Готовый перевод Настучать в бубен / Hit the tambourine: Глава 4

Chapter 4

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The only reason Furval’s brain and memory hadn’t been subjected to a short-term “format” of events from the past couple of hours—or rather, days—was that Stepan wouldn’t have been able to erase the memory in a way that would be truly undetectable by subsequent scans. Even with the support of de Lomer’s mother and daughter. Even in the absence of resistance. Given the level of paranoia that had risen in society toward mentalists and one specific member of their tribe, background checks in high society had become extremely thorough. They had been thorough before—influential and wealthy people never skimped on their security, including the security of their minds—but now those checks had become even more finely tuned to specific methods and had reached the height of paranoia.

All in all, if Furval—or rather, his gifted subordinates—had noticed the erased memories, it would have been sad. But there was no longer any reason to erase them just like that, without even trying to hide it. After all, they were family; they were her own people—Maega simply had no reason to guard her secrets so fiercely that she would ruthlessly brainwash her own brother-in-law.

Stepan would have managed if he’d had even a little time and some preparation. He lacked both, but even without them he still had a decent chance—after all, his specialization made a difference. But the problem was that the Earthling wasn’t just tired; he was completely drained and exhausted by the ritual he’d just undergone. The moment Maega finished healing her husband’s jaw, and Furval stopped laughing nervously and somewhat hysterically—mentioning every other word some “Sivila” and how brilliantly that magnificent, big-eared bitch had screwed everyone over—all it would have taken to capture Stepan alive and well would have been a determined tavern waitress with a pillow. She wouldn’t even have had to hit him with the pillow.

He remained standing only through a heroic effort of will, sheer stubbornness, and the unobtrusive support of Singha, who suffered the least in this ritual because she played the role of a supportive mediator. She was a sort of outside observer, making sure that the spirit didn’t create holes where it shouldn’t, that other spirits didn’t cause trouble or run off without fulfilling their tasks, and that the overall structure of the call didn’t become distorted. So at that moment, her remaining strength was enough to maintain Ulysses’s induced coma, apply reinforcing spiritual influences on Stepan, and still help Mother. Maega, to be honest, pushed herself even harder, not sparing herself at all, unlike Stepan, who knew his limits.

Nevertheless, Stepan couldn’t bring himself to blame the mother for trying with all her might—and beyond—to save her child. In short, he could have taken an oath of silence, but it wouldn’t have been very reliable—almost like a mere verbal promise. That’s an exaggeration, but not too far-fetched for the head of a prestigious trading house. He surely had a whole arsenal of relics and artifacts of varying potency, designed to weaken or nullify oath-binding structures. As for erasing a memory, that, again, would only be possible with a blow to the head with a club—which was exactly what Stepan had promised to do if Furval didn’t stop laughing so loudly and gushing over the queen of the local long-eared Nazis.

Singha saved the day. While the discussion was underway, she managed to look deep within herself, partially accepting the reward for her act of saving her own kin. That reward, among other things, also included a clause for “a high-tier artifact created according to a freely formulated request.” A reward roughly like this had given Yula her bracelets, so Singha formulated her request. Without any special effects or flashes in her sensory perception, a small casket appeared right on her lap—somewhere between a stone bowl, the Pensieve from Harry Potter, or a miniature version of the World Cup trophy.

According to her, this item was called the “Chalice of the Spoken.” It was a very powerful and, importantly, fast oath-sealer, truly worthy of the high-end price segment of a System shop. Its strength lay not only in the reliability of the oaths it sealed. No, its main strength was its speed and its ability to remain undetectable against the magical background. Usually, when you seal even an ordinary contract, it not only leaves traces on the aura—which gradually fade over the course of hours or days—but also produces an initial burst of energy. If you’re observing someone, it’s not hard to tell that they’ve just undergone a ritual and to determine the type of ritual.

That same summons from the ++Sealer and his work required several separate communication channels to avoid letting the whole city—or even a third of the Confederation—know that some kind of magical crap with the prefix “Higher” was going on. In the case of the Chalice, all it took was a single drop of blood inside and reciting aloud an extremely straightforward and very clear oath of silence, leaving no room for interpretation or ambiguity. A flash of crimson-and-white light, the wound on Furval’s healed wrist closing instantly—and that was it; the oath was sealed. And what a solid oath it was! The artifact isn’t exactly sentient; rather, it possesses a sorcerous semblance of a will of its own—wild, yet actively present—that leaves no room for wordplay. The Chalice itself will monitor, first and foremost, the spirit of the agreement, not its letter.

Truly, this toy is on par with—and in many ways even surpasses—not only the storage box Singha had received a short while earlier, but also her cloak. It’s quite possible that neither of these artifacts can hold a candle to the ++Chalice of the Spoken in terms of value or “coolness factor.” Stepan must have really started to lose his mind, but his first thought after learning about the artifact’s capabilities was the desire to pour as much good ale as possible into this cup and get thoroughly drunk. All in all, that’s a perfectly good reason to relax as much as possible, considering that he doesn’t usually drink.

“Thank you, Pann,” Singha said wearily but calmly, handing him his artifact at the same time, entrusting it to his care so that he wouldn’t have to worry about the oath with Furval being broken. “From now on, my uncle’s word is in your hands. Now then...”

She’s clearly choosing her words carefully, fighting off her own exhaustion; what’s been happening has worn her down too—mentally, physically, spiritually, and magically. Still, she’s holding up noticeably better than she did back then, at the Worm Queen’s abode, demonstrating, if not resilience, then at least a well-established habit of getting herself into all sorts of high-risk shenanigans. You could say she’s developed a habit—where others see horror, nightmares, darkness, and hopelessness, for her it’s just another Tuesday.

Or rather, “Seconday” according to the Confederate calendar, “Freshgrass” according to the Steppe calendar, and “Oirange” according to the Neirat seven-day calendar, which is very heavily based on ritual numerology (and where the days are also counted by the colors of the rainbow). Stepan still hasn’t gotten used to the local calendar, especially since the people here manage to use several of them at the same time. According to the Neirat calendar and ritual tradition, even Stepan himself is gradually beginning to calculate the optimal dates for calls—a rather convenient system once you get the hang of it—but counting days and months by it is sheer torture; the Confederation’s decimal system—inherited from the Island Empire—is simply more convenient and intuitively understandable.

