Готовый перевод Настучать в бубен / Hit the tambourine: Глава 2.2

* * *

"I've sent men to the guards, and also unofficially instructed my assistant to hire a couple of inexpensive underworld experts from a shadow guild to find out where my highly valued employee has disappeared to." Urvag, as always, impresses with his business acumen and his foresight, earning ever more sincere respect. "Unofficially, I received a very coherent theory that he was caught by damned slavecatchers, but the reply from our new Catcher, the infamous Lame Bazhzhi, claims that his men and not-quite-men didn't catch any Stae in the alley. The guards became a little more interested after this, perhaps fearing the work of an illegal warlock, and Corrin personally came to assure me that he had nothing to do with your disappearance, expressing his willingness to undergo a magical test."

Stepan couldn't help but grin at that last sentence. He was almost laughing, because yes, this man should have been the first suspect, given his publicly blatant love for Stae. It's not for nothing that in classic detective stories, the role of the butler's killer is considered a cliché. Although, okay, Corrin isn't exactly a butler, so it's possible to suspect him of the poor, gifted boy's murder. Stepan even seriously considered planting some evidence in the investigation, confirming the involvement of the distraught father, who couldn't find a comfortable place for his beloved daughter. He considered it, but decided against ruining the jerk's life; he wasn't that fed up with him, to be honest.

"So, Stae will mysteriously disappear, and I'll start creating a new mask for myself, once I've explored the city a little better." He shrugs, suppressing the urge to yawn, an urge spurred on by Singha, who blushed from not being able to contain her own yawn, almost to the point of dislocating her jaw. "Did you absorb the tablet's gifts well?"

"Yes, I checked it. Many times. And I'll check it again. Even more." The mother answered in place of her daughter, torn between pride, concern, doubts about the reality of what was happening, and the desire to obtain the same gifts herself, so torn that she couldn't even properly hide her emotions from his passive reading. "I simply refused to believe it. The way her essence, her lakhao-avat... she simply became stronger overnight than she should have been in many years. She will soon be my equal! And the knowledge! The truth is in her mind! Imbued with your ilash-khao-tar! In many ways, she already knows more! More than I know! I am glad, proud of her. And even envious. But prouder! Much prouder!"

Judging by her disjointed manner of speech, she's seriously agitated and still as tired as a run-down horse. Ha-ha, pun intended. Surely this whole time, while Stepan was recovering from the ritual and absorbing the gifts of the system, she's been jumping around her daughter, checking her for all sorts of things. She didn't find anything, of course, because there was nothing to find, but she's still incredibly tired and now she's barely thinking, and she's clearly taken some kind of stimulant; her pupils have dilated slightly, almost imperceptibly, but there are symptoms. I hope she doesn't ruin her health, or they'll blame him, Stepan, for it later.

"Welcome to my world," the shaman comments sarcastically, but not without a yawn. "It's not as outrageous to me as it is to you all, of course, but I still get stunned up regularly when I understand the limits of the System's power—that is, the Tablet. Or rather, the complete lack of such limits."

"That's right. I wanted to get drunk myself today, or rather, yesterday, when my daughter turned her gift from nothing into reality. It's like a fairy tale, really." Urvag is clearly allowing himself a rare luxury for a man of his position: a display of sincere and genuine emotion. "Twelve chests of the highest quality silver! I don't even know I'll have that much spare cash in my treasury right now! Believe me, I seriously thought about keeping my most trusted confidants, the ones who helped me drag those chests from my daughter's room to the vault, quiet. I wanted to kill them to keep them quiet!"

Well, yes, for him, far removed from magical matters, the purely material gift his daughter received—twelve chests of fine silver, minted in Elven, Confederate, and Caliphate styles—clearly shattered his worldview. He actually has considerably more property than those chests of silver cost; he's already put a vast amount of it into business. But to suddenly receive so much cash so easily is a shock even for him. Especially for him, an experienced merchant who truly understands not only the value but also the difficulty of creating silver out of thin air in such quantities.

In this alien and terrifying world, silver is valued not only for its beauty but also as a useful magical reagent for a whole host of purposes. Even so, if such systematic currency injections are constantly used, the silver market can quickly collapse, causing natural devaluation, inflation, ovulation, and other scary words. And the smart man Urvag couldn't help but understand this, but he also wouldn't refuse several hundred kilograms of the highest-grade silver in ready-made coins.

The System clearly took Singha's family background into account when awarding its prize. In addition to the material gift of a mountain of silver, a small box made from the bone of an ancient, mutant, predatory mammoth appeared in the de Lomer household. This piece is weaker, only slightly inferior to the cloak from the isekai shoulder, but it is also a very powerful artifact. No, it doesn't store spirits like a cloak, but rather draws them in, sucking them in like a vacuum cleaner or the favorite toy of the Ghostbusters from the cartoon.

This is the ability to subdue any rampaging creature quickly, then either negotiate with it or command the box to devour the captive, becoming slightly stronger. The ability to summon a powerful creature without any contract, even an entity with which no dialogue is possible, like greater evil spirits, then release it in the desired location, so that its wrath falls on someone else. The ability to simply stuff a bunch of willing spirits into it, dragging the already summoned retinue somewhere to a carefully guarded location. The surprise will be so great that anyone who survives the first attack will be completely stunned.

Stepan himself wouldn't refuse such a box, but he doesn't really need it; it's not quite his style. But for the steppe shamans, given the peculiarities of their ancestral yurt-altar, it would be quite suitable. Due to the structural features established during the dynasty's inception and later, when Maega moved here and further customized her workspace, their call has become very strong and penetrating, like a hurricane in the steppe. Roughly speaking, they are capable, through their ancestral power, of making themselves heard by a being far more powerful than they have any chance of controlling.

This design has a multitude of advantages, true, but with them comes the constant risk of overestimating oneself and summoning something that will turn them inside out. There were precedents in previous generations, fortunately preserving the youngest of the line, already powerful enough to avoid being devoured by benevolent neighbors across the endless steppe. But the wound in memory remained very, very serious, and some of the family contracts were considered lost, as they hadn't been passed on to the daughter, nor had the exact terms of summoning or renewals been explained. In theory, nothing prevents the summoning, but in practice, the TV remote had been lost, and there was no manual control; the buttons had fallen out.

Tellingly, the contracts were considered lost — the system's reference allowed Singha to read and perceive everything they represented. Some of them, of course, had disintegrated without renewal over the course of fifteen generations, but a couple were restored and cooperation resumed. Those spirits apparently didn't even notice that anything had changed, and a lull in their relationship ensued. For entities living in eons, mere generations and centuries are like a few seconds. Well, if the payment isn't overdue, then they won't let a single day pass; they'll immediately show their resentment and anger.

That's why, to avoid the mistakes of the past, their yurt has never been operated at full capacity. Only those who performed shamanic rituals there gave it their all, always careful not to resonate too strongly. Stepan suspects that if the ruler of Morgrave, the venerable August, had known what a dangerous place he had under his belt, he would have been far less willing to allow Maega to live and practice in his glorious city. However, the same could be said of almost any altar, ritual hall, or axial structure of a magical source, so Stepan could be wrong. It's his view that certain aspects of the shaman's altar are less than optimal, but his point of view is still heavily biased by the perfectionism of the System.

"Well, then, I suppose we can bury poor Stae little by little, maybe even create a false amulet of blood bonding, so we can later show it ." Mentally, the shaman was already sending Corrin a couple of weeks of alternating constipation and diarrhea to teach him a lesson, and he was also creating a new legend, pondering what to call himself in his third iteration. "I'll take about three weeks to adapt, sift through the city, set up a few safe spots, and maybe even start placing additional hidden totems outside the walls, since the technology worked on Dantmark. And then we can-e-e-e... Huh? You're fucking kidding me!"

It was a bit harsh, true, but in the shaman's defense, he was hit in the face with a systemic assignment, one that was enough to make you cry. And not just any assignment, but partly a group quest! Meaning, it was clearly the same quest for him and Singha. She had been given the same assignment but tailored for her. Reading the proposal, the shaman realized he would be furious, that he would be shaming the dragons and masters of fire magic soaring in the sky with fire from his ass, and that he would deeply regret it all. But he would accept the quest. And not because the reward was good; for a "difficult" quest, it was mediocre at best. It was all made up for by the last part of the reward, for which he would have agreed to work for free.

Giggling softly, but with a furious chuckle, he reads the images flowing through his mind again and again, finding no change. Although admittedly, the assignment itself is quite different from the usual, if only in that it lacks any particular perversions, despite its "social" basis. He's become accustomed to his assignments, either involving the most impersonal magical practices or tied to that very same social network with tacked-on pornography in the name of Automilf. But this isn't quite like that, or even completely different. Even the underlying images of the system text in his head seem slightly different, as if the font, so to speak, shimmers not only with azure and violet, but also with \\gold.

Received a systemic assignment (difficult): within six months and six days, assume the social role of personal servant in the retinue of Singha, daughter of Maega, daughter of Maedra, also known as Singha de Lomer. Completely and flawlessly perform all duties required by the position, without deviating from the already established legend and image. Avoid being exposed as inappropriate for your original position and social status.

Required specifications for standard position in the retinue : [EXPAND].

The conditions of the assignment allow one to lead a double life, continue magical practice, and ascend the Steps, but without compromising one's main work.

To be carried out satisfactorily, it is necessary not to be revealed until the very end of the task to more than twelve dedicated individuals; senior members of the de Lomer family do not count.

To fully fulfill the role, it is necessary to perform the duties of a member of the retinue and servant to the highest possible standard and not take advantage of the fact that representatives of the de Lomer family know the true nature of the new employee.

For a perfect performance, it is necessary to create the impression in the minds of uninitiated observers that the new member of the retinue is madly in love with his own young mistress (Singha, daughter of Maega, daughter of Maedra) or with her mother (Maega, daughter of Maedra, daughter of Sidhana), while trying to hide his own feelings, but completely unsuccessfully for the attentive observer.

Reward: Completing the current level; a significant increase in the overall effectiveness of the calls, five additional random minor knowledge in the Elder Spirit Contract subtype, a significant increase in affinity with the air spheres, and an elite random property.

Upon full completion: one free stat point; three elite or super-elite meta-impact tokens; any high-end item from the System Store of your choice (choice is limited by the nominal amount of system purchase equivalent).

If executed perfectly: all remaining (except the last one) mandatory debt assignments from the Patroness will be closed without the need to fulfill them.

Note: During the execution of the assignment, new assignments from the Patroness will not be issued, and after completion of such assignments, such tasks cannot be set in relation to the de Lomer family.

The shaman's eyebrow twitched, and a little later, after a pause, his cheek twitched as if he were about to have a fit. Honestly, he was glad to receive this quest, genuinely glad, with all his heart and soul. It offered the opportunity to erase almost all of his outstanding debts at once, and the very fact that this particular quest didn't require any particularly perverted behavior. He also didn't have to worry about future penalties for refusing the AutoMILF quest, because he himself wouldn't have messed with his allies' minds, even if he'd been given a pornfication assignment on Maega and Singha. And now, if he completed it, they wouldn't give it to him, and that involuntarily lifted his spirits.

Well, yes, the assignment, especially the last one, is one of those that irritates him, but these aren't the obstacles that will prevent him from achieving his goal. If only he didn't have to play the role of a lovesick underage idiot, but that's a minor detail. Considering how much the AutoMILF's tasks were making him cringe, he'd be willing to work as someone else's part-time lackey for a year (he wouldn't say it out loud and would even be careful about it, lest the system hear and change the assignment deadline). Especially since no one's stopping him from pursuing his main leveling at the same time — Urvag could certainly come up with a series of tasks that would allow him to escape the estate and pursue self-improvement.

Now the main thing was to convince this family to tolerate him under their roof for another six months. He glanced at Singha's status with an inward glance and read the assignment she'd received, knowing she could read it too. Satisfied that there were no differences, he merely sighed wearily, placing his hand to his face under the puzzled gazes of Maega and Urvag, who alternated between him and the now-blushing Singha, who also seemed on the verge of breaking down into either indignation, laughter, or even fainting.

"Honorable, I have a rather strange question for you all." No, no, honorable, this question is far from strange. "Does your daughter need a servant?"

A puzzled pause, clearly missing the joke and in no mood for humor. The shaman put his blunt sense of humor aside and spoke normally.

"Your daughter and I received a task from the Tablet, a combined one for both of us." No, the nervous tic still throbs in his cheek, despite five fucking units in his Constitution and the overall strength of his aura. "Read this task out loud, Singha. Please. Otherwise, I'm afraid I'll start laughing louder than the rest of you in the middle of quoting."

She looked at him like a traitor, like Caesar at Brutus, like a rich kid who buys exams at the dean, who told the whole class that instead of the usual teacher, Rodislav Gastoldovich Yanin would be personally administering the exam. But Singha wasn't the daughter of her mother and father for nothing; she steadfastly withstood the blow and read the assignment in a barely changing voice. She had her own assignment, but simpler than Stepan's: essentially, she simply had to maintain his cover story in public (minus the "youthful infatuation") and behave exactly as she usually did with her retinue. Stepan had observed her before and hadn't noticed any particularly bitchy tendencies or any sadism toward her servants. Superiority and arrogance, a scornful gaze on the crowd, a sense of self-importance — yes, certainly, but not excessive cruelty or a love of self-affirmation at the expense of others.

The reward for her personally is also a bit modest for such a “difficult” task, but it is still magnificent, so she has no reason to refuse.

"No-o-o-o-o-o-o. I don't believe it. I'm so sorry, Pann, you're holding something back." And he couldn't even read his face; Stepan's face is completely unreadable, as are his facial expressions and body posture; four separate spirits are monitoring this. He simply guessed from experience. "I remember that you don't care much about having to play the role of a servant, though I find that hard to believe. But I also remember that it irritates you, just far less than it should. You didn't even hide it. And you yourself told me that you often refused the gifts of the Tablet if you found them humiliating and unnecessary. And now you've jumped at it. I'm not insisting on an answer. I'm simply curious, and you are free not to answer; my attitude won't change in the slightest."

Damn a diplomat! Everything was laid out, politely and respectfully — really respectfully, in fact — but now it felt awkward to refuse an answer. Especially since this was a perfect moment to reveal some of the answers, the very ones he'd been planning to gradually reveal to this family. The main thing, after all, was to be able to present the truth in a controlled and discreet manner, in the form Stepan needed, and this was the perfect opportunity to feed him such a controlled truth, even if it wasn't even the opportunity he'd created.

"Okay, well, in a normal situation and for a normal reward, I wouldn't tie myself down like that. It's not worth it, even if the reward were ten times greater." At this point, Maega, Urvag, and Singha must have all thought something along the lines of "he's just crazy of fat, the otherworldly bastard." "I really don't care about all the things you're used to seeing as damage to my position, but I wouldn't tie myself down to a position for six months. It simply wouldn't pay off. I would have earned no more, if not much less, from the Tablet during those six months on simpler missions and personal projects, but I would have saved myself some nerves, too."
T.N.

"But you clearly intend to accept the assignment," the loving father asks, matter-of-factly and with undisguised interest. He still suspects her daughter's acquaintance of all sorts of evil, simply because he lives in this very world. "Is this some kind of special assignment? A special gift from the Tablet?"

"Yes, one of the rewards, the one for the last part of the assignment, the perfect completion, I really need." Catching Singha's even more embarrassed expression out of the corner of his eye, he clarified to avoid misunderstanding. "I'll appear a little lost, blushing when we meet in person, stumbling over my answers, and gossip will follow. I won't do anything more, ahem, that would further damage the honor of your daughter and wife, rest assured. Just as I won't do anything that would cause a lackey who's lost the boundaries to be fed alive to the pigs. And as for the gifts... these gifts will forgive part of my debt to the Patroness who bestowed the Tablet upon me."

A carefully calculated pause, coupled with a spirit imprint implanted in his collarbone beforehand, embodying the essence of a "charming actor playing a role," began to help him play as convincingly as possible. Maega was nearby, but she was tired, and he wasn't making any impression on anyone, only on himself, and only just enough so as not to ruin his tone of voice and facial expression. Then again, he doesn't lie, even in small matters; he speaks the pure truth, and therefore now he's not at all afraid of having his little plot exposed.

"As you're all probably aware, things were fun in Dantmark recently, downright demonically fun," he began, sounding alarmed, as everyone seemed to be, because in the new world, any mention of demons was cause for alarm, even panic. "I fought back, even played demon-fighter and gave the guests from Hell a good beating. You must have seen the footage of the aftermath of that carnage and individual stills of it; they've been shown to everyone, yes. But the thing is, I couldn't have handled it on my own; at a certain point, I received help from the entity behind the Tablet and my transport to this world. And this help was provided on credit, forcing me to complete a series of assignments without the right to refuse. Or rather, refusal is possible, but under the threat of an as-yet-unknown penalty. These assignments pay well, but in and of themselves... well, let's just say they're too much at odds with my preferred pursuits. And this assignment, although I can refuse it at any time, without any penalties, will close almost everything that remains of the original debt, which makes me extremely happy."

So, the words have been spoken, the truth has been presented exactly as he intended, and everyone present is silent, digesting the information they've received. Urvag leaned back in his chair, clearly not quite expecting to hear this, not to mention "not at all." It's a shame that Stepan is such a moral individual and can't simply delve into someone else's memory and read what interests him... because some are dressed in the finest protective amulets of classical magic and are protected by the spirit of their beloved wife, yes. But it's all a matter of morality, of course, and there's no doubt about it, not even a second.

"Hmm, that's not what I expected, but I understand, I even approve." Something in Stepan's words calmed Urvag, who had been growing nervous, and practically forced him to relax. He didn't show it outwardly, but the shaman's scan penetrated the protective surface around the mental-emotional part of his subtle bodies. "Creditors always take their due, and the chance to painlessly repay a debt with a profit is always priceless. And to be indebted to a great being, before whom even the gods I'm accustomed to would be like a gifted student, next to the head of the Academy and the Apostate himself... I certainly wouldn't wish it. Then, I suppose we need to think about how we're going to save Stae, right?"

"Yeah." By the way, the funny thing is that Maega doesn't get involved in this conversation, just as Urvag hadn't gotten involved in shamanism before; she simply remains silent and listens attentively. "Were you talking about an illegal warlock? I hope there really are some in the city, because the bastard will definitely be found, convicted, and his future victims, including the miraculously saved Stae, will be released from their cages."

