Chapter 8 (Patreon)

Chapter 8

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The meeting of relatives, especially if they have not seen each other for a long time, is always associated with certain emotional feelings. If we are talking about those relatives who regularly risk their lives because of their work, which can at any time slightly "burn out on the job," the emotional reaction will be doubly strong. And if this same relative disappeared without a trace during another fun job, and in such conditions that he had time to be buried long ago, the amount of emotion and joy of the observers of the family reunion process can throw them right out of the saddle.

However, it was the four-legged abomination that had tried to throw me out of the saddle, not someone else's joy, but I'd better pretend it was the latter. I would have to admit that the damn thing had managed to win another point in our never-ending confrontation. And that would never happen until I ate the basturma out of its meat. Then, of course, I would forgive her and admit defeat, but not before. Now I'm going to jump to the ground, pretending that's what I was planning to do, and the horse wasn't trying to throw me off at all. I'm going to watch some of this intense human joy that's going to make me jittery, I swear.

"Losius!" Our duelist's little sister's voice was very sonorous, just perfect for singing or even opera (not that I had ever been in one).

"Kasia!" The man himself was clearly happy to see his sister too, and could hardly restrain himself from running to meet her as if he were the hero of a bad melodrama.

"Losius!" The girl, who has level seventeen and a rare class of Benefic, is slowly calming down, at the same time regaining her sobriety of thought.

"Kasia!" The brother of this local buffer also slows down, giving her time to make sure that he is her brother, and not a hallucination or, say, a substitute of some kind.

"Losius." This time she is not screaming, but the joy in her voice has only increased because the charms she released confirmed that this is a living person and not the undead.

"Kasia." I can't see my comrade's face, but I'm sure his face is so bright that it could be used as a light source.

So I wanted to feed him a couple of lemons, so he wouldn't be so happy. I envy him! I mean, I don't envy him, because I am too awesome to envy him, but I still envy him because of how much they waited for him in that place. Because Kostya has long been expected nowhere but at work, from which he was snatched by the pentagram of the summoning... And since I'm in a bit of a bad mood, it's time to show the sparkling humor of a real isekai. Especially since the situation directly makes me quote a classic, who knows a lot about making acquaintances and seducing women.

"Donkey!" And a finger pointed at the real donkey, grazing a little to the side, so they wouldn't take me for a lunatic... although that didn't seem to help me much, yeah.

In response to the comment I made, Hans almost grunted, and Taria coughed hysterically, hiding her laughter. Apparently, the guys appreciated the joke too, even if they didn't understand the reference. Losius just looked at us all with a judgmental look, and then dropped his face into the palm of his hand. Was it just me, or was he not even surprised?

"Meet Kasia. These are my comrades, with whom I had to save my life from the mess that Destiny brought upon me. Believe me, I wouldn't be here without them, I assure you."

I just adopted a look of concentrated innocence, noting at the same time that the duelist had not only put me and Hans among his comrades but Taria as well. She'd passed the baptism of blood, though, and she'd covered his back quite selflessly, which gave her some bonus points. Maybe he still can't stand her in his heart, but he does recognize her merits. That's what the hopeless battle does to people! Immediately the arrogance of some and the class hatred of others disappear, leaving only the desire to meet new dawn.

"Starting on the right: Hans, the best trailblazer I know, Taria, a promising dancer with a blade, and a big fan of bringing nonsense to any situation is..."

"Donkey?" As if quite innocently, Kasia asks, clearly showing who in this family got all the sense of humor, thus depriving everyone else.

"Ahem!" Losius held his face, but it wasn't easy at all. "No, that's Tin. Our lurker, and a man who likes to make jokes, but isn't always good at them."

Not good? Losius, you bastard, you're gonna have to answer for this! I've been trolling the boards since you were in knee-highs! Especially since my jokes are funny, at least to me.

Meanwhile, the faces of my Army of Darkness had taken on a very wicked expression, indicating a willingness to tear everything apart for the trampling of the commander's honor. That's right! They're not the ones laughing quietly at their superiors, they're the ones holding back tears of resentment and the purest righteous rage!

"Well..." Something in the brother's words and behavior must have made the lady suspicious, for she was looking at us all with a look of extreme... No, not distrustful, but suspicious nonetheless. As if we had knowingly done something we were not supposed to do. It was not the noble lady's contempt for obscure serfs, but her suspicion of our nature. I could have used clairvoyance, but just a couple of hours ago I had already driven myself to migraines by trying to probe what was going on in the ruined slave-trading camp we had left behind. Things had long since fallen silent there, but the threads of events that had started a cascade of incidents were still circulating in the water.

For instance, only the day before yesterday I caught a full vision of someone finishing off the remnants of the slave traders - the same main caravan of slaves that had left the camp a week before we arrived. A large squad of guards and four high-ranking fighters were met and slaughtered without too much trouble. Even in my vision, I couldn't get a good look at the attackers, only the aftermath of their actions. Arrows glinting with charged skills, crushing armored and shielded fighters in a single hit, shooting straight into the barely visible gaps in the joints of their armor and the slits of their helmets.

