Готовый перевод Настучать в бубен / Hit the tambourine: Глава 2.1

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Day D, hour H, and second C were getting closer and closer, and there was less and less time left, but Stepan chose to simply sleep through the last half of the day before the final part of the operation to create a highly secret long-distance portal. There was nothing more to be done, but it was quite possible to tire and exhaust himself, even despite his impressive magical abilities. And during the pairing ritual, even the smallest mistake would be enough to ruin everything he had planned, just like that horned monster had almost ruined it for him.

So Stepan asked to leave work early, since he had the right to do so, having accumulated free time by meekly accepting extra shifts to recharge his amulets, and then went into town. There, finding his favorite spot on top of a partially destroyed building, he opened a jug of light cider bought at a convenience store and silently drank it all in one go. The main reason for drinking alcohol in proud solitude was, of course, the need to calm his nerves and relieve his migraine. But partly it was in preparation for what was to come — this cider had other properties that significantly increased the plasticity of spiritual bodies and their resistance to many secondary harmful effects of overexertion.

He would definitely have to overexert himself. There was no doubt about that. Even if the future task was assessed as optimistically as possible. Everything was assessed more from a pessimistic point of view. His successfully developed professional paranoia was having an effect. A shaman can afford to be anything he wants, but not careless; otherwise, his fate is sealed. Singha, by the way, felt the same way, and when she wasn't in her favorite “dumb, cocky, hysterical mare” mode, she demonstrated a very good level of competence. Now she, like Stepan, is resting and relaxing with Maego. They have completed their preparations, planned a window in their busy work schedule, and prepared a cover story in case they drop out of the world for a couple of weeks due to exhaustion.

The forces remaining in Dantmark were also working well. His unfortunate student was gradually acquiring a degree of independence and responsibility, or simply learning to hide her mistakes better. Sylvia and her nest continued their dance of pouring from empty to empty, while the lovely de Fell still pressed down on the bloodsucker, trying to lasso her into a not particularly comfortable spiked collar. She stung, pressed, cut off any diplomatic solution, directly showing that she would either have to leave the city or allow herself to be put in that very collar. She was pushing, so to speak, for her to choose the collar herself, remove the spikes, and add a fur lining while she still had the chance. Initially skeptical, Sylvia gradually realized that she was being driven into a corner, no matter how much she wanted the opposite.

Her old contacts were either unable to help or offered only token sympathy. Her new allies turned away or returned her deposit, and the paid assistance or protection amounted to nothing more than offering her the chance to choose her own collar, bargaining for as much as she could. And there was still the opportunity to reap some personal gain. The Lords of the Dead North were far away, but de Dantrel was very close. In a different situation, the bloodsucker might have tried to play such games only in the complete absence of other alternatives, but she would surely have preferred to flee, leaving behind and preserving everything she could not take with her. The lords are far away, but their reach is much longer than that of the conceited de Fell. But now she is stalling for time, waiting for her “favorite pet” to make a decision, yeah. Maybe she'll even decide to reward the Pet and sit on his face.

The shaman sighed gloomily and admitted that once the twin cave was finished, uniting the two free cities into a single network, he would eventually have to deal with de Fell. She was acting too fast. He wanted to hope that Her Milfness would throw in one of her debt assignments on this matter. The fact that he was even considering such an option made him feel painfully ashamed, because he himself was willing to bow to Automilf's jokes. In general, his mood gradually became minor, melancholic, and even gloomy, but he forced himself to chase these thoughts away, forcing himself to focus his energy on tomorrow's event, forcing himself to be confident in tomorrow.

So when the moment of truth arrived, he was already composed, ready, calm, and literally radiating an aura of unshakable confidence. Officially, he wasn't even on the premises, so they met underground, in the very cave they had created together by expanding a small cavity in the rock. The super-gravel from the bottle had already been poured out, crushed, and used up, and its power permeated the place, changing its spiritual reflection. In the eyes of Maega, leaning against the wall of the cave, all the pain of the steppe people was visible, but she recognized her ally's right to dispose of his resources as he saw fit, no matter how wasteful such an approach seemed to her at first, second, and hundredth glance.

Officially, both she and Singha, standing next to her, are now in their white yurt (also known as the White Yurt), performing a ritual to alleviate the anti-harvest curse of an overly nimble distant relative. Purchased through the system and refined by mother and daughter, the large disposable totem can serve as a decoy, a resonator, and a transmitter, allowing all three to be present here. No one is particularly excited or apprehensive. Their oaths are strong enough that they do not fear betrayal, and they have already had time to communicate, get to know each other, and understand each other. The joint chanting of powerful shamans involuntarily reveals not so much their thoughts as their character and essence. It's not that Stepan didn't know a dozen ways to fake such an impression and get into the head of his “ally,” but still, the effect was there.

The same bag of salt that needs to be eaten together, only crammed into a few weeks of mutual alliance. They did not become friends until death and did not recognize loyalty to each other, but at least they no longer feared stupid betrayal, not in a case where all parties have their own interests and betrayal is unnecessary for any of the parties. And the oaths, again, had not gone anywhere, giving them all the opportunity to show such a valuable thing as limited trust. And yet, he would not be able to break the ice completely anytime soon, due to the same joint shamanism — it was difficult to trust a mentalist of his rank, and it was very difficult to hide his specialization in such conditions.

Stepan didn't try at all, and not because he's such an honest guy.

Not only for this reason.

"Everything is ready." It's not a question, but a statement of fact, coming from Maega, who is currently more nervous than both System bearers, but certainly has no intention of backing down. "It's time. To begin."

Singha silently stands on the line drawn for her, taking her position. Then they begin to call, when all together, when each one calls something of their own, one by one. Before calling the main guests, it is necessary to properly strengthen the foundation, the very basis of the coming call. And this is what they are doing now, completing what they began many days and weeks before the main act. The spirits summoned in advance crawl out of the totems and contract anchors, the totems take their designated places, break away, creating the spiritual body of the Call, the wonderful melody of throat singing merges together, witchcraft spells flow from Stepan's fingers, soaking into the slightly damp stone of the walls and floor.

The wind whistles, summoned by mother and daughter. Today, one of the highest-ranking guests has windy qualities and aspects, even if only partially, so support from the winds will not hurt. Every call comes incredibly easily; the spirits themselves fawn, strive to please, and listen to every command of the shamans. Such is the nature of the spent super-rubble, a unique reagent that is priceless, for no one would set such a price to sell something like this. Those calls, those appeals, which even with all the preparation would have taken weeks, days, and hours, are completed in hours, minutes, and seconds, without the slightest resistance. First and foremost, there is no resistance from reality and the basic nature of the spirits, against which they would be powerless to come.

The spirit, which cannot be summoned quickly because slowness is one of its aspects, should manifest itself slowly and gradually, hour after hour, passing from the higher spheres into the despicable reality. Instead, it materialized immediately, like a cork from a bottle of sparkling wine flying into the darkness of a cave, without disintegrating in the process, without receiving wounds, without hating the one who pulled it out against its will and the laws of its own nature. A swarm of gnats, from the insectoid and animal spheres at once, capable of influencing the boundary between Reality and the Spheres, distorting space with their influence. They all come at once, all one hundred and one beetle-butterflies, although they should only be summoned one at a time, one after another in strict order, which cannot be broken, or they will take their toll in nightmarish dreams, in the shaman's own voice, forever depriving him of any form of spoken language.

There are dozens of such examples, soon to reach a hundred—the spirits obey, the spirits listen, and in the heart of every shaman, an incredible sense of self-satisfaction from the feeling of their own power involuntarily matures. There is nothing to be done about it; it is simply impossible not to experience this feeling when you see the very basics of the call ceremony crumbling at your will! It's much easier for Stepan. Thanks to the System, he has long been accustomed to the fact that the impossible is possible, and not so long ago, he was a simple, ungifted person who could not see the difference between simple magic and an almost miracle. Singha, too, had grown accustomed over the past few months to all sorts of unimaginable crap happening around her, and she could do it too, because she had access to the Tablets of the Soul, even if it was only guest access.

But Maega keeps going only because of his experience and extreme self-control, refusing to relax and believe in her omnipotence. Because spirits are submissive and obedient, but they still don't forgive mistakes, and the first mistake will lead to the need to check the strength of protective amulets and shields. Some creatures are simply unable to go against their nature, unable to resist stinging when they see an opportunity. And sometimes attack just because, go fuck yourself. Every day, Stepan becomes more and more suspicious that the author of the earthly tale about the scorpion crossing the river was well-versed in shamanism. The first mistake is made not by Maega but by Singha. It's not a mistake, just one of the entities summoned and controlled by her decided that it was okay to disobey, eat its own and others' offerings, grab some power, and make a quick getaway, because there are so many entities here, so many points of attention, that the shamans definitely won't notice.

They didn't even notice. They received a warning from the guardian spirits after the fact, when a ghostly pigeon, squealing with a human child's voice, was torn to pieces by flying maws with eyes. And apart from those maws and eyes, they had nothing else; they needed nothing else. A special contract exclusively for benevolent spirits, which was found in the system knowledge of Singha, who had recently developed this specialty of summoning. They attacked only those who had broken their oaths and promises, only to protect the interests of the summoner, and only in real time. These were not the most surprising properties; Stepan had a bunch of analogues that were easier to summon and less arrogant.

But this particular pack had a certain subtlety of presence that made them like maws with eyes that took up no space, had no effect, and did not even change the background around them. Therefore, they can freely roam the spiritual reflection of the pandemonium, attacking this or that cunning traitor spirit without introducing dissonance or undermining the elements of the upcoming ritual of invocation. The earthling himself has similar appeals at his disposal - heavy artillery and rapid response units, but Singh's pack has also come in handy. So much so that at this stage, they are playing first fiddle, while Stepan's forces are still waiting in reserve.

But the preparations are gradually coming to an end. Almost one and a half hundred minor spirits summoned by Stepan alone have already arrived, not counting the nearly one hundred from his allies. Among these flocks are truly unique, rare specialists with an incredibly synergistic set of aspects and spheres. There are such unique entities among his summons and among the results of Singha's call, which is still a little overwhelmed by the scale of systemic knowledge and the ancestral contracts of their entire clan, nurtured and cherished by generations. Strong spirits are already arriving, much more specialized, but still busy only with preparing the groundwork and coordinating their younger brethren.