The smile on his face was now about as wicked and anticipatory as that on Urvag's face, and even his daughter's and wife's. Illegal warlocks were generally disliked, just like legal ones, and it also seemed to him that at that moment he had passed some kind of incomprehensible test, finally convincing his family of allies that he could be trusted and his intentions were pure. It was just unclear how exactly... or what? They had discussed the matter together; it was just that Stepan and Urvag were handling the tactical aspects of the upcoming show, while Stepan and his daughters and mothers provided magical support. But Maega, for some reason, didn't seem to be involved in this conversation much, which was a little odd.

The shaman subtly shifted the spectra of his spiritual vision, not by summoning spirits into his eyes, but by sifting the universe through his own perception and high Sensitivity. Although he found no direct evidence, the residual background noise suggested that Maega's tension and obvious fatigue were caused by her upholding some kind of ancestral contract. Most likely, she was monitoring not just the truthfulness but the purity of her intentions with her family. Afterward, she sent the spirit on its way, having received the entire package of information at once. Because she couldn't have maintained constant contact with the spirit, not under Stepan's gaze, he would have noticed. And only then, having confirmed that the shaman had been sincere all this time and hadn't even lied once, did she noticeably relax.

Technically, she'd tested him before, but then he'd been prepared for the test and might have tried to deceive her, whereas here she considered herself completely invisible... and guessed correctly. System or not, discounting Maega would be foolish. She's still his equal in raw power, and she'll surpass him in the calls of wind spirits and the like. Just because she doesn't have a System or the synergies it grants doesn't mean she's powerless or harmless; that's worth remembering. Her test hadn't harmed him now, nor could it have, but anything could happen in the future, since he still has no intention of using the Mark on the mares' couple, restricting their freedom. And free humans are prone to foolishness, just as non-humans are, for that matter.

"Hmm, yes, that's possible, but no, it won't work," Urvag said, rather categorically, in Stepan's opinion. "Or rather, in theory, it's all right, but in practice, I don't have enough loyal men to provide all the necessary cover and escort. Those of them who are bound by oaths, who won't ask questions... we can bring them in, but they're witnesses, and you yourself are against any prying eyes. And I wouldn't want them present. And the contract for memory loss upon completion of the task... no, I have the means to pay for such a condition now, but it will only raise even more questions later. Why, oh why, did Urvag de Lomer erase the memories of his men after a, frankly, routine skirmish with some visiting warlock?"

"Then let your people handle only the "light" part of the operation. Break in and save everyone, so to speak." It's a "buy a house if you're homeless" kind of truth, but it really fits the situation. "Maega will cover them with perfume and leave her mark on the subtle plane, so the background of my actions will be completely obscured. As for cover and initial infiltration... do you have any particular prejudices against the Dantmark bloodsuckers?"

It's a tricky question, because any normal person has a prejudice against bloodsuckers, but Stepan is deliberately laying his cards on the table, intending to close the (pre-)last major rock of mistrust between him and Maega, especially Maega. The main thing is to present everything exactly as it should be, with the truth twisted in the right direction.

"I know. And I have. Malter. Her nest and brood. Deprived of lat-shaa... deprived of life, a creature is dangerous. And, more importantly, she is insidious, even vile." Her tone conveys concrete condemnation and an understanding of what Stepan had said, a fundamental disagreement with his opinion. "If you haven’t thought through the oath with her. If the oath is not as strong as ours. She will betray. She will definitely betray sooner or later. I understand how my words sound. I understand what you might think. But I have seen others like her with the eyes of my khao-saalir, seen their essence, seen them entirely. Beware, Pann. I am ready to swear it myself once again. That my words do not lie, for the sake of the urmalat-masir-dash."

The last phrase, incidentally, translates into standard Confederate language with a rather expressive idiom. Roughly speaking, urmalat-masir-dash means a series of intrigues and actions aimed at one ally's subjugation of the other by pushing away from the other allies anyone who might be able to help or advise them. Maega truly understood how this all played out and didn't want the shaman to think she was so clumsily trying to make him dependent on herself and her family as quickly as possible. In fact, she undoubtedly would have wanted something of the sort, but now she was being sincere, because she'd heard a lot about Malter and understood perfectly well that Stepan was playing with fire.

"No, no, no, you misunderstood, Maega. We don't have any kind of equal cooperation or even partnership, like we do with you and your husband." He nodded toward Urvag, who narrowed his eyes suspiciously, clearly understanding where Stepan was leading the conversation. "And I'm not afraid of her betrayal because she already betrayed me and tried to get into my head back when we first met, when, mind you, I saved her life by rescuing her from captivity."

Ha! I knew it! As soon as I remembered that story, it was delivered through the House correspondence, along with the news, and then I picked up the rumors myself, and I suspected it. It would have been impolite to simply ask!" The merchant positively defused the situation, while also quickly testing his own theory. "That bastard... what was his name, whose nest they burned down? Yes, that's right, de Harnbray! I even noted back then that witnesses said it was the shaman who laid him to rest!"

"Well, yes, that's how it was. I stopped in the village to buy some bread on my way to Dantmark. I was sick of eating nothing but porridge and game, and then those bastards there." He admitted a tone of genuine anger and hatred, the kind he'd felt when he recalled the fate of the inhabitants of Little Bzdy. "And, of course, Sylvia Malter, only she was shackled and hidden in some cellar. Or basement? I never figured it out; the battle destroyed everything. During the fight, I was wounded, right above her prison. My blood dripped onto her, and she immediately began to influence me through it. I was much weaker then than I am now, so the bitch had an excellent chance."

But he won't mention the fact that she took full advantage of these opportunities, for fear of being ashamed and unnecessary. The implication is lost. The one who literally says: Don't betray me, or it will hurt. But yes, all three of them already understood what he was getting at, why he had no qualms about attracting the bloodsuckers, and why he was confident they wouldn't betray their plot to anyone who might be interested. After all, she had called alongside him, seen him in action, sensed his skill, and how deftly he guided her through spiritual dialogue during the summoning.

"And you lassoed her will in response." Singha said this quietly and without judgment, as if it were self-evident. "That's why I'm confident in her silence."

Aha. And you, Maega, understood that too. I couldn't help but understand. Just as I couldn't help but understand my specialization. I didn't even really hide it, though I could have tried." The shaman smiles. A spiritual mark—something of a kind, that very "trust of the creators of passions and weavers of feelings"—was open like a book for the experienced shaman at the moment of the joint summoning, prompting individual questions despite the targeted use of Patchwork Echo. "As I said back then, in the clearing, my Tablet was bestowed upon me by the Patroness, and she... let's say, has a very interesting view of what her Chosen One should be like. I haven't invested a single point in love spells or suggestive branches of magic, but they are still currently my strongest specialization. Simply because of the gifts from that very Patroness."

Silence.

Longer silence.

And then a chuckle, growing louder and louder, almost to the point of coughing, as Urvag met Maega's scorching gaze. He, of all people, understood everything Stepan had wanted to say, understood, and already relaxed his nerves slightly, albeit very slightly, even though he'd definitely check everything later.

"That was your plan, right? Even back then, I thought you'd been burned by trust, that they'd tried to straighten out your thoughts with love magic or the School of the Mind, and you'd become a little, um, don't take this as an insult, absurdly suspicious, illogically suspicious." Well, if you think about it, he's actually entirely right; he just didn't see the whole truth, just part of it. "So many separate clarifications about how neither side has the right to influence the mind in any way. I've never encountered some of the points you wrote, and I was still wondering. Who do you think my Maega is? She's a shaman of the steppe winds, after all, not a mentalist; you shouldn't be so wary of her specifically attacking the mind, let alone things like gratitude for the double rescue of my beloved, albeit sometimes troubled, daughter. But from the very beginning..."

"I wasn't protecting myself with this contract, but you. Or rather, myself, but from your paranoia, which was bound to arise under such circumstances." He smiled completely sincerely, because he believed there was a reason. "We can't hide such things forever, not from you, Maega, not from you, Singh. You would have noticed, started suspecting, imagining all sorts of things. It's like a poisonous snake in the garden — one that hasn't done anything to you, one you never even see, but you destroy it simply out of fear, simply because it might bite."

Singha jumped at these words, glaring at him with anger and indignation, but then she saw the embarrassed faces of her father and mother, as confused as was possible for people of their position, and realized that yes, that's exactly how it could be. Especially now that this assignment had arisen, and the suspicious mentalist would be so close to their own daughter, literally around the clock. Even all the benefits of the Tablet of the Soul didn't outweigh the risks of being in such a close connection with such a Master of Shamanism. In fact, Singha had helped him formulate these parts of the contract, knowing her family better than the earthling.

"Well, since I hadn't originally planned anything special in our collaboration, supplementing the initial agreements with the occasional indiscriminate use of mentalism of any kind, this particular contract template was chosen," he concludes the now obvious thought, smiling contentedly, as if he hadn't been experiencing the enormous nervous, auric, and psychic tension at that moment. "And now, having learned the truth, you have no reason to worry, and I have no reason to fear a stab in the back. I've read the works of a couple of experts, including some of elvenkind, and they vividly describe the dilemma of collaborating with mentalists, as well as specific cases of collaboration between several of them. I don't want to be either a snake in the garden or one of many spiders in a jar."

A rather strong hint that, over time, similar specializations might emerge for them too, transforming the shaman from a snake into one of the spiders trapped together, which is why he preferred to play it safe well in advance. Overall, Stepan vividly cut the Gordian knot, leaving out only a few specific points. For example, the connection between assassination techniques and general undercover work with contract shamanism, which allows one to extricate oneself from virtually any contract, given the time, materials, desire, and a rough understanding of how the contract works. He obviously has all of these — even though he created the contract itself as robust as possible and without any intentional weaknesses, he still knows its structure.

It wasn't that he intended to betray his partners, but he kept all available options in mind, and he also understood that as his power grew through the system, both he and they would inevitably find a way to cheat on their contracts. By that point, they simply needed to reach such a mutual understanding that neither side would want to sever the relationship. Mutual benefit and the absence of any cause for conflict — that's the ideal recipe for a strong and reliable partnership for years to come.

"Pann. I must apologize." Maega stood and bowed her head slightly, just a little more than a normal nod, but her spine, unused to such apologies, creaked, figuratively speaking. “You saved my blood. My blood and my house have seen no evil from you. But I saw it. I saw it, falsely. My suspicions, my expectations. They were unworthy. I know honor, I know gratitude. But I chose to forget, chose not to see. Suspicions, doubts — they are like poison that poisons the chao-nar itself. It was unworthy. Unworthy of what you have already done for me. What you have done for us.”

Stepan only nodded, acknowledging someone else’s right to make mistakes, and he also perfectly heard everything that was said between the lines. Even though Maega, having apologized for herself and her husband, hadn't repented of her suspicions. She simply acknowledged them as unworthy and perhaps wrong from the start. And she certainly had no intention of stopping her suspicions, expecting all sorts of crap from Stepan-Pan, despite wanting to believe otherwise. A grown-up's choice, so to speak.

"Well, since we've already established that I don't intend to become the new Master starting with you three, I suggest we move on to saving poor Stae." All we could do was hope they truly understood.

"Sometimes I'm starting to think your Tablet was created to create people like Master and his ilk," Urvag grumbles, pouring himself some alchemical brew into his herbal infusion. "But yes, let's save this promising young man. And by the way, how would your, ahem, undead ally feel about selling an anonymous and very solvent buyer some of those specially-listed reagents for which old Herbert tolerates her nest and hasn't yet burned it to the ground? Outside of official supply channels, of course."

Because the official supplies are all under de Dantrell's control, albeit not directly, not even through de Fell, but simply through trusted or bribed traders. Not directly, true, but still firmly entrenched in his orbit. The market niche itself isn't exactly large; the product is highly specialized and expensive, and the industry has never circulated in large volumes, so in the immediate and distant vicinity, Dantrell was considered the "center" of bloodsucking reagent sales. And not just bloodsucking ones, but undead ones in general, shipped in small batches from the Dead North. Clearly, Herbert, who had allowed Sylvia to exist and prosper, would hardly approve of her pushing the product to the outside world, especially without a payback to his people.

Before, it would have been easier for Urvag to pay off all the middlemen than to get involved in such a business, where at any moment he could run into trouble not only from competitors but also from the temples. Primarily because the temples and priests would be sicced on by those same competitors who have long been paying off the temples for protection — he knows this from Sylvia, who didn't hold back on the sarcasm she infused into her speech when describing all these schemes. In short, the man would have paid in the past, but not after Maega recently left glorious Dantmark, whose streets have stood for a thousand years, with a huge scandal and swore off dealing with the local bigwigs, who walk under the de Dantrells.

But they still wanted reagents for very specific rituals, including those for protection against curses, for example. And they don't want to overpay, not by a huge amount, but by almost an order of magnitude, to build a chain of intermediaries. The de Dantrells also have pride, and they wouldn't sell anything to de Lomer, or rather Maega, not after what she said. The shaman checked Singha's status, saw the lists of her family contracts, and there were options for those appeased with such offerings.

"She'll look into it as needed." Stepan, meanwhile, was examining the city maps laid out on the table, drawn with ink spirits. They specifically indicated the nest of an illegal black alchemist who seemed to be making pay for protection, but wasn't big enough for de Lomer to be seriously questioned. "Make a list, I'll give it to her, and she'll find whatever she can get out of the warehouses, aside from those deliveries. Just don't resell it; keep it for personal use, okay?"

"You could say it's for the family, Pann, because, you know, I've been pecked at for a long time by a certain charming bird." At that moment, Maega, who had been wanting to perform a series of unusual, dark-hued rituals, simply glanced at her husband, but he immediately, without changing his pace or tone, continued his sentence. "But this is purely out of great love, tenderness, and care for me, nothing less. Seriously, there are some rituals involved, you two can discuss them. But later. Now I suggest we think about how exactly we'll pull this all off..."

* * *

The Morgrave night is quiet and peaceful, but the lard needs to be hidden. But since he's never encountered any decent lard in this world (they say the hobbits have something similar, but the shaman never checked), instead of hiding the super-valuable product, he's forced to do demon knows what. However, he sincerely hoped that even demons didn't know what he was doing now, especially one particular demon, so she could bathe in a healing bath of holy water, super-saturated with grace.

The dark night streets are occupied only by the occasional patrol of guards or hired security, especially in the market or wealthy districts, and the far more numerous night masters. It's business as usual for them, and not robberies and murders, but rather banal meetings, negotiations, and even logistical matters, after all. The criminal element in Morgrave also oversees river smuggling; they are literally the kings of it, as all the Dantra's smuggler ships come here bearing gifts to the sea, and from the sea they carry back upriver gifts from distant lands.

The city's criminal underworld is quite robust and complex, laced with numerous traditions. They even literally crown Night Masters, a sort of crime king. Three of them, in fact! For the Upper, Middle, and Lower City. The first type of criminal underworld is a hybrid of an elite guild of spies, the occasional assassin, equally elite thieves, and an unofficial wing of August de Mont Ros's Secret Guard. The Lower City Master rules over the slums, low-life cannibals, beggars, the poor, and the entire criminal underworld of the Morgraf suburbs, including small farms, villages, and even towns.

But the true king, or rather, Master, of the night city is considered the crime lord of the Middle Morgrave, because he holds the real gold. Not just murderers, not backstreet robbers, not market thieves, not even the unofficial slave trade, but protection rackets for the bulk of small- and medium-sized merchants, gambling houses, brothels, and, of course, that very smuggling. That alone would be enough to become King, for the money made there is truly enormous, which ultimately allows him to buy official and unofficial patronage from the lord and ruler of the Day Morgrave.

Urvag, for example, knew very well who exactly was the Master — or, more accurately, the Mistress, as it had been for some time — of the nightfolk of Middle City, as did most of the truly significant residents of Morgrave. Because such a figure could, in a sense, be considered almost political and always a compromiser. Because someone has to maintain order in everything, punish overzealous colleagues, and keep that very flow of contraband going, which even Duke August himself isn't above. Like, if a certain commodity is banned in the Confederation of Free Cities, and that ban is backed by mutual treaties, is it really his fault that wily bandits in his fiefdom are smuggling that same commodity by the shipload, or even by river caravans?

In short, for this very well-oiled and functioning mechanism of semi-illegal river trade, thieves, petty robberies by unwary visitors, and the occasional murder of merchants reluctant to pay ransoms were forgiven. The main thing, as Urvag said, was not to overdo it with these elements of criminal life, for money loves peace and quiet, and therefore everything must be quiet and calm. Otherwise, the Mistress would be approached not by disgruntled criminal competitors or merchants fleeced by her people, but by Augustus de Mont Ros's guard personally, after which the Middle City would have a new Night Master, and the smuggling trade would continue.

Quiet and calm.

That's how de Lomer explained their chosen tactic, and the shaman agreed. That's why they didn't take the easy way out, where the trading house's personal forces simply storm the estate they want with their swords, lay everyone into concrete, or simply into the floor if there's no concrete, and then ostentatiously carry the poor, terrified man out of the cage, grateful for the rescue. And even if they were to interrogate the corpses of those killed by the unofficial necromancer in the city's employ, they would definitely remember both Stae's abduction and his captivity.

But no, they can't blatantly spit in the Night Mistress's face for the sake of a mere servant, even a gifted one, or there will be trouble. The Mistress knows her worth and won't sell herself cheap, despite starting as the owner of the finest brothel in all of Morgrave and, as they say, practically the entire Confederation of Free Cities. After all, they didn't kidnap someone from Urvag's inner circle or his family, but a simple boy, whose abduction doesn't excuse such brazenness and disrespect. If they break the rules, they'll certainly get away with it, even if they'll be reminded of it later, for that alchemist isn't worth the trouble, and the Mistress will swallow it.

But, what is even more unpleasant, she and her men will ask themselves: why did the de Lomers, who knew all the unwritten rules perfectly well, suddenly start acting so clumsily?

What was so interesting there?

Who is that Stae?

Where did he come from?

In whose name was that letter of recommendation, you say?

