and active invisible ones that circled around the camp in a continuous canopy. Finding only remnants, ruins of a strong barrier, and places where invisible servants of the speaker, who turned out to be so stupid and defenseless, used to stay. She crawled closer and closer and more slowly, already clearly seeing the relaxed and dumb smile of the female fascinated by her eyes, who had not removed her feet from the face of the young man. A boy had no defense. His invisible shadow was full of power comparable to that of one of the Mothers, and not one of the last, a boy completely open to her attack.

She chooses the best of the needle and smears it with a triple dose of sleeping potion and the same triple dose of a drugless potion that stops one from sensing one's invisible shadow, one's own gift. It would not kill such a strong speaker, he was not a simple gentle biped, though it could kill the female, to the point of foaming at the mouth. But the female herself had fallen before her eyes, there was no need to torture her with potions and needles. She will put her to sleep in another way, pleasantly and gently, and the female, as well as her male, will make it pleasant for her, as she will look with her eyes into their eyes. Seyshassasssss crawls out to the right position, trying not to look straight ahead, not to disturb with an angry and focused gaze such a strong speaker, he can also sense, even being so relaxed, so demure. The right point she had already chosen, intending to aim the needle precisely at the place between his neck and back, so that with a guarantee, and a miss the huntress' hand and exhale had long since known no miss.

She takes her place, hiding herself with all care and readiness, and then puts the needle into the windpipe, draws a stronger breath into her chest, concentrates and unites herself with the whole world, and becomes one with it, one with the visible and invisible at the same time. There is no slip, no confusion, no doubt - only she and the target, she and the prey, so sweet and strong, but so stupid and defenseless prey. Stupidity and defenselessness are the two most important faults of any hunter, and it is for these two faults the world and those who live in it ask the guilty the most terrible, the most ruthless, the most hopeless. These two by their stupidity and defenselessness, had shown themselves unworthy of their freedoms, power, and magic.

She concentrates all her gift and power into the patterns, but before she can exhale a sharp exhalation and spit a poisonous needle, it's as if something dry and audible clicked in her head, knocking her mind and thoughts, it's as if something dry and audible clicked in her head, knocking her mind and though, it's as if something dry and audible clicked in her head, knocking her mind, clicked in her head, knocking her, clicked in her head, knocking, clicked, clicked, clicked, clicked, clicked...

* * *

Stepan did not regain consciousness immediately, nor did he realize that one of his spirits was signaling him with an icy needle in the back of his head. It was the same one that even a summoner could lose his memory, especially if he allowed himself to relax. And the way Stepan allowed himself to, even shamed a little. He had never felt such passion for the sweet feet of pretty steppe girls. Without removing the feet still pressed to his face from his eyes, he looked at the target that caused the attack of his spirit, an attack that could only be inflicted on the target that had almost already successfully hit the shaman himself. He had, after all, given in to Singhi's foolish request to open his defenses and recall his entire battle retinue: no wonder he could be taken with his bare hands at this point. Well, or a blowpipe with a poison dart in the hands of an extremely pretty snake-lady, gifted by the way, with some witch patterns-tattoos on her body. A failed murderer, but no, the poison on the needle just turns off consciousness and blocks the gift, but the dose is for the horse, just on the master of magic, and fell to the ground as a pile of sausage, looking at the sky with wide-open eyes and with complete emptiness in his head. The ++Standing One's blow was a good one, her thoughts were washed out of her skull.

With a sigh, he pushes Singhi's feet away from his face, a little embarrassed that the traces of his long, unnaturally copious orgasm are very clearly visible in the tub of water where they both barely fit. A quick invocation, a call, a spiritual body work, and the water cleanses, destroying the compromising traces and particles without a trace. He's a little embarrassed to look into the steppe woman's eyes, especially after she's almost in his face. But before the young man decides to just pretend that nothing unusual has happened, he takes note of his partner's condition. A blank stare, a smile glued to her face, a string of saliva from the corner of her mouth, and a complete void in thought space, while her emotions fountain pure peace, happiness, and pleasure in equal measure. If these are not traces of rather crude mental processing, he is Rodislav Gastoldovich Janin's favorite. Actually, from his current position, it is easy for him to note the traces of this processing, which Singha showed on his return. He could say a lot in his defense, first of all citing the fact that he never thought that his grief-stricken ally would manage to whitewash her brains even in this fucking wilderness!

Alas, there was nothing to say and no one to say it to, for Singha and, it seemed, her enslaver mistress were equally disabled, and the shaman himself was in no mood to talk to himself. He waved his hand in front of the smiling Singha's face, and then, seeing the futility of this action, he released several ghostly tentacles from his body, the tips of which disintegrated into very thin threads, summoned the necessary spirits and began to probe the spiritual body of his partner, who had found problems on the plain. He acted with extreme caution, trying not to damage even the minimum, quickly finding traces of the impact and at the same time scanning the memory of the victim. And having finished scanning, he just slapped himself in the face with an audible facepalm. It's a remarkable achievement to be born such a fool! Yes, she went to get a flower, not to mention she wanted to present it to him as a gift so that he could see that she wasn't useless.

She'd missed the ravenous creature, which would hardly have had time to attack her, and then she'd succumbed to the natural racial magic of the insidious snakefolk. He didn't hesitate to test the depths of her memory. She knew that they could hypnotize with their gaze, just as she knew that not all of them had that ability, no matter how hard they tried to convince the little men otherwise. But at first, she did not remember about this species' trick, and then it was too late to remember. The further disobedience was not resistance, but a process of processing, in the course of which the steppe girl, who was rapidly getting dumber and losing her mind, was interrogated as far as it was possible through the language barrier, and then was asked to help swaddle Stepan. In general, the only reason he wasn't going to flog that fucking mare with a hard whip was that he was a bit of a fool himself. The fact that Singha was confident that she could somehow convince him to remove the protection had no bearing on the fact that he was so engrossed in licking her sweet steppe feet that he didn't have time to think about why she was asking him to remove the protection in the first place, or the fact that it was a request that might not be honored. And try not to do it, if her tender, incredible feet squeezed thoughts out of his brain along with his semen.

Man, I'm a little embarrassed. Not for licking Singha's sweet feet, nothing amazing there, and everything is perfectly normal, but for managing to get the situation to the point where a spirit had to step in. And yes, he had proven his usefulness, so he could and should be called upon again as soon as his contract was renewed. With a sigh, he dressed himself, swaddled the snake lady with additional influences, and began to bring the woeful miner of outlandish flowers to her senses. Softly, gently, without injuries, and stabilizing the mental body, so that no unnecessary traces were left. Her mother will check her daughter, will find traces of subjugation-perversion influence, and as she wants to make one shaman well, that at least hide. But how the hell did she do it, how?! All she had to do was to stay in the circle of protection, that's all! That snake-eyed bitch couldn't even shit or kill herself to get through the defenses, let alone the backup summons of the battle group and the Lizard for dessert! Okay, fuck it, she didn't need to go out after all. Why didn't she just order the spirits to cut the flower and bring it to her?

His silent rage had done him some good, for by the time the shamaness stopped smiling and drooling, and instead yawned sweetly as she climbed out of the empty bucket, he'd calmed down a little and dressed. So he didn't start yelling and swearing but looked at her with a look that wasn't even angry, but infinitely tired and full of some kind of impossible exhaustion. She stared back at him, perplexed and not even trying to cover herself, and then it began to dawn on her. First, she blushed like a beet, then she turned pale, realizing what an ass she'd gotten herself into. Then she blushed again for some reason, embarrassed for some unknown reason, and then, when her gaze fell on the motionless and swaddled snake, she experienced a flash of anger burning in her buttocks. It was already hot in the jungle, but at this moment the temperature had to rise a couple of degrees in the whole region, and the shamaness had to increase her affinity with the flames.