“Now I need to rest,” he admits honestly, struggling to return to reality from his musings on the transience of calendar reforms in another world, fully aware that there’s no point in putting on airs in front of these two gifted individuals—they can see his condition just as clearly as Stepan himself. “I can barely stand on my own two feet. Maega over there is about to pass out—right on top of Urvag, no less. Rest. Meditation. Sorting through the gifts from the Tablet. And then we’ll talk. Oh, and yes, I hope you’ll be able to come up with something to explain today’s events to anyone who dares to ask questions.” Well, those among them who can’t be answered with the classic “go fuck yourself.”

At that very moment, it became immediately clear that Urvag and Furval were truly brothers—blood brothers and close as could be—because their faces had become completely identical, as if they’d both devoured half a bucket of the finest lemons, and without any tequila to boot. Judging by those faces, the questions they’ll be asked will be entirely logical and complex—and posed in such a way that it’ll be damn near impossible not to answer. Still, they, too, have something to say, for they were within their rights—they were defending their own lives and those of their loved ones. The problem is that for such a powerful ritual performed without permission—even for a holy, higher purpose—they’ll be fleeced for a hefty fine. Even if, deep down, Duke August understands that Urvag and Maega did everything right and just, there’s no harm in squeezing as much as possible out of him. Of course, they won’t squeeze him outright; everything will take the form of polite hints, concessions, and compromises, but that won’t make the process any more pleasant.

Be that as it may, it’s now up to the merchant brothers to save the day, because none of the gifted shamans in this house can be considered capable of acting at the moment—they’ve all been squeezed and drained dry. It’s not even the complexity or cost of the call ritual and the multi-part invocation—it’s the need to pull it off QUICKLY, without regard for possible risks or setbacks. In short, everyone has their own role and their own battle, and on their own turf, even one of these bugs is a worthy opponent for even August de Mont Ros and his entire vast entourage and kin. And there will be two of them.

"Thank you, Pann," Maega said quietly and wearily, yet so sincerely that the earthling felt a little embarrassed, preferring to quickly say goodbye and retreat through the opening in the closet. "My debt keeps growing..."

He didn’t comment on the barely audible phrase—which he’d only caught thanks to his keen perception. From his point of view, leaving Maega alone with her problem or bargaining for her son’s life over the body of a dying man wouldn’t even be despicable or inhuman—no. It simply wasn’t an option to begin with, simply because this world and its morality could go to hell—that’s why. Probably, from the perspective of local morality, he had actually committed a huge blunder and shown shameful weakness by failing to strengthen his position in the face of this unforeseen crisis—but that only made him want to tell the whole world to go to hell even more.

Stepan was finishing his preparations for recovery by relying on some deep-seated reflexes bestowed by the system and its skills, without even attempting to unwrap the gifts his system had showered upon him. If anything, he turned away from them in horror, just so he wouldn’t be crushed right then and there. Three vials of cleansing and restorative alchemy with an extremely gentle effect, followed by several spirits extracted directly from the totems—spirits that would mend his body and restore his depleted life force—the automatic and reflexive activation of the dream spirits, and darkness engulfs him even before his head hits the pillow. He probably even missed the pillow, but the spirits very carefully adjusted their master’s fall.

Contrary to the expectations of all the confusion lurking on the border between wakefulness and slumber, he dreamed of absolutely nothing—only utter darkness, silence, and tranquility. He woke up—not exactly fully recovered, but he no longer wanted to die. Alas, no sooner had he opened his eyes a little wider than he was overwhelmed by the gifts of the Tablet, which, it seemed, had grown tired of waiting for his decision and had resolved to force the development of its bearer. What, had he gotten lazy, lying around in bed, grinning like an idiot, you little shit?! That’s right! Take that, you piece of trash who failed the test!

Just as on previous occasions, when he was overwhelmed by a flood of system messages, it felt like being struck by an incredibly soft and gentle bag of down. It wasn’t painful or dangerous, but these sensations were undeniably intense and placed an excessive burden on his consciousness. The first things that came to mind were the lines and images associated with the achievements he had earned through his own actions and personal growth. After all, he had reached his limit on his own and stepped slightly beyond it—in several areas of magical development at once.

Received: “Advanced developed methods of fast call,” “Advanced basic methods of tandem simplification of call rituals,” “Master techniques for countering curses,” “Advanced, fundamental methods of deep aura healing based on wild magic.”++

There is a noticeable increase in affinity with the realms of curses and blessings; perception of external spiritual influences is simplified; damage to the subtle bodies resulting from prolonged overexertion is somewhat reduced; and the likelihood of acquiring knowledge and abilities in the fields of benefic, malefic, combinatorics, and internal energy practices is increased.

Received talents are added to the Player's overall status.

One of the most ambitious sequences of system strings, earned through independent action, which inevitably reminds us that to develop the Bearer of the Tablet of the Soul (tm), one must not only perform meaningful actions, but also carry them out on the verge of a foul, with maximum risk. Stepan is absolutely certain—a thousand out of a hundred—just as certain as he is that he’ll never get an “A” on his exam with Rodislav Gastoldovich Yanin on the first try. He’s certain that if he had a week or two—or better yet, a month or two—to prepare, he could try performing these same healing-type calls himself, without the help of Maega and Singha.

And then, even without sharing his experience with his two fellow members of the call circle, he would have received less recognition from the System than he has now. Because there would have been no intensity—not only magical and spiritual, but also emotional—that frantic drive with which the trio desperately strove to keep up, to outrun death’s bony grip. In short, Stepan, in a way, had found a legal “cheat” to speed up his leveling. Fewer safeguards, reduced quantity and quality of protective barriers, more risk—and just like that, he could achieve a two- or even threefold increase in experience and free knowledge.

Stepan took note of this method, jotted it down in his notebook, and then sincerely, from the bottom of his heart, decided to tell those cheating mechanics to go to hell. He’d had enough of regularly getting himself into some kind of mess, only to have to struggle with all his might to get out of it. Go looking for trouble on his own? Make his own life harder and take on more risks? Maybe he should even try summoning higher spirits all by himself without a protective barrier? Forget it! Maybe he should just cancel the punishment from that demonic bitch right now and demand that she become his mentor in tactics for fighting demons? No, no—he never considered himself particularly smart, but he’d like to believe he isn’t quite that much of a clinical moron either!

With this philosophical thought in mind, the Earthling sank into a state resembling sleep, bordering on a trance, and began to absorb the information packets as they gradually unfolded. This time it was particularly difficult—and not only because he hadn’t quite recovered from the mission to “save Private Ullis.” The diverse nature of the knowledge he had acquired—both refined and entirely new—was also taking its toll. With every new type of knowledge acquired, cascades of synergies became more and more tightly intertwined, making it increasingly difficult to emerge from beneath this deluge of information. In fact, it was only thanks to the system’s own protective mechanisms that he had not yet become merely a meat server—a walking encyclopedia of shamanism devoid of any personality of his own.