The beasts and birds attacked the outposts, forgetting their instinct for self-preservation and throwing themselves right on the blades. The roots and branches of trees block all escape routes and are eager to claw at someone's flesh like a gardener's nightmare. High-class magic of an unknown nature, literally driving pockets of resistance into the ground to the very tops of defenders. And figures barely discernible from the speed and disguise, knocking out or killing those worthy of special attention.

The only one who was able to do anything about the attackers was some strange dork in samurai armor, who managed for a while to fight off the three barely discernible figures of the elven executioners at once. I was even too lazy to spend most of my clairvoyance on him, trying to figure out exactly what he was doing. And what's more, I figured it out!

Somehow, inexplicably, the asshole managed to strike either with a delay or with a one-second lead time. Literally - the cuts appeared where the blade had been a second before, or where it hadn't been yet. A killer combination, if you think about it, but not without its flaws. At the very least, because such blows glowed in danger sense even more than normal blows. In fact, the elves paid for his death with one lightly wounded, and then quickly oriented themselves and shot the bastard with arrows from a safe distance, then began the cleanup.

The fate of the few slave-traders who were decided to be taken captive was no longer in doubt in my mind without any influence of predictive skills - they would still have to dream of death, as well as to ask nicely

Well, judging by the fact that there was no attention in our direction either from the elves or from the human forces, we can safely declare that this time we were lucky.

Losius took full advantage of the time while I was reminiscing, finishing our performance, and inviting the rest of the team to visit. His sister, by the way, changed her mind about going where she was going and followed our company. And I began to have a vague suspicion that now the most unloved part of my acquaintance - the introduction to the relatives - was about to begin. I was not a shy girl, even though Losius (despite his slightly faggots manner of dress), but apparently I had already developed a reflex for such conversations: at such moments, something always goes wrong with me. Either my tongue is to blame, or someone cursed me... Cursed, I guess.

To be honest, the family of our main fashion specialist caused me strange looks in the direction of the now-deceased mother of this specialist, which was depicted on a large and incredibly skillfully executed portrait. If the sister was like her mother, both in the color of her hair and eyes and in her general appearance, and the two older brothers (I only saw the second brother in the family portrait because he was absent from the estate) were like his father, then Losius was a black sheep.

Both men resembled very thin bears, or burly tigers: broad-shouldered, tall, and strongly built, they bore little resemblance to the frail and even graceful Losius. Fortunately, I had enough sense to keep my mother's jokes to myself, even if the mocker's soul demanded that I stomp on it. The memory of the way Losius had talked about his dead mother in the necropolis was enough to make the jokes go away. Even if he forgave me for mocking the memory of a loved one, I would still have to run from two knights who wanted my blood.

So Kostik was a well-behaved boy. All the more so because clairvoyance was generous with the explanation that my teammate was not like his father, but like his grandfather, who had a very lean build and an awl in the ass. It was because of his grandfather that Losius was so eager to follow in his footsteps and become a professional brether.

The grandfather, who was no grandfather at the time, had managed to rise from the mere son of an out-of-town landowner to one of the henchmen of the pretender to the throne, and when the pretender "failed to take off," choking on a bone at a social gathering, he was able to stay afloat and for ten more years, he swirled in high society, striking without a miss with his rapier. He retired that way - with a lot of ill-wishers, a slightly smaller number of friends and debtors, and, most importantly, alive and relatively healthy.

It's funny, but Losius's family was a lot easier to deal with than the little one himself. His older brother and father were experienced warriors, having served five and fifteen years each in the royal army, respectively. Heavy breakthrough cavalry was the pride of Melareth, allowing this nation to keep its lands relatively safe from the greedy mouths of others. Its high level, good equipment, and crushing skills, sharpened for direct hit and ramming, made this type of troop highly revered. Most of this cavalry was made up of small noblemen like the Asteriums.

Of course, I had to restrain my thirst for a joke, but the rest of the conversation was quite relaxed and not at all problematic. The hosts couldn't help but notice the problems of Taria and Hans, who were clearly unaccustomed to sitting at the table in such company, but Kasia was the only one who showed a slight trace of disdain on her face. Her father and his heir showed the restraint worthy of a poker player by not asking a single question.

By the way, I, too, in my heart, didn't give a fuck which fork was for what, but I was able to keep up the banal culture of eating, which earned me a slightly less contemptuous look from that same Kasia.

And then, when things started to get too tense, we were all carefully escorted back to our rooms. Like 'Come on, let's have our guests talk to our prodigal son alone'.

Well, let them talk.

After signaling to everyone that I didn't sense any danger, I obediently allowed myself to be escorted first to the bathroom, and then to the room prepared for me. Taria, by the way, again couldn't resist testing her skills on the pretty maid. She limited herself to groping and kissing on the lips, erasing her memory of what had happened.