"Say, Singha, woe is me, punishment for my sins done, not done and only planned." He does not let her flare up first, and he speaks in a calm and almost affectionate tone, reminding himself of that special type of frenzy of Rodislav Gastoldovich Yanin, in which he used to be if you tried to bribe him. "It was such a difficult and prohibitively heavy task that even the heroes of stories, legends, and fairy tales would have failed? Well, I mean, to sit in a reliable and high-quality, as I did for myself, protective circle a little more than half a day, until I return? And I was not far away, and you still had ways to call me instantly in case of trouble. If I hadn't come myself, I'd have sent my retinue to you in a second. Was it that hard? An impossible task? Too hard, you couldn't handle it?"

"No, Khao-seran, it wasn't difficult. I was stupid. I wasted... all of it." She speaks as if he were going to kill her and skin her alive, but at the same time as if she were going to skin herself in shame, believing that this fate is deserved and just, which discourages Stepan. "There is no forgiveness for me. And there is no excuse."

“Oh, come on.” He sounds almost friendly and not aggressive at all. “It happens to all sorts of people, it wasn't a big deal. There's your snake, right into the last line's guardian spirit. Good bastard, I forgot all about him. Literally forgot, because if you don't concentrate on it, you won't even remember it. You, my dear, made only one small and understandable oversight, which did not develop into anything serious. I'm not even mad.”

"R-really?" Stepan could see it clearly, but, alas, she didn't know how Stepan's favorite teacher dealt with particularly distinguished individuals.

"No of course not." Equally sweet and soothing he says, shaking his head negatively. "If it were a little innocent mistake, right now I'd be like this...’’

At this moment he points his hands at himself, as if showing what he would be like in that, purely hypothetical, situation, and afterwards, without changing his posture or giving any suggestion abruptly perks up his tone, continuing the initially soothing phrase.

"...not like this!!!" The tinges of spiritual anger in his voice made his words sound particularly dark, but at least his spiritual body didn't come out as ugly armor over his real flesh, as it had in the moments of his greatest anger. "What the fuck were you thinking, you fucking mare?! Why do I need that fucking flower?! What the fuck do you need it for, dammit?! It's a soft-static spiritual-energy reagent, and we're teleporting out! Fucking teleport! That's why they ship them at that price. For the safe and secure transportation of your flower. you'd have to spend half a trade expedition on an insulator container. Tell me honestly, did your mom decide to experiment with strengthening the gift in the descendants and trade part of your brains for strengthening the source hearth, or what?! How can you be a literate and experienced, well-trained and erudite female florist and yet be as stupid as you are, as, bitch, as?! Do you have in your status hidden knowledge of master's level with the specification “how to kill yourself in a particularly exotic way for the glory of the Darkest Darwin”?!"

In the end Stepan's ardour wore off, so he simply waved his hand at his colleague, who lowered her head in shame, and began to pack and prepare to go to the portal site. He did not forget to yawn, but he was not sleepy, but even content. If it hadn't been for the snake attack and Singha's idiocy, everything would have been in perfect order, even to his pleasure.

"I'm exhausted and calm now, you can exhale." He confessed, shaking his head tiredly and returning to his cave, trying to think of a better way to create a new legend or resurrect an old one. "I will bring you back to your mother and let her worry about how her child will not kill herself on the spot. Pack up, and get your cloak, I'll give you control of part of the retinue to protect you from weather and wildlife. I'll summon the spirits to clean up the reflection of the world in the spheres and the magical background. I don't want to leave any trace of anyone being here, call it paranoia."

"And you... well, what we... it wasn't exactly... I don't know how to say it, I'm sorry, it was just..." The shaman threw a perplexed look at the girl, red as not even a beet, but already a tomato, trying to understand what she was saying. "The fact that we, and you... in the water... I... this gift... because of it you told Khao not to interfere with her...."

“Okay, Singha, that's enough for the sake of all the gods, spirits, and the sacred tits of the elf queen.” He interrupts her with mild irritation, tying the bracelets removed for washing around her forearms and placing a necklace around her neck. “If I wanted to lick your sweet feet of a pretty steppe girl and almost get a poison needle in my ass for it, that's my fault. Actually, that's why I wasn't really mad at all, I don't know why I wanted to listen to you and unlock the amulet. It seems steppe girls have the sweetest feet. You didn't mind, by the way. Okay, another question. What do we do with this thing? She's still alive, but I don't need her life for the most part, of course, she can be used too.”

He finished his phrase by looking at how furious the extreme steppe woman, who apparently did not fully wake up and did not realize that her enslaver was alive, and her spirits were scanning her, reading her thoughts and knowledge, and not finishing her thin body, called one of her personal spirits and split the skull of the lying snake-girl right up to her brains. She only twitched and didn't even come to her senses, as the hunter was too securely swaddled, having gone on a long rafting trip along the river to collect valuable herbs, parts of magical beasts and even to go to the gold vein coming to the surface and wash sand. The shaman only blinked perplexed. She'd been so calm, and now she was freaking out. It was understandable, though, because she had realized the situation she had been in and the fact that she had actually been raped in body and mind. Anyone would get mad, but the shaman, who had already imagined how he could make a doll out of this snake and leave it here as an agent of influence, was a little shaken.

He would have killed her himself, really feeding her aura and life to the dark contracts in his retinue, but she wasn't going to kill them, especially not from the start. She wasn't even counting on dragging a full-blown master of shamanism, what they called “speaking to the invisible,” to her tribe's camp to hand him over to one of the Mothers. They were good at brainwashing both tribesmen and visitors to the sultry jungle. Well, at least initially, when she first came here and noticed the parking lot and the protection at the parking lot. But then, when she'd gotten lucky with Singha, she'd decided to up the stakes, though she hadn't planned on killing afterward. A captured master is a much tastier dish than his flesh alone. Getting a chance to influence this piece of the world and, what the hell, setting up a backup lair here was a very wise move.

Was.

"Ukhsash-mal, uk lag malash!" Singha swore foully, which in his presence clearly lost the remnants of politeness. She seemed so polite and pompous before. Then turned around and, throwing a glance at Stepan, blushed again, embarrassed, drowned her eyes and quickly walked along the guiding path created by Stepan, following the desired point in the halo of his spirits, independently entering into symbiosis with those of them that accelerate her body and steps. "Thankyousorry! Iwillgoaheadanditeratethepath! MayKhaoandHeaven keep us safe!"

//‘What the hell is wrong with her?’ - The shaman thought as he looked at her. - And I'm pretty sure that her shame and embarrassment aren't just caused by her fuck up with leaving the circle. There is something else that makes her embarrassed, but what it is - it would be necessary to go deep into her thoughts and consciousness... to hell with the devils’.

Shrugging, he didn't pry into the secrets of women's minds, for fear of finding answers that would destroy his own. Jokes are jokes, but in every joke, as they say. He switches to a light jog, summoning another spirit-enhancer into his body for speed and stamina, catches up and overtakes the still-red Singha in a minute and a half or two minutes, and then runs at the same pace as her five paces ahead, making his way. In his pocket, he clutches a clay ball containing the properly preserved blood of the snake-men, and at the place where they were parked the huntress, fully healed by the meta-skill but still disabled and paralyzed, remains. Her memory will be wiped away by a woolly multi-handed spirit. The fact of summoning this multi-ruk, an elder spirit so-and-so, will be covered by several spirits strong enough to maintain a cut-off barrier, using a protective line for a basis.

The slight spiritual disturbances that Singha could still detect on her own if she tried to listen to them at all, would be the actions of those entities that would erase and devour the protective circle and all traces of the two people who had been on the other shore. Snake will wake up fully healthy in three hours, without memory for the last three days and with a bad migraine, and what happened will remain for her one continuous mystery and, perhaps, a cause for alarm. But time is a good thing for calming anxieties, and if time fails, Stepan will, when he finishes her doll. Thankfully, he has already saved the appropriate task from the Autogoddess in his journal. He still had to think whether to do the task at all or to do it on his own, but there was nothing perverse to be done there, only classical, though advanced enslavement and mental distortion without the victim realizing the changes. Almost like Sylvia and her chicks. Even the reagent supplies are promised to be given out in the name of Milf. Hardly an analog of Sylvia's chrysalis, at most her chicks, but not bad enough as it is - experience and agent of influence, and practice, though he could do just fine without the latter.