At this rate, if Stepan ever becomes a truly great shaman—or even an archmage of shamanism, a title that has never before existed in this world (lexically and syntactically, such an individual would be called “God-equal,” but that’s frankly far too immodest, well, in his opinion), every single line—even a single piece of basic knowledge—will send him into meditation for a couple of weeks. However, the boost from a single piece of knowledge—even the most basic one—at that level will be orders of magnitude more powerful than what he gets now from a dozen. Well, that is, if Stepan, with his carefree life, even manages to live long enough to reach the rank of at least a Higher Shaman—let’s say, a magister of classical magic.

At first, he was overwhelmed by his rapidly advancing skill in quick calls, which was reaching an advanced developed level. Yet this skill was not—and by no means primarily—a combat skill, even though it had been chosen to support Stepan’s combat development; rather, it was tied to the very foundation of any shaman’s greatest vulnerability. The need for lengthy preparation when performing a call or summoning any entity turned spirit summoners into something like a store-bought pistol. Or an automatic rifle. Even a machine gun, if you had enough strength. But still, with a finite number of rounds—summonings prepared in advance, as well as the spirit homes you carry with you.

Summoning the right entity straight into battle—not just calling on a service that’s already been paid for in advance, but actually finding, negotiating with, and summoning it—is practically impossible. Or rather, perhaps it is possible, but by the time such things become accessible and simple, they will no longer be necessary, for there are hundreds of other ways to kill an opponent right here and now. Quick rituals, at their core, were methods for reducing the number of necessary actions and safeguards, allowing one to skip entire clusters of preparatory steps when invoking a particular spirit. Simplifying the invocation, speeding up the response, freeing up the call circle’s resources from unnecessary protection—instead of using resonance-transmission amplifiers—and many other similar things.

At his current level of knowledge, Stepan can theoretically summon Strong—and even the most suitable—Senior spirits without a circle at all. He simply needs to assume a meditation posture, go out of his body, and call out to them, and they will come. You form a protective circle with your own will and through the incantations of sorcery, right in the spiritual world; you conduct active bargaining using your personal imagery, and you conclude the deal yourself as well. Yes, it’s a crazy risk that an earthling wouldn't take unless absolutely necessary—though it might be possible to pull off something similar under controlled conditions for training purposes—but the theoretical possibility itself remains; it hasn’t gone anywhere and isn’t going anywhere.

Even more fascinating was the new knowledge that had emerged from the body of previous knowledge—the knowledge that came to be known as “advanced basic methods of tandem simplification of the call ceremonial.” This knowledge is even more valuable in terms of pure development point costs, simply because it is more exotic and requires a greater investment of points to unlock. “Simplification of the ceremony” itself refers to the original, prior knowledge: there’s no need for a three-week fast—you can simply skip breakfast in the morning; it’s not necessary to perform the ritual on the new moon; the main thing is that it not be a full moon; instead of a rare mountain flower—now extinct and available only through the system store—you can offer the spirit another mountain flower, but not that one, supplemented with a generous portion of power, and the spirit will accept such an offering without attacking.

That is the essence of the simplification of the ritual at its core. That is its power. It is truly powerful because for shamans who lack the System, this knowledge is truly the Holy Grail. Maega herself nearly jumped out of her skin when she tried to buy such tricks from Stepan. Or rather, she was at a loss because she simply had nothing with which to pay for such a treasure, even if she were to forget about her debt and the alliance agreement. But her pride wouldn’t let her simply ask for it—just as it wouldn’t let her accept such a gift for nothing. All she could do was press Sinha, demanding that she quickly branch out into the necessary area of knowledge herself, and then, as family, share it with her mother.

But all knowledge has its limitsю Limits that even the most powerful shaman cannot transcend. By distorting the call in one area and pushing it too far in another, one must leave a third area untouched and compensate for the fourth entirely—even if it means making large offerings or pouring in abundant reserves. A single powerful shaman, yes, cannot do it. But that’s not the case if there are several of them working in tandem. Not just a group ritual, which all three mastered to a respectable degree, but a specific working method—not even a single technique or maneuver. One shaman conducts the ritual in one area, the second in another, and the third in a third; as a result, the cost of summoning an elder spirit is even lower than that of summoning a pair of strong ones.

Of course, pushing things that far every time is risky, but now Stepan and his two companions are capable of a great deal. This works especially well with spirits that accept not offerings, but sacrifices or vows. The health of a future firstborn child, a ban on using iron forks for four generations to come, the memory of a child’s first laugh, a commitment to, once a year, on the day of the solstice to fuck one’s own mare or stalion (no, this is no joke, although Maega did not say names, for she is still bound by an oath—even though it was her great-great-great-grandmother who made that vow of silence to the warrior who had been healed of the curse).

The ability to immediately remove an unacceptable demand that cannot be removed by other means, to replace it with something else—preferably a one-time gift... for that, any shaman would give anything, right up to a lifetime of loyalty for himself and his grandchildren. Because it will be his great-grandchildren who will have a real chance to make it to the highest league. Among the cohort of ancestral invocations—including those that were successfully restored through the system simply by reading the long-forgotten terms of the deals (forgotten due to the loss of knowledge or the deaths of older female relatives who hadn’t had time to pass on their knowledge)—there was, let’s be frank, a certain darkness. This family didn’t sink into complete darkness, if we don’t count certain female shamans from the distant past, but they certainly knew a thing or two about the darkness. It feels as though every ancient magical lineage—and even those outside of it—knows a thing or two about the darkness.

They keep skills on the shelf just in case, yes.

Who knows, let it be so, it will help them sleep more peacefully.

Stepan is practically 100 percent certain that all three shamans received this same knowledge—at the same “advanced basic” level—at the exact same time. So, not today or tomorrow, but eventually, some of the deals that were previously unacceptable will become perfectly feasible to renew and renegotiate. That same higher spirit—one of those whose invocation is accessible—demands, as payment for its work, one member of the generation, in its entirety. Specifically, her life and her gift, but not her soul, and certainly not anything more. Such a devouring will not extend to blood relatives; it will take only the sacrifice—and without pain or suffering—and afterward, it will not only release the soul but also bless it for a new birth.