Reality no longer trembles, stretched thin like a film. It now resembles a sieve with numerous stable holes. Gradually, the cave is being absorbed more and more by the spiritual world, almost merging with it, with the lion's share of calls providing camouflage and deception for the city's scanning signatures. And only when the entire system freezes in a precarious balance, when all the pawns are in position, and the two elders and nearly a dozen strong spirits help keep the call pattern in balance, simultaneously cutting it off from the rest of reality, concealing and hiding the trio of shamans, do they move on to the final chord.

By this point, the three of them are standing in an equilateral triangle, barefoot and extremely tense. Covered in patterns painted with a special paint, Stepan, surrounded by a halo of specific dolls-envoltes, each of which covers a separate part of the aura or spiritual body, breathes like a horse being driven. It is difficult for him, but he is still standing and does not even think of fainting, although not long ago, such a load would have killed him. He is dressed only in short cloth shorts, which could be called a local analogue of family underpants, but he is still the most respectably dressed individual here.

Maega and Singha are dressed only in their amulets, bracelets, necklaces, feathers, and painted patterns, which in other circumstances would make the shaman feel somewhat uncomfortable. But now, when he has left his body, hanging above himself and controlling himself as if he were a puppet, he has no time for the charms of others or thoughts about how he will look Urvag in the eye afterwards. They all swayed in an intricate rhythm, sometimes bending in ways that would have broken a normal person's bones, but they were fine; their joints were filled with spirit, providing elasticity, and a couple of spirits supported their bodies so that they would not fall on the stone during particularly epic-epileptic gymnastic tricks.

In reality, none of the trio is actually present in the body; their bodies simply move along with the flow of spiritual currents, like rags in the wind, which is why their movements are synchronously asynchronous — the currents are the same, affecting one, affecting the others, but each slightly differently. The shamans hover above the bodies and continue to call, formulate the call, describe the task, and receive the corresponding images. The images, whose weight is comparable only to their unnaturalness — the higher spirits invoked right now, even though they are completely bound by contract, even without wanting to cause harm, can send an average shaman to the loony bin or the graveyard with a single package of images. The fact that the three of them are not in the loony bin or in the grave is the clearest evidence of their skill, courage, mastery, and debility, which in itself was a ticket to the mental hospital, if such a thing existed here at all.

Here, their bodies begin to walk in a circle, stepping barefoot directly on the smooth stone floor, covered with numerous holes the size of chicken eggs, like honeycombs. Or, to put it another way, a triphobe's nightmare. Each of these holes is not just an opening, but a natural tube several hundred meters deep, with a spatial anomaly hidden at the bottom, separate for each tube, making it completely bottomless right here and now. Like holes made by an incredibly long needle held in the hands of an impartial and merciless shoemaker. And with each step of the three empty bodies, with each expression of will of the three shamans who have left their bodies, these pipes begin to whistle, begin to scream, begin to sing.

Another set of pure airy steppe spirits, which would never have come to this cave of their own free will, but the super-rubble has changed all the usual rules again. And the wind plays a melody of an intricate nocturne on a flute of stone pipes, only not gutter pipes, as in Mayakovsky's old poem. Every step, every moment, every breath, and its action are echoed by another note, creating a parallel, mirror-like call that literally doubles the original idea. Twice as powerful calls, twice as strong a connection, twice as powerful a chant! The initially insane cacophony gradually acquires completeness; the unearthly beauty of that melody drives one mad, deprives one of reason, and all three bodies temporarily fall deaf.

This sound, amplified by a series of shamanic witchcraft spells, is not dangerous to them, but why test it, why complicate your life? Their bodies are deaf, their auditory nerves temporarily disconnected, and a pure spirit can much more easily endure the madness of this melody. Involuntarily, a question flashes through Stepan's exposed mind: would Sylvia like such a melody? She also has a strong mind, and she herself is a big fan of such psychedelic musical agony, so she might appreciate it. A silly thought at a completely inappropriate time, but given his functioning ++“multiple consciousness,” even in the most tense moments, he sometimes managed to think something completely stupid and inappropriate.

And the melody sounds, their long and drawn-out call sounds, camouflage, balance, and the preparation of three personal window platforms for summoning three different higher spirits merging. This was, without exaggeration, the limit of what two powerful masters could do, one of whom surpassed most magisters in arsenal and knowledge, and a very powerful adept who had come close to the master. Even with the System, it was still the limit, and without it, there was no point in even starting, except for the purpose of killing oneself, possibly along with a bunch of innocent people. The power of the call is such that it is very difficult to hide, and the power of those who responded to the call makes the task completely impossible. That is why they do not hide. Now, quite clear and recognizable spiritual signatures are emanating from the totem in the white yurt, indicating a very powerful call in the center of the city.

This is a prearranged call intended for a perfectly ordinary purpose, nothing surprising, even if you look closely. Somewhere not so far from Morgrave, above the numerous fields of a large latifundia, several powerful spirits are approaching the edge of reality, as well as one elder spirit, even though it hardly manifests itself. These spirits methodically and calmly eat away at the very essence of the curse on this latifundia, killing weeds and pests, further strengthening the blessings on the fields and reinforcing the protective charms, as well as taking care of the harvest of a very stupid and undeserving scummer merchant.

To put it mildly, it was overkill in every respect. A third of the power sent there would have been enough to confidently fulfill the order. But they needed to create a backdrop - a loud echo of the created commotion, behind which the real purpose of the whole idea would be hidden. And so the despicable scummer, who decided to cheat his partners, was incredibly lucky. Urvag is also a hero in this story; he managed to create a multi-layered and completely true legend, casually “allowing” himself to be drawn into a verbal argument that his beloved wife would leave no trace of this curse, and in one go, rather than several consecutive ones, as would have been easier and more logical. That he is so cool that right now he'll snap his fingers and his beloved won't deny him anything, yeah.

According to him, the worst part was vomiting after that dinner party, because he voluntarily drank a very nasty alchemical concoction bought through Stepan's Store, which allowed him to display all the physical and aural signs of intoxication while remaining completely sober. He and Maega even demonstratively quarreled when his beloved wife “understood” that now, for the sake of her husband's reputation, she had to not only save the harvest, but also show superclass and create that very overkill. This bugger even managed to provoke his old enemy into bypassing all his vows to his guests and slipping in a special wine instead of the usual one, one that was spiced, loosened the tongue, and inspired a certain frivolity.

As a result, those very same ill-wishers of the second man in the de Lomer household found themselves in an awkward position, even though they managed to slightly embarrass their long-time enemy. The most important thing is that those guys will not be invited to the next dinner party at that very house, because they were caught red-handed. Urvag himself, of course, “did not recognize” them, and no one rushed to “tell” him, in order to avoid a scandal, but those who liked to spice up their wine were thoroughly discredited. Even if the hosts of the dinner party secretly appreciated the opportunity to dip Urvag himself in shit. They appreciated it and eagerly awaited the fizzle that his overly loud drunken words would turn into.

Instead of a fizzle, there was a great thunderclap. Maega showed her class again, together with her daughter, of course, and Urvag confirmed his reputation as a henpecked husband, but one capable of convincing a “crazy steppe bitch” of anything. You can imagine for yourself how flexible his persuasion skills are when it comes to all sorts of vulgar jokes. It is clear that the power of the call went somewhat beyond what was permitted, which is why the House of de Lomer will have to pay a formal fine and then informally render a service to the House of de Mont Ros to make up for it. But the whole city, including the duke's secret service, knew perfectly well, observed, and confirmed the direction of that very call. The wife saved her husband's reputation and will surely pick his brain with a dessert spoon later, so they can laugh behind the scenes for a couple more months, even though they are consumed with fierce envy — they don't have a wife like that.

A perfectly staged and brilliantly executed scene that will finally bury any chance of being exposed. Well, unless the shamans slip up and conduct the call according to the original plan. And they won't slip up. They have no right to. Otherwise, the de Lomer family will have legitimate questions. It is then that Urvag will inevitably reveal the story of the particularly intoxicating wine, which he was tricked into praising himself and his wife excessively.

And everyone will be looking not for de Lomer's guilt, although they will also be thoroughly investigated, but for those who framed Urvag in order to create background noise for their own ritual. Because Maega and Singha, of course, had no part in that secret call. And anyway, are you out of your mind? What other call underground, if his beloved wife and daughter are connected with the winds of the steppe and the free birds of the sky? Every dog in Morgaf and every mare in the steppe have known this for a long time!

To be honest, watching Urvag do his thing from the sidelines, I couldn't help but feel a mix of respect and fear. He is not a mage, not even gifted, if you don't count his minimal ability to use amulets and contract anchors, but he has much more intelligence and cunning than Maega, for example. She is very smart, but she is used to being direct and sharp, like a storm wind or a steppe hurricane. All her life, she could afford to be that way, seeing no reason to change and bow down to anyone who wasn't at least a strong senior spirit. But her husband, yes, he gets what he wants with his mind and deep planning. In short, he is not the kind of person you would want to quarrel with over trifles. And even over something that is not a trifle, you would think twice about whether it is worth starting a quarrel at all.

Thoughts continued to swirl in his head, but the shaman's main focus was strictly on the main task: completing the call. As in the case of summoning the agricultural spirits, everything here happens so quickly and rapidly that it's simply mind-boggling. In an instant, the cries of the hellish flutes beneath his feet take on a particularly nasty note, embodying in the underground hall the Breeze of the Underworld, which influences, influences, influences the very space of this place. This spirit is everywhere and nowhere, it is not expressed in any way, it is even difficult to see with magical or spiritual vision - invisibility is one of its aspects and trump cards. But the One-in-Two is very noticeable in its presence, and its visibility is surprisingly familiar, so much so that you can't tell the difference.

There it is, just as it is, a shapeless mass of gray smoke, constantly shimmering like a mirror, and a moment later it is no longer just itself, but another ++Door Opener, exactly the same as the one that remained under the stones of Dantmark. Identical, without the slightest difference, so identical that they are literally the same supreme spirit, only in two places at once. At that very moment, the Breeze finishes its work, and the bottomless pipes of the devil's flute underfoot reach Dantmark, each of them being another miniature and completely indistinguishable portal. The two spirits become one, connected here and there, merging into one, and the distance connected by the omnipresent Breeze, which plays equally joyfully in any Underworld, is despised, forgotten, and trampled upon.

It is difficult to describe in spiritual terms, but let's say it's something like the sound of a titanic elastic band from underpants, which had been stretched until now, but then it was released and slapped against an equally titanic buttock. The image couldn't be any duller, but it was the closest to what Stepan perceived, exhaling hoarsely with his real body, into which he was literally pushed by the reverse thrust. Two-thirds of the dolls, created specifically to take the recoil, burn up in a multicolored fire, while the rest, left to their own devices, decay into dust, having exhausted their available resources.