That's why not only Urvag's men, but also members of the Middle City's underworld are heading to the ill-fated underground laboratory, disguised as one of the many riverside warehouses. And no, there's no need to worry that the alchemist and his minions will be warned and will have time to remove all incriminating evidence. Because the personal messenger of the second-in-command at the Heraldic Trading House went directly to that very same Mistress, personally delivering a letter and a request to sort things out into her delicate, well-groomed hands. For the sake of that lowly cook, she won't quarrel with de Lomer, who also has a vested interest in smuggling. Especially since, if everything was understood correctly, they are entirely within their rights.

She'd probably only try to defend the bastard's life if his guilt wasn't too great, but the shaman had specifically checked old Urvag's records. He'd checked and confirmed that someone was working short-changed and also had several little things that would get them the hell out of him, even without poor Stae in the cage. Even Urvag himself didn't know this; those amulets and ritual diagrams had been found by Stepan himself, or rather, his spirits, when the shaman checked the place where he'd been held captive. And those diagrams, to him, already taught by bitter experience, literally reeked of demonic emanations.

He was even glad he'd managed to dissect yet another doll of the scum foisted on him by the group, but no, there were entirely different aspects of Vice there: Greed instead of Lust, and also purely ego, a thirst for power, and a complete disregard for the fates of others. That's why there's no fear that the criminals will warn the asshole; that's why there's no doubt the asshole will be dead very soon. And poor Stae, of course, is triumphantly saved.

The rescue team had only just arrived on the scene when the silent silhouettes of seductive night predators crept into the laboratory, like shadows outlined by a dim moon. Incidentally, they were utterly infuriated by the fact that the traditional title of "masters of the night" is not theirs, but rather that of common folk, thieves, and robbers of all kinds. By the time the noble rescuers arrived, Stepan, or rather, Stae, had been beaten by Artemiya. He had accelerated the appearance of bruises and the healing of abrasions to make the wounds look old, and had also settled comfortably in one of the small cellar-dwellings specifically for special guests. A true luxury hotel, five stars, his kind shamanic heart begs for stars to be awarded to the owner of this otherworldly Hilton.

Five times in a row.

The alchemist, his clumsy apprentice with virtually no talent or knowledge — the older bastard simply baited the younger bastard with the promise of teaching him something or other, while in reality he was planning to use him for life extraction along with the next batch of meat — and three guards who worked as laborers also met with the bloodsuckers. The effect of Lemira's voice is practically undetectable, so she calmly convinced the freaks not to look, to distract themselves, to take a nap, and to ignore the new captive. The shaman's suggesters then added to the mix, completing a thorough, albeit hasty, treatment. Then they jointly laid a series of suggestions that would convince the freaks to fight to the last, as if before the scaffold.

It could have been done without it. This alchemist-demonologist, equally lousy in both areas of development, would have fought to the end, knowing he was facing the chopping block or the alchemy table of his official colleagues. And yes, he really was a lousy alchemist, as well as a terrible demon summoner. Seriously. He wasn't devoured body and soul, exchanged for a bent copper coin and a blast of Greed to his brain, only by the goodwill of the demons themselves, for whom regular contributions and the opportunity to turn this moron into the embryo of a cult were more valuable than a one-time snack. A sound economic strategy is the trump card of the local Greed demons in general and the most famous demoness in history in particular. And no, we're not talking about his personal acquaintance.

In the end, when the same man who had once asked Stepan to get out of the clearing where respectable people would be conversing, knocked down the door to the laboratory with a combat staff, everything went awry. By this point, the amulet-pointer given to the soldiers, which was aimed at the blood of the kidnapped Stae (in fact, there was no blood there; he didn't scatter it, but simply created a coordinate point that triggered a simple spell, and then cloaked it as the very same amulet of blood-seeking), had already led them to their target, which was expected. The surprise came a little later, and even the shaman, invisibly observing this chaos, practically munching popcorn and having left his physical body, was surprised.

The guards immediately drew their crossbows, even shot a couple of arrows at the soldiers rushing inside, but they bounced off the intruders' protective screens. One of the deflected arrows ricocheted and flew in a long parabola straight into the alchemical flask clutched in the panicked thug's hand, shattering it. The explosion was devastating, partially incinerating the idiot, partially blowing him to pieces, also killing two other guards, even though it was an ice potion. Well, the lab owner was truly a lousy alchemist.

The armor on the first fighters held up, albeit with difficulty; they weren't dressed for mortal combat at the limit of their strength, but simply for a routine rescue operation. Some bandit was cut by bone shrapnel and further concussed; he could only moan and curse while his fellow illegal traders poured potion on him and gave him a drink. At that moment, the guys who had slowed down heard a surprised cry followed by a shriek of pain and despair, giving way to a disgusting cacophony, the crunch of bursting flesh.

This sound was accompanied by another scream, as the morphing body of the hastily sacrificed "apprentice" suddenly embraced the teacher and began to merge with him in a passionate embrace. Literally merging, like two pieces of compressed plasticine. Another agonized screech, and then the creature clearly began sniffing the cellar, where, besides Ste, lay two other unfortunates caught in the lower city. No, he simply hadn't expected this — without a prior contract, without a protection feature, without any preparation whatsoever, to summon a creature, and a completely unintelligent one at that, with a direct sacrifice and a disposable artifact. This guy didn't win a Darwin Award only because he should have been on the jury with such an attitude!

The shaman, or rather the spirit hovering above the body, had to recall his experience working with demonic creatures and stealthily strike the resulting monstrous abomination with a spiritual attack and a powerful spell from above. So, by the time the saviors burst into the next room, the creature had not yet fully formed, twitched, and was incapable of resisting. It had transformed into something very scary, very realistic, terrifying everyone, yet at the same time, an utterly helpless part of the entertainment program.

They tore the creature to such shreds that not only would an undertaker be out of work, but even a janitor with a broom wouldn't have anything to do. Oh yeah, during the rescue operation, they also collapsed a wall, part of the roof, and started a small fire. Stepan, commenting and transmitting images of what was happening directly to Maega and Singha, was tempted to include the melody from ++"The Village of Fools" in the mental-spiritual broadcast. The only thing stopping him was that these respectable ladies wouldn't understand the reference, because it was the provinces. And a lot of his concentration was drained by trying to prevent the other potions from detonating, the vials or cauldrons on which the building fragments fell.

And yes, among them, there were no potions that were initially created as explosives.

None.

The victims were rescued only at the very end, when they'd finished screaming and calmed down, calling for the guards, the priests, and anyone else they could get their hands on. At that point, it became clear that the rescue operation would be somewhat delayed. Urvag offered to get Ste out at any cost, but the shaman refused, confident in his disguise and his ability to fool the inspectors. He wasn't mistaken, as he and the other captured victims were only tested with a standard anti-corraption search miracle and then quickly interrogated.

And no, they didn't let them go. They brought in new guards, including the secret ones, and then they began checking again, checking all the witnesses. One thing was certain: everyone had forgotten about Stae, as well as his disappearance, because there were completely different topics to discuss. And only in Stepan's head was a completely sincere alarm beating, not a curse, not an appeal, not a simple statement of fact: ||"Fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck"...

* * *

There's something so right and cozy about watching TV with family, when family and friends sit together, cuddled up with a pillow and a plate of treats, watching something interesting and building social connections. Look, he's decided to give it a try, and de Lomer isn't opposed, all three of them. They're watching a recording in a special crystal, projected as a three-dimensional illusion, and enjoying a quiet evening in a shielded office just for them. Well, not exactly shielded, since a special closet had been prepared for Stepan, which he managed to escape from by first stepping into the shelter from the private room of the rescued Stae.

It seemed Corrin was the most delighted of all at his return, because no one believed he wasn't the one who buried poor Stae in some ditch or even dumped him in Dantra, following the glorious dockside tradition. But the others, too, showed a fair amount of interest, sympathy, and an absolutely insatiable curiosity that had to be deflected with careful "I don't know," "I don't remember," and simply "I was walking, got hit on the head, woke up, and the guards were already interrogating everyone." What were they interrogating? Master Urvag had personally ordered him not to blab, so he didn't blab.

Although this didn't stop the wildest rumors, some even went so far as to say that the mercenary warriors of House de Lomer heroically prevented a hellish breach no weaker than that very same Dantemark, or even comparable to the fall of the great Empire. In reality, all the procedures proceeded quickly, calmly, and practically as planned — inspecting the scene, confiscating those very same ritual invocation plans and cult amulets, checking the survivors for corruption, and so on. Dangerous, yes, but the creature was isolated, primitive to the extreme, and hadn't even fully manifested. When, during the Big Search, they caught the smugglers who weren't contributing their share to the common fund, the battle was much more intense; twenty men were killed, including four members of the harbor guard.

Well, to be more precise, everything went almost without incident.

It's this almost-almost they're now watching through the shaman's projected illusion of a memory, and Urvag is gloomily promising to rip out some organs from a certain (figurative) ghoul who's lost his way, one who has his own connections in that very same secret guard. His beloved daughter, who married a member of that same guard, served as the connection, thanks to which the happy father doesn't know a significant portion of the taxes on his goods, and also uses his trade channels to send unopened packages from that very same secret guard. Or for delicate requests, which the secret guard's employees can fulfill between their regular duties.

//“Look at the light, don’t get distracted, don’t think, look, baby, look, and remember what I’m telling you. Blade, blue-gray, cherry, ring. You hear these words and remember how good you feel, how sleepy you are, how obedient. Blade, blue-gray, cherry, ring. You hear and again drown in this bliss, again you fall asleep in reality, you close your eyes and open them obediently. Blade, blue-gray, cherry, ring. Remember and immediately forget, so that you can remember when you’re told. Blade, blue-gray, cherry, ring.”

Poor Stae, obviously, doesn't resist the tight embrace of a rather attractive and, alas, well-dressed blonde secret service employee with the rank of novice adept of mind magic, as well as a couple of interesting amulets at her disposal. And he convinced her, via feedback, to work without her favorite method of imprinting a suggestion with a quick orgasm. She only uses this trick on men and boys she finds attractive, but Stepan, or rather Stae, fits the criteria perfectly. It's not that he was so opposed to giving her hand free rein, but leaving a semen sample in the hands of the Secret Service of de Mont Ross certainly wasn't going to do that.

With several simultaneous, precise, undetectable influences, he slightly distracted her, causing her to hesitate and give up the chance to obtain someone else's sample, and then attracted the attention of her colleagues, who had just decided to ask her some important nonsense. So someone's quick money-making endeavor wasn't ruined, but the woman only managed to imprint a typical verbal trance-like activator in Stae's mind, after which she brought him back to normal, smiled sweetly, and wished him all the best. In short, Stepan had only one thought, barring the truly obscene ones, and he expressed it.

"What the fuck was she even counting on?" He doesn't even try to clear the puzzled expression as he turns to an angry Urvag, a pensive Maega, and a slightly embarrassed Singha. "That's a fucking trigger switch. Any normal check, anything more than a cursory one, would pick it up during a scan? Is this some kind of hint? Or an attempt to send them down a false trail, to divert attention from the real agent?"

"Well, her plan isn't that stupid, I'll say in her defense. Or rather, not hers, but the one who gave the order, and hers too." It was, oddly enough, Urvag, not Maega, although she usually answers magical topics first. "If it weren't for the appearance of the summoned demon, then a simple worker would have been examined more for injuries than suggestions. There was a chance that one of my assistants with a set of amulets would have handled it. And then it was too late to change plans: she was ordered to work on someone with access to my house, so she worked on him, and that was it. The rest is not her concern. I've heard of her, Likura Velez, her name is. Talented, but surprisingly lazy and not very proactive, that's how they describe her. And the distraction... well, that will need to be checked. My beloved?"

The beloved simply nodded, saying she'd handle the servants' check and would likely involve Singha as well. And then the discussion turned to how to react to all of this. Normally, Urvag wouldn't hesitate to stir up a small scandal, so he could receive a formal apology, an informal payoff, and formal and informal punishments for the performer and the unfortunate father-in-law. He, too, has his people close to the top of the city government; he has access to August's house, not just through his kick, but through wide-open doors. But they didn't want to draw even more attention to Stae, so it was smarter to simply keep quiet and pretend they'd missed the clue.

But what if it's a clever trap? A deliberately obvious manipulation, and if it goes unnoticed where it should, then something's fishy. These guys know Urvag, too, and they know he wouldn't let such a maneuver slide. They ultimately decided that an attempt to turn an employee into a sleeper suicide bomber — they're exaggerating, of course, but it's possible to draw the line at just such a crime — they'd "notice" it, demonstratively not raise a fuss, and just as demonstratively make it clear they'd figured out the alien maneuver. And then, say, someone's stasis and cooling amulets in their warehouses would burn out, or mice would even start infesting their goods.

"Just not the mice!" the slightly panicked shaman intervened, shrugging his shoulders. "I've had enough of mice in Dantmark, screw it. Those two masters over there still can't get rid of the mice, and apparently, even a couple of their students got so drunk out of frustration and despair that they spent three days looking for them, only to find them in each other's arms. Add sarcasm to taste."

"I've heard that. But I don't really believe it, it's too strange." The eldest shaman picks up on a familiar theme, one she much prefers to the complex intrigues of the people of the stone cities. "The disciples of such powerful vazas-searan, the sorcerers of the high towers, don't allow themselves such... disregard for the will of their mentors."

"I know, but I have no personal theories. Sylvia managed to read a copy of the examination of this couple, who, aside from a memory lapse that lasted half a day and severe intoxication from alcohol and herbs for the remainder of their disappearance, had no trace whatsoever." But here he clearly bought someone else's interest, and he was telling it in the hope of hearing some coherent version from his listeners, since he had none. "There are no traces of memory scans, all contracts and silence markers are present, there are no potions in the blood, their auras are disgustingly clean. Clearly, everything is far from simple there, but no one understood who would benefit from it or why. Honestly, if not for this task, I would have been tempted to return to Trabius's courtyard myself and finally seek an answer to the riddle that has tormented me for so long."

They spent some time discussing what he'd learned about the curse, throwing out a dozen different theories, each of which the shaman dejectedly demolished. He was a shaman too, and not the weakest one either; he'd checked it all out, and no, he still couldn't figure out where exactly those spirits of his, the ones supposed to be monitoring the mice's spawn points, had been sucked in, despite a couple of attempts. He'd also tried to reach them, still existing and undestroyed, just somewhere else. He especially wanted to play detective after leaving the compound, without risking having to return, thanks to Singha and her phenomenal combat reflexes. Yes, yes, he'd already forgiven her and accepted her mistake, no doubt about it... BUT HE WILL REMEMBER IT FOR THE REST OF ETERNITY!!!

However, the petty banter didn't prevent them from discussing the main issue: how to shove poor and hopelessly in love Stae into the retinue of Singha de Lomer, as well as, of course, Maega's daughter, Maedra's daughter. Because a place in the personal retinue — not just servants, but those who accompany and assist Maega's heir in all matters — isn't easy to obtain. There's training, and oaths, and, very often, the mutual interests of the parents of future retinue members and Singha's parents. A simple kid off the street wouldn't get in there. No, if he'd already worked at the estate for six years, preferably since childhood in the service of the Trading House of de Lomer, studying with them or receiving an education funded by a scholarship, then yes.

But not like that.

"Okay, in the worst case scenario, we could use the same argument that nearly got that boy, Safkhaan, Sahai-Bey's great-nephew, killed." Urvag seemed to say this carelessly, but he was tense inside, and his wife's reaction was quick to explain the reason for the tension.

"You promised! You promised back then! That's this decision! Only! Only mine!" She even became embarrassed by Stepan's puzzled look, speaking more quietly. "This is our everything, the name and power of the family. Mothers and mothers, many generations deep! I can't, I have no right to play with this! Don't joke like that anymore!"

"I'm not saying I want to break my promise, we'll just pretend you found it!" The man threw up his hands, also letting his irritation show. "But then, none who know you will ask any unnecessary questions about why Stae suddenly started hanging around Singha."

Singha, by the way, also reacted strangely; there was a lot of confusion, but there was also interest and a certain amount of anticipation. Stepan, however, was gradually getting tired of the dialogue, which was full of omissions and which he couldn't understand a word of. It was like watching a great movie, only in Mongolian, without translation—you couldn't understand a damn thing, but it was very interesting.

"They'll check! They'll check him with just a quick glance! And then they'll realize you and I lied! They'll think even harder, they'll search even more angrily for an answer!" No, they're really mocking him; Stepan is practically gesturing, trying to make it clear they're losing their interlocutor. "And they won't find him! But that will only provoke him more! Half the Steppe knows my name and blood, and the other half has heard it! They won't let it through!"

"So you're all shamans, and with the Tablet to boot!" Urvag slammed the table, overcome with emotion. "Can't you find a way to disguise Pann, ugh, Stae, so that even a cursory glance won't be able to pick him out? And whoever tries to study him, not just cursorily, will be turned inside out by Pann himself, and I'll personally help bury the body! Okay, not personally, but I'll help."

Stepan, with just one glance, indicated to Singha that it was time for her to stop looking away, blushing and embarrassed, as if she were ashamed of her parents, and start explaining. Because politeness is politeness, but the shaman was starting to get a little angry, and when he's angry, anything can happen. At the very least, he could slip back into mentioning khanurs on one hand and mare-like whores, and even more so, whore-like mares, on the other. But no, the girl ignored his attempts and became even more embarrassed. Seriously, her ears were practically red! What were they even talking about? Were they planning on unofficially adopting him or what?

"It's... it's possible. But for me. I need..." Maega, right in the middle of the conversation, went into a call, calling the spirit directly inside, directly into the golden crystals of her eyes, activating one of the contracts embedded in her massive shamanic necklace, allowing her husband to defuse the situation without her intervention.

"Okay. Okay. Sorry for this ugly scene, the topic is quite delicate, and I'm ready to drop it immediately and apologize if what I've proposed somehow damages your honor." He obviously had a severe headache, but Stepan was also about to get a migraine from all this. "And I apologize for Maega, too. She's always been very sensitive about this topic. It was one of the conditions for her entry into my house, I ask. Hmm. Without further ado, since you don't like them anyway, I'll say this. The best and most straightforward way to accept you into my Singha's inner circle is..."