On several occasions, this entity’s services were actually paid for, usually through a voluntary sacrifice by the grandmother—as the eldest member of the grandmother-mother-daughter triad—and after the birth of her great-granddaughter, the grandmother, now a great-great-grandmother, would rapidly lose her power, because the ancestral contracts no longer sustained her, and some of them even took a portion of her power as payment, so she usually did not live long in this world. As a result, they usually timed such self-sacrifices for the moment when the granddaughter was already pregnant, so that she could still be considered a grandmother.

Ten to fifteen years of slowly fading away as a weak adept—for someone who had once been a powerful master of shamanism—was hardly the best she could have hoped for in her twilight years. And now, as she grows old, her health fails; rejuvenation treatments are of no help, even her gift is fading with age, and her granddaughter carries her own child under her heart—such a sacrifice can be considered her final gift to her daughter and granddaughter, who will in return receive three summonses from such a powerful and multifaceted entity.

That said, it didn’t always happen voluntarily. You can’t take the words out of a song. Maega and Singha didn’t talk a lot about it—which is perfectly understandable—but they didn’t try to hide it either, not from those with whom they had performed call rituals more than once, having opened up to each other far too completely. Sometimes the grandmother was in no hurry to pass on to the other world; at other times, she was even eager to sacrifice her daughter to some summoned evil spirit just to wring out a little more life. On one occasion, the grandmother even sacrificed her own mother—who had decided to kill her granddaughter in a sacrificial ritual, thereby boosting her own power in a single leap to a level nearly surpassing that of the current Maega, albeit at the cost of a destroyed dynasty and her own irreversible infertility.

The base passions of high magic as they are

The Earthling had the somewhat absurd feeling that Maega had shared this information with him not only as a gesture of trust, but also as a kind of guidance. A reminder that magic—any and all of it—always demands a sacrifice, always presents the gifted with the question of cost. The cost of deeds, actions, and choices—which you will have to make, and for which not you, but your descendants will have to pay.

All in all, the three of them gained some serious knowledge—one of the most valuable kinds from the perspective of local shamans, practically the crown jewel of his status. And it’s a jewel that surprisingly effectively binds him to his shaman allies, for such knowledge can only be fully utilized by working in that very partnership. This is stated quite directly, even in the title of the line they received! And, by the way, this knowledge bound him just as closely—it’s many times easier for a trio to use such a method than for just a pair. In certain aspects, it’s almost an order of magnitude easier.

Secondary synergies resulting from this new knowledge also arose; it was inevitable that they would. Take, for example, the methods of concluding contracts in tandem through spirits, where each party gains the opportunity to reinforce the guarantee of the deal in one way or another. And there are a hundred thousand ways to slip in some kind of nastiness when working in tandem in a ceremonial context. Nastiness, of course, that is predominantly indecent. There are many connections to witchcraft, particularly through shamanism, where you don’t so much weave spells as you use territorial methods to amplify the summoning of spirits. Or you help yourself subjugate a territory (or intercept someone else’s subjugation, or even break it by messing with the territory owner’s mind) by summoning those very same spirits.

I particularly remember an entire technique for working with envolts—one that, for the sake of variety, wasn’t even lewd. In classical puppet magic theory, creating an envolt of an immaterial entity is, to put it mildly, impossible. Or rather, it is possible, but only for entities that are extremely weak compared to the master of envolting; however, the cost of this action is so disproportionate to the benefit that the method exists only as a theoretical possibility and a sort of magical-scientific curiosity—a mental exercise for someone’s mind.

Possible in theory.

Not applicable in practice.

Working in tandem—especially when tied to ritual and relying on the ability to restrain the will and alter the spirit’s perception—made it possible to bring this theory closer to practice. What is the main challenge here? It is that an envolt is, in essence, a material reflection of something else—also material. A painting, a doll, a statue, a model of a city block—even a book containing someone’s biography, if one approaches it creatively. A spirit is immaterial; it is not constantly present in the world, is constantly changing, and its essence will slip out of any chains intended for living, physical creatures. To counter spirits, one makes a totem, not a brain-washing doll.

But what if there are three of them—while one distracts, the second prevents the subject from changing too drastically, and the third creates an envolt? Purely in theory, but it’s possible—it’s possible to branch off into a completely new field of artifactology, one closely tied to the creation of all manner of totems. Only what would be created wouldn’t be a totem, but literally an artifact—one that directly performs a specific function and isn’t entirely a spirit. A spirit ceases to be a spirit because it is far less real and material than a created envolt! Even someone completely untalented could use such a toy just as well as a magic wand for throwing fireballs!

These things, too, require skill and practice to use, and equipment that’s too complex in the hands of a newbie can actually be dangerous—but it’s possible. At the same time, the main problem with spirits—and this is the only problem—is that the stronger and more multifaceted they are, the harder they are to understand, communicate with, and perceive. A weak apprentice, even if given a totem containing a completely submissive higher spirit, is more likely to fry his brain than to accomplish the task at hand. In fact, that is precisely why, at its core, high-level, witchcraft-based, or even combined artifact magic is far more popular than purely shamanic practices.

This “not-quite-a-doll” practically eliminates that kind of problem. Neither Maega nor Singha had ever heard of this before. They’d talked about this topic earlier, when they were discussing artifact magic. Now they’ll definitely have something to discuss, given their new knowledge, yes. After all, what would happen if you turned not just a spirit into a doll, but a truly powerful entity with mind-blowing aspects? Or even some nasty creature, a priori unsuitable for normal shamanism—so that no one, not even other spirits, would condemn its destruction, since such a creature would always attack first. Turn a senior spirit into a combat-type artifact? Give me two, or even three!

Stepan isn’t sure yet, but he suspects he’s just stumbled upon yet another completely new school of magic—one that’s either unknown in this world or extremely rare. It involves a patchwork-totemic approach to claiming territory through witchcraft or totemic chimeraology based on puppetry, but directed solely at physical creatures—preferably sentient ones. Come to think of it, the latter could be considered a variation—or even the progenitor—of the idea that has just occurred to him. In any case, this requires a lot of thought, even longer experimentation, and, ideally, a substantial investment of development points into this and a number of other areas of knowledge that have now become accessible.

A new mastery, one that was fully-fledged even from the System’s perspective, hit him right in the face like a massive pillow. Namely, “masterful techniques for countering curses.” These methods simply should improve once again. After what I’d been through. After we managed to defeat, vanquish, and reverse a curse that was truly supreme in every sense. He'd say thanks to a certain cheerful orc, but he's just too eager to cosplay as the local elves and start “mowing the green” from here to the horizon, beginning with the venerable ++Silent Drum. Alas, he won’t even have to stand in line—he’ll just have to sign up for the long, long list of those who’d like to join the line but are being turned away by those already standing there.