He didn't even have to use his restorative meta-skills. Although he did use up the charge on his general enhancement token, temporarily boosting his stats. He also used the first level of enhancement from the modified Autogoddes meta-skill. Even if it was at the end. So that there would be no rollback in the form of a debuff, and even more so, no perversions or other plays with probability. The whole process of preparation and call in four hours of “free” enhancement could not be completed, but the final stage took only a few minutes, which is why "the gift of a small temporary enhancement of attributes in the name of Liarat si Merinal, Mistress of Gifts and Giver of Gifts, faithful servant of Innelas Innelay" proved to be a very useful aid. He checked four times to make sure he hadn't forgotten to turn it off when the call was finished and hadn't accidentally activated the second level of enhancement, which was perverted.

Maega and Singha also settle down on the stone floor of the underground cave, which is changing before their eyes. They didn't have any envolts, it wasn't their specialty, and letting Stepan make their dolls... well, that's not the level of trust they've achieved. They managed anyway, although a whole range of totems, amulets, and rare talismans purchased through the system store also burned up, and most of the trinkets were literally blown off their bodies. And the paint seemed to fade instantly, the patterns disappeared as if they had never been there — the images and likenesses of the shamans' spiritual bodies also took the rollback upon themselves and took it to the very bottom of the High Spheres.

For the next couple of days, they will sleep only under the influence of a dreamless potion, and under the supervision of loyal servants who will wake the shamans if they start talking in their sleep. Who knows what might come to them across the bridge they unwittingly built, using the vanished pattern as a transmitter. In principle, they had already done this before, an old family contract, but they had never accepted such a powerful kickback on it before. That is why they will protect their dreams from all kinds of rubbish for two or even three days, not just one night.

Meanwhile, the surrounding cave has finally merged with the refuge beneath Dantmark, and the supreme spirit of the camouflage-spatial type easily absorbs the echoes of the completed ritual. It absorbed, entangled in the labyrinths of its darkness, distorted and distributed throughout the city so that no light would escape. Sylvia Malter, who had been present in the dungeon until the end, holding a resonator box in her hands to make it easier for the Wind to find her signal, successfully returned to her mansion without being seen by anyone. In another moment, hundreds of spirits, spells, closed fields of territorial influence, and totemic structures covered everything around them. Now the shaman was at home, in his place of power, which his guests could not help but feel.

Yes, he had warned all his spirits in advance, forbidding them to attack or be aggressive, but it is difficult, very difficult to remain completely calm when suddenly such a crowd is staring at you, staring from totems, signs on the walls, from the stone altar totem base. The strong and the elders are watching, in large numbers and constantly present here, already here, and not just echoing the right to summon them. The White Yurt is a scary place, but Stepan's underground apartments are not inferior to it in terms of protection and the entities present here, or are not too inferior. In some respects, it even surpasses it, and the list of those aspects is extremely broad.

"We did it, congratulations," he croaks through a dry throat, feeling streams of power, blessings, and healing effects flowing into his body, spirit, and aura. "I can order you to be nourished if you don't consider this an attack."

"Ar-mash lan gulkhra-balat-uk!" Maega breathed back, her voice now croaking like the honorary crow of the entire henhouse, expressing a mixture of emotions, mostly positive, even if her first words had been nothing but expletives. "I don't believe it! But we did it! You were right, Pann! I admit you were right!"

Well, she didn't fully admit it; she still thinks that the gravel could have been spared, but she doesn't say it out loud and hides her thoughts, just not well enough for someone in his place. And yet she is satisfied, very satisfied, because such a call, a triple call of the highest spirit, not counting the nearly dozen elders, the pile of strong ones, and the many small ones, is very valuable in itself. Those very marks on her spiritual body, which will now become noticeably stronger and more powerful, will inspire more fear and respect in the entities she summons. And simply the experience of working with such rare spirits, incredible reagents, and a common goal is already a lot for a truly gifted person who strives for knowledge and power.

"Oh, alat-uk-mash..." Singha, despite the presence of the Tablet, endured the ritual harder than her mother; she doesn't have the strength yet, but she also sounds quite cheerful and calm. "I still prefer to get some sleep. In my native place. The center of my and my mother's strength. I really want to see it. Your house. But if I stay, Father will worry."

Yes, he understood that, yes, yes, smiling in response to Singha's equally sly smile, while Maega grimaced in annoyance. Despite her vows, she would not allow her daughter to remain in this place, in the heart of Stepan's power. She had not weakened or lost her fortitude, not in the lair of the one whose aura and spirit she had seen in action. It would be impossible to hide the very specific marks on that very spirit, as well as her rather distinctive ability to conduct spiritual dialogue. Oaths are oaths, but she would not abandon her daughter to the embrace of a charmer-suggestor of his level, even if one disregarded his basic level as a shaman in general.

"Then, at least until the day after tomorrow, my dears, I'm going to bed." His words are true and honest because the fatigue is simply utterly overwhelming; it's enough to knock him unconscious. He should be afraid to stay in the same room with Maega. "In the eyes of everyone at the estate, your worker Stae has irresponsibly disappeared without a trace. He's probably gone on a drinking binge, the bastard. And yes, here's my advice. I'm sure the Tablet has given you something good for your achievements, just as I've also benefited from its generosity. So, listen to me and don't consciously reach for the gift until you come to your senses. Otherwise, you'll be out for a week."

"Hai, I will do so," she replied in a completely serious tone, almost solemn, and then, with a quiet groan, she rose to her wobbly legs, with Maega's help. "Will you open it? The way home. The passage for your khao-vaat is open, I sense it."

That's right. They deliberately opened a very controlled and inconspicuous gap in the magical and shamanic protection of the estate, specifically so that it would be possible to pass from the cave to the house once, rather than having to go through the city. Maega had already managed to grab the stuff left a little to the side, among which she found a communication amulet, and sent an order to Urvag's rapid response team, saying that no convoy was needed. They would get there by teleportation. This was already a gesture of trust on Stepan's part. To allow such an amulet into the holy of holies and let them use it. It was a gesture no less generous than opening the passage for his portals. And yes, that passage, amid the shaman's giggles, was decided to be secured with a beacon on a large wardrobe in one of the guest rooms.

That's exactly where they went, falling in front of Urvag, who, despite all his self-control, was visibly agitated and barely managed to hold back a sigh of relief, and only because Stepan also appeared in the closet without coming out. After politely greeting the merchant, he said goodbye just as politely and warned that he would erase the point of contact, depriving himself of access to the estate until he was allowed to open the way again. Banal politeness, trust, and careful handling of someone else's trust. He had no doubt that as soon as the wardrobe became a wardrobe again, Urvag and his men would check it several times with all the amulets they had. And later, the mother and daughter would examine the wardrobe for anything... anything.

Stepan is equally certain that they have no doubts: the shaman will also first scan his refuge for accidentally forgotten or “forgotten” items, imprints, particles of material anchors, and all that sort of thing. This would allow him, if necessary, to find the underground refuge through the main defenses, the very elusiveness of spatial dispersion, and then enter without permission. Or enter despite desperate resistance. Characteristically, neither side found anything. Stepan left nothing behind, if you don't count the banal involuntary study of the defense structure, and he found nothing at all. Although he sent the best searchers to look, restoring his reserves and health through a meta-skill. Although this restoration did not help much. His fatigue was primarily mental, and that could not be healed by his meta-skills.

In fact, he was glad, almost happy that he hadn't found anything, but he searched diligently, with all his heart. Who else but the owner of intelligence knowledge from the System would know how a “forgotten” piece of stone or even a grain of sand could spoil everything if the marker material left behind turned out to be part of a whole? It is not even necessary to carry any active magic; the tracking complex will simply use the material as a beacon to guide it using the method of the part from the whole. And this is just one of the ways in which TNT could have been planted under him. In the magical world, a shield usually wins over a sword, but only if the shield bearer knows what they are defending against, because the attacking side always has the opportunity to study the defense and strike with precisely what that defense cannot withstand.

++Inspecting his possessions took him the rest of the day and most of the night, so he fell asleep completely exhausted, barely managing to activate his dream protection. He jerked awake in fright, almost waking up, when he remembered that he had forgotten to activate his dream catchers. No, no, no, not after he had already been burned to the bone by that damn, literally, tailed bitch. Although what was he thinking? A classic devil would not even be worthy of serving drinks to that bitch; by any Hellish standards, she was an outstanding specialist who could become a big boss anywhere. Pushing away thoughts of the cold before bed, Stepan allowed himself to sink into a peaceful slumber.

* * *

He had all sorts of crazy dreams, ranging from combat hummingbirds with auto-guidance tearing armored pony space marines to shreds, to a hot sunny beach, in the middle of which stood a lonely Slender Man dressed in a ballet tutu and covered with a handheld umbrella, to a swearing man in a faded sweater who was trying to bite through the chain of handcuffs that chained him to a battery. In the latter case, the man accidentally bit into a piece of depleted uranium tank armor that was lying nearby, but the chain did not even get a scratch. With a weary sigh, the strange old man resignedly began typing something on a keyboard worn down by time and life.
T,N,

But the streams of images gradually merged, forming a relatively stable and consistent picture in which the sleeping shaman recognized the now almost native Dantmark from a bird's eye view. The image began to enlarge sharply, bringing him to a vaguely familiar herbal shop, the windows of which were tightly closed with shutters, making it difficult to distinguish the light of an oil lamp shining through the cracks. But the sleeper's gaze passed through the wall, revealing what was hidden behind it, and what was hidden there was something very, very interesting. In one room, two clearly elves were hypnotizing a very busty and very seductive woman in a peasant dress, and she was quite susceptible to their influence.

A calm tone, a magical pendant swaying in front of her face, sparkling with silver light, downcast eyes, and a dull smile, the mouth of a human woman slightly open as she breathed heavily. The magic and words from the mouths of the man and woman of the eternal folk completely and hopelessly broke the peasant woman's will. Convinced that their target was completely devoid of will, the man and woman, whose aura betrayed them as quite respectable masters of classical Druidism, began to slowly and playfully undress their victim, exposing her lush breasts, slightly tanned body, gorgeous ass, and surprisingly tempting thighs.

The woman seated at the table smiles a dull smile, allowing herself to be caressed and rubbed with massage oil taken from a small box in the same shop. She allows herself to be kissed on the lips and neck, her lush breasts with dark pink nipples to be licked, her lips to be run over her tender belly, and around her juicy pussy. The looks of superiority and mockery from the two elite Forest agents, who have decided to allow themselves to relax a little, the derogatory comments about the short-eared commoner, the slut, the plebeian, the peasant whore — all this passes by the mind of the dazed woman.