At that moment, Maega choked and began coughing. Her eyes, sparkling with the barely perceptible shimmer of the possessed spirit, stared at Stepan as if she'd transformed from a Mongolian into an anime cartoon, lest those eyes pop out of their sockets. Stepan looked at her in bewilderment, and then his high Sensitivity played its part, allowing him to discern the spirit in her eyes and roughly understand what it was reading. Then Stepan choked, cleared his throat, and in a very, very calm tone, the calm evaporating with each syllable, asked the burning question:

"What's in your eyes? What kind of spirit have you stuffed into yourself, huh?"

* * *

"Listen, dear people. I understand everything, of course, but you seem unable to grasp one simple truth." They had already calmed down, the passions noticeably ebbing after her spirit had managed to discern in Stepan's essence two of his long-forgotten qualities — "heritage in blood and spirit" and "control of heritage in blood and spirit," suddenly making the isekai an eligible bachelor for the near-princess. "I realized that this is your blood, the strength of your dynasty. I understood about many generations of mothers who sought the ideal father for their future daughter, who would always be no less powerful in potential than her mother. I know as well as you do what those aura and spirit qualities you've discerned provide. I'll note that I didn't choose them; they were a gift from the Patroness, but that's just a passing reference. That's not the point. The point is that this quest of yours, in the genre of "finding the father," no longer binds your family. At all."

Urvag had already figured out exactly what the earthling was getting at; he'd almost immediately grasped both sides' arguments, but he'd wisely and deliberately decided to tuck his tail between his legs and step aside, rather than let his wife get on his, Stepan's, nerves. Well, to be fair, he'd helped defuse the situation, but he still hadn't taken anyone's side. Maega, however, couldn't understand the isekai's point of view, despite her husband and Stepan's attempts to explain it to her.

"She has the Tablet, so she'll only become a High Shaman if she consciously makes an effort to avoid developing at all. From quests alone, especially if she invests in her meta-skill, she'll accumulate so many gifts that it'll blow her mind." He was absolutely stunned, realizing he was being asked to cement their union in the most effective way possible, without the slightest pause, right now. "And if she deliberately develops and practices, she'll become a Great One, and then it won't be far off to reach the rank of Archmage for shamans. Do you understand? For her, overcoming your blood duty and freeing herself from the need to carefully choose a husband is a matter of a few skill points, nothing more. She'll definitely have similar abilities in her roster, if not now, then in ten levels. Still don't get it?"

Maega remained silent only through a titanic effort of will, but at the same time, it seemed, she was actually beginning to think and adapt to his point of view. A little more, and he would have gone berserk and hammered that understanding into her head with a mental packet. Perhaps along with a fist... Urvag would have tried to punch Stepan for this attitude, but mentally, he would have certainly approved of his actions.

"She has the first chance in the history of her family to find a husband after her own heart, for love, damn it, and not just out of necessity." He feels most sorry for Singha right now, who has driven herself into meditation to avoid blushing and keep her emotions under control, and has done so so well that she's literally stepped out of her body and is hanging over her frozen, motionless body. "Not to tie her fate to a shady idiot like me, whom she only tolerates out of respect and gratitude for saving, but to literally choose her own life. Her own."

Inhale, try to calm down, exhale.

"Yes, yes, I know that in high circles, people don't marry for love, but let's be honest, in your family, 'family out of necessity and convenience' has reached a completely degenerate level." His words reach the recipient; he tries very hard, revealing himself, allowing his emotions to be read, and Maega's spiritual perception is not much worse than his. "You yourself are happy with your husband, I can see it. I can't help but see it, given my specialization, and the feeling is, damn it, mutual. But look at me in my tired and furious eyes and tell me that this was the case with every member of your family, that there were no families, that there were no happinesses at all. If you tell me and don't lie, I'm ready to call you my beloved mother-in-law right now. But you won't tell, right? And how did you survive in such families? Were you happy with your choice, made out of necessity and convenience?"

This time, it was Maega who answered, suddenly deflating and haggard, as if realizing that what she'd seen with her own eyes and the spirit's had thrown her off balance. She'd known all her life she'd have to search; for years, she'd been forced to search for the perfect father for her granddaughter, the continuer of her line, her work, and then here was such a perfect chance in Stepan. The one who'd saved his daughter's life, gifted her with the Tablet, and, in general, ideal suitor in all respects, even if you discounted his gifts. The perfect option, the one who would cement their alliance as securely as possible, absolutely secure! Doesn't he understand that? Doesn't he understand his own advantage?

Maega was a bit, or rather, not a bit, carried away, and he had no trouble understanding her train of thought. However, understanding such an approach and such a consumerist attitude toward his daughter's opinion was, on the contrary, very, very difficult for him.

"It's happened in all sorts of ways. Sometimes a Khao-Seakhar would drive the husband into a stall. Sometimes they would completely entangle his mind with a lasso." Seeing Stepan's raised eyebrow, she commented on the last sentence without embarrassment. "Among the bloodline Khao, there are those. Those who will ensure loyalty and love. Obedience and submission seem natural. But sometimes it happened that there was no father at all. If he were too lowborn. If he were from an enemy clan. Simply to give a night of passion that was impossible to forget. And then to convince that only forgetting was possible. My mother didn't know her father. And her mother's mother's mother didn't either. I understand. I beg your forgiveness. The call of the blood, the call of the Khao-Ulanar, the call of all the Khao-Seakhar who came before me. They clouded my mind. I shouldn't have lost my temper. I shouldn't have shown myself so uncontrollable. Forgive your khao-sealar, Pann. Forgive mother, daughter."

Well, it's better than nothing. He doesn't really need an apology from a "mutually respected colleague and sister in the magical craft," as her "khao-sealar" stands for, but the fact that she realized how unpleasant she'd been to her daughter, how she'd practically foisted it on him like a market commodity, like a gift certificate as a bonus for a deal, that's true. That's important. It's not like he's against Singha. She's beautiful, gifted, she'd already saved his life, hadn't taken advantage of the guaranteed chance to squeeze out his free will with a foot fetishist's dream token, and she'd actually have something to talk about in their shared specialty. But even putting aside the fact that the shaman isn't rushing to tie the knot or have children... couldn't she at least, for the sake of decency, have asked her daughter's opinion?

After that, the conversation continued, and even Singha returned to her body, mentally radiating a carefully concealed storm of emotions, a mixture of relief, disappointment, resentment, and a strange satisfaction — and only the Automilf knows what else. It was decided to push through the option of finding a suitable suitor, but only because all other methods of joining the retinue were even worse. He would also, at Maega's insistent suggestion, partially blur the echoes of his two "magnificent" qualities. Because he turned out to be such a tempting breeding bull, that half the steppe came running for him, asking Maega to lease poor Stae out, even without his knowledge, even without his memories.

This is a direct quote, by the way.

To the timid remark about what kind of idiot would simply walk down the street and scan everyone for fertility, Maega nearly exploded and listed a dozen witch covens, more than two dozen steppe shamans of human and orcish descent, as well as a number of outstanding mages from various colleges, all the way back to Neirat. And, according to her, she's only calm now because if Stepan had been scanned this way earlier, he would have definitely realized it, simply because a team of elite man-catchers, true masters of inviting people over without the right to refuse, would have come for him. Overall, the shaman was impressed and couldn't help but be glad that he rarely left his lair or courtyard for simple walks.

And when he did leave, all sorts of things happened... from unlucky long-eared agents and part-time masters of familiar magic, right up to, well, Gelda and her mistress, may they be caught in a direct solar flare. Come to think of it, Maega's words actually made sense, and he hadn't even noticed such a hole in his disguise. What good was it that he looked like an ordinary, barely gifted shaman if such unpleasantly powerful individuals could come and kidnap him for breeding? It would have been good if he had noticed the kidnapping attempt in advance and managed to either escape or quietly eliminate the kidnappers. But what if he had to fight, throwing his disguise to the wind and ruining the entire cover story?

So, when Stepan returned to his assigned quarters, leaving behind a very high-quality doll, obtained from the latest influx of system reagents and then fine-tuned (actually, he'll need to buy an improved version soon, comparable to the one that managed to fool even the demonic beast during their fight, fortunately, he had amassed a fair amount of purchasing currency), so that it could pretend to sleep in his stead, he went into the shelter and simply stared at the wall for a couple of hours. Until he was distracted by signals coming from a self-made communication amulet. Just a little tap-tap, attracting attention and hinting at opening a passage-invitation from the side... Singha, who looked much more recovered than during the recent awkward dialogue. If the level of awkwardness could be translated into thermal energy, it would have been a supervolcanic eruption, no less.

“It’s been a completely insane day, Pann, every single one of these last few days has been insane,” she told him, stepping beneath the vault of his cave, and it felt like she hadn’t even told her parents she’d come here. “I don’t even want to talk about it... too many emotions. I’ll just say that I don’t consider you, as you said, ‘a shady moron’. You’re not shady. Oh! I mean, you’re a little strange, and your intentions. They’re unclear. But pure. Yes, pure. And you’re not... Well, not mentally ill. Not a staipan, that is. An unreasonable man. Not an unreasonable man. That is, not the kind of staipan that’s an insult. In Severian. And sometimes I don’t consider you that way. Never! I mean, I never do! I mean, I don’t, well...”
T.N. The author uses a play on words. In the steppe dialect, Stepan means aт unreasonable man.

It was very difficult to fit into this verbal flow, especially when she began to slip back into her "shamanic style," speaking in fragmented sentences. Apparently, she had prepared a speech, but then, due to fatigue, she began to falter. And when she faltered, she felt ashamed and began correcting what she had said, which only made her even more embarrassed. Until she couldn't breathe to speak.

"Singha, breathe, or you're going to faint right here!" He even considered casting some kind of calming spell, but was afraid her defenses would react nervously. "I'm not angry, I'm not offended, and everything's fine. Honestly, I was afraid you'd get mad at me. I know few surer ways to turn a girl against you than being forced into her company without mutual consent."

"Not by force! I mean, not without consent! I mean! No! I mean, I don't mind your company!" Now, the indignation was already beginning to build, and her breathing had evened out, which calmed him down; after all, they'd been playing their chosen roles together for six months. "And you! You! Ulash-man-uk harat lanash..."

Oh, he hadn't heard that idiom before, but it was still good that she was talking about the situation and not about him. Although the meaning of "walking alongside a blind man" wasn't entirely clear; the idiom was too steppe's, difficult to grasp without knowing the language, and delving deeper into her spiritual body to download a direct understanding of the lexeme seemed somehow impolite.

"I'm not talking about that. About something else. The gifts of your ilash-khao-tar." Stepan tensed up seriously here, because he could see all the Tablet's gifts perfectly well through the group interface, something Singha herself was aware of, unlike the tokens Great Milf had gifted. "First. First of all. The assignment you received. I received it too. But with additional objectives. I refused them. I refuse now. Because I have no right to tell you. But I am telling you."

The system tray's stream of images immediately sprang to life, relaying to him the parts of Singha's assignment he couldn't see. And it immediately became clear why the reward for the main quest was so weak, considering it was a difficult assignment. Because the real fun was promised for the side quests. Moreover, each of these quests also included all the necessary additional equipment; there was a separate list. Frankly, Stepan isn't at all sure he would have been able to notice and counteract if Singha, with her system, had used such an arsenal against him.

Additional Task I: During the duration of the main assignment, convince the Tablet bearer playing the role of your retinue that daily kissing of the honey flower upon the young lady's verbal command is completely normal and part of their duties, without raising questions or suspicion. Reward...

Additional Task II: During the duration of the primary assignment, instill in the Tablet bearer, playing the role of your retinue, a love of masturbation using your or your mother's used underwear. Normalize this behavior. At least once a week, offer your own or your mother's underwear so that the subject can masturbate before your eyes, experiencing humiliation and awareness of their own perversion, but unaware of the unnaturalness of their desires. Reward...

Additional Task III: During the main assignment, manipulate the mind of the Tablet bearer playing the role of your retinue so that they continue to act as your completely obedient servant, unaware of the passage of time and considering you their Mistress for two more winters. Reward...

As the icing on the cake, the reward for each additional task was given not only to Singha but also to the victim himself. That is, to Stepan. It created an incredibly strong association with the generous payment and extra tips given to a well-done escort, let's say, to avoid even more offensive terms. So what? He's part of the group, too. The task is a group one; the additional part applies to each participant, so the reward should be given to everyone at once, right?

A second's pause to find the right expression.

Another second's pause.

Awareness of the absence of any censored ways to express them.

"Fuck." He said the only thing he could form, and then continued with complete sincerity. "I hope you didn't get fined for disclosing the system's policies? No? Well, thank the system. Fuck. Singh. Honestly, thank you. You restore my faith in humanity and make me realize once again that I was right to include you in the group. But still. S-s-suka! This is just fucking bullshit!"

For the next few minutes, he selflessly expresses his thoughts on the System, on the assignments, on the Autogoddess, on his own slow-wittedness, which convinced him to leave the forest house at the very beginning of his journey, and, of course, on the elevator maintenance services on Earth. Singha listened silently and even with some interest, clearly expanding her vocabulary — after all, Stepan wasn't the only one learning steppe swear words. But it all passes, just like the fits of rage; instead of anger, comes the realization and understanding that he's once again walked the razor's edge, where Singha's integrity has become his only support.

But if he does decide to add Maega to the group, he'll have to think very carefully. For example, entangling her in additional oaths, which might not work at all if the system decides to suppress them for the duration of the "additional task." Or he could take a more drastic step and stipulate a controlled mental suggestion prohibiting the use of tokens or other meta-effects, to discourage her. Moreover, he wouldn't even bother messing with her mind himself; instead, he'd entrust the matter to Singha, and Maega would trust her far more than Stepan. And he'd already gained some confidence in Singha's reliability.

"Let me guess: you got some tokens too, and each one was more fun than the other?" He asks in that tone when you already know the answer and are just waiting for confirmation. "Thought so."

Singha merely blushed again and nodded, clearly recalling or rereading the details of her gifts. Damn, and she believes him, too! If only because she can't help but realize he has so many such "aces" up his sleeves that sleeves are barely visible. And yet she came here alone, perhaps without even informing her parents of her visit. It's true—the problems of trust in groups where every member can influence the thinking and reasoning of their "comrades" are unimaginable and indescribable.

"I want to ask you, Pann." Here, she clearly had to overcome some internal block; it was clear she was straining her words as if there would be a price to pay for each one. "I seriously want to ask."

"All attention." Her seriousness and the solemn inevitability of the moment were transmitted to him.

"If they offer you something... Something like that." At this point, Stepan felt a little offended, even a little burned, if we're going to continue with the caustic toilet-type analogies.

"Then I won't do anything like that, damn it." The condemnation in his words could have been hammered into nails; it was so thick. "You're insulting me, Singha. I can give you an account of every time someone wished such nonsense at me, either to you or your mother, if you want."

"No!" And now she was not only embarrassed, but also quite frightened. "That's not what I mean! That's not what I'm asking! The other way around! That is, not the other way around. You shouldn't say the other way around. And not the other way around... the other way around."

"Listen, I'm kind of used to your way of expressing yourself, but you've really outdone yourself." She definitely needs to calm her nerves a bit. She's a real storm of emotions. "Inhale, exhale, and repeat normally."

"I don't doubt you. I believe you. That's not what I'm asking for. – Stepan even became curious about what exactly she would ask for, and even a little afraid. – If you have something. Something similar. Promising gifts that are priceless. Don't tell me. I don't want to. I don't want to hear. And despise myself. Because I'm ready, because I want it myself. I agree."

Aaah! Now he finally understands, once again stumbling upon the difference in perception of the System between him and the native of this world, who had imbibed with her mother's milk the attitude toward her own gift, and the understanding of its value. It truly was excruciating for her to refuse offers of this kind, offers that demand humiliation for something well worth it. Worth the betrayal, worth the meanness, worth the broken words and broken vows, worth it a hundredfold, and there's still more to go. Singha turned out to be surprisingly decent, for a resident of this accursed world, insane and cruel to all its children.

But even she must have found it hard to refuse three contracts with Higher Entities to choose from, plus another one like it, this time with a Great Spirit. And that's only part of the reward, not even the best! Their entire dynasty doesn't have a single contract with a great entity at the level of a full-fledged deal. And "just" two Higher Entities. Just that! This "just" is incomparably more than almost any other shaman could even dream of. And here, for a single betrayal of the naive and obtuse Stepan, she's being offered many times more, many times better, and these contracts will be certified by the Tablet and therefore maximally beneficial, requiring no additional gifts or updates to the list of services.

It's no wonder she was so exhausted, refusing this chance. Not even a chance, but a guaranteed opportunity — the assignment didn't prohibit the use of tokens. She could easily have used the effect she'd already used against her will, stepped on his smug face, and asked him not to set up any protection that night, and to spend the night in his own little room instead of the shelter. And that was it, he was completely in her gentle hands, unable to escape. Against this backdrop, her behavior seems even more remarkable, as does the fact that she was able to control her aura and spirit so thoroughly that neither he nor Maega noticed any omissions in the way she described the open part of the assignment.

And her reluctance to hear about what she might receive in return for becoming the victim of some token or assignment is understandable. Because then she'd have to, as she herself said, doubt and choose, choose — sell her pride and dignity for some incredible gain, or refuse and then regret it for the rest of her life? What's more, the lion's share of even senior shamans or masters of magic, if they saw what was offered in the "additional" task, wouldn't hesitate. Betrayal is guaranteed and certain, and becoming a victim themselves, even if only for three years, is an eighty percent chance. Well, if you ignore the fact that the terms of the additional quests didn't require Singha to remove her compulsion from her loyal servant.

"Ou." Two sounds, but an abyss of awkwardness hidden within them. "Then I guess I won't reveal the full list of my tokens to you."

"You could have! Not said! That!" And with each word, a jab to the chest, very hard and sharp, almost to the point of pain... in the finger, because there is no point in jabbing the owner of a three in the Constitution characteristics. "And thank you. For understanding. I see. That I understand. And also... And I also need to tell you about the other temptations and gifts that were given to me. So that they do not weigh on me so much, do not tempt my integrity and loyalty to my word."