The knowledge is vast, very dense, and complex, intertwined with a bunch of other knowledge, including foundational concepts for the class. New spirit invocations, including higher spirits and the three great entities (one of whom could actually curse anyone to chronic misfortune with a fatal outcome, affecting the very mechanics of fate itself—but only those who are ungifted), as well as new witchcraft techniques—for witchcraft, as is well known, works perfectly with all forms of curses—even contractual and totemic methods have been affected. Those very contracts that ultimately curse structural violations or simply curse under certain conditions—this is an extremely interesting topic. For the hundred thousand and five hundredth time, this serves as a reminder of why one shouldn’t enter into contracts at all—even if it’s just a contract to deliver fresh pastries.

If you happen to run into some guy named Stepan—but not the Skinny One—then instead of a fine of two silver dinars, the contract will stipulate a penalty of two years of anal slavery. And the embedded curse will first burn away your natural mental defenses, then use a mental effector to make the penalty seem perfectly normal, as if that’s exactly how it should be, and then it will implant a controlling spirit into your body to ensure compliance with the agreement. And one more spirit, which will alter the victim’s body and aura—especially around the part of the body that has been enslaved—so that literally squatting on a bottle does not become fatal, but remains merely pleasant—to the point of burning out the brain and rapid mental dullness.

Stepan wouldn’t have been the least bit surprised that he’d acquired such knowledge—he was already used to it. Actually, that’s exactly what happened. The problem is that the whole business with pastries and—literally—anal slavery isn’t some hypothetical scenario. It’s just how one of the steppe chieftains used to amuse himself in the not-so-distant past. And he was allied with the very one under whose protection Maega's grandma now works, working for the good of their tribal alliance. The man was nicknamed Batunray the Baker—he was so fond of fair-skinned, big-eyed maidens with Confederate and Northerner features, just as much as he loved fresh pastries. He also had a very savvy and, if the surviving engravings are to be believed, quite hot half-goblin witch-shaman working for him—one who was reputed to be highly skilled in contract magic, as well as those subfields of it related to influencing consciousness and cognitive functions.

It even seemed to the shaman—purely intuitively, without any evidence—that such a fascination specifically with female bakers—that such busty beauties, all covered in wheat flour, would be kneading dough while being anally punished for failing to fulfill the agreement to knead that dough quickly enough—wasn’t entirely natural. One couldn’t help but draw parallels with the oiled breasts of women from rural areas of heightened depravity. But this information was certainly not mentioned in the archival documents that Stepan was permitted to read by Urvag’s decree. This stood in contrast to the more widely known facts from the Baker’s biography—the man who was ultimately killed right on top of one of his female slaves when all the flour in that “Bread Tent,” where he kept his harem, suddenly shot into the air and then exploded from a single spark.

But actually, Stepan read those records back then not because of the spicy scenes, but because he himself had killed a necromancer in exactly the same way—also with a flour mill explosion. Interesting, I wonder if the investigators later figured out exactly what had happened at old Rumorias’s estate? They might have figured out the source and nature of the explosion; Stepan had gone to great lengths to conceal the aural and spiritual traces, hiding the shaman’s involvement, and he’d paid attention to other minor details as well, though not quite as thoroughly. It would be amusing if everyone around really did think it was the work of northern undead—even the undead themselves.

Thinking about events from the distant past made it much easier to bear the burden on his mind, but it showed no sign of letting up; new truths kept surfacing in his turbulent memory. Somewhere in his knowledge—or even in ready-made contracts for talent points—he found a couple of spirits who, having been summoned in advance, would easily devour the curse of the thorny bones without disturbing the aura or body of Ullis, or those of the other victims. There were even more who would have managed it—not exactly easily, but still with a guarantee. Such contacts and recipes for rituals had existed even before the upgrade, but there wouldn’t have been enough time for the summoning and the formation of the contract; they had to improvise with all their might.

It also included knowledge of how to cast such a curse—or one like it—which entity to summon for the purpose, and how to appease and bribe it. It wasn’t necessarily about crippling the bones; the list of all manner of cursing filth was such that he involuntarily wanted to wash his brain out with soap—literally, not like Truda, Sylvia, or Lahgan—so filthy did he feel at that moment. Still, a couple of particularly memorable curses piqued his interest anyway. And while the numerous love spells and suggestive methods of mental annihilation—the kind that could easily fuck with your mind and cum out your gift along with your life—no longer even made his eyebrows twitch, others...

For example, there’s a curse that is, in essence, a pure blessing. It speeds up the regeneration of a magic reserve, and this regeneration gradually accelerates—until the aura begins to crack, and the gifted individual, exhausted from constantly channeling magic through themselves, can no longer safely drain their reserve. In essence, it’s not so much a means of elimination—though it is that as well, and one so powerful that you’d be hard-pressed to remove this abomination—as it is a marker that can easily be placed inside the glass of a drinking glass, for example. It’s also a brilliant suicide tactic, a boost for the very last battle, in which there will be no threat of running out of reserves—it simply cannot happen.

Or another non-curse—one that would surely interest Maega—that gradually alters the amount of life-breath oxygen in the air one breathes. Not suffocating, as Maega’s spirits are known to do, but quite the opposite—by increasing the concentration of this much-needed gas. However, the term “oxygen poisoning” didn’t come out of nowhere, and most amulets—or even active protective spells—fail to recognize this trick. Simply because setting the protection to “let only oxygen through” is significantly easier and more intuitive than “let only the necessary amount of oxygen through as a percentage.”

Given what he already knew, this addition to his healing knowledge didn't seem all that significant—or rather, it only seemed that way. In fact, there were quite a few synergies with the “advanced basic methods of deep aura healing based on wild magic,” especially when combined with other healing knowledge. And even outside of that, there was a lot of interesting material, particularly in the areas of agent-based techniques and love spells and suggestion. The latter, of course, comes as no surprise at all. In local textbooks, even those given to “just Pann” or “just Stae” to read, state in red letters and capitalized text that you should only allow those you trust, or those under contract, to heal you.

Well, for people without money or influence, a healer with a good public reputation and a verified diploma is enough, because such a healer—for the sake of a simple craftsman or shopkeeper—won’t take any risks with all sorts of mental and not-so-mental nonsense. In theory. But given Stepan’s luck, he wouldn’t have sought treatment from local healers—male or female—without first personally verifying their credibility and setting mental blocks against the very idea of “restoring hormonal balance, increasing trust, and provoking candor.” He’d much rather fight back with everything he’s got. He knows full well what he’s capable of doing to a living, not-so-rational creature, all while disguising it as healing.