The two shamans ran deceptively leisurely through the forest, and the hour of their return to relatively familiar lands was getting closer and closer. Both of them were so tired from this tropical voyage that they felt nauseous, although it could be from disgust - the landscapes, images, and inhabitants were very specific here, very specific.

The ritual wasn't complicated. Certainly no more complicated than the way they had escaped from their imprisonment in the Worm Kingdom, and most of the precautions and preparations had been designed solely to keep this spatial anomaly of theirs from alarming the entire top brass of Dantmark. The rays of sunset illuminated their backs as the spirits enclosed the blessed tree, the caller, and the circle they had created in a ring constantly moving in different directions. In the same rays the incarnating spirit shimmered with crystal drill as they both took hands - no, no snotty romance, he was just afraid of losing Singha, who had not yet fully recovered from the spasm of her spiritual bodies, in the process of jumping - and stepped into the spinning in one place and yet motionless rod, growing into itself with transparent and bright, invisible and clearly distinguishable, perfectly symmetrical and extremely disharmonious facets.

The entity liked the second call much better than the first, for there was no need to take deadly risks or fear of being devoured. Now the Piercing One only needed to aim at an already prepared target, which itself helped him with direction finding, using a very clear and high-quality image from the shaman. The only additional problem was the issue of camouflage, but even here the entity did not need to do anything, only not interfere with the other spirits, and throw them images of each of its actions, so that they had time to block it. Stepan didn't go into the suburbs, he didn't want to risk it. Better to jump straight into the underground hall and then hide it even better than to run into a patrol. Or a blow from the top of the city tower, a quality one, with a canopy and a full investment.

Does he need it?

No, he doesn't need it.

Now that the Queen of Worms was out of the way of both of their perceptions of the world, the beauty of the spirit weaving space into a single point and piercing that point in two places at once, connecting here and there, they could appreciate and enjoy the spectacle. Well, as much as the situation allowed. In the absence of his new spirit, which had gone for a long recharge, the shaman did not deliberately set himself up or otherwise provoke Singha's attack on himself, remaining as collected as ever. Again, he needed complete focus and an attempt to perfectly synchronize the energetic and spiritual picture of the real and the illusion superimposed on top. The only consolation was that the deceptive image had to be a solid and dense muffled bag that would not let the disturbance out beyond its limits, not a perfect deception with attention to detail. The city was not so carefully monitored, and the shelter was too deep in the ground for smaller disturbances to become visible up above.

piercing

and

appearing

...they came to the right point, having made only one step, finding themselves in complete darkness, inside a large and pleasantly cool room. With a theatrical and unnecessary to anyone but his own sense of style, Stepan lit the lamps under the ceiling with a wave of his hand and began to look around, listening to everything his spirits said. In fact, it didn't take much effort. Some of the entities living in the totems sensed the shaman's disappearance and even became a little alarmed, but they didn't do much. One very clever and strong spirit with a specialization in setting up confusing illusions thought that since the shaman was gone, the contract was gone too, so he forgave Stepan all his debts generously. The special hunting group independently caught up with the fugitive thief, who had also managed to steal some of the power offerings from the totem, brutally mauled him, returned the stolen goods that the spirit had not yet devoured and then buried the traitor's remains under the central totem themselves and without Stepan's help. The same place where the earlier spiritual remains of the other especially clever ones were buried. Breathing in the cool air with pleasure, the young man felt his body and spirit fill with a tidal force that removed fatigue and seemed to cool the overworked auric nodes. It's still nice to come home, especially alive, especially unhurt, especially after a time where you could get hurt, lose your life, and eat shit, probably literally.

"Welcome to my humble abode." Hospitably, and even with a note of goodwill, caused by a great mood, he addresses the shamaness. "Make yourself at home, but remember that you are a guest. There, sit down in the corner, I'll prepare a call circle and we'll conclude the contract."

Singha, both embarrassed by something and frightened by something, and also brimming with incomprehensible determination, only nods and takes a seat in the sprouted and warmed chair, especially for her. The maiden is clearly impressed with his dwelling and the extent of her spell, he can see her eyes shooting toward the central totem and how she listens mesmerized by the chime of spiritual barriers and amulets. That said, she's too tense, and he can even understand why. She will not signal for help from here, there is no way she can scream, his spirits and the will of the totemic structure will drown out any cries. Now Singha, one step away from being rescued and returning home, is completely dependent on his goodwill. She had been dependent before, but now that dependence was especially obvious, acute in its absoluteness and no one would like to be so vulnerable to another's will and whims, especially one step away from safety, just at the arm's length.

The Shaman didn't pull the cat by Faberge, immediately investing one of the two points of the contract with the higher entities in the one without which he couldn't ensure the privacy of his and Singha's nowhere pleasant Grand Adventure. It was a shame to waste such a valuable reinforcement of himself for a cause he didn't really need, but the only alternative was to use his brainwashing skills multiplied by the presence of the Mark of Destiny. This option was even more reliable, and if Singha had behaved differently, he would have chosen it. But the mad steppe mare was an impulsive fool, but when she was in a difficult situation and risked her life, she showed all her positive traits, obeyed orders honestly, and put her life in his hands. If he had behaved differently, then it would be time to think that they, two Stepans, were not so different as he thought.

The higher spirit, the second in his arsenal, was called the Secrets Locker. He belonged to a dozen Spheres at once but none fully included - Mystery, Contract, Mind, Keys and Locks, and completely unidentifiable areas. Three summons per year, the renewal for each of the charges going on its own timer from the day of the contract. The essence of the spirit, however, was not at all the creation of an amazingly reliable contract and agreement, the breach of which would lead to instant disintegration. Stepan, who knew all too well how to get out of such binds and turn them against the other party, would not even think of turning to such options. No, the point of this contract was not the punishment for breach, there was no punishment there at all, but the practical impossibility of revealing certain data, which were locked away in secret. Yes, the spirit could have closed the deal too. It was just that Stepan would not demand a contract from him, binding that contract to himself. But it was the preservation of the secret that became the first and main goal of the call.

It is impossible to tell. If you only wish to tell out loud, by hint, recording, cipher message, you will forget for a while what you wanted to tell your interlocutor. You can't blab even accidentally - either your tongue will go numb, or you will simply forget what you wanted to say and bring up a completely different topic. You can't find out through interrogation - be it torture, truth serum or even mental scanning, but all locked secrets will fade into the depths of memory and won't come out until the threat of the secret being opened has passed. Of course, it is possible to find traces of such influence - void search, associative chains, mental echoing, all this is possible, but difficult. It's difficult even for already very complicated techniques. Yes, if Singha's memory will be taken at the level of “a couple of masters of magic with the right specializations work hard for a couple of weeks without regard for the patient's health”, then the secret will be revealed, that's a fact. But in order to disguise this memory-knowledge even more reliably, he himself would have to work hard for weeks, well, or use the Mark and hide the secrets behind some perversion - then the chances of opening the secret will fall to insignificant values due to the probabilistic impact.

"Okay, stand in that circle over there, call with a pendulum - condition and consent." He said, pointing to one of the universal circles, literally a step away from the main totem. "First, we discuss everything that I want to conceal. The images of the spirit's work I will pass on now. Then make edits if you want, but I have the right to challenge them and keep them out. Then we close the deal, and I'll move you closer to your mother. Oh, no, first we'll agree on what you'll say in response to questioning, and then we'll adjust the terms of the deal. And then, yeah, then you're out of my life."