Having finished with the preliminary caresses, both eared agents smiled slyly. They laid the peasant woman on her back on the table, and then... knelt, with an expression of absolute superiority of the firstborn over other upright creatures, and began to lick her feet, each their own. The victim's feet were surprisingly delicate and unusually well-groomed for an ordinary commoner of peasant origin, but for some reason, this did not cause the experienced agents the slightest surprise or suspicion. He and she cover the woman's feet, heels, and toes with numerous kisses, lick them, and press them to their faces, as if forcing the unconscious victim to step on those faces with her human foot.

The elves' ears are flushed with excitement, they are breathing heavily, the man's pants are covered with more than one sticky stain, and the girl has also wet her clothes with violent ecstasy, but their self-control inspires nothing but respect. Neither he nor she showed any sign of coming every couple of minutes, and their look of complete superiority remained unchanged; only their comments became indistinct at times. The short-eared plebeian slut, enchanted and immersed in a trance, did not react to these comments at all, only looked at the ceiling with a satisfied smile, which one was tempted to call a triumphant smirk, tugging at her monumental tits by their tense cherry nipples, and occasionally pressing her feet on the elves' faces.

Waiting until they were exhausted, stretched out on the floor, she got up from her improvised lounger and began to thank the “noble masters” with great admiration for giving a “peasant woman” such pleasure. She used no less self-deprecation in her words than the elves themselves had used to insult her, allowing a stupid slut to step on their faces and loins, causing new orgasms over and over again. The only thing more evident in her words was the thinly veiled sarcasm in that self-deprecation. Only after ensuring that both of her seducers were fast asleep, the smiling woman, dancing with each step, causing her breasts to bounce hypnotically, went to check on the neighboring room, making sure that everything was in order there, just as it should be.

The focus of the dream shifted, allowing him to follow the peasant woman, leaving the two sleeping elves alone. There were also many interesting things in that little room, which doubled as a shop counter. For example, there was an elf girl dressed in a typical, but deliberately provocative, poor townswoman's dress, with the aura of a very good mentalist, quite capable of becoming a novice master of this complex school of magic. A kerchief-bonnet on her head, a simple cut of dress, bare feet, no underwear whatsoever — she was the spitting image of an honest townswoman from a poor neighborhood, not a whore or a thief, but precisely a lustful townswoman who made no secret of her willingness to entertain herself and any man.

She was very lustful, because right now she had exposed her large breasts, only a couple of sizes smaller than those of the shopkeeper who had come to her, lifted her dress, put one leg on the counter, and with great pleasure fucked herself with an equally huge cucumber. Not quite ordinary, there is clearly a druidic modification visible to make the surface of the vegetable comfortable to use. Several carrots and a large eggplant lying next to it on the counter underwent the same modifications. Her flower petals, swollen with excitement, easily accepted the large substitute for the classic female aid between them, and the second hole was now blocked by a slightly smaller cucumber, twitching with convulsions of pleasure as the “town girl's” backhole convulsively contracted every few seconds.

The sight of an unmistakable elf in such an uncharacteristic attire and engaged in such an unusual activity didn't bother her sole spectator in the least. Nor did she care for the astonishingly obscene comments coming from the "town girl," who, with an indescribable lower-district accent, promised "dear Heath" fuck him good. Dear Heath was also an elf, also deciding to relax that night, to indulge in the company of a short-eared slut he'd taken a liking to, relieving some of the constant stress of his operational duties.

Of course, as the group's leader and simply the firstborn of good taste, he couldn't afford to fuck some peasant woman, especially since two of his comrades had already taken her on. So, without the slightest hesitation, he decided to indulge himself with the town girl who'd wandered into the shop, so pretty and uncharacteristically graceful. She wasn't an elven maiden, of course, but she was more than suitable for the satiation of base lust, a quickie behind the counter of this very shop. Alas, for some reason, he was so absorbed in watching the brazen slut, watching this bitch, Thread, bewitched by primitive suggestions, stuff herself with a vegetable assortment, that they didn't even begin the actual process of interaction, so to speak.

Heath, or rather, Heather, of course, masturbates lazily, leaning his back against the locked front door of the shop, sitting on the floor with his pants half-off. A small jug of oil sits nearby, with which he's lubricated his fist. Smirking contemptuously, without even deigning to respond to Thread, he squeezes out another series of shots of precious elven seed, which he's already formed into a sizable puddle. But the special oil greatly helped him ignore his fatigue and avoid running out of "charges," so he could continue this way until morning. Rather, he's surprised that Thread still finds the strength to beg, entice, plead, and in every way coax him into getting harder. And all this without stopping her primitive performance for a single spectator—an astonishing talent for a representative of a younger race, especially one of such, well, common origin.

A passing shopkeeper casually yanked a cucumber from the ass of the "town girl," who was screaming in orgasm. She immediately bit off a piece and walked up to Heather, standing directly in front of him. He, offended that this stupid whore had blocked his view, angrily licked the impudent fool's surprisingly delicious, cherry-jam-like pussy, cumming again as he did so, maliciously soiling her bare feet. Having finished her delicacy and finished cheerfully chattering some insignificant nonsense, the village shopkeeper took the second cucumber from Thread, replacing it with two carrots of different sizes. One slightly larger, the other smaller, apparently. As the "town girl" herself said: Just right for both holes, and she immediately began trying out her new toys.

Wishing Heather all the best and bon appétit, she left the elf, who had begun to crunch on his snack, to squeeze out more portions, and went behind Nituska. So, pawing at her breasts, which, in the case of a haughty, menacing, dirty city slut, should be a little bigger, definitely bigger, whispering more and more lacy words in her ear, she continued her night. A long, long night, which was in no hurry to end, as if stretching on for several days, no less. But such time manipulation is simply not possible with the methods of any known school of magic, is it? And this is beyond the power of a simple shopkeeper with big breasts, selling all sorts of cheap herbs?

* * *

Stepan woke up feeling surprisingly energetic, even though his head was pounding like crazy after yesterday's exploits, but that was insignificant. A quick check and morning meditation again left behind only fragments of various dreams — small, harmless hummingbirds, some deserted beach, a selection of very appetizing vegetables that made him want to eat a salad. It was good that, at least this time, the dreams were normal, without any stupid images or the demonic gloom of perverted pornography. After a quick warm-up for his body and aura, Stepan set about his inevitable tasks.

First, he stepped several times from Dantmark to Morgrave, carefully monitoring the state of the subtle fields around the lair and finding them to be perfectly looped. Well, not quite perfect, but personally, with his existing knowledge, he could only imagine very roughly how he would look for himself if the need arose, even if he knew about the existence of a refuge under the city. Here, one could only plow through closed fields and divine miracles, but even that, after the division into two cities and the automatic deployment of the Cube's field in Morgrave as well, would cause difficulties for anyone who was not an archmage with a personal retinue or a handful of incarnated messengers of God.

Well done, Stepan. You did it, you can take a pie from the shelf.

He took not just one pie, but a whole tray of them, visiting Sylvia and taking a proper snack. After all, at work, de Lomer was fed heartily, deliciously, but simply. You quickly get used to good things, and the shaman got used to Sylvia's cooking, so he indulged in her culinary masterpieces with pleasure. Well, he also listened to the city news and talked to Yula, who rushed up to him like a mad cat, nearly knocking over the sideboard she ran into on her way. No way, because using spatial magic to shorten the distance for each step requires additional calculations based on the immovable objects around you.

That was her own quote, by the way, uttered in an irritated tone while the earthling was healing the abrasion on the girl's forehead with the simplest witchcraft and a minor spirit. The girl was genuinely happy to see him, and he missed her unquenchable enthusiasm, although he would never admit it out loud. Being constantly around this bundle of hyperactivity, or even hyperreactivity, was, of course, exhausting at times. After she had slightly reduced the intensity of the excruciating pain in her very core and had partially stopped slowly dying, she regained all the strength that her body had previously spent on survival, which is why she walked around as if she had been drinking coffee instead of water. Moreover, she washed down that coffee with an excellent energy drink, as if she were about to hit the dance floor at a mediocre earthly club. But yes, he had gotten used to her during her training, and now, suddenly, he found himself missing her, although he would never have thought so.

"And I was like, fuck, who the fuck do you think I am? I'll cast that crap in the first five tries!" There was enough happiness in her voice for eight people, while the shaman checked her boast against the memory of Rowena, to whom this phrase was addressed. "And what would you think, Master Pann? I managed the fourth, damn me. I ritualistically threw a multidimensional puncture right under the water shield and a curse of glass dust on top! That bush died right there, damn it! And that red-haired bitch owed me a wish, yeah! She had to drag a huge pie... I never finished it. But I nibbled on it from all sides!"

Yula, who was constantly hungry as a child, had her own quirks. She valued good food much more than Stepan did, because she rarely got to eat anything tasty. Except perhaps during winter festivities, when uneaten dishes, even quite good ones, almost like those served to the nobility, were put out for the poor and the homeless. In short, for the sake of a strawberry pie, still warm and fragrant, she learned to bypass classic barriers with the help of powerful combat curses in record time. To be honest, even Stepan was impressed, despite the help of the System-Tablet, because he himself would hardly have been able to do so. Sent to the far corner of the Malter estate, the spirits had already admired a small bush of some kind of weed, transplanted into a pot, which now — the bush, not the pot — was covered with a thin film of glass, locking the dead plant under this shell.

"Not bad, not bad." And, seeing the demanding look of the girl who clearly understood his understatement, he honestly admitted, rejoicing to himself that she had finally begun to thaw from her obsequious mannerisms. “Okay, okay, I admit it, it was really cool, almost magnificent, and even a little bit awesome. Well done. Seriously, no kidding, well done. Did the Tablet mark it down?”

Yula blossomed with praise; she literally grew wings, both from his confession and from the realization that she herself was now a magician. Not some half-baked apprentice who could only take a step wider or slip her hand into the pocket more deftly, and then spend a week dying of pain. No, a real magician, a genuine one, capable of casting spells at will, changing the world as she pleases! And from the realization that she, a simple street rat, was now casting spells like a lady, and not like a barefoot shit, she was literally bursting with the desire to laugh and cry with happiness. How little some people need to be happy, Stepan could have said, if he himself hadn't been experiencing exactly the same feelings from the fact that he possessed REAL, FUCKING MAGIC!