Stepan merely nodded, noting that the girl had calmed down and was now speaking normally again, rather than in a shamanic style. He'd generally tried not to press the matter, remembering her words, that conversation on the roof of a dilapidated building when he'd been healing the slum population. And his interlocutor — and now he wasn't afraid to use the word, comrade — began listing the tokens awarded for her accomplishment, all five of them. Well, they'd truly rewarded her generously, and not just with autogodess effects.

For example, the first of the tokens, which had a whopping twenty-five charges, had an effect that allowed one to pierce anyone's ass with an arrow. Simply imagine the person's face or name, visualize them, activate the token, and a perfectly balanced arrow, crafted by the finest steppe artisans, who are second only to the elves in the art of arrow and bow making, will appear in their buttock. According to Singha, each such arrow, even one made of relatively ordinary materials, can then be extracted from the body and sold for half a gold mark, or even a third of an elven floren, if the tip is not damaged.

Unfortunately, the token isn't combat-grade and can't be used in combat or for assassination. Simply because the arrow always strikes away from blood vessels and tendons, hitting pure muscle, is always unpoisoned, is completely sterile, like a surgical scalpel, and carries no combat enchantments. The material is such that, with the proper enchantment, it's possible to create something that would make even a master sad, let alone a master of classical or other magic. You can't buy it for a gold mark, really.

But no, the victim will only suffer a harmless wound, which can kill under very specific circumstances. Well, if you hit an ungifted person who can't bandage the wound, they'll suffer contamination, abscesses, gangrene, and death. Anyone gifted, or even equipped with a bandage kit, will get off with a terrible scar and the rest of their life wondering how they got shot. The only thing you can attach to the arrow is a note, about three to four hundred characters max, wrapped just below the fletching. And the note will be as impersonal and unmarked as the arrow itself — if you don't personally introduce yourself, saying, "It's me, Stepan, who shot you in the ass," there's no way to trace you.

No defense works, no evasion techniques, or body strength will help — even a dragon's scales will pierce and lodge in the right muscle. It doesn't matter who you're "shooting" at, be it a random passerby or the backside of the King of all Elves. In the latter case, Singha even felt a twinge of temptation. The steppe dwellers don't dislike elves as categorically as almost all orcs, who have a gaping hole in their culture thanks to the long-eared ones. And the Singha family wasn't so closely tied to the Great Horde that its downfall through blood feud would have stuck in their heads and asses. Especially not Singha, who grew up among pale-faced Khanurs and doesn't harbor centuries-old historical grudges.

But even she felt a slight urge to slap a note to the elven leader with the laconic inscription: "FOR THE HORDE!" Stepan couldn't calm down for two minutes, trying to explain to the girl through laughter why that phrase had ripped him apart. She, too, was smiling, however, for the very concept was shockingly funny, and the thought of greeting the poor statesman — in earthly terms, the King of the Forest, more like the minister of defense and supreme commander of the armed forces than an absolute monarch — was becoming increasingly tempting with each passing hour.

"Listen, Singha, you deliberately haven't told me the name of the token yet." She merely smiled in response, barely keeping the corners of her lips from bursting into laughter. She then said the token's name out loud, simultaneously sending a system message and revealing the token through the group interface.

"A Polite Remark." They stared at each other for a few seconds, then simultaneously burst into laughter, even though the shaman was itching to ask for a specific remark to be sent up a specific demoness's ass.

After this five-minute laugh, it became easier to tolerate even the far more dubious humor of the Great Milfi, who hadn't changed a bit. The "I Need a Chair" token had nine charges, bestowing both the "chair" and Singha, who sat on it, with a random aura-spiritual property, complementing the effect of normalcy for any witnesses. Three charges of "Combat Ahegao," which caused the target to experience a prolonged and literally paralyzing orgasm even in combat, again, through all defenses, even though the target had to be humanoid. He himself wouldn't have minded having such crap in his arsenal, since the effect was always strong enough to put the target into the title state, no matter if they were an ordinary commoner or an elven archmagister.

It would be the perfect weapon for duels, but the victim under this effect, which lasts for at least ten minutes, becomes conceptually impossible to attack or harm. And no, activating the strike while standing in the middle of a thin bridge over an abyss won't work, nor will other similar ideas. It's not a means of victory, but of guaranteed escape, by eliminating the most dangerous target from the equation. The target, incidentally, is either female and objectively beautiful, or male but at least attractive by Singha's personal standards, so it's practically complete gender equality, no discrimination.

Just one charge from the truly elite "Object of Dreams" token linked the dreams of Singha and the chosen target, allowing the latter to appear in their dreams, always in an erotic and dominant role. Simply put, both she and the target watch pornography starring themselves in first-person perspective, unable to stop desiring the erotic plot of the dream, but able to flexibly customize it within the given framework. Meanwhile, the target gradually becomes increasingly tempted to submit to Singha similarly in the real world. Clearly, there is no protection, and even if the target suspects some kind of influence, they will find nothing and become convinced that it is merely their personal preference.

Fortunately or unfortunately, it wasn't a complete submission, but simply, um, a very strong desire to submit, especially in the bedroom and in love. But with such leverage, only someone completely stupid, lazy, and definitely dead could fail to achieve complete control over their victim. The second time, the shivers down his spine weren't as intense; he was already tired of being scared, but it was extremely difficult not to notice yet another time when Singha had every chance of subjugating his will. And she wasn't stupid; she also understood that he understood this and was clearly demonstrating her willingness to continue ignoring such opportunities.

"The last gift. It's... not so poisonous. And not even humiliating. Not so humiliating." Why did she blush so much if the gift was normal? "And it... I... Well..."

A moment of silence.

"Singha-a-a-a?" A wonderful demonstration of how to pose a complex and large-scale question with just one word.

"I can't say. Otherwise, the gift will weaken greatly. I ask permission. To use it. Now." What a cunning ass, now I can't refuse. "I swear. With everything I am. That I will lift the curtain of ulamar-lat from your eyes."

The shaman actually paused, weighing the risks and possibilities in his mind. On the one hand, he didn't want to let anyone use anything on him. On the other, the girl was clearly expecting a reciprocal gesture of trust from him, and besides, she didn't need that gesture if she was serious about using that token. Not to mention, if she said the token "wasn't that humiliating," she probably wasn't lying, just as she wasn't lying about removing the ignoring effect. Otherwise, there would have been no point in her even bringing it up.

"Fuck, I hope I don't regret this." He was so curious about the reward that she beamed, even though she was blushing again. "I hope this shit doesn't make me feel like a dog? Or even a donkey. Because sometimes I feel like one, and I have to admit, I practically identify as one."

He, too, began to stammer out of nervousness, and apparently to reassure him, Singha approached him, standing face to face, making it clear that she was, just for a moment, more than half a head taller than him. At that moment, he himself fell silent, experiencing a surprising tenderness for this troubled, sometimes still infuriating, yet somehow quite close girl. They drew even closer, and he felt the tart mint of her breath, reaching out to meet her, feeling her leaning toward him.

Their kiss came naturally, surprisingly tender and almost innocent, with barely any tongue or saliva, just the touch of lips against lips. Yet the emotion in that contact was so intense that the temperature rose a couple of degrees not just in the shelter, but throughout the entire Confederacy. And this despite the numerous perfumes maintaining the climate control! Her lips were soft and almost sweet, still cloying with the same intoxicating taste of wild mint, prickly and wicked, yet gentle and caressing the palate, just like Singha herself. They both pulled away slowly, as if slightly regretting that their momentary weakness was over and it was time to return to their normal selves.

Two free stat points received!

He merely waved away the golden glow of a system message that flashed on the edge of his consciousness, a slight irritation. For some unknown reason, the system had decided to reward him with a freebie, and this time, the freebie didn't even have any unnecessary milf-ish overtones. After admiring Singha's surprisingly sweet, embarrassed face for the last time, he cleared his throat and forced himself to control his sudden surge of sentimentality. The momentary weakness, of course, wasn't one he'd regret, but the still-hanging question of the damned token had to be resolved.

"Hmm. Continuing our conversation. Yeah. Anyway, go ahead, I'm ready." In response, she became completely embarrassed and stepped away from him, both embarrassed and smiling a surprisingly satisfied smile at the same time. "Well? What else? If you need anything prepared, just say so, okay?"

"Let your khao open the way for me. Please." Was she just testing him, like, would he agree to open up to her? "Thank you. For your trust. For everything. And... And also for... For your romantic kiss. SorryIranforgivemeIurgentlyneedtogowe'llmeetagain!!!"

Stepan didn't even have time to blink in confusion and process what had just happened before the shamaness brushed his face with her long braid and practically dove into the passage, disappearing into its darkness. She seemed to have even sped up, planting a small spirit at her feet and ordering the second to part the air before him so he could dash ahead of the charging cheetah. Stepan, still slowing, was left alone with his own thoughts and the scent of wild steppe mint on his lips. Well, to be honest, this token really wasn't humiliating for him, even in the slightest.

Honestly, even now that she's deactivated the conceptual normalization, he still can't quite figure out whether that suggested action was completely against his will or not. In that sense, he could have given in at that moment, even without those two free stats. More likely, he perceived those stats as unnecessary, since they were the very reason Singha had agreed to that kiss in the first place. But still, you can't help but wonder if some part of him wasn't entirely opposed to accepting Maega's terms, yes.

Hm.

Having caught that last thought, he sighed wearily and forced his consciousness into an icy cage of complete self-control, swiping a wave of power from his reserves across his aura a dozen times, his spiritual body trying to find the suggestion lodged in his mind. Instead of a good night's sleep, he was forced to search, search, search for traces of some kind of love spell cast by either Singha or Maega, only to find nothing again. He was forced to admit that he had either fallen victim to a very unusual secondary property of the token, which was somewhat dubious, since the documentation literally stated that the effect of becoming aware of the token's effect removes all suggestions, or... or he would think about all this tomorrow.

There's only an hour and a half left until the first work day, so there's no time to sleep, but you can immerse yourself in restorative meditation.

Trying to push away the thought that the dark and ominous underground complex was just a little short of the calming scent of steppe mint.

* * *

Stepan, or rather, Stae again, couldn't have imagined he'd made so many friends and comrades before word got out that he was being transferred to the position of personal assistant to the young Mrs. Singha. Every single one of them congratulated him and wished him the best. Corrin practically wiped away a fatherly tear, telling everyone that this guy was definitely no slouch, that he'd seen undeniable potential in Stae from the start. Well, everything turned out perfectly for him—the murder charges were dropped, and on top of that, the opportunity to find a place for his daughter returned. Basking in the vibes of shared interest, a smattering of genuine joy at someone else's success, and a sizable pool of black envy, he set about moving to his new place.

He would now live and sleep in the central wing, in his own little room, much nicer and more spacious than his previous one, located not too far from Singha's private quarters. However, there was no need to delude himself. Following the rules of propriety, it was her maidservants, not handsome young men, who woke her, dressed her, and helped her wash. No, the family of shamans had no particular prudishness, nor any categorical prohibitions on sexual activity before the marriage ritual. Still, the mother preferred to give her daughter no special leniency, for an accidental pregnancy could easily ruin the selection of dozens of generations of powerful wind-callers.

Singha once confided that she had once been miraculously cleared of a very nasty potion that simultaneously caused increased libido, extreme hyperfertility, and the fading of a gift during pregnancy in gifted girls. It was as if an entire dynasty had been nearly eliminated with a single, well-placed alchemy addition to her morning fruit compote. The fourteen-year-old girl was saved by the fact that, by then, she had already been trained better than many full-fledged adult mages. She had managed to notice something was wrong, stabilized her aura, and ran to call for help, away from a handsome young footman who had cornered her.

The footman turned out to be innocent. He, too, had been drugged. His higher cognitive functions were disabled. This didn't save him from being transferred to one of the de Lomers's remote estates, lest Maega strike him down for all his good deeds. Nor did some of the servants, bought by competitors and grateful relatives, bodies of which Urvag, if you believe him, personally buried while still alive and conscious. Three weeks later, several highly influential people, both from allied and rival houses, suffocated. Some in their sleep, others while walking, desperately clutching at amulets and unable to understand why the air they breathe in contained less and less oxygen with each breath.

Maega had already proven herself a very unpleasant and vindictive woman, a savage whore without conscience or honor, completely unattractive to be at odds with. Where had it ever been seen that slanted savages were allowed to take revenge on respectable people, and even achieve considerable success? But it was after that incident that she completely lost all restraint—or rather, Urvag lost all restraint, literally giving her the go-ahead: "Kill them, my dear, I'll help you dig their graves." Over the next two years, Maega had no more irreconcilable enemies in Morgraf. They either became reconcilable, offering not apologies but actual oaths, or were forced to leave everything to their deputies and abruptly change their place of residence.

This didn't help some, by the way. Mother is just as adept at leaving her body and wandering the spirit world as her daughter, and there aren't many places under the sky where one can hide from the omnipresent wind. And the freak who managed to escape to one of the underground cities of the Undermountain was finally hunted down by Urvag, who hired a group of assassins. What was the point of all this? Because they kept reminding him that his job not only entailed increased pay and benefits, but also considerable responsibility.

Officially, he was appointed to this position because Singha's valet, who is essentially a sort of "fixer" who solves her problems and caters to her whims, ordering the rest of the retinue around when necessary and reporting only to Maega and Urvaga, well, and Singha, had personally requested assistance. He said things were tough for him, the tough guy. He was running out of time. He needed an assistant. No, no, he suddenly had no friends or trusted men left at all. Let's take this guy; he seems trustworthy. Look, he even survived the kidnapping and didn't tell a single secret of his masters. And it didn't matter that they weren't asked anything; they were simply kept under the influence! He still wouldn't have told a thing! He's one of our own, practically a comrade in arms!

Obviously, everyone who truly mattered in the House of de Lomers knew or guessed perfectly well about the specifics of the search for a suitor for Mistress Maega's heiress. They didn't go into detail, but they knew, just as they knew that Maega occasionally welcomed and tested rather unusual young men from all walks of life. Usually, of course, the candidates chosen were, shall we say, more... more. But Stae wasn't exactly the bottom of the barrel either. He was gifted, well-mannered, and efficient, and he'd even arrived on the recommendation of a distant acquaintance of the venerable Mistress Maega.

With a groan, he fits into the role chosen for him, even if he himself may not fully understand it. No one hinted to him why he, such a good man, had been rewarded with a promotion and brought closer to the manor. Because if he had played the role of someone even lower in social status, Maega would have been looked upon with suspicion, considering it would have been easier to kidnap him, keep him in a cage, and then either bury him or release him with no memory of the torrid days and nights spent there. Better to bury him and turn the body to ashes, so as not to leave behind a blood relative of the future heir, who could later be used for all sorts of evil.

Master Lavis, the same fixer of the fantasy world, was a rather large individual, skilled with a blade and a fighting staff, but also a true pro at escorting retinues. He ran Stepan through several rounds of typical interrogation, and an ordinary guy like Stae wouldn't even have realized he was being interrogated. He quickly assessed his potential, found the limits of his abilities, and then began listing all the things he would be expected to do and would be performing under his and Lady Singha's command. The shaman thought, somewhat detachedly, that he would definitely and absolutely master the everyday application of his gift.

Then they gave him clothes, quickly taking his measurements and tailoring the clothes he already had. They dressed him not immaculately, but also clearly not in a simple, town style, but in a slightly better way. They gave him a set of amulets and explained how to use them, especially the cufflink with poison detector functionality and the mind-protecting medallion. And all this was accompanied by repeated instructions, according to which Ms. Singha was regarded as nothing less than a Messenger of God, and her every whim was obeyed like the laws of the universe. If he couldn't fulfill a whim, then he was to turn either to him or to those he indicated, but to no one else.

And no amateurish activities, no foolishness, no accepting or delivering gifts and letters for the young lady, even if for a fee, at a great request, or out of equally great friendship. At this point, Stae looked at Master Lavis with a "who do you think I am" look, to which he received a "for that very one" look in return. So it happened that for the first two days, he didn't even see Mistress Singha, may she be able to resist, running Lavis's small errands. Lavis was obviously testing Stae, checking his reactions and skills, and also constantly keeping an eye on him, which meant he had practically no time to attend to his own affairs.

He couldn't help but regret accepting that damn quest.

But as soon as he remembered that he would no longer have to do crazy stuff in the name of Automilf, his strength, determination, readiness, and patience returned in triple quantity.

"Yes, honorable, it will be done, honorable." Singha, having pulled herself together, now looks exactly the same as usual, literally embodying the image of a rich and dangerous gifted bitch, and you wouldn't say she even knows Stae, who is ogling her with devotion. "By evening."

And by evening, he and another silent man with a swordsman's gait had indeed finished their errand and returned, bringing with them a heaping pile of purchases. Reagents, cosmetics, some beads for weaving protective bracelets, and other feminine trifles that Singha regularly ordered for herself. Of course, the items were issued in magically sealed paper bags or even in boxes, stamped with a small seal in the hands of Fergis, his companion, and were purchased either from allied houses or even from their own buyers, collected by prior arrangement. And even so, everything would be checked, and then checked again, before Singha or anyone else living in the master's wing used it.

Who better than someone gifted in his specialty would know how much of both bad and good can be found in cosmetic products, especially those with inherent magical properties, making it easy to conceal something undesirable within their magic? She even mixes some of her personal body care products herself from ready-made reagents rather than using store-bought ones. And if not her, then a special gifted person under contract to Urvag. What she bought was mostly small items, pre-made supplies, and the few things easier to buy from trusted suppliers. And yes, the shaman himself checked the packages and found nothing particularly suspicious, though he admitted that it would be difficult for him to conduct such an inspection without removing his disguise.

The whole week passed like that, running errands and such, and he rarely saw Singha in person. When he did, he stood behind his elders and pretended to be dashing, but figuratively speaking, a bit of a fool. It wasn't an adventure, after all, when one of Singha's companions nearly fell down the stairs, catching her dress. He reacted reflexively, stepping forward, catching her, lightening her weight, and also weighting himself down with two parallel spells, after which he immediately let go of Singha's hand and pretended he hadn't moved at all. Well, at least he received a delicious pastry as a gift, sweet and sour and filling, like two kilos of steak. Literally a pastry, brought into his room in the evening.