I had to stay awake, despite my desire to sleep, to monitor the conversation between Losius and his family, even though I didn't sense any danger from them.

"You know, son of mine, I don't know what worries me more." Cautiously, as if with a small child, Holan Asterium speaks. "Your former excessive contempt for all who do not have spurs, or your present company, which, I confess, looks..."

"They looked like a gang of thugs! The only one who could show any manners was this clown and a killer. Seriously, Lo, you'd be better off fighting in the pubs." Kasia intervened in the conversation.

And Lo is our swordsman's nickname! I must remember it and make fun of it on occasion because I hadn't forgotten about his "can't tell a joke" line.

There had to be a long talk about what kind of company was appropriate for the third son of not the poorest family in the kingdom, as well as a mention that youth often allows you to be deceived by other people's words, and not everyone can be called a friend. Losius understood that, too, and so, after listening for about five minutes, he shut their mouths in the most effective way possible: with gold.

We had agreed from the beginning that we would share the treasure equally (though they honestly tried to shove me a larger share), as well as the booty from the outlaw camp. Even so, the duelist's share alone was nearly three hundred in gold, in coins alone, not counting the jewels! Add that same amount and you could buy all the lands of the Asteriums, who weren't poor, but they'd gotten pretty rundown lately, and they'd never been very rich.

Besides, we were planning to leave most of the treasure in this place for safekeeping. Well, if I give my permission to do so, after making sure that the keepers are reliable. The last was said by Losius, who believed in his family with all his heart but could not remain silent. In short, the sum was very impressive, though not so fabulous for really rich people.

The people gathered in the head of the house's office were impressed by the gold rounds sprinkled directly on the papers and maps, causing them to gather and stare at the still calm and enigmatically smiling Losius. When he realized that he was going to say no more, Holan very politely asked: "Where did all this come from, son?"

"But there was something else you wanted to tell me, wasn't there?" He retorted, still smiling kindly. "I think we've settled on who's worthy of my friendship and who isn't."

It's my school I taught the kid a bad lesson, the bastard! There's how he trolls his own family, I can see the baby's cheeks turning green! A little more at that rate and he could be released on the Internet... if it exists here.

Surprisingly, all three were clearly embarrassed to receive such a rebuke from a generally obedient son, albeit one who had his own personal crushes on the desire for fame, fortune, and recognition.

"Listen, Losius." The head and the eldest man of the clan spoke with weight, no longer trying to sound soft. "You are my son, and I am your father. And such is my word..."

"No, Father." This time, Losius interrupts him with words. "You listen to my word. I have listened about how you poured dirt on those people who stood with me back to back, climbing out of the wilderness. Those men who had my back against orc steel, monster fangs, undead claws, and outlaw arrows. You were the one who made the veiled comment that I was an idiot for letting myself be deceived by rascals! Well, why don't you listen to what I have to say?"

Slowly, his relaxed and even somewhat haughty expression gave way to the kind of fierce detachment that always appeared on a duelist's face during a battle.

"They were there with me when your "old comrade" threw our troop into the front lines of the abomination that had crawled out of the mound! They were there when the trap that worked threw us into the depths of the wilderness with no chance of return! They had been there, dying at the hands of the subhuman, and they had walked with me through places where the Golden Hundred themselves would have laid their heads!" Calming down a bit, the lad poked his finger at the gold on the table.

"Here is my share of the booty, taken by right and in accordance with all the laws of Melareth. I leave it here, and if my friends are perceived as mere vagrants, then I consider my duty to the family fully fulfilled."

Kasia's only response to the last phrase was an exasperated, frightened breath, and his brother's eyes bulged not at all exquisitely in response to such a tirade. And only Holan let out a strange and slightly offended chuckle, as if he'd heard a good joke, but too black in nature.

"Eh, Lo... You may have grown up, but you're still the same, flaring up like a torch at the slightest spark." And seeing the indignation on his son's face, he barked sharply. "Sit down! I understand your position, and I'm glad to death that you found such people. That they saved your life and did not stick a knife in your back for gold. But before you yell and sass your father, you'd better think about how it looked from the outside. You brought three ragamuffins into the house, calling them your friends, and putting them at the table with us. And yes, I had every right to think you were just an underage motherf*cker who'd been successfully shit in the ears by some shrewd scoundrels. Or do you think I'm not?"

Now it was Losius's turn to be ashamed of his words. It was explained to him, in very simple terms, where and why he was wrong. It is too early for the guy to go on the Internet, he needs to grow some more greenery on his sides and practice more, or they will eat him there without salt.

"You don't say anything? So be quiet and listen. As long as you can consider them your friends, and they've managed to prove it in deeds and not in words, I'm only happy for you. You might as well invite them in earnest to invest their shares in some business together, and see if the gold pushes out a bit of rot. I guess you took the standard commander's share, which means they've got about the same amount together. They'll drink some of it away for joy, but my word is, if they want it, they'll..."