Setting aside love spells, deep healing is in itself a very complex and little-studied subject. To learn how to heal deep traumas of the aura and the spirit, one must practice this art, and most traumas—even those affecting the aura—rarely reach the depth of those experienced by Ulysses, who had nearly died. Stepan had read—albeit in a transcribed version—the notes of one of de Lomer’s staff members, who had studied in Neirat and had even attended open lectures by Mistress Mirael of the House of River Flowers herself, the Elder Enchantress of the Forest, who was visiting Neirat at the time for some important negotiations. So she decided to show off her knowledge, while at the same time presenting herself as quite the philanthropist—or perhaps even luring in some promising talent.

The lady stood out for more than just her beauty. Seriously, Stepan would have bet a chest of gold that the student had spent many sleepless nights thinking about this beauty—there were definitely hints of something like that in his diary. She was also a fully-fledged magister of healing magic—one of the best, if not simply the best, among those who specialize in working with subtle auric bodies and deep-seated ailments. Her proficiency in this skill was certainly no less than masterful, even by the system’s standards, and it was further supported by a whole range of auxiliary and synergistic abilities, all of which were also at the master, advanced master, or master’s level. Healing abilities, of course. In short, she was the one who had every chance of saving Maega’s child, even without the help of a cheat system.

Well, if she somehow ended up in the same room with the de Lomer family when the crisis started.

That day, Stepan didn’t immediately understand why the hell she was considered the Elder Enchantress when there were two full-fledged archmages in the Forest, but a quick search for answers using the “ask Singha” method lifted the veil of mystery. It turns out that in the Forest, the title of Elder Enchantress isn’t about strength and power, but about administrative and political functions, so this position was regularly held by not the most powerful individuals. They even had—oh, the horror!—turnover among the Enchanters, and quite rapid by the standards of the immortal. Rarely did an Elder Enchantress remain in office for more than half a thousand years, happily returning to pure magical practice after just a few hundred years of work they found unpleasant.

Everything about these elves is not like normal people!

The de Lomer chronicles record that one of their mages—a distant relative who had devoted himself to magic rather than commerce—gained a reputation as a skilled artifact-maker and ritualist; he visited the Forest on more than one occasion and even managed, on one occasion, to secure an audience with one of the two Archmages of the Eared Ones. He had the “sense”—in a way he considered unobtrusive—to hint to Alinarel the Radiant herself that, should she wish to claim her rightfully deserved place as Elder Enchantress and cease being, so to speak, exiled to her own tower, help could be found not only in the Forest. The distinguished and venerable de Lomer Trading House would be happy to provide the heroine of the war against the Horde of the Chief of Chiefs with all possible assistance.

To the elf girl’s credit, she didn’t even laugh too loudly. Afterward, she politely and extremely gently explained to the boy (who was eighty-nine years old), who was so taken with her that what he was seeing wasn’t a glaring injustice or what amounted to a not-particularly-honorable exile, but rather a completely free choice. Because if Alinarel the Radiant were living on Earth, she would certainly be quite the hikikomori (and it’s a good thing she isn’t a bitard): she had voluntarily remained in her White Tower for decades, and if anyone had tried to appoint her to some political position or other, she would have unleashed her entire arsenal, fighting back with all her legendary powers.

And so she is very flattered by the esteemed Rain de Lomer’s assessment of her talents, even more impressed by his willingness to offer his help—practically for free (and, incidentally, sincerely)—but she has no need of it. In the end, this gray-haired man, as red as a boiled lobster, left the White Tower and its Lady. Later, in his diaries, he described his own stupidity quite self-critically, along with the reasons why he had come to completely erroneous conclusions. And all because, like Alinarel herself, he had devoted most of his life to magic; he couldn’t care less about politics, and if anyone tried to drag him into even the most trivial family squabbles within the Trading House, he might have thrown an artifact grenade at them—literally.

Level up!

Level up!

Received two free talent points!

Not bad, but expected. He’d practically reached level 36 anyway, even despite all the possible—and not-so-possible—delays caused by completing that lackey quest. This time, the achievement he earned didn’t freeze his experience bar, so the level that had been stuck in one place for so long finally took two tentative steps upward. There was no point in spending the free points (two current ones and two already in reserve) just yet, nor the two stat points earned from using the Singha's token. While rescuing the boy, the shaman had almost invested them, but didn’t take the risk. Assimilating the attributes and rewriting his reflexes to match the new state of his aura would have taken time, and they didn’t have any time back then.

Now there’s a good reason to think carefully about which direction to take in developing himself. For Deeds they usually grant a certain number of free points. Should he strengthen something he already has, discover something new, or even invest points in stats—and then try to unlock magister-level knowledge through them? In principle, if these two points are invested in Spirit—and if twenty points in Spirit grant some kind of bonus, such as a free point for every ten points in a stat—then he’ll be on the verge of becoming a Master, even by the system’s standards. Maega, for example, has a higher Spirit attribute, as well as a higher Source—and by a noticeable margin—but her Sensitivity is already inferior, as is her Power, while in terms of Control, Stepan is quite comparable to her.

But the Earthling was plagued by the suspicion that the system would also require him to improve his Constitution—his weakest attribute. Шf he didn’t become a veritable “perfect magister" by the standards of the System, he wouldn't get magister-level knowledge and properties and attain the title of Higher Shaman. In principle, this raises a very significant and even somewhat philosophical question about choosing the path for further leveling up. Either he should push himself to the limit and strive first and foremost to boost his attributes—even if it means choosing meta-skills that provide a one-time bonus to a specific attribute at the cost of a wasted talent point. Or should he instead try to branch out, acquiring one or even two additional specializations, and gain stat boosts through the ultra-properties unlocked at level 40?

As usual, both options had their pros and cons, while—as always—there weren’t enough points and stats to fulfill all the wish lists. You might as well give in to the hints from the “Auto-Milf” script, start completing its tasks, use the perverted tokens, and indulge in all sorts of vices—especially the one that the demonic whore favors most. As if anticipating this thought of his—he mentally spat over his shoulder and tapped the wooden totem near his sleeping platform with his hand—the system chimed with a new gift from Her. It was like a quiet whisper in his ear, sending shivers marching down his entire body—several times over.

Received: "Contract with the Higher Spirit: Determining the Value."