Otherwise, everything went as usual. The second week was a little different from the first, except that he still managed to find two half-days of rest to check on Dantemark, give new instructions to Sylvia, check on Yula's progress, and gather a few suitable spirits so they could be used even by the person whose legend he was playing. It was still better than being in Пкуфе Milf's debt. Because he had no doubt that if he abandoned the quest, the next assignment would involve his only allies in the world. He even admitted that the algorithms twisted by the will of Great Milf would demand something relatively innocuous. You know, ensuring Urvag and Maega had a particularly hot night, after which Singha would have a brother. But he still didn't want to check, or, as the mare would say, choose.

He ignored the system's super lots both times. He saw no point in spending two levels' worth of currency and a bonus on something he didn't urgently need right now. After all, the next six months would be difficult, very difficult, for him to earn that purchasing power properly. There was reason to conserve his reserves and not overspend.

He still hadn't invested two stat points, nor any free ability points, seeing no reason to, as he lacked proper practice. He worked nights, too, cutting down on sleep as much as he could safely with his current stats, but it still wasn't the same. There was no way to simply disappear from the world for a few days or even a week to conduct a serious ritual, which required even more serious preparation. Even though the reagents were slowly accumulating, some of which he gave to the steppe shamans because they were perishable and quickly lost their properties. Maega was visibly broken by this treatment of her "dear guest," who was also giving her gifts in return for his humiliation, but once she heard that otherwise he would simply destroy those reagents... she wanted to destroy him herself; he could see it in her eyes.

Besides his primary duties, he had a whole host of auxiliary ones: passing by, looking around, fetching a note, or carrying a letter. Officially, he had sworn a blood oath to Urvag personally, and unofficially to Maega as well, so he automatically became a trusted confidant. One of those who are allowed a little more than others, which is why those same "friends and buddies" from his previous position constantly asked him for help, for a favor, for passing a letter to one of his acquaintances—and I promise you, it's all fine, I've done it a hundred times. He read the latter, having cracked the simple cipher with a spirit of meaning, and handed it over to both Lavis and Urvag at once. They could have offered him a share, but no, they wanted to rob their employer entirely on their own, without Stae's help.

Apparently, even if they'd offered that share and hadn't planned to stab the witness, he still wouldn't have gotten involved; he was simply appalled by the way they treated him like a moron. But yes, he was also amazed at their audacity. Falsify invoices, sell part of the goods on the side, steal the treasury they had access to, and be like that. The funniest thing is, they didn't think about cosmic radiation—that is, about sworn contracts. No, no, they knew about them and knew they worked, they just figured it would be like a sore tooth, a pain and then it would go away. Yeah, yeah, progressive aura dysfunction, taking at least thirty years off your life, and with the potential to send a whole cavalcade of spirits after those idiots. Guys with that approach should have been on the same jury as the alchemist-demonologist who died in Greed.

Some people just don't know how to think, and there's no cure for it.

In his free time, the earthling checked on the woman who loved to masturbate the cute young men under her gentle mental control, confirming that she had no cunning plan and that Urvag was right. The woman was so indifferent. She just give no fucks,. And yes, he checked her memory of her family, not even surprised that her grandfather was named Maximus, only he was still alive and happily teaching the basics of cognitive structuring at one of the small magical academies under the patronage of Neirat.

Returning to the very topic of his "recruitment," Likura hadn't even considered warning her superiors, saying they'd notice. They told her to implant a suggestion and plant the activator in one of de Lomer's servants at the first opportunity, and she did so. As for why her asshole superior was screaming like a wounded beluga whale, whose ritual protection on her private home had been burned away, as if some minor spirits of corruption had devoured her from the inside, she had no idea and didn't even want to know. Such abnormality was clearly the result of some kind of self-experimentation. Such thick-skinnedness couldn't be natural. After all, a mind mage can most easily cripple their own mind, cripple it through careless handling or an overly bold experiment.

Stepan even suspected someone had processed her. Her lack of ambition, her diligence, her calm, and her composure fit perfectly into some scheme for creating the ideal worker. But, alas or fortunately, there was nothing of the sort—just her own attempts to master the network of a self-controlled personality matrix. Even the Earthling, despite not being a classic mentalist, realized how she worked and what she was trying to do, and his hair stood on end, even on parts of his body where hair had never grown before! He even lost the desire for revenge. It would be like beating up a disabled person, and a profoundly insane one at that. And her superiors didn't care. She was practically unpaid, gifted in a very sensitive and sought-after profession.

Some glimmer of his being even began to plan the summoning of a number of specialized entities specializing in mental healing, but common sense stopped him. No, he really didn't need to heal and help someone who wanted to bend his will! Besides, he simply didn't have the time for all that; he was already so overwhelmed.

There were also anonymous meetings in those same private rooms or even Urvag's bedroom. The household and retinue probably thought their family life was on a steady upswing and they could soon begin to anticipate Maega's third pregnancy (as well as a decline in her activity, strength, and ability to help her husband during that pregnancy). The reality, however, was far more dreary and insipid: constantly using meeting rooms for who knows why, but under peak security, it would be very strange. In general, the bedroom was somehow simpler, although Urvag was already wary of opening a breach in the defenses for him.

Singha didn't broach the subject of boosting stats through the coaxed and voluntary use of a token, though she later gave him a detailed description of the token itself. "Romantic Kiss" had a hundred charges, but, as with "Mighty Melons," only the first activation yielded the super effect. Furthermore, to gain two stats at once, rather than just one, the token's nature was forbidden to be disclosed in advance. Stepan understood and fully shared her reluctance to discuss it, so they talked more about shamanism in general.

She and Maega were now embarking on another cycle of ancestral calls, where they had to summon the spirits who knew their blood, and then seal existing deals, renew them, and simply "introduce" Singha to spirits she had previously been too young to meet, know, or even speak of. Conversations with the shamans were one of the few reliefs in his rather easy, yet irritating, service. The one experiencing the full range of unpleasant sensations was Maega, who simply couldn't understand Pann's calm, as if she were experiencing all the "unbearable humiliations" in his stead. Even Urvag had calmed down—the argument about creditors of a super-divine nature had sufficed—but she felt incredible butthurt. No, he was pleased that she took their relationship so seriously, but it was somehow strange.

That is, he finds little pleasure in the protracted game of lackey, and even less pleasure in the fact that the time for leveling up has become significantly shorter. He doesn't even hide it. But still, his rejection isn't as catastrophic as Maega seems. Does she really think that for him, playing the role is comparable to being held in a damp dungeon, regularly beaten, and practically pissed on from above? On the positive side, he refined the theory of summoning spirits of the air spheres, albeit more in breadth than depth. Maega's methods and traditions of shamanism are very specific, often strictly tailored to a female aura and spirit, but certain details can be easily applied, especially in conjunction with them, when there is someone to play the "female role."

No. In theory, he could very well alter his aura and spiritual body to create feminine trace signatures. With his flexibility and ability to transform into even a spiritual tentacle monster, this task wouldn't be difficult. But actively performing a ritual while doing so? That would be uncomfortable, to say the least. And then there's the psychological aspect. By changing his spirit to resemble a girl's, he could seriously shake his mind. And then he'd start unconsciously identifying himself as a non-binary Tomahawk cruise missile launcher, yeah. The risks are low; he knows his craft; the System has already taken care of that, but honestly, it's easier to accept the help of his colleagues.

Or create a totem of the feminine essence, just not in the form of a sex doll.

They spent half the night discussing the specifications of such a totem. Urvag managed to smoke a pipe and fall asleep. Then they went to catch up on sleep. They went. But the earthling went to work. This is how class hatred arises; a commissar's overcoat would soon sprout from his shoulders. And then his grandfather's ghost would come and crush Stepan with a shovel, for his grandfather greatly disliked those who wore such overcoats, even to the point of crushing them with a shovel. Although, given the current trends of this world, it wouldn't be a commissar's overcoat that would sprout from his shoulders, but the robe of a priest of the Light-bearing... and then the guards of de Mont Ros would crush him with a shovel, for faith in this solar deity of universal happiness, equality, and collective farming is, for some unknown reason, forbidden in Morgrave.

Stae was gradually allowed to follow Singha more and more often. He constantly followed her around while she shopped, carrying her groceries and fulfilling minor requests. Her expression when she told Lavis she wanted a honey cake made from wild bee honey, and he, after thinking it over, sent Ste to the other end of the block, was simply priceless. He bought it, and in the process replaced the not-so-wild honey (the bees were clearly well-fed; the spiritual image of honey cannot be fooled, unlike the customer) with a store-bought equivalent. The mare had to perform some nasty rituals that evening, which meant she couldn't eat food prepared in the house all day, and she was also forced to abstain from anything but wine and honey.

Their call, by the way, was a success. The shaman sensed the presence of an elder entity, albeit one that had barely touched Reality. And the entity looked at Singha, daughter of Maega, daughter of Maedra, recognizing that this girl had the right to give him commands. Plus one unlocked family contract, plus one reason to proudly spread their peacock's tail, so to speak, plus one sleepless night for Stepan. He asked for an early bedtime for this shamanic ritual, feeling a bit under the weather, and then summoned another elder entity, the shamanic ritual for which he had been preparing piecemeal all this time.

He also successfully summoned. Contract for four indefinite requests, but always during the warm season. You can't summon him in the midst of ice and snow; he simply won't be able to come. The spirit of spring and flood is a nasty thing, capable of unleashing a mudflow summoned out of thin air across the entire reserve, which was at the maximum for his senior rank. And if you tailor his summoning to the terrain, summon him where a mudflow is naturally possible, or even reinforce an existing mudflow with this summoning... Let's say you could aim to wipe out a small town. Literally wipe it out, leaving nothing but damp earth atop the ruins.

He'd been preparing the new draft with a bit more care, so he had to take a break. Singha, too, was recovering from the overindulgence of sweet companionship with a rather unpleasant, albeit damn useful, spirit. She decided to go horseback riding again, where Stepan-Stae had to trail behind, and went to visit a friend.

She also invited her girlfriends to dinner. The Aristocracy, like the Trading Houses in general, loves to visit each other, show off, show off, and look at people. The table was set so splendidly that the mantle of a communist priest on her shoulders was practically visible. Singha chatted with her guests as usual, complaining about her life, and gently brushed off any attempts to draw her out on inside information about her family. The main question, of course, was whether she was expecting a brother or a sister. No, seriously, this is a very important question for House de Lomer and all of Morgrave.

A pregnant gifted person can't practice their magic normally, and the loss of someone of Maega's caliber would, to put it mildly, greatly alter the outlook for the next nine months, if not the next two or three years, until the mother regains her strength and nurses her child. However, the latter doesn't particularly concern Maega, as she has given birth to her heir; the next generation will be ordinary children, who carry no gifts and place far less strain on their mother, her aura, and her spirit.

Stepan was habitually aware of everything around him, purely due to his heightened Sensitivity, so he noticed the barely noticeable flow of energy from one of the guests, a sleek jerk with the aura of a weak, half-adept healer, well in advance. And when the maid, carrying a roast duck with magic apples, dogwood, steppe herbs, and lemon, suddenly buckled from a muscle that had become too relaxed, he immediately stepped forward, caught both the maid and her tray, maintaining her balance and placing the dish on the table. Everyone, it should be said, remarked on this moment, as if to say, a stunning duck would be served today. No one noticed how, from Stae's sleeve, straight from a neat beaded bracelet of flat stones, a powerful spirit, practically impossible to detect by any standard means, emanated.

This spirit crept up unnoticed on an equally unnoticeable stone spider-golem, a miniature transmitter that had dove into the genital slit, and disappeared there. It crept up and gobbled him up, sending a painful pulse back through the communication channel that made the sleek healer flinch and wince in pain, blaming a migraine attack. You know how it is—stress and overwork—there's nowhere for a decent, gifted person to escape, absolutely nowhere.

"Thank you, young man, you saved this lovely duck from falling, literally coaxing her to stay with us, sparing us the opportunity to sample the mastery of Master Valaris." The praise from one of Singha's girlfriends, actual friends, not "friend", was pleasant, but out of place, as the shaman was busy deciphering the images of the spirit, which always knew the essence and nature of whatever he ate, and which is why he gave Stepan almost the complete specifications of the eavesdropping micro-golem. "I'm still confident that I'll manage to lure him to me someday."

"Always happy to help, my honorable," the shaman replied, a little absentmindedly, having managed to locate the point where the spider's signal was heading and sending several spirit-shells there. They were very inconspicuous, but they were capable of carrying within themselves woven witchcraft spells, which could, theoretically speaking, cast a spell on tracking equipment. "I have experience coaxing ducks."

"Ahem!" Singha said, nearly choking and slightly spluttering on her wine, trying not to burst into hysterical laughter, as she remembered exactly how Stae had negotiated with the ducks. "No, no, it's okay, I inhaled awkwardly. You're doing well, S-s-s... tae. Really. You're doing well."

Why did he get the impression that she wanted to say something different?

No, it was definitely just fatigue, she couldn't have thought that about him, could she?

* * *

The shaman never figured out what exactly had alarmed him that day, but upon reflection, there could have been a whole host of reasons. The day had been turbulent, just like the three days before. The head of House de Lomer, Urvag de Lomer, had personally arrived at the home of the venerable Urvag de Lomer. He was also his beloved brother. No, truly beloved; they had never had any particular conflicts, and their interests hadn't overlapped much. While they didn't conflict, they had plenty of mutual benefits. At least, that's what they said. Even more important to this mutual love was the fact that Urvag never sought the position of head of the House.

Singhi's beloved uncle turned out to be a much broader and fuller man than Urvag himself, but he certainly had charisma. He was somewhat reminiscent of a very cheerful and well-groomed Uncle Fester from The Addams Family, only in a fantasy setting. Smiling, constantly cracking truly good jokes, lively, and never content with silence, he was the life of the party. His arrival also meant that all the servants, whether near or far, had almost an order of magnitude more work. Surely they'd brought in reinforcements from other de Lomer estates and farmsteads for a reason?

Stae was also put to work, and he, too, worked hard, helping, running around the city, securing all sorts of important food deliveries for the upcoming feast and more, and successfully shedding the tail that was personally watching him. No, they weren't planning to attack or kidnap him; they were simply assigned to follow him, to understand his schedule and route. Yes, yes, they were beginning to understand why this boy had been brought close to Mrs. Singha, and then there was her somewhat strange reaction to said boy. No matter how hard she tried, a certain attention flickered through her, specifically for Stae, something she couldn't hide from a watchful eye, since her status didn't even mention intelligence training. And it didn't take long to come up with explanations for this attention.

He almost wanted to be kidnapped, but he had to deal with the daily grind and dream of the day when he would experience freedom. Find an old skull of some jungle creature, because the gentlemen remembered that souvenir skull and wanted to drink some strong island rum while looking at this ancient trophy from one of the earliest trading expeditions. And, of course, remembering everything they had endured with it to obtain it. Find a certain "Wally" in the crowded house and tell him to bring "that very flower" to the guest room in the right wing.

Valli, it turns out, is short for Volartallor, and the flower in question was a magical thing in a tub, some incredibly valuable piece of sick bonsai-style floral art. The thorns, by the way, were deadly poisonous, but no one told Stae about it or even gave him gloves. He had to discreetly heal both himself and the half-familiar man who helped him, also getting scratched in the process. Otherwise, either a very long and painful recovery after taking a classic broad-spectrum antidote, or, if you don't notice the scratch, you simply won't wake up in the morning.

He'd head to the other end of Morgrave, to the port district, taking along a guard, to deliver a still-living glaucous finfish, a very large fish, the size of a huge Earth catfish, considered quite a delicacy. He'd also be the Viceroy of Dantra, since the only other hardy fish larger than it was the bottom-dwelling catfish. Well, not counting all the unique exotics mutated by magic. The fisherman himself couldn't deliver his catch because he had legs. I mean, no legs. He turned out to be a genuine river merman, looking like a cross between a male Ariel and old Ichthyander. No one dared trust a simple courier with a fish that the elite of the trading house would eat, so they dispatched a team of porters. The shaman also checked the fish himself, of course, but found only a couple of river pearls and someone's half-digested gold ring with a ruby ​​in its stomach.

There were also some humorous moments. For example, when he was asked to run and retrieve a waistcoat forgotten in one of the rooms, one a guest had discarded during their conversation and left there. No, he found the room and the waistcoat, but he also found one of the head of the house's younger relatives, a guy who looked barely older than Ste himself. This guy, propping the door open from the inside (one curses one's high sensitivity and ability to see through walls), was masturbating obsessively, holding someone's creamy-white lace panties to his face. Women's, fortunately. The mind of this individual was filled with obscenities addressed to some very curvy cosmetics saleswoman he had recently visited, whom he imagined at the height of ecstasy, soiling his shirt, his pants pulled down to the knees, and his dandy boots made of the skin of an unlucky crocodile or even a mutant python.

The shaman didn't bother to find out who the underwear belonged to, hoping only that he'd stolen it from the object of his passion and not from Maega's closet. He also didn't bother to distract the busy man. He'd look around, make sure there were no witnesses, cast a spell to distract his eyes, leave his body, slip through the door, snatch the waistcoat, drag it into the world of the higher spheres, and be like that. That was his tactic for avoiding awkward moments. He'd also had to cover the waistcoat from the effects of being in the spirit world, so it wouldn't melt, but for Stepan, that had long since become a simple task, even routine. Trying to unsee what he'd seen and stop perceiving himself as a fucking voyeur—that was more difficult.

By the end of the week, he was almost cursing his decision to take on the quest. He wanted to rip off the Shroud, look into the aura of the rude, sycophantic servant of one of Urvag's relatives, and then politely ask him not to be a jerk. But he endured and heroically persevered. Lavis, seeing his diligence and genuine success in completing all the tasks, even decided to reward Stae. Well, how to reward him? Give him more work, but work that would take him away from the master's house for half a day. And not just out of kindness. Those who knew about Maega's family jokes had asked too many questions about Stae, but hiding him would have been an even more stupid move, automatically giving all the answers, even those they hadn't asked about.

"It turns out the venerable Maxia de Lomer is looking to acquire a large quantity of cosmetic alchemy. She was recently referred to one of Morgraf's successful merchants in the city who specializes in just this." Lavis's brief instructions revealed a multitude of implications if one were to use the spirits of meaning in his ears. "Her nephew has already made preliminary arrangements; you simply need to bring a letter agreeing to work with her and a rough list of the items required..."