Actually, there is logic in the words of my comrade-in-arms father, and it is quite understandable. He initially perceived his son as the highest-level fighter in the squad who did not squeeze money from his comrades. Likewise, he did us considerable honor by offering to protect his name while trying to make money work. To snatch business from some unknown simpletons is one thing, but if the business is a joint one, and even under the wing of some noble family, it will be more difficult to snatch. The Asteriums, as said, are not the richest, nor do they have their own trading houses and representative offices; they simply had no such capital, but they do have connections and acquaintances. Not entirely reliable, but much safer than for commoners.

Moreover, much of the treasure will go to strengthen the economy of the ancestral lands - new tools, blessings on the fields, and all that. Some of it will be stolen by cunning subjects, and I know by now that someone will be bludgeoned to death for it. Holan knows this too, though he hasn't developed clairvoyance at all.

"Perhaps they would, though you're counting our shares wrong, Father. They are practically equal. And before you start to resent my naivety a second time, I have the funniest news to tell you - the strongest warrior in our group is not me at all."

Now he really surprised them!

At least because they all thought we were Losius's entourage, reasonably believing that a fighter of his level would be stronger than a commoner due to class and level. Strange that they didn't even try to scan us with identification skills, though old Holan must have one. If not for personal use, he could have hired an interrogator.

A flash of a headache and I realized that he had hired, not a rookie, and for cheap. But, alas, the cheapness of the hire was justified, because the hired worker liked to get drunk from time to time, which is why he was not there today. By the way, Losius had deprived him of his bonus by his remark, and with a guarantee: at least one strong fighter had been overlooked and left unattended in the clan stronghold.

"Who?" The older brother, who had been silent until then, spoke up.

"Don't underestimate all of us, Nathan. You didn't even acknowledge my level, and you didn't even ask, even though I wasn't fooling around the whole time. And we didn't get the gold without bloodshed." Losius is clearly taking pleasure in this situation.

"Well, let's say you took the twenty-third, and I'll even admit that you came close to picking the second class. But I'm going to disappoint you, son - there are plenty of people in the world who would wipe the floor with you without breaking a sweat. I know, believe me."

"Nice try, Father, but you weren't seriously expecting me to blurt out the whole secret out of a sense of contradiction, were you?" The duelist is even more contented.

"Ha! You really have grown, brother!" The tension that had been in the conversation since we'd been here began to fade, and after Kasia's tinkling laughter, it was gone altogether.

"I had to at least try, and anyway, my son, you'd better tell me..."

I tried not to listen any further, simply because I didn't want to pry into someone else's life. Anyway, he was the only one of us who had anyone at home waiting for him. So let him rest in body and soul, and there really was a good reason.

And tomorrow will be tomorrow.

Since one red-haired epic class bearer never admitted to his parents who the toughest guy on the team was, we were unobtrusively invited to warm up for the morning. Nothing criminal and, this time, with all due respect. It was just a show of interest in our personalities, not an attempt to get a taste of things to come.

The first thing I witnessed, however, was Losius beating the superiority out of his brother, literally dancing a fascinating dance with him, where he was the leader from start to finish. No joke, Nathan was unable to do anything to his brother, as he was locked into a defensive battle and one ramming blow. The survivability of such a developing provides just a cockroach, but in one-on-one combat against a dodger is a real pain. The twenty-second level knight couldn't do anything to the novice Heaven's Chosen One. Even his advanced dash didn't help, as a hunch allowed the whirling, yawl-like Losius to get out from under the trajectory of the blow before it even began.

It's worth adding that Kasia was watching the fight, casting a blessing that increased endurance and somehow reduced the likelihood of injury. There was also a family healer, or rather a Healer by class. Let the class itself be ordinary, but the twenty-third level gives a lot even to the scrupulously standard classes.

After the demonstrative beating of the older brothers, the father himself took over, after which it was not so sweet for Losius. First of all - level twenty-eight and an open second class of Landlord. Secondly, he had already had experience against the nimble dodgers, so the dodger himself had to switch to using the duelist's class skills.

A few blinks against an overly quick and unpredictable jerk, the glowing blade of his rapier against the protective aura on his armor and the ability-enhanced blows of his bastard sword. And then Holan got tired of holding back, just as he got tired of his son's game, unwilling to show off his new class, so he used his trump card.

As I understand it, the Landlord is not really a combat class, but rather a management one, like the King, only many times weaker and lower in grade. But there were some tricks here, too. For example, the ability to take some power from your land at once, temporarily increasing your characteristics. The more land you have, and the more people who live there, the harder the gain. Holan kept an eye on his land, and the population wasn't the smallest.

A dash toward Losius caused him to use the blink again, and then his figure literally glowed with a blinding light, causing the elder Asterium to fall out of the rhythm of the battle. And then an actual wave of pure heavenly light followed, nearly knocking the knight off his feet. Though he kept his balance, Losius, hiding within his own attack, pushed him with his feet into his breastplate, dropping him to the ground and putting the tip of his shining rapier against his visor.

"It's a draw," Nathan said lost, trying to blink his way out of the flash.