"Yeah, three times that. It upgraded "advanced basic coordinate positioning skills" to "advanced," and also unlocked "basic combat malefic skills"! I invested the stat, just like I was told, I wasn't even that sick, the bracelets helped." She struggled to pronounce the long names of her system lines; after all, the system had implanted a vocabulary in her head, but it hadn't improved her skills in using that vocabulary. But with each passing day, it became easier for her to express herself like a mage, not a juvenile delinquent, until she slipped back into her usual speech pattern during moments of emotional peak. "I'm so fucking awesome, I'm practically fucking nuts! Um... Well, that's in a good way. I guess. I guess in a good way, I mean. That's it."

At moments like these, seeing the sincere emotions of happiness in Yula's eyes and mind, he struggled to refrain from ruffling her hair. The girl was generally very afraid of any physical contact, and the shaman himself did not want to send her mixed signals, having already struggled to transform her completely childish infatuation with him into something more calm and balanced. And without any suggestion or love spells or counter-spells, which was a damn difficult task! On the other hand, at least he was able to achieve this, because some mentalists and sociopaths, even if they are excellent magicians, often fail in any form of relationship if they cannot fix their interlocutor's brain.

After saying goodbye to the satisfied Yula and sending her off on a well-deserved rest, after active magical practice, it was better for her to spend a few days on alchemy and let her arms absorb a little more of the essence of her curse, he went to see Sylvia to hear her report. Fortunately, he had already seen most of what she knew through the doll, but he still thought it necessary to go. If only so as not to forget how to communicate at all, because it was too easy to get used to getting everything he needed through a mental connection with the puppet.

She greeted him warmly, immediately offering him her emerald green panties, which she had recently purchased from the best underwear merchant in Dantmark. His eyebrow didn't even twitch at such jokes; he simply accepted the gift politely, placing it on the table next to him, and tweak her mind that her pet would definitely be honored a little later. She would definitely remember this spectacle.

It was a kind of mutual symbiosis. Malter, figuratively speaking, was wet with the power he had over the bearer of the Tablets and gifted with such a great power. And the shaman was reminded time and time again why he had left Sylvia with her brain washed, and did not even think about giving her back at least a semblance of free will and continuing their cooperation normally. Because with her imagination, meanness, and experience, she would surely get away with it, at best turning her fantasies into reality. At worst, she would simply kill her dangerous enemy, Stepan, once and for all, striking at the most unexpected moment.

Now she is completely safe and, characteristically, surprisingly pleased with herself. This is yet another confirmation that many people will cling to the illusion of control, rejecting any arguments to the contrary. Moreover, without any suggestion, purely on her own character, while the shaman's work simply brought this trait of Sylvia's character to absurdity, making it the cornerstone of the brainwashing of the lifeless brains of an experienced and damn dangerous bloodsucker. This is exactly how a good brainwasher should work, exerting the minimum necessary influence to achieve the maximum result.

He felt it himself, yes. His face cringed a little at the memory of how the demoness had treated him, sometimes mirroring his own treatment of Sylvia. The last one, especially the confidence that he was in control and playing a subordinate role only for his own pleasure, being able to change it at any moment, was clearly instilled with the intention of mocking him. It wasn't that the other modules of suggestion were any different from this one, but it was this particular trick that angered Stepan more than the others. No, he did not feel sympathy for Sylvia; she had worked very hard to ensure that he did not feel sympathy for her, but he realized the fragility of his own ego and understood in practice how much of a novice he still was, especially when it came to subtle, suggestive, and seductive influences.

It's like he might summon the demonic creature and ask it to give him a couple of lessons in mastery. He has no doubt that the System will very quickly convert such lessons into new status lines, and not only in terms of brainwashing. Even in the same intelligence work, the creature is still a head and a half above him, and this gap is not easy to close, as there is an abyss of experience and an equal abyss of time! Realizing that he was seriously considering this idea, the idea of learning from the damn Laghan, the earthling jumped up and down on the spot and diligently checked himself for suggestion for some time. But no, sometimes stupid ideas arise in his head solely through his own efforts, and not with the help of someone else's suggestion.

But, returning to thoughts of the demoness's superiority in intelligence work, she definitely did it, at least in terms of her ability to hide from observation. The triple cocoon of spirits around Gelda's shop stands as it always has; the contracts they have been called upon to fulfill are vigilant, and they see nothing suspicious. The shopkeeper trades, chats with customers, eats and sleeps, relieves herself, and sometimes even fucks with one individual or another, without any magic or demonic draining of life force. Still, with her looks, even with the unnatural beauty of a simple peasant girl partially hidden, she is quite capable of dragging anyone into bed without any additional incentives. It would seem that everything is perfect, but Stepan, intuitively, on the verge of understanding his own agent skills, realized that it was all one big mess.

Somehow, she deceives the spirits, somehow avoids their attention, but the shaman cannot understand how exactly. From time to time, he replaced part of the network, changed operating modes, and redirected the attention of spiritual observers. But still, he found only what he had already found. Nothing more. Ideally, he needed to invest much more effort, summoning not three but six parallel scanning layers, then duplicating all of this, then additionally creating resident spells based on witchcraft and subjugating the territory around the shop, at least partially. And even more effort should have been made to prevent the creature from using this territory as a bridge back to Stepan himself. And all this should have been polished off with the invocation of a specialized higher spirit, no less.

But it would take no less effort than the recent epic with the portal transition. And to hell with the effort, for his beloved demon, the light of his heart, he would spare no effort if it would help spoil the mood of that sweetheart! But stealth! He simply couldn't build such a structure unnoticed, not only for the purpose of observation, but also for the entire neighborhood, not when the city was still being prowled by searchers from Dantrel's, temples, other Free Cities, and who knows who else. And there was also the lingering understanding that in this way, he would only see the deeds of Gelda, but not the demoness herself.

She could have deliberately left the bait in the form of a classic “red herring” so that he would bang his head against a brick wall in an attempt to uncover the non-existent intrigue. It would be a shame to set up the ultimate surveillance network for the herbal shop only to find out that Helda is actually doing nothing! Although, okay, here he is already mistaking his desires for reality, because the best of the remaining puppets is definitely busy with something. And he has no right to miss the moment when this very puppet decides to take advantage of the weak points in the contract that binds them all to the Autogoddess. Yes, if he gets caught by her again, nothing more dangerous than “erotic humiliation” threatens him... but he'll burn himself with a burning ass if he does get caught!

So, the security at the mansion, for example, was constantly changing and updating, since everything was much simpler here than with surveillance. He literally wrapped every corner of the mansion in scanning fields, unrestrained by caution, cutting off all flash from the walls of the mansion. The second time, he would not let the creature or her pets near him, but he would not go to visit her unnecessarily either. Whatever Gelda was doing, she was not able to take souls or conclude contracts against the will of the Autogoddess, expressed in Stepan's orders. It's another matter that she is quite capable of simply playing with someone in her favorite style, but here Stepan was betting on something else — the supply of souls, the powers they bestow, which the creature has nowhere to replenish. Without souls, without actively using their supply, she would sooner or later be forced to switch to maximum economy mode, or even hibernation.

If the Great Milf didn't give her any gifts... he didn't want to think about it, because then everything would again descend into the need to physically kill the creature. And if he decided to initiate the liquidation procedure, their contract would no longer restrain her either. At the very least, nothing would stop the creature from revealing all his secrets, his aura signature, his underground hideout, and a bunch of other details to anyone who wanted them. Why not give him a "MAKE THE CREATURE CESS UP" button so he could just knock the bastard out once and for all? Was that too much to ask?

Having finished all possible tasks, Stepan finally allowed himself to lie down on the bed, relax, take a fortifying tonic, and then immerse himself in his thoughts. He allowed the systemic message that had been maturing on the edge of his consciousness for a long time to unfold and give him what he deserved after all. And the system was generous with its gifts! First of all, he gained two new levels, becoming thirty-fifth, and there wasn't much left to thirty-sixth; the experience bar was frozen at about six parts of seven. Two honestly earned talent points would not hurt him at all, but even without them, he had gained a lot, much more than just two levels.

First of all, the properties of the spiritual marks subtype, modified by the System, began to sprout in the aura. His basic and most valuable ++“small mark of the constellation of spiritual spheres” blossomed like a flower, acquiring the features of something no longer ‘small’ but “significant.” There were practically no special aura sensations, but the spiritual body felt as if it were being tickled by thousands of feathers, pricked by millions of small needles, without causing pain, quite the contrary, but it was still impossible to think normally in such a state. The modification ended in a matter of minutes, giving him time to exhale and realize what he had just received.

Of all his marks, the most valuable was undoubtedly the constellation, the most versatile and significant for any contract. This mark enhanced any call, simplified dialogue with any spirits, and even in its smallest form brought incredible benefits. Having risen to a higher rank, this mark could now allow even powerful spirits to be commanded to work on credit, and they would do so, even gladly. Some, such as those most suited to other marks, like love charmers, would not even require a special fee, if any at all. What's more, he could even bend the senior ones with some chance of success!

This improvement did not result in any crazy stunts, but it did make it much easier to simplify a bunch of calls that he either did not dare to make before or did not have the time and reagents for — simply because it was too much hassle to work with such contracts. And now, now, yes, now he can reach new heights. In many ways, it was the modification of this property that could be considered the most valuable of his prizes. It was impossible to increase the property by levels alone, as there were not enough characteristics, but here the structured appeal of the higher spirit played a role, compensating for the lack of aura power. And the inevitable setback was averted by the help of two more shamans, who more than made up for the already begun alliance with this alone.

No, he still wouldn't dare summon higher spirits, not alone, not without extreme necessity. Well, in the sense that it wasn't guaranteed by a systemic contract. But now he could, he could summon them with a chance of success! And if the three of them worked together again and summoned air or suggestive spirits, then summoning and successfully dealing with a higher spirit would become not just possible but almost guaranteed. Although, okay, he's exaggerating here, but only a little. In any case, as before, he would prefer not to summon creatures that could harm him and that he would not be able to fight off on his own. As with summoning the elders, he did not start working with them immediately after receiving the theoretical opportunity.

And the new options for choosing minor knowledge in the "contract" subtype are a sight to behold! The existing list has expanded by over three hundred items, and on top of that, the first available contracts with the "Great" label have appeared. However, even with minor knowledge in the form of a completed and system-verified contract, and not just a basic understanding of how to summon such a thing, he won't risk it for now. Without taking the dialogue and practice of the call to a new level, he might simply collapse. And the summonings themselves, even those verified by a talent point, were, for the most part, from the Automilf cohort; you could literally count the exceptions on one hand.