"Hai, I'm ready." She nods depressed, either from the responsibility or the realization that the end of their adventure is near. "Only... I'm not asking you for oaths, and this Khao-lamir won't take them. Just promise, give me your word, Pann, that you won't avenge my mistakes. At least not to my Clan."

"Are you serious now?" Stepan only marveled at the way the girl was taken aback, though he thought he had explained to her popularly about where he had seen her mistakes and her apologies. "Ah, well, yes, you are serious. Well, I'll repeat what I've already said then. You - my personal headache, just the memory of how you with your stupidity of me twice almost killed me, and another time almost killed yourself, ignite under my arse a damn volcano, no less. But my grandfather bequeathed me not to hold a grudge against the weak-minded, and you, who managed to get out of the perfectly protected circle of protection and almost get into the eternal slaves of a pretty savage snake, deciding to pick a pretty flower, definitely belong to the grief-stricken mind somehow. Cut to the chase. You didn't wish me any harm, you sincerely tried to help me get out of the shit you dragged me into beforehand, you helped me survive in all that shit, and you didn't hide behind my back to a greater extent than was necessary from the point of view of tactical relevance. And so, if you honor the deal and keep your mouth shut, I won't retaliate, I'll forget you ever existed and pray to the gods and spirits that I'll never see you again. Does that answer satisfy you?"

“Hai, I'm ready.” Her reply to him showed not at all light bashfulness and guilt, but a steely determination to accept her fate as it would be, the spirit readers couldn't be wrong, not in a place of his power, so it was safe to assume she didn't believe his comments, certainly not completely. “Ready to call. Ready to speak. Ready to receive.”

And they discussed. They talked, and they even argued a little. Because you can't just come home with an awesome artifact, a stronger aura, a bunch of new tricks learned, and new contracts with older entities. She was especially pleased with the air-suggestor that Automilpha had presented her with. Judging by the girl's comments, her great-grandmother had tried to summon something similar, inducing her to sign a contract and, characteristically, she had. And then what Stepan had feared happened, and why he hadn't touched the same Dreamwalker outside the framework of the usual and systematically formalized contract, even after he had become strong enough to summon it himself. The vigorous shamaness haggled for quite a while, and somehow she didn't notice that they had agreed that the steppe woman would give the spirit a huge chunk of her gift and aura, and as a reward promise never to summon it again. According to Maedra, who retold the story to her mother and granddaughter, it took about a week for the overestimated shamaness to realize it, but then it was too late to change anything.

Back to the topic of their little legend building for the big lie. She couldn't just stay silent. Nor could she lie. That would only convince everyone of her lie. It was necessary to show not only cunning and good memory, but also a set of skills, which the very young shamaness did not have at least because she had spent her whole life studying shamanism, not to deceive professionals in an interrogation, to play with words and manipulate meanings under the actions of truthfulness checks. In general, the poor girl had no agency skills, but Stepan did, as well as the skills of a mentor. So he tried to successfully and qualitatively, in the shortest possible time teach the maiden bad things. To lie to her parents, for example. It didn't work very well, but the Earthman consoled himself with the fact that if Singhi's mother, as the one who could easily catch her daughter in the dark, decided to dig too deep, then she, by Stepan's labors, would be sharply interested in the continuation of the family and making new children with her beloved, - beloved for real, not as one might expect from a powerful gifted woman married to just a very rich uncle, - husband.

“Ahem, yeah, you're right about that. You'll definitely be questioned about the wormy hell, and drawing attention to a missing shaman-mouser... no, I don't think so. Well, well, well, well, okay, listen.” He's deciding another narrow aspect of their cover story. “I am a very ancient old shaman who accidentally fell into the trap of the Queen of Worms and sat there for years, struggling to keep myself from being consumed by her. Your appearance in the vortex of power allowed me to shake the balance of the curse, temporarily throwing it off. I took advantage of that, trying to escape the trap, taking you with me out of pure gratitude. Out of that same gratitude, I bestowed you with a cloak from my shoulder, and one of the great spirits, waiting for centuries and centuries for my release, bestowed his favor upon you at my own request. Exactly so.”

"I know you're lying; it wasn't like that." She looked at him, not even indignantly, but just surprised, with a slight judgmental look. "And you're even younger than I am, not an ancient Khao Sera Khan."

"Yeah." He admits it right away. "So you don't say I'm this ancient shit-fucking-ass motherfucker. You say I told you so, you won't lie about a word of it."

"Hee-hee, I see, hai. Your khao will hide all traces, all means of searching for falsehood will throw dust in your eyes like in a steppe storm, only samal-shas will remain, a simple check - true or false, yes or no, hai." She did not immediately understand, but she did, which is not surprising with her erudition and knowledge of the nature of the Locker of Secrets. "But my mother can play with words, too, you can't become a Khao-seahar without it. And the cloak... take it away, Pann. I don't deserve it. And I can't lie about what I deserve."

“Jesus, Singha, just say you whored it and let them fuck off!” He almost bellowed, causing the shamaness to stagger away, embarrassed again. “Or even no, not like that. Blush, like now, embarrassed, and awkwardly say, “It was a gift”. Yes, with the same look as now, but without indignation. So everyone will immediately understand everything and will not ask questions.”

“Mother will. She'll be looking, too.” She tried honestly to keep a decent expression on her face, but you could still see that she was both angry, embarrassed, and angry at the same time. “To make the proper wedding. She wouldn't give me as a concubine... and there would be traces of intimacy on my subtle body. And there's only what that vile hash-mass uk lanah left behind. All the sky and the steppe - how could I have gotten so caught up, how could I have forgotten the snake eyes! I'm not even comforted by your venerable grandfather's words, which are about everyone having the right to be of sorrowful mind.”

"Uh-huh, everyone." Stepan nodded in agreement, finishing the grandfather's wisdom in a part she hadn't heard yet. "And this phrase also has a continuation. Everyone has the right to be a retard, but everyone also has the right not to tolerate retards. And it doesn't matter if it's you or the person standing across from you who's a retard. Anyway, don't overdo it. Neither with your own retardation nor with patience for the retardation of others."

"Hai." Singha nodded surprisingly seriously, looking at him with a kind of wistful, doomed look. "I'll remember."

That's how they argued, looking for variants of the most plausible legend and including the very oath on the call of a higher spirit. The ancient and mighty "shaman" did not want his release to be known. What if those from whom he was running away so much that he got into the heart of the wormy jungle are still alive? Though at certain moments Singha almost forgot that she was afraid of him and that she was ashamed. Especially when he gave her a lecture on why there were so many workarounds for the ritual preservation of innocence. And yes, that's right, blowjob or anal for such scanning leave traces too, but the innocence is not conceptually taken away, and therefore it is quite possible to cheat in such a way.

He stopped only when he realized that for a moment Singha had almost taken his words seriously and was ready to pay for the cloak with her ass. At this point Stepan almost freaked out, complaining that she hadn't been whipped on her ass enough, but that she was thinking with that very spot, considering him a pervert. Singha almost got butthurt realizing he was not serious, but showed herself as one ready to spread her buns for a super-cloak. A little more, exactly affinity with the fire spheres would have increased, even the realization that he was stronger and now they were both in the place of his greatest power would not have cooled her down. But all things come to an end, even the preparation for the summoning of a higher being, and so they stood, facing each other in a circle.

A step. He to the left, she to the right. The first beat of the call is complete.

This particular entity is much easier to summon than others of its rank, its light is not so significant, not particularly active, but only against the background of other higher spirits. Now the Revealer needs to not just cover, but work hard. He is strengthened by all those spirits Stepan has spent so much time preparing. He is strengthened by totems and witch earth. And we should not forget that the local mages, most likely, some activity spirit-spatial already detected. Judging by the fact that there are still no active searches, no one is trying to locate the unknown point of call. Either they have not realized, or they have not yet decided whether they have realized, or they are simply preparing the search and have not yet had time to start it, even though several hours have passed. He and Singha had a long talk about the peculiarities of the oath of silence.