The fact that the second time, a simple messenger, rather than someone bearing a family name, will send a message will demonstrate a moderate level of interest, but the presence of the Great Seal crest on the envelope will convince them of the seriousness of their intentions and convey a certain respect. The venerable Ursula, while not a member of an armorial House, enjoys the patronage of several such and is quite a big shot. Therefore, before meeting her in person, it's necessary to demonstrate through indirect means a willingness to work, but not too much haste. After all, this is only a trial purchase, not a very large one.

The House Head's sister, like the Head himself, rarely visits Morgrave. Urvag rules here in de Lomer's name, never venturing beyond the Pearl of Seaside, for which she is grateful for. And she no longer ventures into this city, where he controls almost all trade with the Steppe at the expense of his beloved wife's relatives. There are complex relationships within the collective, which handles large sums of money. And Stae will have to take the rap, after all, he's Urvag's man, and the fact that he was sent shows Urvag is aware of the deal, knows everything, and by signing a supply contract with his relative, the venerable Ursula won't be blacklisted.

"Take a couple of guards, I've already made arrangements, and the carriage, the one with the nightingales, is unoccupied." Again, not for Stae's sake, but to demonstrate the power and wealth of the House; otherwise, a simple foot courier wouldn't be respectable and imposing enough. "You don't have to rush too much; you're not really needed here until nightfall."

And there's no need for a fuss around him, but that's not what he was told. Go ahead, show your face, project a level of respectability that's beyond anything you can imagine. Just don't forget to wear the clothes with the de Lomer coat of arms, you klutz. The shaman was almost gone, mentally imagining how "respectable and presentable" a certain Ursula would have found him if she'd known who he really was. And then, as he was leaving, it hit him.

"Maitre Lavis, excuse me, but you said that the equally venerable Nicholas de Lomer visited her, the venerable Ursula, right?" He merely raised a puzzled eyebrow and nodded, as if to say, what more do you want and why are you asking? "He's young, white-haired, blue-eyed, and he wears those gentleman's boots made of snakeskin? Yes? Thank you for your answer. What? No, no, I just met him today, that's why I asked. I'm on my way! I'm on my way-o-o-o!"

Yeah,

Yeah?

Yeah!

So, he's being sent to a certain saleswoman, apparently quite attractive, and the young man who visited her before him has now developed an incredible passion for women's lingerie. No, it could all be one huge fucking coincidence, and that guy was already quite the fetishist, but for some reason, a phrase from a certain earthly political figure keeps nagging at him, perfectly suited to the situation: "It's already happened!"
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=csmOuJFOeVw

Everything was so perfect that the shaman, without going downstairs, dove into the nearest storage room, then into the shelter, where he first checked his supplies, including recent purchases from the system store. He was a little late for the carriage, but given the orders to take his time, it was a planned delay. Yes, that's exactly how he would have responded if questioned about his unpunctuality!

"Hello, sirs, I'm ready." He waved the leather clipboard containing the letter, earning synchronized nods from the guards and the coachman. "They said not to rush too much."

"Yeah, we were told the same, so we won't," one of the merchant blades replied cheerfully, while his comrade merely nodded indifferently. "Get in and let's go. I've already told the coachman exactly where to drive."

* * *

Ursula's mansion was more modest than Urvag's estate, but still quite opulent. It was clear that this shark of capitalism was not in poverty. The shaman's scan revealed standard, but fairly high-quality, protection for the walls and windows, a somewhat better-protected basement, and storage rooms where the most expensive cosmetics and the most valuable reagents for them were kept. The kind you wouldn't trust to a warehouse, lest they be stolen or damaged due to ignorance of how to handle the material. The only truly secure rooms were the private office and private bedroom, with the bedroom being noticeably more secure.

They were greeted with respect, their seal checked, and the guards offered them a table and food and drink, which they accepted, demonstrating they expected no harm. Stepan would have been more cautious in their place, but he didn't comment, especially since he was the one quickly summoned upstairs to that very office. Upon entering, he bowed respectfully and, without hesitation, introduced himself, stated the reason for his arrival, and conveyed the will of the esteemed Maxia de Lomer, with confirmation of the approval of the even more esteemed Urvag de Lomer. The office's owner merely accepted his words with dignity and solemnity, invited him to sit, and put the letter on the table. The table, incidentally, is enchanted to screen correspondence for all sorts of surprises—a must-have for any self-respecting entrepreneur, gifted individual, or aristocrat.

She was large. Not fat, not even plump, but definitely substantial. No joke – over two meters tall, a very harmonious figure, a clearly defined waist and bust, not just because of the corset dress. No, seriously, her breasts weren't that much smaller than his mad cow's, even after they'd been processed. And before, they were comparable or even larger in size. When people say a woman has "breasts like a Taurus," they usually don't mean anything quite so literal.

Her face, already opening the envelope and thoughtfully reading its contents, was quite pleasant. Traces of the cosmetics she sells were visible, even the wrinkles around her eyes were barely noticeable, though she was certainly at least thirty. But it would be hard to guess even older, maybe thirty-eight at most, and that would be with a desire to be rude and call her an old woman. Her long, chestnut-colored hair, tied in an intricate hairstyle, snow-white skin without the tan considered the preserve of the plebeians here, and the simple aura of a woman who knew her worth. In short, she was something to behold, to be sure.

Stepan earnestly tried to stare at the bridge of Ursula's nose. But he could only tear his gaze briefly away from her breasts, which were only emphasized by the dress. The ample cleavage, exposed shoulders, and overall size of her breasts were simply captivating. A purely male reflex, hard to resist. And she was moving, sometimes leaning slightly, leaning back slightly, causing her breasts to sway excitingly in the dress, seemingly even too much. It was as if the line of the dress was set very low, just above her nipples, hidden beneath the fabric. Not the most indecent outfit, but she was at home, and Stae was in no position to criticize her clothes.

"They won't fall out." The shaman, gazing at her breasts, involuntarily jerked in the unforgivably soft chair, slumping even further. He immediately returned to his normal position, but before he could say anything or even ask again, Ursula immediately clarified her words. "My nipples won't fall out."

"Um. Sorry, I just..."

"You were hoping that my constant movement would expose my breasts and make my nipples pop out before your eyes." She doesn't even judge; she's simply stating a fact, and it's hard for him to interrupt, because what the fuck? "It's a common situation in our lives. We expect one thing, and those expectations are dashed; they don't happen the way we'd hoped. The irony of life, no less. The ability to understand which expectations are true and which are not is what separates those who master life from those who go with the flow."

No, it's hard to argue with that, if you think about it. In a way, she was even right, because some part of him genuinely believed her nipples would fall out of her dress, and he would be able to see them. And Ursula, with some feminine intuition of hers, understood this too. She understood, smiled, and reached up with her hand in her own dress, grabbed the hem, tugged it slightly, and then let go.

She pulled and released, pulled and released, pulled and released, pulled and released, pulled and released, pulling and releasing, causing her breasts to bounce and sway. Her breasts were soft, like pastry dough, and they swayed so much that his eyes were glued to the hem of her dress. It seemed that just a little bit more and he would finally see her nipples, because they couldn't help but fall out from such constant movement.

"See, Stae? That's exactly what I'm talking about. You're expecting what you're supposed to see, what seems inevitable to you, but you're wrong. You thought my nipples would fall out of my dress, that some movement would expose them." Again, it's hard to argue; her logic is impeccable, though there's something wrong with it. "Every movement, every time my breasts bounce, you feel like just a little more, just one more movement, and they'll be exposed, that my nipples will be exposed, exposed, and you'll see them. That's the illusion of control, the illusion of understanding – you think something is obvious, but it's not. Try to understand this, understand that you're wrong, that any decision or belief you have can be wrong, just as wrong as believing my nipples will be exposed. Do you understand, Stae?

To his shame, he stares for a few seconds at Ursula's bouncing breasts, which she continues to wiggle, hoping to see them, to see her nipples, because, damn, they're bound to fall out with that kind of movement! And she's even pulling the fabric of her dress back, lowering it slightly with each movement; he can actually see the edges of her nipples, see her areolas, but not the entire nipple! It's nonsense, but he can't help but realize she's right — he was wrong, wrong about the obvious, about what seemed so obvious, but was actually a lie.

"Y-yes, I'm sorry, I... I think I understand, yes." Mentally kicking himself, Stepan answers the question, but, still hoping for something, continues to stare at her breasts, waiting for them to fall out, even though he doesn't believe it now. "Any belief can be wrong."

"That's right, Stae, recognizing this is the first step toward understanding. Understanding that nothing is true, that everything you believe is just an illusion of your control over the situation. Like with my nipples, Stae." She seems to be gradually increasing the amplitude, tugging at my dress ever harder, releasing it later, making my breasts bounce even more enticingly, causing more and more of my areolas to fall out with the sway of my breasts. "You thought you'd see my nipples, but every movement I make proves you wrong. You were wrong, you're wrong every time, with every up and down movement. You thought you knew the truth, but you only knew the illusion. And so now, you look at my chest, knowing that you won’t see my nipples, and that’s even good, otherwise you would immediately come right in your pants, splash yourself all over, shamefully splash with youthful passion from one glance at my nipples that have fallen from the captivity of the fabric."

That last sentence made him jump, briefly distracting himself from her breasts to see the calm and benevolent expression on her face, just like a kind auntie, no doubt. But his gaze immediately returned to her almost-almost-almost-almost visible nipples, the dark pink edges of which kept peeking out from under her dress. What if he saw them? What if they actually fell out? They couldn't help but fall out! But he'd already been wrong, and he was wrong with every bounce, with every fucking movement, he was wrong! And her last sentence! How the hell could he, without direct stimulation by some kind of magic—and he didn't feel any magic at all—come from just looking at her nipples?

"I see your doubt, Stae. I even understand it, because it seems absurd to cum from just one glance at my nipples. You're young, of course, and young men often have such hasty ejaculations, but now you're in control and not on the edge, right?" He nodded, not taking his eyes off the visible edges of her areolas, because he had no intention of cumming, despite his already erect penis, but the hardness in his pants wasn't surprising given such a sight. "But you've already been wrong many times, just now, Ste. You thought my nipples would fall out of my dress. Now you think you won't explode at first glance. But it's all an illusion. A self-deception. Admit to yourself, Stae, that you can't trust your own convictions."

Yeah, fuck! He won't cum from just one look. He shouldn't, he's not a virgin, and he's not a quick-shooter, not after the experience he had with Sylvia, not after he'd erased from himself every trace of any influence from that vile creature! And he'd long ago gotten rid of that greeting from the Life-Giver! But she's right too, damn it, because he'd already been wrong, wrong again and again, believing in the illusion that her nipples would fall out, while he himself hadn't seen anything but the edge of her large, dark pink areolas. What if she's right after all, and he'll cum from the first glance at those nipples he's actually seen? His cock is throbbing, so tense, and he hasn't even seen anything yet. He can't help but think that she's right, and he simply can't...

"...trust my convictions." His voice was hoarse from a dry throat, but that was the last thing on his mind as he watched the nipples almost-almost-fallen out.

"That's right, Stae. You're right about that. You right in that you're wrong, you know that you know nothing, not even whether my nipples will fall out, whether you'll spill just by looking at them." And he began to understand, to acknowledge the fragility of his own worldview, which was changing in ways he couldn't have predicted. "You, you specifically, are mired in the illusions of your own erroneous beliefs. But don't worry, I'll help you. I won't hide the truth from you, I won't show you my nipples, lest you come, humiliatingly and shamefully, right here in my chair. I'll explain to you exactly how to learn to see the picture of true reality. The sages of the Eastern Empire say that the truth is hidden in every drop of rain, but I'll say it differently—it's hidden everywhere. In my nipples, which still haven't fallen out, in my words, or even in my underwear, my lace panties." There is truth in them and I will reveal it to you if you listen, if you are ready to admit that only I know the truth, that it is in my nipples, in my words, in my lace...

He nearly sobbed with both relief and gratitude. He didn't want to cum in his pants, or to dwell in a world where he knew nothing, where every judgment might or might not prove fatally flawed. And he wouldn't refuse her offer for anything in the world, because only Ursula knew, knew exactly what was here and now. She knew her nipples wouldn't fall out. She knew Stepan would cum if he saw them. So she also knew how to find that fucking truth in the labyrinth of self-deception. The truth hidden in her...

"...in your nipples, in your words, and in your lace." He repeats over and over again, repeating after her as she patiently explains to him how exactly this world works, why her nipples don't fall out, only the edges of her areolas are visible, why he would come in his pants just looking at them, why he loves jerking off into her lace lingerie, wrapping it around his cock and jerking it off, cumming right into the fabric clenched in his fist. "The real truth is in your nipples, in your words, in your lace. The real truth is in your nipples..."

He never came in his pants, for which he was eternally grateful to the venerable Ursula for sparing him such humiliation, and in front of her, no less. He never saw her nipples, which, of course, he deeply regretted, but he didn't humiliate himself by asking her to let them fall out, lest he shamefully come in his pants. In his inner pocket, right under his heart, he kept the key to the truth she had given him so that he could understand this world for himself and learn to shatter illusions. He had to close his eyes, stop watching her bouncing breasts, even if only briefly, so that she could remove her dark blue satin panties without hindrance, without revealing anything inappropriate or obscene.

He didn't peek; that would have been impolite. And he didn't know which truth was true—whether it was okay for him to peek at her or not, whether he was wrong or right. She asked him not to look, and he didn't, even forcibly locking his own Sensitivity within his body, opening his eyes only to pick up the key to his future understanding of the world from the table. He wanted to finish this visit as quickly as possible, leave the escort he'd been given, take advantage of the time he'd been told to get lost until nightfall, and, damn it, come into this dark blue satin, wrapping it around his unwilling penis, now like carved wood, and come, come all over this fabric, jerking himself off with it and thanking the venerable Ursula for her wisdom and kindness.

"Bye, Stae, don't get lost." The talkative guard waved goodbye, and the shaman, having replied something unintelligible, was already disappearing around the corner, to disappear once more into the nearest dark corner.

He practically stumbled into the central hall of the lair, where his mattress and pillows also lay, forming a perfectly comfortable bed. He pulled down his pants as he went, pulling from his pocket the venerable Ursula's panties, her lace, hiding the truth. The truth in her nipples, in her words, in her lace! Holy System, how he wanted to jerk off in them, to release the pent-up tension, the unbearable weight of knowing that he knew nothing, understood nothing, that his entire world was forever different, that the only stability and understanding lay in the nipples, in her words, in the lace of the venerable Ursula.

He pressed the panties to his face, inhaling the cherry-peach scent mingled with the tart scent of female flesh on the soft fabric, and froze, completely stunned. He froze, finally seeing what lay hidden within his refuge. He saw, suspended in midair in a pose vaguely reminiscent of the famous lotus position, a young man, still very young, almost naked save for a pair of light cotton pants. A young man, on whose skin shamanic symbols had been hastily inscribed, glowing dark green and scarlet. A young man, around whom several dozen Envolt-catchers swirled like a terrifying halo. A young man, around whom a circle of submissive spirits danced, nourishing a defenseless body incapable of normal function.

A body in which there is no basis of spirit, aura, and soul.

Stepan looks at himself.

He looks, sees, and understands one more truth, the last one, but at the same time undeniably true - he, who found the truth in the nipples, in the words, in the lace of the venerable Ursula, he, who never finished, jerking off with these incredibly enticing panties, is not Stepan at all.

He's just... a sham.

* * *

With a painful groan, filled with unbearable torment, he uncoiled from the knot he'd been tied into, hastily abandoning his body and transmigrating himself into a dozen dolls at once. Those same dolls were now slowly ceasing to spin and being deposited on their enchanted shelves. Some couldn't withstand it at all, falling into disrepair, crumbling to dust, rotting, burning, or falling into the world of spheres. This depends on the method of creating the envolt and the original material.

The puppet itself, a wooden mannequin with a schematic face drawn in the style of a stick-stick-two-circles, on which the clothes it was given hung in half-removed rags, contained neither its spirit nor consciousness. Only an imitation of them, filtered through the prism of a halo and its own physical body. And it's a good thing it didn't, because the fucking bullshit that literally blanketed the entire office of the fucking venerable Ursula on all levels of reality would have easily twisted it even through such a pick.

Standard defenses wouldn't have helped; they didn't even notice anything unusual, as if they were truly engaged in a philosophical debate about truth, expectations, self-deception, illusions, nipples, and panties! Lace ones, damn it! He still didn't understand what exactly it was, but several layers of static defense, which simply tracked not the effect on the mind, but only the mind's shift from a pre-calculated standard, were enough to separate him and the doll. Otherwise, he would have taken the "truth" from the puppet pressing the panties to his face and started exploring it himself. This was just fucking crazy, frankly, because he couldn't find any other words!

He knew it was a trap, he was almost certain of it, and he wasn't wrong. He was prepared, he'd taken every precaution possible given the short reaction time, he'd cranked up his paranoia to maximum, and under the shroud, he was ready to explode with action. And it didn't help; they almost got him anyway! He sat there, hoping to see nipples on those enormous breasts, hiding under the shroud, still prepared for battle and to resist any mental effects... and he simply couldn't find a reason to use his preparations! He wanted to believe it was some kind of token effect, but no, the effect was clearly based on classical magic, because his defenses had worked at all. That's why the effect could be detected at all.

Ursula, of course, is still a bitch, but she's also clearly been procceeded. There's no logical reason why a woman with such abilities would inspire young men to masturbate on or in her underwear, or to increase their speed of release. Not a single one, except for the fact that she was faithful from the start. He'd stumbled into the hands of that bitch Lahgan, who'd taken advantage of the wiggle room in their shared contract to leave him the very "erotic trap" she was allowed to create. It wasn't dangerous, it didn't give her any control over him, but it was demonstrative, humiliating, and completely in the spirit of a Greatmilf.

The spirits checked the damn lace three times, but it turned out to be almost ordinary underwear, only with a pleasant scent. He sensed this before the connection was severed. He also sensed the barely detectable effect of the stimulating potion secreted directly from Ursula's skin. To be honest, he'd been hesitant to break his contract with the demoness before, but now, having seen this, damn... well, let's just say he was even more hesitant. Clearly, she probably didn't do it herself, since she has no access to souls or any way to restore the spent reserves. It's more like his doll for Sylvia—she was given the perfect components of a finished product, the very limits of what she could possibly assemble. Sylvia's Envolt, in fact, would be roughly in the same league in terms of the untraceable absoluteness of its effect.