For what purpose does he require an entity capable of gradually, almost imperceptibly at first, transforming an entire lineage spanning eight generations into a multitude of beautiful, promiscuous, desirable, and spiritually imprinted personal whores, mistresses, courtesans, lovers, and concubines? Yes, yes, even dying grandmothers will improve their health and rejuvenate to the level of “slightly older MILFs,” as will grandfathers, by the way. A gradual and unsuspicious bender of the male gender, and it is quite possible to include in the contract the option of creating femboys, how could it be otherwise? Of course, it does not arouse suspicion, first of all, in the victims, who find a logical explanation for everything that is happening or look for a reason not to think about what is happening.

From an outside perspective, it is covered by a powerful mental suggestion of normalization, but it can be easily bypassed or overcome if resistance is high and you know exactly how to apply it. In principle, with such a call, if you really put your mind to it and strengthen it to the maximum, as well as find several drops of blood from different representatives of the “clan” at once, you will penetrate even the coven of masters, let alone ordinary aristocrats. However, it is not worth focusing too much on Neirat, where all the highest magicians are related, as they have too much good protection, accumulated knowledge, and, on top of that, their own Albus Dumbledore, the headmaster of Hogwarts, that is, the Academy. He is a fucking Archmagister, one of the very few in the world, mind you.

In general, if you think about it, the call is not useless, but the shaman would not want to bring such a thing into this world. Eight generations in all directions—that's enough to cover so many uninvolved people that it would be enough to populate a city. If he doesn't have a conscience and tact, then he has a sense of proportion and, above all, an instinct for self-preservation. Because when all this comes to light, and it will come to light purely because of its scale, they will hunt him down so fiercely that the Master himself will send a letter of thanks for diverting attention from his person. Yeah, and he'll add him as a friend, open correspondence, and start proposing to take over the world together, dividing it along the equator.

Those same great entities, whose contracts had not been directly tweaked by the Autobogina, gently speaking, scared Stepan shitless and a little bit more after that shit. It's not bad to have an entity that can devour space, literally devour it so that nothing remains in its place, not even holes in the ground, as if the world had shrunk and decreased by the amount eaten. And its mouth is such that it can devour a third of Dantmark in one bite and ask for more. Not bad, yes, but the images of this summoning in the system description are so oppressively chthonic that he didn't really want to summon such a thing. The sensations are comparable to how he felt when he made his first contract with a senior spirit, when he had barely reached the first levels, only even more intense.

In short - fuck it!

Two more properties-marks also proved to be useful, not at all superfluous, further expanding the young shaman's potential arsenal of spells. First, his affinity with spirits of spatial themes reached the same level as his work with suggestors and love charms — the second of its kind in his arsenal and the first that he was not ashamed to show to Maege and Singho. The ++ “trust of the guardians of the gates and pathfinders” that opened up to him was precisely the reason why contracts with great spirits appeared among the skills available for acquisition. Spirits of a spatial nature, so be it! Great entities, which in full summoning can be equated with at least archimagisters, albeit with a bunch of conditions and caveats!

Yes, summoning such a creature, the same “Reality Biter,” the very possibility of summoning it, serves as an analogue to a fucking nuclear arsenal, literally! The same Ngabo-Khele, which is perhaps the largest of all human cities, or simply the largest, no one has particularly tried to conquer and show its black inhabitants the burden of the white man or non-man, precisely because the blood of the city's rulers can, in theory, summon the great spirit as well! With very big reservations, not without payment that you would not want to pay, but they could, they could.

Maega was sure of that, and she knew a lot about local shamans, much more than Stepan. The rulers of the black land had definitely summoned them before; there was evidence, records, and memories, but it seemed that no one had ever summoned a great being. And it never would, because if anyone were to capture the “Heart of Gnmala,” the largest, longest, and widest river in the world, it would only be by removing the city's ruler and all those who could take advantage of this call, who had the right to call upon it. Well, or by bringing in a bunch of magicians with at least three archmagisters, or even an archmage, but where to find them?

The last of the three marks turned out to be new, the most basic, but also useful, even necessary, for his life. And yet, due to its initial form, it integrated into the aura in literally a couple of seconds. One moment it wasn't there, and the next, the status already displayed ++“the mark of the quietest veils and secret mysteries,” simplifying work with any spirits of stealth aspects, sharpened to the imperceptibility of action, or the creation and maintenance of camouflage. Stepan had previously considered investing in this mark, especially after the battle with the demoness and her brethren, when they began to search for him. Even now, he began to feel a certain temptation to invest in this mark and raise it at least to “recognition,” but he still did not rush, preferring to continue assimilating what he had received.

Strangely enough, he gained only two pieces of knowledge from his labor feat, fewer than the properties, which was a little disappointing. In reality, however, this was understandable and even logical, since he avoided the need to apply something radically new thanks to the help of two allied shamans of outstanding power and skill. No, he improvised, applied new techniques, and worked close to the limits of his abilities. But he never crossed those limits, which he was mostly satisfied with.

As a result of this pumping technique, he raised his totem mastery to “advanced developed work with totems,” because he was working with totems at a completely insane level, creating not even networks or complexes, but almost primitive “microcircuits” based on those same totems. Not in the sense that they were actual microcircuits, as wild magic generally resists schematization, but rather in the concept of a complex structure that allowed him not only to perform a ton of actions simultaneously, which he could already do due to his multiplicity, but also to support the spirits he controlled, while also distracting himself with witchcraft.

New knowledge, as in the past, was not only enjoyable in itself but also synergistic with all the other areas of work he had mastered. The basis for advanced development was the very complexity, the connection between totems, and reliance on the main body of his lair, which allowed him to perform not only powerful but also surprisingly multi-component calls. What they did with Maega should have been done not by three shamans, but by three hordes of shamans. Students and students' students would take the role of auxiliary totems. Because shamans who take on such a task will necessarily have strong disciples who have trained their own disciples, that's a fucking axiom!

Alas, both he and his allies were among those rare types of shamans who do not accumulate disciples and a retinue of hangers-on in the material world. Everything is clear with Stepan, but Maega and Singha have a very peculiar ancestral magic tied to the procedure of inheritance; they simply cannot have more than one disciple. Only their daughter can inherit full power over the spirits, while the rest of the apprentices will never rise above the status of mother and daughter. Perhaps in the past, they tried to gather a retinue of humans and non-humans, but quickly gave up on this idea. Because it is difficult to find a more reliable way to ensure problems for oneself than to start teaching a gifted person who knows from the outset that they will never be able to achieve more than the role of a hang-on, an eternal support, who will never rise above but will continue to serve the proud daughters of the winds.

This is where the cascading complex totemization of all the flocks of small and powerful spirits came in handy, as they were fueled by those totems, relied on them, and successfully replaced a bunch of disciples and other helpers. The cascade of synergies revealed other, much deeper revelations, starting with the connection between totems and witchcraft, since this branch of shamanism is based on the same principles as witchcraft. Working with territory, using spells to strengthen or subjugate spirits into totems, or for parallel work, when the totem becomes a turret, firing spells and gradually taking root in reality, strengthening the spellcaster's power. At the same time, the spirit acts as the turret operator, giving the spellcaster more freedom.

So, combined with the patchwork method of securing territory, the result was not so much fierce power as it was variability. The ability to attack with a whole volley of spells at once, increasing the speed and number of strikes. That was diametrically opposed to the very nature of how witches and shamans fight. Witchcraft of any kind is very static, heavy, slow to prepare, and powerful, in contrast to the much more mobile classical magic of sorcerers and wizards. Well, that's what everyone who doesn't have a System thinks. Because of this totem trick, Stepan can spam attacks even faster than wizards, albeit only from a pre-prepared position.

Moreover, these attacks will be heavy and unstoppable, as befits spells, and will not weaken due to the speed of their creation. This is because the speed of weaving spell knots has not changed; it is simply now possible to weave a whole set of them at once. Well, it is limited because the spirit controllers in their turrets will only weave what is originally embedded in the totems, and the flexibility of additional spell customization will be limited by the structure of the totem turret. So if classic-type sorcerers, those who are used to working at medium range rather than far beyond the horizon, are like rapid-fire cannons, then a spellcaster with his new knowledge will be like a volley of several MLRS packages. Yes, the reload is still very long, but it hits so hard that no reload may be necessary.

The other methods of working with totems were also surprising, sometimes featuring radically new solutions, sometimes simply strange approaches that were surprising in that they were even possible. Particularly noteworthy were, shall we say, the autogoddess type of knowledge, contracts, and tricks that were crammed into his head more than dildos in the world's largest sex shop. How about a special totem with a trio of higher spirits and a huge retinue of elders living there, which turns the surrounding area into a fucking brothel? Well, not exactly, no, it's just that this thing gradually and imperceptibly increases libido, and just as gradually removes all shame and inhibition.

Everything would be fine, but the essence of a totem structure supported by spirits is that its effect cannot be noticed, not at all, not in any way, even if you are an archmage. Perhaps even if you are a god, but gods do not remain in reality long enough for the totem's effect to take hold. The only way to notice something wrong is to see the totem itself, but it is hidden behind the same protection as its effect. It is immaterial, invisible, and unable to exist in the real world, literally slipping into the sublayer of real space.

But even a simple image can reveal this nastiness; just seeing a totem drawing is enough to start noticing its effect, especially if you are at least a firm believer in magic and understand mentalism and protection from love spells. Or if the world around you has already changed too much, with people no longer shy about having an orgy in the central square or giving a blowjob to a stranger just because they're in a good mood. And the very structure of the influence will cause the totem's drawings and its inhabitants to appear nearby — on the pages of books, in the dreams of sleeping victims, in the reflection of mirrors, in the pattern of leaves on the pavement. The longer the totem influences, the more clues it gives, but by the time it is opened — and the totem itself immediately disintegrates, releasing the spirits — no one cares anymore that there was any influence at all.

There are so many autogodess wonders in the universe, it's breathtaking! First of all, because someone would actually manage to drag this piece of crap into this world. Stepan's namesake could have. No, he couldn't have. He would have definitely used it if he could! And you can't explain to the locals that they should build monuments to Stepan and bow at his feet every day because he was the first one out of the elevator that day. But never mind, he's a humble man, doesn't demand universal veneration, and he won't force anyone to call him the Most Gorgeous and the Most Awesome either.

The second piece of knowledge he acquired independently was “the basics of the combined use of complex witchcraft spells,” which was by no means ordinary knowledge, although not as powerful as ++“spiritual manipulation.” He already knew how to combine spells, incantations, and territorial magic with summoning and direct control of spirits. He knew how to do it and constantly applied it here, there, and everywhere. The more lines there are in your status, the more difficult it is to add something new on your own, because you already know how to exert a certain “borderline” influence using your existing knowledge, and you do it very successfully.