Step. Again in opposite directions, along the axis of the circle. A new beat.

The first step is only the beginning of the chanting, the second step continues it, but already now the disguise is almost on afterburner, pouring more and more phonating power into the depths of the earth's bowels, and beyond the city wall at various points. The spirit is already almost manifest, already almost here, though not visible to the eyes, yet. The spirit does not have a distinct form until the moment the secrets are bargained, but even after the bargain, its form is very uncertain. Two shamans both talented, both reinforced by the System call as if they had practiced this ritual ten times. In fact, the shaman leads them both, prompting Singha with images and dialog, and she voluntarily succumbs to his, in fact, control, albeit mild.

A step. Simultaneously faster, but it was as if the world around them was slowing down. And then the beat again.

The spirit is already here, its disguises and defenses are already working to the limit, and the corresponding totems are already trembling, sending their signatures to the deceptive totems outside the city, long ago and lovingly prepared just for this occasion. Again, again, again, the spiritual world trembles as the higher entity seems to be stirring in this subterranean shelter, making itself comfortable. Cautious, omnipresent, ethereal, formless, as if it were the embodied right to know, the right to remember and keep what must be kept secret. Stepan leads, points out those details that must remain secret, and Singha accepts, takes on the weight of the commitment, the willingness to uphold it. She rarely argued, agreeing with his arguments, and only at certain points pointing out that her mother and grandmother could do this and that if they got too excited or suspected something wrong.

A step. Faster and faster, but now it was as if their ghostly counterparts were walking along with them, slowing down and speeding up at the same time. Another beat.

The images of the spirit that had taken the form of a spirit, images of lines in a language that was both familiar and unfamiliar. Stepan sees these writings in Confederate and in two variants of steppe language, as if he understood them perfectly well, having become a polyglot during the time of the kamlana, or simply having learned the very languages that Singha knew and he did not know. The girl sees these inscriptions too, but in several Earth languages, academic Neirat, and island languages, just as well, realizing them as well as her native ones. At the same time, the cage locks on those parts of memory, not even memory, but knowledge, which must be preserved from the knowledge of strangers. At the same time, Stepan felt the signals from the Revealer, who said they were being sought. Maybe not exactly them, but they were looking for something that was disturbing the energy of the city and the surrounding area.

Step. They move and yet remain in place, both true and both false. Last beat.

The spirit accepts its role, plays it out within the framework of the contract, gradually leaves, falls asleep, and melts away, turning into an unformed desire and thirst for knowledge, which cannot even be called a spirit at all, let alone a higher one. Such he will be until the next call. This is what he was and was not every time, dying and being reborn, keeping secrets of which he himself had no memory. Secrets that did not belong to him and therefore no one and nothing could take them from him one way or another. He is the perfect guardian, the perfect cipher machine in a magical-shamanic way. At the same time, Stepan's old billet will be activated, summoning without contract a group of ordinary spirits of the firmament, including a couple of strong ones, to throw off the search impulses. Maybe he could convince the population of the city tower - and the signal's bearing was from there - that it was just the spirits of the subsoil playing their games. After that stone snot's farewell greeting, that's a pretty good theory.

The last step, after which they freeze in front of each other, breathing heavily, and the spirit finally disappears into the spheres. The Earthman destroyed the totems around the city and in the suburbs that were exposed or at risk of being exposed. They could hardly be found and then seized, but there was a strong shamaness in town right now, so fuck it, in case she decided to get involved in the investigation. She specializes almost exclusively in Air, Wind, and derivative summons, not Darkness and the Depths. Singha sitting right on her ass, dressed in a second set of Stepan's clothes, just breathing heavily and trying to re-learn how to speak. She seems to have pick up some of her knowledge from the System. She'd done the summoning of a higher fucking spirit without even being a master! Here's one lucky girl, but luckily, either she or the system had the sense not to start assimilation knowledge right away.

“I won't take you out of the group yet.” He said, even though he didn't want to, it wouldn't be fair. “I'll wait a couple of weeks for you to quietly assimilate all that the system gave you for that battle. The number of slots in the group is limited, but I don't have anyone to take there yet, and if I exclude you, you won't be invited back for another year. Still, you also fought there, you also committed a deed, so hurry up with the award, but without arousing suspicion. But, I beg you, don't flash your system, don't show your growth at once. And if you can't keep it from your mom already... well, I hope she'll have some gratitude too and won't sell information about me to everyone. Yeah.”

"Hai." She clearly wants to say something, but she hesitates, but he's not done yet, so he interrupts. "Plea..."

“So, what else? Oh right, the checks for mental and charms.” He almost slapped himself on the forehead when he realized he'd almost forgotten an important detail. “Check all you want, I didn't leave anything in your head. In principle, you can find traces of the influence Snake put on you, but I've removed it very well, so it's not certain that there will be anything to find. If it comes down to it, then here's the deal: you're allowed to reveal the story of your captivity and how the snake-man fucked you. My gut feeling is that you don't want to bring it up yourself. But. But! Don't even think about taking it on me. You're gonna get your ass kicked for being irresponsible and stupid. If you say I gave you a hypnotic look, I'll find you and do something bad, I'm telling you. So, what else did I forget? I didn't forget anything. Get your coat and get out now, I'll open the door.”

"Pann...” She's all emotional again, but the last thing the tired young man would want is a tearful farewell, and so he interrupts her again.

“I'll take you out closer to the slums, but I hope you don't get lost, get yourself a couple of defenders, and the cloak has already managed to restore something to its storage unit. I'd have opened it closer to the Nobles' Quarter as well, but they've already started suspecting something, the bastards, and there's hardly any surveillance outside the slums.” A little awkwardly he explains the reason for dropping off the passenger in a dangerous neighborhood, at the same time thinking to send a couple of his cover groups after her, but afraid of disturbing the object “mother”. “Just please. I'm asking you almost on my knees, don't fucking kill yourself while you get home, okay? Otherwise I'll laugh so loud I'll trigger an underground collapse on my head.”

Instead of answering or attempting to take offense, Singha kneels and bows her head. The Earthman, to whom such behavioral markers are, to put it mildly, unpleasant and unnatural, doesn't even know what to say about it, so he's just lost for a moment. Singha, on the other hand, with the look of having voluntarily stepped into the execution and knowing exactly what she will be executed for, inhales deeply as if for the last time and begins to speak. She did not bleat and blush, but spoke clearly and in a staggered manner, as if she were performing a call, only without it, and her words were much more pathos than usual, as if she were making some form of public sworn apology.

"Please forgive me Pann, swearing in the names of all the khao that I am guilty." The young man only rolled his eyes at such pathos, realizing that he didn't give a shit about this Eastern savage traditionalism, but he didn't try to shut her up. "Not of my own free will, Khao-seran, but I am guilty before you. And please... please realize how you licked my Sweet Feet, Pann. And forgive me, forgive me, forgive me, forgive me, forgive me, forgive me."

He was about to shut her up with another very witty comment when the meaning of her words came to him, and then... no, the veil of memory did not fall and the realization of the forgotten suggestion did not come. He didn't forget, he remembered all the time, he just didn't think about it and at the same time didn't perceive what had happened as something different from the norm. And now that he understood everything, many other things became clear. Like why the fuck he had removed all his defenses at Singhi's request, opening his back to the poison needle. And now it was clear why the shamaness was absolutely sure that she could relax and prepare her companion to meet her scaly mistress-sister-girlfriend. Characteristically, his eye didn't even twitch when he took in the information, even some relief came over him. He wasn't the idiotic idiot, doomed to always retake the exam at Rodislav Gastoldovich Yanin's place because he fell for the steppe girl's feet and unlocked protection letting the entourage go. It's just an ordinary token, as far as it is at all possible for the System and Great Milf, applied on an unsuspecting isekai...