He assembled the doll.

The creature assembled Ursula.

Encased in a cocoon of spiritual barriers and witchcraft-like isolating spells, the underwear sank to the floor, disappearing into a separate storage area. The stone spirit, a strong entity bound to the totem, but more domestic and supportive than combat-oriented, had also helped manifest a protective talisman pattern there, ensuring no leaks. He'd study all of this later, as he'd also check his mannequin, which might have retained an echo of some unknown effect—this happens often with Envolts. Right now, he needed to think about what to do with the demoness, because he'd been prepared and lucky just now, but next time he might get caught. And he didn't want to get caught, even if he knew for sure that her jokes wouldn't threaten him with anything other than epic, legendary, mythical, fucking humiliation.

And then he was given an answer, and it was given by the System, and this answer turned out to be favorably disposed towards Stepan.

Warning: Iurlad Lahgan Akal Oglaf's passionate and captivating trap has been destroyed. According to the terms of the quest she accepted, she receives no reward for your passionate capture, and you may choose a minor punishment for your companion. You may only choose one of the proposed punishments.

1. Five free talent points will be given to you immediately. The next five free talent points received by Iurlad Lahgan Akal Oglaf will be taken from your reward to pay off the debt.

2. For the next full year from now, Iurlad Lahgan Akal Oglaf will be under the meta-influence of Absolute Loyalty, not just obeying you, but wanting to obey and please you.

3. For the next full year from now, Iurlad Lahgan Akal Oglaf will be unable to accept any rewards or level-ups, and all rewards received during this period will automatically expire.

3. For the next full year from now, Iurlad Lahgan Akal Oglaf will be unable to accept any rewards or level-ups, and all rewards received during this period will automatically expire.

5. Your option: [ENTER]

The fact that this bitch had called him his fucking companion really freaked him out, but he didn't let himself be distracted, because the five-minute timer in the message was ticking. And if he didn't choose now, one of the first four options would be chosen. It was precisely this haste and the lack of a fifth option in the random selection that made him realize that it was the fifth option that needed to be considered most carefully. Damn, even in the system's images, it seemed a little different, as if with a golden sheen.

A few tentative, "kill yourself against the wall" attempts were instantly blocked as unacceptable within the proposed capabilities. And then it hit him like a heavy, sandal-shaped golden brick had hit him square in the back of the head! And he immediately understood exactly what he needed to enter in that field. The shaman managed it in the last few seconds; for a moment, he even thought it wouldn't work, but a moment later, another message arrived.

REJECACCEPTED!

The reward will take effect in five minutes, but you can undo your choice until then. A dedicated text line has been opened with your ally.

And again, it seemed to him that this "ACCEPTED" was slightly different from the familiar images of the status sheet and system tray. But he didn't have time to think long, because that same temporary system chat between him and the demonic scum came to life. It seemed to have received the same message describing its punishment. It received it and was so shocked that it immediately ran to call the earthling, causing him to smile like a very happy idiot. So, everything he'd understood and learned about demons and this creature in particular had turned out to be the right train of thought after all, and his harmless—really harmless, otherwise the system wouldn't have let it through—idea would sting it especially painfully.

Iurlad Lahgan Akal Oglaf: Are you fucking serious? Pick something worthwhile, my dear; this isn't even funny.

Stepan smiled.

Iurlad Lahgan Akal Oglaf: Okay. Fine. I have four transferable skill points, ready to transfer them to you right now if you cancel and choose something else.

Stepan just remains silent.

Iurlad Lahgan Akal Oglaf: Seven. Seven free and three more available only for meta-skills. That's a good choice, my dear Pann, better than you could get under any other outcome.

Stepan didn't write anything in response.

Iurlad Lahgan Akal Oglaf: There are no more stashes left, but I'm ready to cooperate, Pann. I really am. Would you like me to hand over all my preparations from above in the Morgrave? With the Tablet's seal of approval.

Stepan ignored the system message that popped up asking him to confirm the announced transaction.

Iurlad Lahgan Akal Oglaf: You want me to beg? To plead? Are you nuts or something? Read what I'm offering you again, idiot!

Stepan's smile widened.

Iurlad Lahgan Akal Oglaf: Three years. I promise not to set any new traps for you for three years!

The silence in the lair is still absolute.

Iurlad Lahgan Akal Oglaf: Okay, just imagine everything I can... [EMBEDDED HYPNOTIC INDUCTION PRODUCING ENHANCED SUGGESTION AND COMPLIANCE WHEN EXPOSED TO IMAGES: REMOVED DUE TO SYSTEM CONTRACT]

Stepan narrowed his eyes in satisfaction.

Iurlad Lahgan Akal Oglaf: YOU WILL CUM YOUR OWN NAME, I WILL MAKE YOU THINK OF GELDA AS YOUR MOTHER AND MYSELF AS HER DAUGHTER, I WILL CLOSE YOU IN A DRESS AND I WILL MAKE YOU BELIEVE THAT BETWEEN YOUR LEGS YOU HAVE A CLITORIS SQUIRRING WITH WHITE AND SWEET OIL... [EXPAND LIST OF INSULTS AND THREATS]

Stepan closed his eyes in relaxation.

Iurlad Lahgan Akal Oglaf: Pann, I seriously asked you to please let's talk seriously, you bastard, you bitch, I'll still remember this...

Punishment has been carried out!

Stepan allowed himself to lie down and fall asleep with the sleep of an absolutely happy man.
* * *

STEPAN'S STATUS AT THE END OF CHAPTER TWO (modified for ease of understanding):

Name: Stepan

Level: 35

Class: Senior Shaman

Specialization: Spirit Master

Subclass: Enchanter

Characteristics: (free: 2)

Talents (free): 2

Constitution: 3

Sensitivity: 14

Power: 10

Control: 7

Source: 7

Spirit: 18

Resistance: 5

Knowledge asquired (shamanism: foundation): advanced masterful practice of call; advanced masterful practice of utilizing spiritual-witchcraft dialog with the universe; advanced masterful techniques of casting shamanic charms (GIFT); advanced basic techniques of dream inducement and correction (GIFT); advanced practice of combat calls; advanced methods of fast calls; master practice of spiritual operation; developed basics of spiritual bargaining and contractual agreements with otherworldly entities; advanced practice of remote control of spiritual entities; developed work with totems; developed basic techniques of building defensive arrays; advanced developed methods of spiritual wandering; developed skills of spiritual conflict outside the physical body; advanced master techniques of suggestive influences on the basis of shamanism (GIFT); developed methods of controlled spiritual indwelling; developed practices of spiritual-cognitive confrontation; basic methods of working with memory on the basis of shamanism; advanced developed practices of harmonization of spiritual-auric conflicts: advanced basic methods of natural personality re-engineering (GIFT)

Knowledge acquired (shamanism: healing): developed work with healing spirits; advanced techniques for countering curses; advanced basic techniques for healing aura and spiritual bodies based on wild magic; basic techniques for healing aura and spiritual bodies from damage by planar energies: basic methods of large-scale healing based on wild magic

Knowledge Acquired (witchcraft): advanced basic techniques of tantric practices; advanced developed techniques of territorial influences; advanced basic techniques of interaction with magical sources; advanced developed techniques of changing energy currents; advanced developed techniques of casting witchcraft spells; advanced developed techniques of suggestive influences based on witchcraft; advanced basics of witchcraft benefices; advanced basics of wild amulet making; the basics of the combined use of complex witchcraft spells

Knowledge Acquired (Envolt): advanced mastery of puppet-envolt magical practice; advanced techniques for achieving sympathetic resonance; advanced basic techniques for modifying an active envolt; advanced basic methods of direct remote puppet control

Knowledge Acquired (skills and tricks): spoken and written: Free Cities, academic Neirat, Island Kingdom; wilderness hermit; mastery of elite martial caller; elementary techniques of teaching magical sciences; skillful methods of agency work; techniques of eliminating protected targets; elite mastery of mental-sensory processing of protected targets; techniques of mental-sensory defense as part of agency training; masterful opposition to demonic influence

Minor Knowledge (contracts with strong spirits): Eater of Diseases; Cheesh'sh'shuya; Jolly Milker; Sneaking Glow; Three Little Pigs; Leaves in Motion; Urkaguarri; Embrace-with-Amber-in-Last-Farewell; Turquoise Left and Aquamarine Right; Guardian of Dreams; Craved Inferno; Ololoshoholomolo-Ou; Once-Blazing; Strong Spirit Contract: Taylor-Taylor-Taylor; Lkrazar Marakash

Minor Knowledge (contracts with elder spirits): Sleepwalker (GIFT); The Shroud of Touch and the Creator of Decisions (GIFT); Joy of the Waves; Vishpli-Schwalstprachtmatt; Memory Eater; He Who Hides Himself in the Rocks and Opens the Doors; The Smooth of Slipping Evil; The Peace of the Serenity Keeper; Standing with a Dagger at Your Back; Silent White; Thu'Zi'Kh; Millstone Grip; Coming Folly (GIFT); F'Emmbyver (GIFT); Shield-Behind-Shield; Returning to the Original; Sorrowful Rain

Minor Knowledge (contracts with higher spirits): The Spike-Piercing- Here-and-There; Locking Secrets; Little White Goat; He-Who-Merged-With-The-Darkness-of-Stones-Paving-the-Way-And-Opening-Doors; One-in-Two; Wind of Underworld

Minor Knowledge (active shamanism): defense by distortion of the anteroom of the spheres; exile from reality

Minor Knowledge (witchcraft): curse of the locking of the paths; blessing of union with the subtle world; manifestation of the right of kinship and ashes; oblivion in ecstasy (GIFT); the curse of sincere enmity

Minor Knowledge (envolt): envolt twin energy mantle

Obtained properties (complex): toughness of spirit; resilience of subtle bodies; spiritual shroud of higher auric concealment (GIFT); deep transformation of the spiritual body; a tantric spiritual hearth; patchwork spiritual echo (GIFT); the multiplicity of spiritual awareness; small spiritual and energetic protection; the regeneration of subtle bodies; strengthened auric nodes; stable stability of the source's absorption properties; tendency towards cognitive restoration; smooth and extra-sensory omnipresence of spiritual influence (GIFT); balance of delimitation of spiritual-energetic symbiosis; freedom of distances and wills

Obtained properties (marks of Spheres): the small mark of spiritual spheres: mark of fallen leaves and black roots; trust of creators of passions and weavers of feelings (GIFT); the mark of free winds and whispering blows; the mark of quiet pools and deep waters; the recognition of the keepers of doors and those who pave the way; a mark of the quietest canopies and hidden secrets

Obtained properties (blessings): blessings of health and long life; heritage in blood and spirit (GIFT); control of heritage in blood and spirit (GIFT)

Obtained properties (active modification): [ was, but not anymore ]

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

Completed Deals: -

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

Reward Tokens: Awesome Melons (100); Indifferent Doll (3); Ignored Orgasm (100); small temporary increase in Constitution attribute (2); Puffy Pies (100); meaningful meta-skill reneval (2); temporary creation of privacy (15); Persistent Feet (10); Smooth Beauty (43); Mighty Melons (91); massive minor warrior blessing (5); Compulsion of Addiction: Hugged and Squeezed (25); standard charge renewal of shaman's contract book (6); Sweetly Passionate Dreams (50); Muscular Beauty (15); temporary increase in Sensitivity (9); Passionate Sensuality (20); Victim of Temptations (5); Here's My Pussy (23); one-time gift to an ally of an elite system property (5); medium complex rank boost to an intangible summoned entity (3); Milky Tits (8); Vulgar Adoption (5); Master Netoraster (1); Pippin Short and Swift (23); Minor Temporary Complex Gift Enhancement (10); Dunya Kulakova (48); Point on the Map (10); Free Use (1); Erotic Elimination: Clinical Masturbation (3); Doll Transformation (10)

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

SYLVIA MALTER'S STATUS AT THE END OF CHAPTER TWO (after Stepan helped her level up a bit):

Name: Sylvia Malter

Level: 53

Race: High Vampire (human)

Class: Bloodchanter

Specialty: Bloodwind.

Characteristics: (free: 0;)

Talents (free): 0

Constitution: 10

Sensitivity: 9

Power: 5

Control: 5

Source: 5

Spirit: 7

Resistance: 8

Knowledge absorbed: spoken and written: [reveal]; advanced master control of Scarlet Drop; the advanced master practice of Blood Shaping; advanced developed Blood Patronage; mastery techniques of subjugating Blood Resonance; master practice of superimposing delusions; advanced techniques of racial magic; advanced developed techniques of Blood Acceleration; advanced techniques of Scarlet Pulse; advanced practice of blood magic-based searching effects; master techniques of Scarlet Alchemy; advanced basic ritualistic practice; advanced barrier-breaking techniques; advanced acoustic mental influence practice; master seduction and deception techniques; scarlet martial arts (Blood Pact); the art of agency and infiltration (Blood Pact); advanced basic mentoring and nurturing techniques; advanced basic personality reshaping techniques; advanced basic methods of complex suggestions based on bloody control; advanced basic techniques of multi-threaded bloody manipulation

Minor knowledge: skillful protective Crimson Cloak; double whip of Bloody Submission; skillful Crimson Claws; Implosion of Bloody Resonance; Smooth Covert Imposition of Submission

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

System modifiers: blood replenishment II; issuance of systemic assignments III; lecherous development III; summon of saturated blood I; constant influx of experience I

Reward Tokens (invisible to group members): Pleasant Suckling (147); summon a vial of exotic blood (94); temporal assimilation booster (6); meaningful creation of a lair of noxious earth with controlled binding (2); Languishing Mouths (50); Nourishing Fountain (10); Great Idea (10); Center of Attention (5); Instant Reserve Recovery (14)

Special: [empty for now]

THE STATUS OF SINGHA, THE DAUGHTER OF MAEGA, THE DAUGHTER OF MAEDRA AT THE END OF CHAPTER TWO (after she stopped restraining her own growth):

Name: Singha, daughter of Maega, daughter of Maedra

Level: 37

Class: Shaman

Specialization: Caller of Wind

Characteristics: (free: 0)

Talents (free): 0

Constitution: 1

Sensitivity: 11

Power: 7

Control: 6

Source: 7

Spirit: 11

Resistance: 1

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

Minor knowledge: temporarily closed ancestral contracts with strong spirits: [reveal 32 entries]; temporarily closed ancestral contracts with elder spirits: [reveal 11 entries]; temporarily closed ancestral contracts with higher spirits: [ reveal 2 entries ]; strong spirit contract: [reveal 26 entries]; contract with elder spirits: [reveal 5 entries... Winding Rustle of Grasses; Keeper of the House; Hundred Faithful Hands, Urlabran-Baran, Stojkij Logj]; contract with the supreme spirit: [Bending Master, Petals of the Ghostly Winds]; distant call-orientation to ancestral call base; small spirit strike for conflicts outside the physical body; small spirit cover for conflicts outside the physical body; a brief journey through the world of higher spheres

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

System modifiers: lecherous development III; access to system purchases III

Reward Tokens (invisible to party members): Sweet Feet (21); Polite Remark (25); I Need a Chair (10); Romantic Kiss (99); Object of Fantasy (1)

Special:

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

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

STATUS OF IURLAD LAHGAN AKAL BITCHY DEMONIC SCUM AT THE END OF CHAPTER TWO (after completing another snare-trap on Stepan):

Name: Iurlad Lahgan Akal Oglaf

Level: [YOU'VE ENOUGH]

Class: [YOU WILL SOON EXPERIENCE IT]

Specialization: [I WILL DEFINITELY DEMONSTRATE IT TO YOU]

Subclass: [I'LL TELL YOU, SHOW YOU, AND HELP YOU CHANGE YOUR PANTS]

Characteristics: [STILL ABOVE YOURS]

Asquaired knowledge: [IT GROWS MORE AND MORE EVERY DAY]

Minor knowledge: [I EXCHANGE FOR THE UNDERWEAR OF YOUR STEPPE LOVELY BEAUTY COVERED WITH YOUR SEMEN]

Acquired properties: [YOU WILL HAVE TO LICK UNTIL YOU WRITE OUT YOUR TONGUE]

System modifiers: [IF YOU KNEW WHAT I CAN DO TO YOU NOW]

Soul stock: [FOR THIS YOU CAN SELL YOUR SOUL... OH YES]

Reward Tokens (invisible to party members): [YOU WON'T READ THIS AGAIN, BUT I'LL STILL MAKE YOU LEARN THEM]

Special: a mutual certified deal with the Chosen One of Liarat si Merrinal, Lady of Gifts and Giver 0f Gifts, faithful servant of Innelas Innelay;

STATUS OF YULA, descendant of Raistar the Apostate AT THE END OF CHAPTER TWO (after her TERRIBLE UNKNOWN FUCKING SHIT, her respected and beloved, revered older brother mentor Stepan Stroyny helped her with her development):

Name: Yula, descendant of Raistar the Apostate

Level: 10

Class: Sorceress

Characteristics: (free: 0)

Talents (free): 0

Constitution: 4

Sensitivity: 2

Power: 7

Control: 5

Source: 7

Spirit: 2

Resistance: 4

Acquired knowledge: spoken and written language: Free Cities (GIFT); basic criminal skills; developed basics of managing and controlling internal energies; developed basics of creating magical weaves; developed basics of working with coordinate positioning; developed skills in working with curses; basic skills of combat maleficism.

Minor knowledge: confident control of distances; piercing spatial convolution

Acquired properties: low innate spatial positioning; hereditary Curse of Black Blood [REVEAL EFFECTS]; significant resistance to curses; fractal aura structure; supreme artefact symbiosis: Shackles of Godlessness; slight absorption of curse manifestations (Shackles of Godlessness); slight enhancement of curse base (Shackles of Godlessness); slight absorption of curse effects (Shackles of Godlessness)

System Modifiers: Issuing System Assignment I

Special: One-time offer to reset levels and choose a base class for further development (USED).

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

Переведено на Нотабеноиде
http://notabenoid.org/book/86785/592703

Переводчики: Camrad_RIP