The acquired talent is added to the Player's overall status.

As he opened the file and drew on what he’d learned, the Earthling already had a pretty good idea of what he was going to see. And he certainly wasn’t disappointed by his intuition, for what he saw was yet another piece of utter, extreme nonsense. That said, to be fair, he could certainly see ways to use this contract for purposes beyond what all those “Mocking Milfs” had in mind. The scope of what the spirit would agree to do under this contract was quite broad—broader than in earlier contracts with an auto-goddess flavor.

This higher entity is certainly not among the strongest, but it is also extremely dense and intense, even if the reserves of power this chthon operates with seem truly meager. A sphere of rebirth and, at the same time, perception—an extremely unconventional combination—and the aspects present are completely beyond the bounds of good and evil. Stepan’s first thought upon encountering the images of this spirit was bewilderment. Puzzlement caused by the simplest of questions: how does this crap even exist and not collapse in on itself? Its very existence must strain this entity, causing what would be unbearable suffering for a human, but for a spirit has simply become an integral part of being.

It is practically impossible to find such an entity on his own, summon it, negotiate with it, and then conclude a contract—not with his current knowledge, and not with something so specific, unusual, and almost unique. In fact, a spirit cannot be summoned into the physical world—once it appears there, it perishes instantly, leaving behind only a shadow and ashes, the equivalent of a corpse, the only remnant of the spirit. An anomaly that does not exist in the conventional sense, capable of inhabiting any material object—as long as it is neither living nor magical. In fact, any object at all—be it a nut, a stone, or even a book on delicious and healthy food—as long as it isn’t imbued with alchemy or enchanted.

After that, this thing becomes extremely valuable, beyond measure, more valuable than anything else in the world—but only to women, and not to those who are ugly or past their prime (the latter, as is often the case with “milf” contracts, is a contractual condition, not a matter of the spirit). It’s somewhat similar to the effect of those ill-fated and long-since completely destroyed beads, given as a gift along with the mark that remained on Maega and Singha—only not on the level of meta-effects. The effect is such that you can publicly, in full view of everyone, purchase any lady you like as a sex slave (courtesan, concubine, or whatever term is used locally). In theory, it could even affect a magister—provided they aren’t under maximum protection—but here one must assess that particular magister on a case-by-case basis.

For example, Magister Clementine de Neirat—whom Sylvia glimpsed from afar and still remembers—would be affected, unless she were in a combat situation. But some kind of mentalist or aura specialist (curses, healing, amplifying rituals) could be affected only if the target is relaxed and caught off guard. But if it does catch her, it’s a sure thing, because the stuff activates an encapsulated and already completed structure for processing and reshaping the personality. You hold out a river pebble to such a beauty and tell her you’re buying her into anal slavery for a month or two. She’ll grimace, maybe even get indignant, but she’ll agree and sell herself without even trying to take the pebble by force.

And everyone around will look on and admit that, yes, the audacity is appalling, but for the sake of this little pebble, well, it’s perfectly understandable why the victim agreed. The term of such a purchase contract won’t last more than a couple of moons, but it’s best to limit it to a decade or two. When the term ends, the victim will say goodbye to the buyer—politely or not—but won’t seek revenge or try to silence the witness. In other words, she may very well say everything she thinks about how she was used in every possible way, but she’ll limit herself to words alone. In fact, the only reliable way to realize the wrongfulness of such a transaction would be to review a recording of the event from a third-party perspective, preferably with additional security measures in place.

In other cases, the witnesses won’t notice the trick either, and the logical idea of buying the lady in private won’t work. You need witnesses, even if they don’t really hear the conversation and aren’t aware of the deal. The public nature of the activation significantly amplifies the effect. In reality, the contract is truly valuable because, while you’re certainly buying a sex slave (again: a handmaiden of pleasure, a concubine, a saki-taran, or other epithets), she’s still a master, a leader, the head of the household. And if you ask such a powerful sorceress—or simply an influential lady—to help with that project over there instead of performing oral sex on her knees, she’ll help, even though she’ll complain that the buyer isn’t even capable of properly using her.

Her personality doesn’t change at all, nor does her attitude toward being bought—unless directly ordered otherwise, the victim will express her feelings without any pretense and with no regard for others’ pride. She’ll simply believe that purchasing the item justifies such humiliations. If it weren’t for the high risk of exposure—by the very witnesses who will later analyze the events of the public reception—she’d be the perfect candidate for hiring a highly gifted individual. Alas, there is a limitation—it won’t be possible to ask that same Maitre Clementine to give a month-long course in the highest forms of elemental magic, revealing all her cherished secrets.

The sex - as much as you like

To be honest, compared to the usual gifts of Automilf, it's actually a little unsettling just how useful this summon could be.

Once again, the System graciously waited for him to process the new line before flooding the Earthling with more lines. The newly acquired Deed unfolded in his mind—not exactly slowly, but there was a sense that Stepan himself was somehow delaying this revelation. Not so much because he needed to lie flat for a little while longer, but rather out of a desire to savor the moment a bit. He delayed it so long that he waited for a message on his communication amulet—and the message came from Urvag, as the only initiate of de Lomer who was in a coherent state.

//“Pann, judging by how my precious ones are being weighed down right now—which is why they can’t really take part in the upcoming affairs—things aren’t any easier for you either. So far, everything is within the bounds of the adversity we all expected. I answered, and they believed me. That’s just my personal opinion, but it seems they believed me in earnest, not just for show, although I’ll have to go see His Highness for a conversation. I don’t know which is worse—negotiating with Augustus himself or with his beloved wife, whom the whole world wishes the very best. I hope it will be with the duke after all; he’s easier to read, and his intentions will be straightforward and clear.

As for that wonderful guy Stae, some cheeky little brat—whom I’m definitely going to track down and scold—sprinkled his bed with some extremely unpleasant love potion. And just imagine! It turns out the boy is allergic to that very mixture—and to the wrong dosage, no less! Right now he’s been put into a healing sleep, but he won’t be coming out of his room for another couple of days. They let the healer in to see him, but not for long—Maega, my dear stormy fury, for some reason flew into a rage and sent poor Ignatius away; I won’t even say why. She declared that she herself would relieve the auric shock around his lungs and spine as soon as she had regained her composure a little.//

He really is a surprisingly cunning fellow—he’s downright admirable! He managed not only to lock up the dummy Stae, who was still in his little room, but also to concoct a cover story on the spot. And he did it in such a way that everyone who needed to know understood the “true background” of the situation, were satisfied with it, and didn’t dig any deeper. Now that’s what I call a pro, damn it! And yet they’d barely discussed the matter at all—all the loving father had asked was for the mannequin doll to feign some kind of allergy or other injury. And look—he managed to pull it all off practically on his own, even though he’s not exactly gifted.