"Token?" He asks, lifting Singha from her knees by the collar of her shirt in one motion, and then putting his finger to his lips, interrupting the flow of frantic apologies

"Hai." She only nods, looking at him with a look that is completely unreadable, but very depressed, broken, and understandably scared.

"You got it for the deed, but you were ashamed to admit it, for fear that I would react nervously to the presence of a spell that would break through any of my defenses?" The shaman said in the same even and calm tone, hearing in his voice a kind of endless fatigue.

"Hai." His interlocutor again answers with a minimum of words.

"Snake folk asked you if you could give me poison, and you told your mistress that you could do it without poison." Now he was not asking, but stating the fact, but she still took it as a question, answering in her usual way.

"Hai." With the suppression in her tone, you could make mashed potatoes, any potato would be jealous.

And he'd seen it in her memory, hadn't he, when he'd tested her for compulsions and purged her of the remnants of the serpentine's influence? He'd seen it all, but he'd just ignored it as unimportant. Most importantly, he'd seen her clear intention not to use the trick on him, no matter how tempting it might be, but at the same time in such a way that he wouldn't find out about the token. Because it was both embarrassing and fucking scary. Even justifiably ashamed and scared because Stepan himself wasn't sure how he would react if he saw the corresponding line in her status. At best, he would have kept her in a subordinate and unresponsive state until the parting, or set a trigger in his head to prevent her from using the token, or something else he could think of. But yes, it was a very fortunate-unfortunate coincidence that tokens were invisible to a fellow groupmate, even if he was the leader of the group, its creator. Now that he asked directly, the certificate didn't hide it, but originally he hadn't known and had no reason to suspect that members of the group could receive tokens.

"I'd kick you, but I'm afraid I'd kick the rest of your brains out of your ass. That's where your brains are hidden." He said with sincerity and feeling, letting go of the collar of his shirt, which had never been worn but was of the most ordinary style, only of above-average quality. "What are you looking at? The only thing you're guilty of is that you're out of the circle because you're a fool, but I've already yelled at you for that. If I were you, I would have kept quiet too, and I knew that you weren't going to use that stuff on me since the moment I cleaned you from the snake's eye, I just didn't pay attention. My goodness-kittens, what a problem you are, why did fate bring me together with you, for what are my grave sins?"

After bemoaning a little, he calmed down, sat down on the second stone chair, just opposite Singha, and looking at her with a sad look, said:

"Send me the description of the token and the token tab itself via your status, there is an option there, turn to it and wish." He requires it only for pro forma, well, and wants to check if she has something else there, equally insidious and vulgar. "Yeah, I can see that. Yeah, yeah, no surprise, typical Autogoddess, damn."

"I didn't mean to, really." He didn't want to kill her or do anything bad to her at all, though he wanted to curse even more. "It's a gift... it's mean. Mean to you. I'm not mean! Your guardian, your ilash-khao-tar, she tested me, my honor, my gratitude, my will. And I failed."

"Oh, thanks, that made me laugh." He struggled to keep from commenting that she would have passed Her Milfinesse's test if she had decided to test the shaman. "Believe me, my so-called Patroness has a very strange sense of humor, an even stranger sense of beauty, and a completely absent sense of proportion. That's why I'm not in a hurry to kill you because if I were you, I would also keep silent, like a spy at an interrogation. I'm ashamed to look at my Status sometimes. Here, look at the gifts she throws me, like a bone to a dog."

He threw her a description of the Watermelons and Pies tokens and got a half-suffocated sob from her and a look of shock that made him laugh. Well yes, yes, it is not every day that one learns the true essence and nature of entities so ancient and inscrutable. And it wasn't every day that an entity so ancient and inscrutable turned out to be exactly as she saw it.

“Why do you look at me with such a gaze? As if I were choosing a Patroness for myself.” He asked, and there was something in his tone that Singha didn't dare comment on or question in any other way. “I'd rather be summoned by some pompous Defender of World Balance to fight evil and its innumerable hordes... I'd say, but I won't, fuck that. The door is there, let's run before the mages come, and don't talk much about me or the system, and don't talk about the tokens either. I don't give a shit who exactly you're going to use them to get under your heel, as long as it's not me personally. Run, run, run, or you won't have time!”

The shaman exhaled tiredly as Singha ran out the door, almost dropping her cool cloak in the process. Well, at least one problem minus. It would stay that way. If only he never saw that pain in the ass again. Shit, bitch, she wanted to pick a fucking flower to show off. Damnit!! She was a fucking shamanic adept with the prospect of becoming a master by thirty and with the recent bonuses, even earlier than thirty! And that's without taking into account her ancestral contracts, which by themselves would make her a master simply by the fact of their presence, only by call talents and her gift.

The thought that he'd been saved from snake captivity only by the senior spirit he'd received just a few hours before these sad events on a system contract sent shivers down his spine. He still blamed himself, damn, he thought that he relaxed, bitch, and she, the bastard, decided to pick flowers, horseflesh, horsefucker, fucking fuck! She couldn't remember the properties of snake eyes in a critical situation, she didn't have the brains to retreat to the barrier! She didn't even have the brains to call out to Lizard, who was ready to dash! One command, one image, without any strain of gift, and the smoky warrior would have stood beside her, and the snake could only blink politely, pretending to be nice and kind. The Lizard would have been smart enough to understand the effect on Singha, immediately attacking, while he was hardly susceptible to the classic hypnotic effect through the eyes.

* * *

He was genuinely surprised at the way Sylvia greeted him when he opened the door to her office, only to be immediately seized in a tight embrace, even a little frightened before his lips were sealed with a kiss and strong and cold hands guided his palms to her lush breasts. As he realized afterward, exhaling a little and complaining about his torn clothes, he didn't even need to influence her, only the minimum of influence, the rest was the result of her ambitions and passions. Still, she saw him as her chance to reach the heights of immense power, and here he was almost dead. The bloodsucker knew about the consequences of Maega's Maedra's daughter's call, and easily extrapolated what she had found out. And now her favorite toy was back, an obedient dog, an obedient slave, alive, healthy, in his right mind, and with all his limbs. Was that not a reason to sit on his face?

No, not an occasion, but an occasion for a good race in a classic love tandem. Even after a quick correction of plans through the doll, Sylvia preferred to be on top, and Stepan did not find the strength and desire to interfere with her. Admiring the pale tits bouncing with her movements, he was lying relaxed in the soft bed, already cleaned and steamed in the washroom, even shorn, albeit by his own efforts with complete disintegration of the cut hair. Sylvia, on the other hand, was smiling a victorious smile as she described all the things she would do to him for nearly dying in a completely stupid situation. After bringing them both to a few peaks and recovering her mood quite nicely, she began to describe the prospects of his legend in more detail and in a clothed state. Well, if you counted her favorite lightweight robe as clothing

So, officially, he, the Pann Mousсatcher was dead without any alternatives. Even Singha had saved herself with difficulty, where else could she cover a kid who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time? He was, however, very pleased at the fact Trabius had gotten as far as de Dantrel's office, complaining he lost his best pest control specialist. Stepan immediately removed the unnecessary spirits from the yard without even getting out of bed, but he didn't touch the cat. Maitre Jasper knows the young man told him how to feed the cat with sacrificial offerings and, if he is not stupid, he will be able to keep the contract in working order even without being a shaman. For a cat, it's fun anyway. If something wrong happens he is there to correct it.

But yes, the understudy mage named Pann, a village shaman with the correct pronunciation, the ability to read and write fluently in several languages, and the knowledge of the proper use of cutlery, is dead. It's probably for the best because if Dantrel's lurkers start digging, they'll find every little slip-up of Stepan's and catalog it. Therefore, without a spirit that creates an illusory appearance over the real one, he could not go out of Sylvia's house or the underground cave into the city. It would be necessary, perhaps, to call on a permanent contract of the strongest entity and, just in case, at least a few calls to the senior entity to ensure. After all, it would be imprudent to walk in the magical quarter and near the tower in the illusion that could be created by a strong spirit. Magister Miller decided to walk on the sidewalk with his feet, he looked a little more closely, and - pop! And who is it here?