Yes, it was a draw, for the old warrior had managed to take his child's slender neck in his steel-gloved grip by sheer experience. I'd argue with that conclusion, for Losius's stats would have allowed him to survive the crushed larynx, and then heal his wound. Holan wouldn't have the strength to break his spine. But, alas, I was not the referee, and the unfortunate winner himself did not elaborate on the problem. Either he was ashamed of the missed attack (on the bare experience pulled out, it is immediately visible who the father), or did not want to drop the authority of his father in front of many people who were watching the training. It looks like they even placed bets!

Next in line were Nathan and Hans, who didn't like each other right away. And it wasn't because of nobility - a knight who had served in the army was devoid of most prejudices. Rather, it was the tracker's ostentatious laxity, which to a discipline-accustomed commander was a disgusting thing to behold.

Despite the superiority in levels, there was no easy victory for Hans: a tracker should not find himself in combat in the arena. Their element is forest combat, swift ambushes, and equally swift retreats. And not to mention the fact that the lion's share of their class skills aren't fighting!

Hans looked like a very angry dachshund, eager to chew the balls off a greyhound (a real situation I had once encountered!). He was a little unkempt, with no armor, but there was no way he could grab this insolent sausage. The knight used a dash, constantly reinforced his armor, and skillfully kept his distance with his blade and shield... but it was impossible to catch the gray-haired man. He constantly changed tactics and the manner of battle, alternating lunges with a short sword and dagger with banal kicks, and was not ashamed of dirty tricks.

It ended with Nathan managing to deliver a tangible kick to the body with his shield, causing Hans to drop his sword, but he hesitated to retreat, which proved to be a fatal mistake. The slightly curved blade of the dagger somehow caught on the edge of the shield in a special way, taking it down, and the open knight received a handful of earth in his visor, after which Hans went to his feet, fell to the ground and put the remaining dagger in his hands to his eye socket, which dimly glowed with combat ability.

Another victory on pure experience, at the expense of the opponent's self-confidence. Even so, it wasn't the defeated man who needed the healer's help, but Hans, who had a cracked rib. However, the healer only shook his hands in response to Hans taking one of my tonics. The healing effect was weak, of course, but there was no intoxication, either.

After such a demonstration of skill, we were no longer perceived as "those strange ragamuffins our kinsman vouched for," but quite seriously. It's one thing to hear your own son or brother's words, but a tracker fighting on equal footing with a knight, that's a different situation. And the sparring of Losius was still fresh in the mind of the head of House Asterium. So was a sore sternum after a kick, yes.

Taria, who had dashed over the fence in one dance move, took the bull by the horns, so as not to embarrass herself in the future.

"Good men, I'm weak and defenseless, so it'll be over quickly." Then she continued. "Be gentle with me, please."

I could only give myself a facepalm, and the gesture was repeated by Losius, Hans, and, for some reason, Holan. Since Nathan hadn't fully recovered from his sparring with Hans, and because Holan was too tough for Taria, they put the head of the local squad up against her.

Flattered the wench, too - level eighteen and an unusual class of fighter made the confrontation very unfortunate. On the other hand, I wouldn't discount this sly face, even without considering her main calibers. At least she has her Mirage, which she managed to train during the trip, so she'll be able to do some damage.

At the announcement of the start of the battle, Taria yawned fervently instead of attacking. The big mustached man, resembling a stereotypical Cossack, but without a haircut, did not discount the sex or the provocation, rushing into battle without delay. The good-quality ax was already preparing to strike, though only with the butt. The man had no concessions for the rest - the man reasoned that if she was stalling for time, it was better not to give her time.

Stereotypical Cossack

Mirage was an A-plus, and I was admiring it! The girl had adopted my tactics with shadowy silhouettes, squeezing out everything the characteristics and skill allowed. The man saw the attack and even managed to make out a vague silhouette going to his feet. And the main "figure" of Taria had become too fuzzy and blurry. The cunning wench's plan was clear: to leave the bait and cut it off at his feet.

He just didn't know that Taria couldn't manage the two full-fledged illusions of invisibility and the mirage left in place. But she could manage two shitty illusions - making herself slightly blurred, which was easy for the experienced vigilante to spot, and sending a translucent lump that resembled a person going into a roll.

The swing of the ax split the void, and the maiden approached the man, who had lost speed but retained inertia, and, facing him, put her knife blade to his throat. Bloodless and unconditional victory. An exemplary one, you might say! I knew she had brains in her head, just as I knew she could think fast in combat, but I was still impressed.

In response to my raised finger (even here it is considered an approving gesture, though not so popular), she smirked infectiously and, patting the man's helmet, who was in a fit of dejection, walked away from the site. His dejection was understandable, for he would be laughed at long and ingeniously

And then they brought in an Inquirer who had been asleep but hadn't had a drink, and who had been blanched under his right eye by someone kind enough to turn his face into an illuminating instrument - with those flashlights!