Stepan isn't a spatial mage and doesn't even have the necessary knowledge, except for minor knowledge like the anteroom or marks of sphere. But he can perform far-reaching spatial effects through summoning and with his own spiritual body, if pressed. He's no biomancer, but if he sets out to transform a stray dog ​​into a calf-sized killing machine, he can easily accomplish this by modifying his aura, infusing spirits, and transforming the dog's body into a totem. He can't be called an artificer, but the amulets and totem complexes he creates easily outshine even a highly skilled adept of artificing, and many of his tricks wouldn't be easily replicated by even a master. Alchemy, rituals, and barrier magic were not his specialties, but he was not a complete failure in any of them, precisely due to his borderline knowledge of various kinds.

That's why he was surprised that this new knowledge had fully developed in his Status, though he acknowledged that he had fully deserved it. In this ritual, he combined his witchcraft with all the other methods of applying his gift, most actively employing methods of supporting shamanic rituals through the use of a wild territorial foundation and those very same spells. To soften the edge, to facilitate the spirits' work, to support totems crumbling under the strain, to strengthen his own aura, to stabilize a space that had too quickly deteriorated, to help the spirit recover from the recoil when the entity became trapped between the axes of the protective line. It was precisely this combination that he deservedly acquired as a separate status.

In principle, this knowledge was helpful in many ways; it's easier to list those it didn't particularly affect — the construction of envolts, specifically their creation, not their use. After all, this requires maximum stability in the subtle world, even inertia, akin to sterile cleanliness in terms of random energy fluctuations. The most masterpiece dolls can only be assembled in a proper laboratory, isolated from the rest of the world at every possible level. Because even a normal magical background is too active, envolting requires removing it, eliminating any fluctuations, random or not.

In short, his new knowledge is useless when creating Envolts, yes. But in combat, in brainwashing, when creating totems and concluding contracts, when constructing arrays, when controlling a puppet, in fact, when doing anything, he can now direct additional aid to himself, enhancing the finished result with additional Witchcraft Nodes. This isn't always necessary, and is often even unnecessary, but it can be done. Ideally, he'd like to bring all the core skills of this class up to the same level as Shamanism, as Witchcraft is noticeably lagging right now. In fact, that's exactly what he'll probably do when he comes to his senses — invest two free points per level into Energy Weaving and Territorial Control, raising them a notch.

But later.

Because now, having somehow recovered from the initial assimilation of the system's gifts, the time has come to accept not what he earned personally, but what was given to him for his deed. Yes, it was a deed, alas, not an Achievement. Although a quick glance at the group's status allowed him to note with irritation that the system had counted Singh as an "Achievement," not a "Deed." No, he's not jealous! He's not jealous-e-e-e-e-e!!! Okay, sure, he's jealous of this lucky mare, but he can't argue with that. She got involved in this portal escapade at a lower level than Stepan, and so she reaped the greater reward. And she had a hard time of it, and it's hard to say when it was more difficult — during the ritual itself, or when she was persuading her battle-hardened mother to allow her daughter to play dangerous games.

Mom, Mom, I'm a grown-up girl now. Can't I decide for myself whether to participate in a multi-stage, synchronized summoning of three higher spirits at once?! Add a touch of resentment to the tone, and then add foot-stomping, all sorts of steppe expressions, and various forms of khao-whatever-you-want. Jokes aside, convincing Maega to give her a chance to try herself wasn't easy, and Stepan didn't interfere, allowing the family conflict to be resolved within the family. Urvag, you see, uses a similar method whenever it comes to his wife's shamanism. Urvag is a smart man, so Stepan wasn't shy about emulating his successful experience.

The lace of thoughts is torn apart by another red-hot cannonball, which an instant later disintegrates into shrapnel fragments, particles of images of a new status message.

A significant deed has been accomplished!

For the ritual performed, which connected two distant cities, each of which can be called outstanding, for the ability to conduct it unnoticed by those who consider themselves masters of that city, for the successful invocation to the three higher beings, a reward worthy of the work is due!

Received: one attribute point in the Control, one point in the Power; two random minor knowledge of the contract subtype, one random minor knowledge of the elite type; one random item from the elite system purchase list, one random rare system token.

An additional reward from Liarat si Merrinal, Mistress of Gifts and Giver of Gifts, loyal servant of Innelas Innelai: one point in the Sensitivity; one random meta-skill of the maximum development level for the current characteristics; three random elite tokens.

On the one hand, he is undoubtedly glad that this time the reward will not knock him into a medical coma for a whole week. On the other hand, he is upset that he did not gain any new knowledge. However, three characteristics at once are also very, very harsh, much harsher than three new pieces of knowledge. His eyes bulged from the sensation of his aura restructuring and his aura reflexes adjusting to the new characteristics. Well, while he's writhing in pain, it's time to check what exactly Random the All-Good spent his available minor knowledge points on and what he got in return in terms of tokens and meta-skills. Although with tokens, he did not doubt at all about what he would see.

But what he doubted was what exactly Singha had received and whether there was another token among them, one that would be so tempting to use on him later. On the one hand, he believed her in a way, even stopped calling her a fucking mare in his mind, because she had already proven her honesty. To be honest, he was even a little grateful to that cunning snake for allowing Singha to demonstrate her best qualities, and he should check her doll again. And yet it was very disturbing to know that the girl had access to a way to rewrite his consciousness and will so that he could offer her no resistance at all.

He had to slap his own hands, figuratively speaking, to remind himself that the option of brainwashing both shamanesses first to protect himself from a sudden token was very local. It was so much in the spirit of the morality of his new world that the very thought of becoming like the local morons made him sick. In short, he had to believe in Singha and in the personal oaths he had easily taken himself, without resorting to dirty tricks to brainwash the representatives of the House of De Lomer. And, characteristically, they insisted on those oaths, especially Urvag and Maega, protecting themselves, but never understanding that those oaths protect Pann in the first place.

But the younger mare, who knew something about the work of the Tablet, understood a lot about his maneuver.

He may be somewhat limited, but he still trusts Singha. She is a pain in the ass and sometimes clinically stupid, but she definitely has principles, and she even tries to stick to them. But Maega... she is much older, beaten down by life, and certainly not as lofty and maximalist as her daughter. And until he binds her with completely reliable vows, he will not give her the System. Otherwise, she, having gained access to the tokens, may well reconsider the terms of their cooperation for the sake of her home and family. Singha confirmed this, stating that she does not want to choose, does not want to test her mother's honor and gratitude with such a cruel trial. In general, Maega dreams of how to eliminate the possibility of Stepan influencing her husband and daughter's thoughts, and Stepan is not at all opposed to agreeing to her demands.

First, he checked out a second-level meta-skill, which wasn't even that milfical in nature and could be used outside of a vulgar context. It could be used. But not too much. This pervert crap was called “Intimate Privacy II,” providing one charge with a three-day cooldown, whereas the first charge lasted a week. The effect of this skill was that when activated, it provided, surprise surprise, privacy for a whole four hours. Privacy that prevented anyone from interfering, finding, or even noticing the sudden absence of the skill's activator and his companions.

But the name of the meta-skill already makes it clear what this privacy is for, right? Exactly! The effect only works as long as the person who activated it is doing something inappropriate. If you are alone, you can manually maintain the effect, so to speak. If you are in a couple, then at least cuddle and kiss, even if you don't directly engage in sexual intercourse. The only benefit of this nonsense is that the skill is not tied to the “only outside of combat conditions” rule typical for most tokens. For example, it is quite possible to sneak into Herbert “Armada Inferno Emu in the Ass” de Dantrel's private office with Sylvia, and then spend four hours going through his correspondence and cracking his defenses. The main thing is not to get too distracted by how Sylvia sucks, and not blood at all. And remember that if you set off the alarm, the privacy effect will disappear, so you need to be as careful as possible.

The tokens were no less “delightful.” The only token from the standard reward was quite normal, called “Point on the Map,” had ten charges, and allowed you to teleport to absolutely any point on the map or simply to any place you had personally seen. Regardless of distance or active defenses, you could even go to the personal bedroom of the Queen of the Elves, if you knew exactly what that bedroom looked like or upgraded the system map to give you the most accurate coordinates. Such details are rarely indicated on ordinary paper maps, and if they are, then not on maps that are freely available.

Alas, there were a few generous handfuls of shit in the barrel of honey: first of all, this crap didn't work in combat or simply in an aggressive environment. Only in complete calm and without a direct threat overhead, and to activate it, you had to be completely motionless for five minutes. You could breathe and blink, of course, and even scratch your nose, but active movement was out of the question. And the last bucket of filth was a complete ban on any active protection or effects previously imposed on yourself, literally only your own aura, and nothing else. Well, you could also wear enchanted armored underpants.

That is, in the Queen's bedroom or the personal toilet of the sunny King-Priest, Stepan, teleported by the system, will appear only with the most basic protection and without any camouflage. No, everyone will be very surprised, but it will be difficult to explain later where the fuck he came from. So it is quite possible to travel this way, to teleport from a besieged house too, if you have at least five minutes while the external defenses are being broken. But it will not be possible to enter the vault of some major bank, or rather, it will not be possible to do so unnoticed.

For a moment, Stepan smiled a very mischievous smile, imagining that he had taken some unpleasant individual sleeping and activated the transfer on him, having previously selected the main treasury of Podgorye as the point of transfer. If he wasn't instantly vaporized by that very protection, it was painful to imagine all the questions he would be asked by angry bearded individuals who not only had beards, honor, and beer, but also a highly disapproving attitude toward attempts to trespass on private property.

The three tokens from the Autogoddess didn't even make him wince; he had become so accustomed to it that he even found it somewhat humorous. First of all, because he had to realize that his status would again be more of those things for which the locals would sell their souls and their relatives, and he simply would not use them. Not only because he had rage in his blood, but also simply because he could cope without all this, it would just take a little more time than he could spare.

The first elite token had a single charge and was called “Free Use,” imposed, as had become traditional for Her Milfness's tokens, exclusively on females of tolerable appearance. The token meant that such a victim would be fucked, and neither she nor those around her would pay any attention to it, while the lover himself would perceive his decision to fuck this girl as something obviously normal and unquestionable. Here, a subordinate reports to his boss, then bends her over the table and fucks her from behind while she listens to the next subordinate in line. On the street, at a formal dinner, on a walk, in private quarters. Random passersby, acquaintances, personal servants, bosses, or subordinates. Passive or active, in any position, in any orifice, dominating or submitting.