No, in situations like this, you either call in a specialized Senior. Or use something unconventional and complicated. There was in his memory a call scheme of summoning an entity, which came with the last increase in agent work. A kind of film of dust and earth, which covers the entire body or only the exposed parts of it, and then changes shape, texture, and color, creating not an illusion, but almost a real and very difficult to distinguish the appearance of a completely different person, down to the aura, smell, heat signature and correction of reflexes with gait. Well, or another humanoid individual. It is a difficult technique because it is necessary not only to build up the appearance, but also reflexes, gait, and all this to master anew for each image, but only a shaman, for walks around the city, nothing like that is needed.

He was lying in bed completely killed mentally and morally. He didn't want to do anything, neither to sleep, nor to accept system gifts for the deed, nor to pump up the thirtieth level, to which there was less than a tenth of the scale left after all the adventures he had experienced. Outside the window was coming evening and Stepan sincerely wanted to just take a walk, stretch his legs, and not sit here, in four walls, thinking about all those things that will wait for him in the near future. Already ready to call the necessary spirits and only three days left until the window of the call to the Stargazer, which will have to find the demoness and help destroy her through a search by Name. It is necessary to choose one of the unrevealed branches of development, immediately raising it to the maximum, or develop the already started but is on a low rank. It would also be nice to pick up a higher spirit, definitely combat, there are options among the available small knowledge, although less than the older ones, the number of which was already approaching three hundred positions of various kinds. It was necessary to keep the promise he had made to himself and to hunt down and then destroy each of the entities that had betrayed him, which had not helped him under the shadow of the network of worms. It is necessary, after all, to overcome the fear for his sense of beauty and the remnants of common sense and to look at what the System has done with the meta-enhanced super-stocking.

As he dressed in new clothes, fitted to his size by a servant rather than purchased from the system, he covered himself with both a field of distraction and a light illusion that distorted his appearance. He wasn't coming out of Sylvia's mansion, though. There was no telling who was following and tracking her, who was now in her office, talking intensely about something. The list of possible observers is too long. Judging by the fact that Sylvia was talking to her real superiors, not through an amulet, but through a mirror usually covered by a piece of silk cloth, he really should go for a walk. There weren't any mirrors in his room, and there weren't many reflective surfaces in the mansion, but it wasn't a good idea to test fate.

He moved on to the dungeon, and from there he emerged in one of the artisan neighborhoods, getting out of the alley and walking through the evening city. It was kind of weird and strange to watch people having fun and walking around who didn't care about all sorts of shamans, systems, queens of worms, evil mega platypuses named Ichthyander Uking, horsey mares with retarded tokens, their mothers and grandmothers, and a whole bunch of other stuff. Maybe that's the kind of life that's what happiness is all about. And that man, soundly vomiting near the inn, while shitting past the unzipped fly right into his pants, is in fact much happier than Stepan, who is worried about his worries? There were many arguments against this assertion, but still, it was all a lot of fuss.

His feet carried the shaman through the streets, allowed him to maneuver between the streams of people, and stopped near the artists' performance. He even tossed a small silver coin to some little juggler girl, receiving a clear, though scratchy smile in return and sincere gratitude. Really sincere and pure, and not the typical for beggars “But why the fuck so, bitch, not enough. Give me some more, faggot”, which made me want to smile. I bought some pies from a street vendor, with berries, like mulberry, and apple and cherry, though the latter was a bit sour. He shifted a pebble under the foot of a thief who had almost cut off the purse of a gawky townswoman reprimanding her little daughter for soiling her dress with berry juice from the same pie, only bought a little earlier. The man seemed to have broken his wrist, judging by his screaming and whimpering, but for some reason, Stepan didn't care. He had become calloused, completely hardened, and all because his whole life was a computer game, and as anyone knows, they cause cruelty.

Stepan looked around, taking in the vaguely familiar surroundings of one of the more decent neighborhoods he had come to blindly, thinking about the importance of games, computer games, and not-so-computer games, and the cruelty they arouse. And wondered if this was why the locals were so eager to ban all computer games, or, for that matter, the system, because there was already so much violence in the world. The sun was already setting, so the people were gradually dispersing. In medieval cities, the night is a nighttime reign for the dangerous. To the point that in some neighborhoods even the guards do not enter at night, fearing for their lives, although this is more about those places where they are not often seen during the day. And even though it's not the Middle Ages here and the reign of night people is much more restricted, still, you shouldn't shine your face after sunset. Shrugging his shoulders, the young man was about to leave for the nearest alley but accidentally turned down the wrong one. It was almost empty, too, except for the...

"Oh, Pann, is that you?" The slight surprise and pleasant expectation in the woman's voice threw him out of his rut but also made him a little wary, for he was not to be recognized, he was not to be noticed, especially by one in whom a glance showed no giftedness or peculiarities of perception. "Such a meeting, and in the evening!"

He turned around and involuntarily dropped the illusion from his body, and with his eyes slightly widened in surprise he met a beautiful village woman, absolutely unknown to him, about thirty-five years old. And by earthly standards, not like here, where a peasant woman of that age is already a hopeless old woman. She had a fine figure, a sweet and ruddy face with dimples on her cheeks, a sunny smile, and huge breasts hidden under a thin and simple country dress. It was rural, not urban, as Stepan, who had already learned the local fashion styles, noted, which was not surprising, given the skills of an agent, who was obliged to notice such things. He looked at a woman he had never seen before and was not familiar with in the slightest, involuntarily admiring her forms and large breasts with large and beautiful dark-brown nipples so unfairly hidden at this moment by the insidious fabric of the dress, which was so pleasant to lick, catching the subtle berry flavor.

“Since you're here, Pann, I need your help, okay?” A complete stranger peasant, whom he sees for the first time in his life, and who knows his name from somewhere, takes advantage of his confusion and immediately voices her question. He reflexively, not wanting to upset a beautiful woman, albeit a stranger, never met before, nods in agreement, just at the very moment when the beautiful peasant unfamiliar to him, never seen before milf lowers the collar of her dress, exposing herself almost to the waist, looking beautiful and desirable in the last rays of the setting sun, attracting the male, and anyone else's, gaze. "Tell me, how embarrassed are you by my big, luscious, juicy, sweet, slippery country tits?"

STEPAN THE "NORMAL" STATUS AT THE END OF CHAPTER NINETEEN:

Name: Stepan

Level: 29

Class: Senior Shaman

Specialization: Spirit Master

Characteristics: (free: 0)

Talents (free): 2 (to distribution in minor knowledge of the contract subtype: 1/to investment in one branch of knowledge: 5)

Constitution: 3

Sensitivity: 12

Power: 8

Control: 6

Source: 6

Spirit: 15

Resistance: 2

Knowledge acquired: speaking and writing: Free Cities, academic Neirat, Island Kingdom; advanced master level of call practice; advanced 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: advanced fundamentals of fast call; the master level practice of spiritual operation; the mastery of an experienced martial caller; advanced 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; advanced basic methods of tantric practices; advanced 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); proficient methods of undercover work; mastery of puppet-envolt magical practice; developed methods of controlled spiritual indwelling; techniques of eliminating protected targets; advanced basic techniques of achieving sympathetic resonance; practices of mental-sensual processing of protected targets; advanced basic techniques of healing auric and spiritual bodies on the basis of wild magic; advanced practices of spiritual-cognitive confrontation; techniques of mental-sensual defense within the framework of agent training; basic techniques of working with memory on the basis of shamanism;

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: Memory Eater; curse of the locking of the paths; exile from reality; contract with an elder spirit: He Who Hides Himself in the Rocks and Opens the Doors; contract with strong spirits: Three Little Pigs; contract with strong spirits: Leaves in Motion; contract with strong spirits: Urkaguarri; contract with strong spirits: Embrace-with-Amber-in-Last-Farewell; contract with strong spirits: Turquoise Left and Aquamarine Right; contract with a higher spirit: The Spike-Piercing- Here-and-There; contract with an elder spirit: The Smooth of Slipping Evil; contract with a higher spirit: The Peace of the Serenity Keeper; contract with a higher spirit: Standing with a Dagger at Your Back; contract with a higher spirit: Locking Secrets.