Flashlights under the eye - It's a Russian idiom for black eyes.

The fourteenth level didn't give him much of a boost in class recognition. He could see only Taria's level clearly, and he could see Losius and Hans as "lethal" and "very dangerous. He also saw my status easily, which was an understandable result.

"Seriously? A level-three plowman?" The skepticism in Kasia's voice was so thick you could have spread it on bread instead of cherry jam. "Am I supposed to believe that?"

Naturally, she did not believe the interrogator's testimony to be true. At least because she had personally witnessed the power shown by our team. So she reasonably doubted that someone with such a sound level could have survived where her brother was getting levels.

"You just have no idea how dangerous onions are in my vegetable garden!" I gladly take the opportunity to love someone's ears. "And especially when the potatoes are ripe! I remember, we went to work, to dig it, so there were four excellent fighters and two dozen non-natives, levels well over forty. So, by evening there were only three of us, except for Bubble, he wandered into a clutch of watermelons, where he was kicked a little. But all the townspeople were knocked down, spattered with blood, so we had to get them out of there. As luck would have it, the only way was past the carrots, and they were so tough, you know, that we could hardly get out of there!"

By the way, I'm not lying - we were sent to dig potatoes for the dean of the faculty in exchange for credit. And if the more or less experienced guys still had something to say, then all the elves at level 80, who were the bulk of the debtors, wept bloody tears over their bloody blistered hands. And even Bubble, who was Valentine in the real world, who slipped on a watermelon peel and broke his arm, was also a real character. It was a good thing I had the good sense to settle down in the kitchen, which kept me out of the fight with the inhabitants of the vegetable garden.

Losius does not take his face out of the palm of his hand.

Hans almost howls, leaning against the wall.

Taria is also facepalmed, but inwardly angry that she didn't say a similar joke herself.

In general, everything is as usual, we can go on.

I was interrupted only ten minutes later when I was nearing the end of the Second Tomato War and the Great Cucumber War, and all the soldiers were weeping at my story. No, every single Asterium was well aware that it was my disguise, but I wasn't going to take it off.

Why?

The average level of my team makes it clear that I'm far from weak. Losius's comment that he's not the most powerful unit in the group only confirms that point. But what would happen if I went and cosplayed marine in kindergarten? Even if I didn't use any abilities at all, the perks and stats alone would be enough to just scatter every single one of the inhabitants of the place.

Again, what for?

Showing off my awesomeness? There's nothing wrong with my self-esteem. Just kicking people who have done nothing for me is not exactly the right thing to do in terms of developing team relationships. I read a smart book! I would also be stupidly lazy to fight and maintain a disguise while doing so.

That's why I'm having fun now, fooling around and blatantly giving the overly nervous girl a nervous tic. Taria has a good sense of humor, but this girl, if she has one, has a fragile nerve. Serious enough to make my cheekbones ache - I'd make her some kind of minister of very important affairs. She would sit in the office and scare away the petitioners with her grimaces.

We rested for two more days, doing positively nothing. No grinding, no dreaming, no suspense, no going through the motions. I hadn't rested like that in twenty years.

Taria got her way and got the maid into bed, but not the one she had her eye on in the first place. And she really liked having her feet licked, too. At that moment, I was a little upset that my sphere did not turn off, so I decided to take a walk around so as not to spoil my mood. I could have broken into their company, of course, and I wouldn't have been kicked out, but why ruin people's fun?

Instead, I jogged through the valley and visited Ygra at the same time. The green set of tits, ass, and voracious stomach was just finishing off a werewolf she'd caught red-handed. Crooked speech ogry, clairvoyance, and a lot of foul languages still allowed to disclose the chain of events: a local girl in, try do not laugh, a red cap ran into a werewolf, who, obviously entertained, drove her deeper into the woods. And she stupid with horror did not even think to scream. Although if she had screamed, he would have mauled her right away, so fools are lucky.

Since I had carefully trained the ogre not to chew people or attack them first without my order, she didn't even look at the girl. And a werewolf is not a human, and it looks a lot like the doggies she liked. In general, Red Riding Hood only noticed a huge shadow, after which there was a quiet whimpering and audible crunch of chewed bones. She had enough sense to turn and run away from the forest.

And I know exactly who I'm going to take with me on the coming raid on Bobik! It might not be for a couple of hundred years, but sooner or later, I'm going to avenge the damn dog for all I've been through.

I also found someone's very old stash of silver and a rusty dagger. There was no use for such a find, but clairvoyance gave me a detailed history of the life of a novice outlaw who had lived in time of Losius Grandpa. I'm certainly glad he didn't have time to get to his hiding place, but I don't need to know what the girls he was raping were screaming.

Actually, clairvoyance, what the fuck?

Why the fuck are you always showing me only the worst things about people around? I know for a fact that you can show me the good things about the good people and the praiseworthy things you do! But no! Blood, blood, abomination, blood, guts, betrayal, abomination, blood, meanness, blood, blood, blood, blood!