The effect works from zero to five times a day, randomly and at random times, and also brings experience to Stepan, who placed the token. It brings a lot, and the increase becomes orders of magnitude stronger if you bestow such a token not on a random townswoman, but on some important person. A priestess, a magician, an aristocrat, or even the incarnation of a goddess's avatar — you just need to catch the target in your line of sight, and the target must be a beautiful woman. In the most unique cases, such as with high magicians, the highest aristocracy, or the priesthood, you can gain not only experience but also certain properties, free talents, or increased characteristics. The effect lasts for five years from the moment of application, and there is no protection, just like with more primitive tokens.

The victim herself, by the way, also receives certain benefits from this role. First, their appearance gradually improves. They gain absolute and lifelong immunity to any STDs, and their aura begins to strengthen, opening up more opportunities for magical development. Second, they receive a certain amount of magical growth from each of their lovers, depending on who took advantage of them under the influence of the token. An ordinary passerby will give much less than the Elven King or the head of the Neirat Conclave. Again, much depends on who the original victim was — the effect is much more noticeable on a simple townswoman than on an already established gifted woman.

In many ways, the token's effect is similar in mechanics to the one received for completing the debt quest “Master Netoraster,” but that one must be applied to a man, and Stepan's reference kindly pointed out that he can also apply this abomination to himself. Just like with the master, he won't use this thing because the demon will only thank him for such a fitting, and he can't think of anyone else who would infuriate him so much. Even if the venerable Madame de Fell were to invite retaliatory measures from the newcomer, it would be something else, something more direct than a strike with a token.

The second gift could already be considered very useful, perhaps the most useful of all those given to him by The-One-Who-Milfing. After reading the description of the token labeled “Erotic Elimination: Clinical Masturbation,” which had three charges, he almost jumped out of his pants. The token affected any defense, gradually making the victim want to masturbate more and more, doing it more often and with greater pleasure. In a couple of days, it would turn a normal person into someone who wanted only one thing and was barely able to function. A strong, gifted person would gradually decline over a couple of months, or even half a year.

In the end, it will still be sharp-witted, capable of managing their affairs, and able to pretend to be a relatively normal person. But in reality, all their desires and all their free time will be reduced to pleasing themself and nothing more. No magical practices, no complex intrigues, no career advancement — as soon as an opportunity to indulge arises, it becomes the number one goal. Up to ten times a day, during lunch breaks, trips to the bathroom, or powdering their nose, the main thing is to get relief. The victim does not die, but ceases to be a problem, and the protection of the token will not allow that victim to lose their position and ability to provide for themselves.

Yes, sooner or later, everyone in Dantmark will inevitably find out that Allizira de Fell regularly masturbates at work, and everyone will make fun of her and whisper contemptuously behind her back. They will even check her several times for outside influence, but finding nothing, they will conclude that she is simply a hopeless masturbator, period. Although without the protection of the token, it would be obvious that she had fallen victim to something very powerful and invisible. It would also be obvious that it was time to ask her to leave her position and either bury her or put her in a remote estate in a symbolic position, or even in a room with padded walls. But instead, they will simply appoint competent deputies, leaving her as the formal but indisputable boss of the Secret Guard.

No, no, the idea of eliminating De Fell in this way, of course, flashed through Stepan's mind, but his very first thought, even before he had fully taken in the information, was to activate the token on a very sweet and lovely horned girl, whom he wished only the very best for with all his heart, soul, kidneys, and bone marrow. For example, regular healing orgasms from her own hands, because who could satisfy the demoness of Lust better than she herself? Alas, when he finally understood the note, he also realized that this type of token does not work on system carriers, their Companions, and group members, with the latter two points clearly meaning something different.

That's it.

And he had such high hopes, such high hopes! And yet, if we are to look for the positive side, it's good that such protection is built into such ultimate tokens. Because if something like that had fallen into the hands of the demonic scum instead of him, she would not have hesitated for a second to take Stepan out of the game and deprive him of any motivation or even desire to resist them. He shuddered at the vivid image that appeared in his mind, a crystal-clear picture of him sitting in his hideout, forcing one of the bloodsuckers to pose in front of him for days on end in different positions and learning the skill of “one-handed weapon mastery” at the level of some unique Blade Master class.

The third token from Automilf did not evoke any particular emotions, although it could have had its uses, and I could even see a number of tactics for it. “Doll Transformation” for ten charges caused the victim's body to freeze, become immobile, barely breathe, and not need to relieve themselves, eat, or drink. Everyone, absolutely everyone, began to perceive the victim as a simple fuckdoll, even if she became one before their eyes. Just as the sudden “disappearance” of the victim and the appearance of a doll in her place did not raise any questions. Always a beautiful woman, of course. She went away somewhere for exactly ten days, and then she found nothing strange in the fact that during those ten days she was used as a doll for fucking. She just had a dream, obviously, and she herself was busy, it doesn't matter with what, it doesn't matter at all.

In theory, such a token could be used, for example, on one of his puppets, so that those acting as sex dolls could be taken somewhere, even if only to the private chambers of an important bigwig, for which purpose such a doll would first have to be “given as a gift,” and then, when the token's term expired, the infiltrated saboteur could be used. But, to be honest, just thinking about such ways to circumvent the initially perverse and stupid nature of the token in order to benefit himself personally... well, Stepan's teeth clenched and his ass began to burn. Simply infiltrating the territory he needed seemed more difficult, but at the same time, a much more acceptable way.

He will also gain experience through infiltration using “traditional” means.

The most delicious and, for the sake of variety, also useful, was left for last. Both contractual minor knowledge was chosen at random and belonged, alas, not to the highest, but to the senior spirits. They were called “Returning to the Original,” three summonses per year, tied to the winter solstice, unused summonses burn up, and “Sorrowful Rain,” as many as five times a year, but no more than once every two months according to the local calendar, which was outdated and belonged to the great Asian Eternal Empire that had fallen God knows when. Both spirits, importantly, were useful and would definitely find application in his work.

The first was a healing entity that could even bring someone who had recently been killed back to life, literally piecing them back together from a meat chop or gnawing the curse out of the deepest layers of their aura. Alas, this appeal did not apply to Yula; it only worked with recently received wounds and injuries to the aura, returning the body to its pre-injury state. There are plenty of ways to cheat such a trick. Truly deadly curses or spells, used not in battle, but specifically by liquidators, deceive this very “standard,” replacing one with another, which is why such treatment only kills the victim faster. But it is quite difficult to encounter such curses or poisons. And the spirit is still senior, closer to the highest than to the strongest — it is difficult to deceive it with such a trick, it has become familiar with the tricks of mortal morons who want to kill each other.

The second summon embodied massive weather spells with aspects of supreme maleficism. This spirit will not kill an army on the march; it is not difficult to shelter from its raindrops, and they do not kill instantly, but rather simply impair health, causing life force to drain from subtle bodies. But this spirit could poison an entire region, destroy crops, kill or drive away game, wipe out fish in reservoirs, and simply turn life into complete chaos with ease. It is a weapon of total war, the very call that, on the contrary, should be told to everyone around and demonstrated in practice that it did not lie. So that no one would dare to attack the owner of such a contract and his land, there would be nowhere to return to, even if you won.

The only minor non-contractual knowledge turned out to be quite dangerous and frankly, reckless use of suggestive witchcraft techniques in direct combat. Not as absolute as ++“blocking paths, but intended for mass attacks against less protected targets. Such was the “curse of sincere enmity,” which deprived victims of the ability to remember familiar faces and appearances, instilling fear and confidence that all strangers were enemies, mortal enemies who must be killed at any cost. The result is obviously very sad, especially if this curse is cast on a large group that has no specific protection.

The curse itself resembles a trap rather than a stiletto strike, ++as if it were locked. It is necessary to treat the earth in a specific area. On average, the diameter of the affected area is about two hundred meters, but it can be increased at the risk of making the attack more noticeable and less powerful, or reduced by concentrating and concealing the impact. There were certain features of envolt in this curse, the part of it that is tied to terrain models in conjunction with the construction of protective arrays. There were also more recognizable features of suggestive-sensual practices, multiplied by a fairly recognizable wild witchcraft malefic.

A complex but deadly, terrifying, and frightening technique. He had been able to create a similar effect before, in many ways. But it was his limited knowledge that gave him a ready-made tool, so well-honed that it seemed as if he had spent decades perfecting this technique and nothing else. To tell the truth, he would have preferred another duel attack or defensive skill, such as Mantle or Anteroom. But to refuse a gift horse just because it has the wrong bite is stupid and dumb. And although he can be stupid and dumb, according to Rodislav Gastoldovich Yanin, he is occasionally not so, but only when he is not being graded, and not to such an extent!

Finally, he checked his material gift, finding a long flute made of a material resembling blackened silver on the bed next to him. It was a very powerful, striking combat artifact from the acoustic magic subcategory. It was weaker than the cloak that Singhа had received, roughly on par with Sylvia's blade, but still very strong. Each note of this flute could turn into either an attack or a shield, and when played to its full potential, it could unleash a barrage of sound waves, voluminous acoustic explosions, or pinpoint internal resonances that turned flesh into a bloody slurry without damaging inanimate materials.

"I need to check if anyone from Sylvia's nest can play the flute." And he immediately checked, confirming that yes, they could, and that it was the one who had recently discovered a real talent, an almost genius predisposition for acoustic magic. "So that will be a gift for Lemira, let her learn."

And it's time for him to visit his allies, since Singh has also finished receiving her awards. And he's not jealous, not jealous, NOT JEALOUS, damn it! Big deal, two summons from the highest spirits! Bullshit, especially since one of them is clearly from Great Milf, judging by the name and the description in the reference. He hoped that she would never use this shit against him, having every reason to do so. If she were to use anything against him, she would start with the token. Tokens, of course, are not mentioned in the description of her achievement, but they weren't visible last time either! Until Stepan was so inflamed with desire for the feet of this steppe girl that all the memes about Tarantino put together couldn't compare.

Getting up, doing a quick warm-up, and taking a shower, overcoming the urge to invite Jaspera, who had just finished work, into that shower, and certainly not even thinking of touching (in an erotic sense) the renamed brainwashed man-eating cow, he opened the passage to the lair in the closet and moved from Dantmark to Morgrave. Using a pre-prepared amulet bracelet, he requested that the passage to the de Lomer estate be opened, and five minutes later, the road was clear. They were clearly waiting for him, perhaps even a little earlier, yes.

Well, if they were waiting for him, then he has come.

* * *

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

Переведено на Нотабеноиде
http://notabenoid.org/book/86785/592702

Переводчики: Camrad_RIP