Obtained properties: blessings of health and long life; toughness of spirit; resilience of subtle bodies; the 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; trust of creators of passions and weavers of feelings (GIFT); heritage in blood and spirit (GIFT); patchwork spiritual echo (GIFT); the multiplicity of spiritual awareness; small spiritual and energetic protection; the regeneration of subtle bodies; the marking of free winds and whispering blows; the marking of quiet pools and deep waters; the recognition of the keepers of doors and those who pave the way; strengthened auric nodes; stable stability of the source's absorption properties; tendency towards cognitive restoration

System modifiers: peaceful development IV; issuance of system assignments III; lecherous development IV (GIFT); access to system purchases IV; small system endowment of characteristics; temporal awareness IV; reserve renewal IV; replenishment of life IV; accepting a systemic deal with a patron (Liarat si Merrinal, Lady of Gifts and Giver of Gifts, loyal servant of Innelas Innelay); creation of group I; intensive development II; gift small temporary enhancement of attributes in the name of Liarat si Merrinal, Lady of Gifts and Giver of Gifts, faithful servant of Innelas Innelay (GIFT); a constant inflow of experience I; a regular inflow of system resources III; a doubled minor corrupting gift in the name of Liarat si Merrinal, Lady of Gifts and Gift-giver, faithful servant of Innelas Innelay; distributed charge improvement for meta-skills I

Completed Deals: -

Available Deals: Cute & Innocent; Sweet Attraction; Big & Soft; Tense and Frozen; The Tenderest Buns

Reward Tokens: Awesome Watermelons (100); Indifferent Doll (3); Ignored Orgasm (100); One-time improvement of item quality and properties (1); small artifact repair (3); instant recovery of magic reserve (29): small temporary increase in Constitution attribute (5); Puffy Pies (100); meaningful meta-skill upgrade (10); temporary creation of privacy (15); Persistent Feet (10); Smooth Beauty (48); Mighty Melons (98); massive minor warrior blessing (5); Compulsion of Addiction: Hugged and Squeezed (25); standard charge renewal of shaman's contract book (8); Sweetly Passionate Dreams (50); Muscular Beauty (15); temporary increase in sensitivity (10)

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

SILVIA MALTER'S STATUS AT THE END OF CHAPTER NINETEEN (after Stepan Normal finally managed to accept her into the group):

Name: Sylvia Malter

Level: 48

Race: High Vampire (human)

Class: Bloodchanter

Specialty: Bloodwind.

Characteristics: (free: 0;)

Talents (free): 1

Constitution: 9

Sensitivity: 7

Power: 5

Control: 5

Source: 4

Spirit: 6

Resistance: 8

Knowledge absorbed: spoken and written: [reveal]; advanced developed control of scarlet drop; the advanced practice of blood shaping; advanced blood patronage; mastery techniques of subjugating blood resonance; the advanced developed practice of superimposing delusions; advanced techniques of racial magic; advanced techniques of blood acceleration; advanced basic techniques of scarlet pulse; advanced basic practice of blood magic-based searching effects; advanced developed techniques of scarlet alchemy; advanced basic ritualistic practice; advanced basic barrier-breaking techniques; advanced basic acoustic mental influence practice; advanced seduction and deception techniques; scarlet martial arts (Blood Pact); the art of agency and infiltration (Blood Pact); advanced basic mentoring and nurturing techniques; advanced basic personality reshaping techniques; advanced basic methods of complex suggestions based on bloody control

Minor knowledge: skillful protective crimson cloak; double whip of bloody submission; skillful crimson claws; implosion of bloody resonance

Acquired properties: enhanced saturation of bloody drops; corporeal essence of the supreme bloodsucker; enhanced blood reserve conservation; complex spiritual-energetic modification of the eyes: the supreme gaze of submission; vocal cord modification: enchanting voice; skeletal base modification: strengthening and flexibility; essence modification: Ancient Ichor's Drop; complex spiritual-energetic modification of the organism: compacted three-vector spatial pocket of the hidden type

System modifiers: blood replenishment I

Special: [Empty for now]

STATUS OF SINGHA, DAUGHTER OF MAEGA, DAUGHTER OF MAEDRA KONINA BLYADSKAYA AT THE END OF CHAPTER NINETEEN (after Stepan was forced to accept her into the group):

Name: Singha, daughter of Maega, daughter of Maedra

Level: 31

Class: Shaman

Specialization: Caller of Wind

Characteristics: (free: 0)

Talents (free): 0 (to be distributed into minor knowledge of the contract subtype: 2/to be invested into one branch of knowledge: 5)

Constitution: 1

Sensitivity: 7

Power: 5

Control: 4

Source: 6

Spirit: 8

Resistance: 1

Knowledge: oral and written language: Free Cities, western steppe dialect; advanced developed practice of call; advanced developed practice of spiritual dialog; advanced developed work with wind spirits; basic fundamentals of fast calls; advanced basic practice of martial calls; advanced fundamentals of spiritual bargaining and contractual agreements with otherworldly entities; basic skills of spiritual conflict outside the physical body; advanced basic methods of spiritual wandering; advanced basic methods of search and clairvoyant calls; advanced basic work with totems; advanced basic work with altars and shrines; advanced basic work with water spirits; basic methods of calling healing winds; basic skills of creating strengthening call patterns; basic methods of building protective amulets on the basis of shamanism.

Minor knowledge: temporarily closed ancestral contracts with strong spirits: [reveal 32 entries]; temporarily closed ancestral contracts with elder spirits: [reveal 11 entries]; temporarily closed ancestral contracts with higher spirits: [ reveal 2 entries ]; strong spirit contract: [reveal 26 entries]; contract with elder spirits: [reveal 4 entries... Winding Rustle of Grasses]; distant call-orientation to ancestral call base; small spirit strike for conflicts outside the physical body; small spirit cover for conflicts outside the physical body

Acquired properties: ancestral heritage of steppe skies and eternal winds; trust of free winds and whispering blows; recognition of violent storms and violent gusts; mark of rushing streams and serene lakes; mark of hearth warmth and caress of fires; steadfastness of delicate bodies; blessing of passing on ancestral heritage and the gift of the first of daughters; blessing of health and beauty; blessing of home and native walls; mark of keepers of promises and assuring transactions

System modifiers: [none yet]

Reward Tokens (invisible to party members): Sweet Feet (24)

Special:

Mark of Destiny (invisible): absolute vulnerability to enchantments and mental suggestion of a lecherous nature on the part of the bearer of the blessing of Liarat si Merrinal, Lady of Gifts and Giver of Gifts, loyal servant of Innelas Innelay;

A Minor Gift of Salvation at the cost of depraved retribution in the name of Liarat si Merrinal, Lady of Gifts and Giver of Gifts, faithful servant of Innelas Innelay (invisible): greatly increases the chances of survival in mortal danger, greatly increases the chances of minimal damage instead of crippling or fatal injuries, greatly increases the chances of falling victim to charms, love magic, mental techniques, and other influences on the mind and senses if they lead to lewd, vulgar, or intimate consequences, guarantees the temporary and negligible duration of being a submissive plaything in a distorted mind, greatly increases the chances of eventually being freed from a passionate captivity.

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

Переведено на Нотабеноиде
http://notabenoid.org/book/86785/580095

Переводчики: Camrad_RIP