My clairvoyance is all wrong, and it's giving me all the wrong visions, that's it!

A small book with a worn leather cover looked very ordinary, even though it was, in many ways, the purpose of my trip. Losius wanted to go home, of course, but it was the book I was going for. The diary of Lanith Asterium, an inveterate brether, a womanizer, and a man who was completely crazy (in a good way) by local standards.

"I'll give it to you, Tin, but please be careful with the diary. I grew up with it, and I wouldn't want to lose it." Losius, looking at the book I'd been given, was clearly ready to break out into a puddle of nostalgic affection.

"I returned it in the same condition that I took it in my hands," I answered mechanically, accelerating my perception with an inquisitive eye, at the same time preparing my clairvoyance for maximum strain.

If there really is any hint of information about the Yoke in this book, I'll find it, I just can't fail. Several potions are splashing through me right now that should make it easier to "enter the higher realms". The taste, of course, is not very good, but the main thing is the result. The perk I got for a hundred endurance does not look superfluous at all, but very useful.

"Go on, Tin, I believe in you! Don't start catching demons, or you'll look like a dope-addled, city-bottom bull, and I know what I'm talking about!" Taria's clearly a good encourager, I'll give her that.

I really was too drugged, and the potions I took had an unpleasant side effect that could be considered a highly toxic drug. For everyone except clairvoyants and the like, these compounds were generally useless, even harmful.

"Let's go..."

Reading a book with clairvoyance and potions at the same time, and with the inquisitive eye activated, is the kind of entertainment that's better not to try even once in your life. If I weren't a Hero, I could have really gone off the deep end into wondrous lands. The pressure on my brain was too intense and the fog was too thick, hiding the desired knowledge from me.

There were no pages.

There was no book itself.

It was as if I was turning over myself through all the events experienced by the person writing the diary. I could feel his emotions, I could feel all the things he was experiencing as he scribbled flat letters on paper. His joy at his appointment to the Prince's retinue, his fighting ardor before another duel, his happiness at his first love, and bitterness at parting with it. The first blood, the first betrayal, the first date with death, when he was pumped out after another "thank you" from the losing side.

The costume cufflinks cursed by an experienced malefic before an important duel and the glassy gaze of a very young servant girl who happened to touch the beautiful and alluring stones. Blood-red drops of blood, like rubies from those very cufflinks, fell from the slit throat of the opposing brether. And the powerless rage of realizing that he had only killed a "noble murderer" like himself. Even more impotent is the realization that his patrons are no better.

Dark corridors of the Palace, the number of secret passages, rooms, and tunnels in which almost exceeds the number of officials. Old and creaking floorboards of underground rooms and beating in a continuous rhythm of the heart, wishing as quickly as possible to be in the arms of another passerby who reported the tunnel.

The strange and terrifying conversation between the prince and his brother touches on subjects that one simply should not touch, especially in a palace with too many ears. The clear understanding that his ears would be ripped off along with his head if he were caught here, and the love lust quickly fading because of the gradually weathered love potion. Quiet curses and a long walk back, preferably away from the room of another schemer eager to crawl through his bed and get closer to the prince.

The mist that hides the past seems to grow thicker and heavier, with more and more bloody notes in its scent and the scent of blossoming jasmine. It is not just clairvoyance, it is something else entirely, but before I have time to think about it, I am carried away by a new stream of images that grows like branches from every word, every letter of a worn-out book, which cannot be discerned behind the dancing images.

...the damned sycophant Hargo wouldn't give me the right ammunition, even though I showed him all the certified...

The position of the prince that Asterium serves is worsening, wobbling more and more every day. Previously, his word alone was enough to force everyone to do the royal will, but now his retinue is told almost to his face about the coming changes. For the first time in all his time living in the north wing of the royal palace, he fails to get the prince's requested equipment on the spot.

The crunch of the greedy intendant's nose sounds like music in my ears, but my eyes cannot tear themselves away from a few drops of blood on the snow-white sleeve. It's like looking at cursed rubies as if any second the specks will turn into those gold and red cufflinks, one touch of which will turn all the blood in the body into fragile and sharp crystals.

...Master Simar promised that the wound would heal completely in a week, thanks to the venom being washed away by the counter-flow of blood. How did I manage to get so screwed up...

Another attempt on the petty scum of the disgraced prince's entourage almost ended in a quiet funeral of the scum, but the skill and natural luck were enough to fend off a well-coordinated attack of the shadow guild's twin assassins, and the potions bought for the ringing gold to crawl to the healer. The breath is choked in the chest, and the heart still seems to whine unpleasantly, as if it doesn't want to keep on beating.

Droplets of blood slid from the palm to the ground, falling softly to the wooden floor of the private physician's waiting room, as well as himself, a member of the prince's entourage.

Knock

Knock

Knock

With a quiet ringing sound, the little rubies hit the expensive gilt oak parquet. Red and gold, red and gold, that never let me forget that ill-fated day. Empty eyes, from the corners of which blood-red crystalline needles are already sprouting. And a face that had never been distorted by agony, only by mild surprise that turned into a guilty smile.