\\"Thank you. I feel a little better now, but for a day or two I'm a lazy seal. I mean, I just lie there and roll around, nothing more."

Having wrapped up his social interactions for the day, Stepan finally allowed himself to lie back on the mattress—but not before shoveling a few handfuls of highly nutritious dried fruit into his stomach and washing it down with plenty of water. And immediately he plunged back into meditation, absorbing and internalizing what the System deemed worthy of his deeds. Or rather, his Deed.

A significant deed has been accomplished!

For helping the sisters in gifts, for saving the life of an innocent person from a fate that could not be averted, for triumphing over the curse that brought suffering, and for the decisiveness and speed of their actions despite the risk—a reward befitting such a noble Deed is hereby bestowed!

Received: one stat point in the Control attribute, one stat point in the Resistance attribute, one random trait of the Rare or Pre-Elite type; the “Assign System Tasks” meta-skill has been upgraded to level five; two random Rare meta-effect tokens and one Elite meta-effect token.

An additional reward from Liarat si Merrinal, Lady of Gifts and Giver of Gifts, faithful servant of Innelas Innelay: one point in the Power attribute; two random minor elite-type pieces of knowledge; one free talent point; three elite meta-effect tokens; two new options in the “Deals” section; the “Feats” status option has been further expanded and modified.

Whether the system heard his prayers or simply decided that he had already acquired enough pure knowledge—and that there was no need to further disrupt his sleep schedule with new deep meditations—this time the reward turned out to be unusually “easy” to assimilate. That said, he couldn’t bring himself to call it insufficiently valuable—and not just because his tongue was once again slightly numb due to three stats that had all improved at once. Well, tokens—most of them will be elite, but also auto-divine! He preferred not to even consider the Deals at all, so very much were they in the spirit of the merciless Milfistopheles!

But the new status subsection immediately piqued Stepan’s interest, which is why he had set it aside for last, having merely skimmed it to get a quick overview and understand exactly what he was dealing with. First, he set about sorting through the new gifts—specifically, the property and minor knowledge—as these placed the greatest strain on the mind, rather than on the aura, which was already occupied with getting used to the characteristics. The standard reward in the form of an ability turned out to be a “filtration membrane of the source’s foundation,” which improved the quality of energy in the aura, enhanced his aptitude for healing practices, but, most importantly, allowed him to use his available reserves of energy far more effectively to bribe and nourish spirits.

When an ordinary shaman feeds his spirits from his personal reserve, part of that reserve is wasted. It is a diet that is too different, too unfamiliar to the spirits. They are either unable to fully digest it or unwilling to do so. The filtration membrane does not completely eliminate this problem, but the value of every drop of the reserve increases, as if it were passed through a purifying charcoal filter, making it more easily digestible. And for the same amount of energy, one can easily elicit a much greater response from the summoned entity. This is not the only property of this “cost-saving” nature present in Stepan’s status and his auric-spiritual bodies. But it is different from previous ones and, at the same time, works in synergy with them.

As it turns out, what seemed like a relatively minor ability actually gave Stepan a significant boost in overall power—certainly more as a shaman than as a practitioner of witchcraft. It was no coincidence that he saved that young victim... he would have said, had he been a bit more cynical; but as it was, it was enough for him that he’d saved that lucky little shit in the first place, so he didn’t have to look at Maega’s face contorted with despair or into the eyes of the usually cheerful Singha, which were distorted by pain and a kind of disbelief at what was happening.

Both bits of knowledge from Automilf—what a miracle—turned out not to be useless trash after all, but actually quite useful insights. The witch’s “envelopment in the embrace of inaudible wings” was a defensive skill on par with ++“defense through the distortion of the threshold between realms,” and one that fully revealed its potential precisely when used in conjunction with the latter. It created a zone of space specifically inert to magic—a sort of portable coffin with the caster inside—as if the gentle palms of the world itself had embraced and protected them from evil spells. This spell does not block purely physical attacks or direct, ultra-dense spells very reliably, but when it comes to subtle or area-of-effect magic, it literally devours it, sucking it in like a giant sponge, breaking it down into its constituent elements, and casting it into the depths of the spheres.

Well, the picture is not difficult to understand, right?

The Anteroom actively blocks targeted attacks and physical damage, while ‘Embrace’ absorbs everything that “Anteroom” cannot block; you can switch the order of these two effects by prioritizing one over the other. It’s still possible to figure out this combination—it’s not even that incredibly difficult, at least not at the shaman’s current level—but can you do it quickly, reliably, and while actively fighting off the Earthling? That’s where the challenge becomes surprisingly difficult—both techniques are extremely flexible, durable, and easily customizable, especially given his stats and already-leveled-up status.

The second bit of knowledge pertained purely to shamanism, serving as an invaluable trump card for out-of-body battles, when, deep within the realms, there is only your naked spirit, only the enemy standing against you… as well as that whole pack of aggressive guardian spirits you’ve summoned to defend yourself. But let’s not spoil this beautiful and grandiose picture with boring remarks about disappointing reality. What was he talking about? Oh, right, that’s it! Minor knowledge!

The “worn-out invisible sting” could only be activated outside the body—by leaving it, at least partially, or better yet, completely. Without his skills in spiritual manipulation and shaping his own spiritual body—a talent that could even lead one to mistake Stepan for a native inhabitant of the spheres—it’s not even worth trying. Essentially, this attack creates a piercing spiritual construct that comes into existence precisely at the moment it overcomes the outer and even the immediate defenses of a spiritual entity, injecting aggressive and extremely concentrated spiritual power into the victim’s essence.

The trick isn’t exactly instantly lethal—though even a powerful spirit can be disembodied right now by such a trivial attack—but it is guaranteed to weaken, gradually wear down, and ultimately finish off the target, especially if the attack is renewed and backed up by strikes from one’s own spirits. The trick is not only powerful but also extremely economical in terms of energy reserves, requiring concentration and a skill—unavailable to ordinary shamans, even the strong ones—to manipulate the spiritual body, rather than relying solely on magical nonsense. If such a trick could still be used in the physical world, the sting would be the jewel of his combat arsenal. If only.

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Переведено на Нотабеноиде
http://notabenoid.org/book/86785/597836

Переводчики: Camrad_RIP