Drop.

Drop.

Drop.

...the jasmine blooms wonderfully lush this time of year, but I must confess that soon the stench will drive me mad...

In the ornate rooms, there is a slightly musty semi-darkness. The prince has recently begun ordering every single window in each of his rooms to be curtained and never to be opened. A snow-white vase of withering jasmine stands on the table, and no one hurries to remove the petals falling from the flowers - the prince has ordered the servants not to be allowed in.

The light streaming through the dense curtains makes the snow-white vase look blood-red, and the slightly dried fallen petals seem like molten gold in this light. Red and gold, red and gold haunt him in every step, every breath, every corridor of this palace cursed three times by the blackest names.

There is a quiet knock at the door and an order to let the messenger pass, handing the prince a letter sealed in wax. A wicked smile appears on the prince's exhausted and sleepless face, and a brief gesture to the bodyguard ends the messenger's life. It is not he who carries the body, even though the young brether is one of the disgraced prince's least trusted men.

The corpse does not arouse any emotions - there have been too many of them lately.

...I am ordered to stay in the palace and keep an eye on the situation, though I don't think it will change much. Lately, the situation has begun to seem more stab...

The prince runs around like a madman, making his bodyguards unable to keep up with him. He personally checks every detail, carefully observing the condition of the luggage. The luggage contains strange cases and containers that contain something extremely expensive for the prince. Expensive enough that he would not hesitate to kill the servant who dropped one of the containers.

He knows it's not gold or gems, but herbs and wood and minerals. Completely incomprehensible nonsense, firmly sealed in containers with the prince's family crest. Red and gold on those seals, red and gold.

They tell him nothing of the destination and do not take him with them, leaving him in the deserted palace wing. He has no intention of going there, for he is sure that no one will let him go back. Only a few quiet words, a couple of reservations, are all he manages to understand. Not a word about the place of arrival, only an understanding that something could be done there that previously had only been allowed in the central tower of the palace.

The King's Tower, where everything goes according to the King's will.

...Gabel showed his ratty nature by running away at the first opportunity, but I cannot shake off the thought that he was right in his cowardice...

Whatever the prince had in mind, his plan failed miserably. He did not reach his destination. He and his entourage, traveling incognito, were intercepted halfway through, near Whitewater, a small and thoroughly provincial town in the interior of the country. Far from the trade routes and dangerous borders.

The prince was not attacked, but simply politely turned around, saying that he had no right to disturb those he was going to. He could ask his father's permission for what he had conceived and then execute it. If the rapidly aging and surrendering King deigns to grant it to him and not to his older brother.

The prince's fury is indescribable, which makes the servants literally flee from his path, as do those closest to him, leaving only little things like a rank-and-file brether. Many of these trifle rush forward to take the vacated seats, but those who are smarter have long since fled from the sinking ship. No matter what the prince did, his action made the King quite angry, even returning some of his strength and health to reprimand his disgraced son.

The sealed boxes with the family insignia were taken by the King's men, hidden somewhere in the depths of the central part of the palace. He stared at the long line of carefully dragged containers with strange contents.

Royal coat of arms.

Red and gold.

...managed to leave the city unnoticed. I think I'll be a lot calmer now, in the safety of the wilderness, than...

Another goblet of wine was the last of his life for the prince, who looked more and more like a raving lunatic. He could still see before his eyes the blood coming from the nose and mouth, flooding the table, the clothes, and the attendants standing beside him. It didn't hurt, for all the prince could do was stare in amazement at the stream of red liquid gushing out of every orifice on his body at breakneck speed. After a measly two seconds, there was not a drop of royal blood left in his body. A quick and ignominious death - as if he were not worthy of carrying that blood in him.

Even weeks later, he still remembers that perplexed look, those glassy eyes, and the red drenched shirt the color of solid gold.

Red and gold.

He hates such colors so much.

I slowly emerge from the surrounding fog, gradually regaining normal vision and senses. My head doesn't even hurt, it just splinters, as if Ygra had discovered soccer and decided to play it. With my head, obviously.

Every second I feel reality more and more clearly, aware of the changes that have occurred. Like the fact that I had unknowingly applied Soaring in the Dreams, enveloping myself in a misty web of violet. This forced my team to move to the opposite corner of the room, where Losius's power shone softly and barely perceptible. It made me feel like a shattered glass jar falling from the top of a skyscraper on my own head. But it also allowed me to somehow use the Dream as a guide to clairvoyance, strengthening the visions and making them more accurate, even at the risk of dissolving into the Dream itself.

There's a system message floating in the corner of my eye, telling me that I just increased my class skill by one point, taking one more step toward power. I also realized one thing for sure.

"I found it." My voice was too husky and barely audible, but every single person present could make out what I was saying. "I found them."

* * *

Authors note:

Fuh.

The first stone to the beginning of the main quest has been placed! Yes, this is only the very, very beginning, because the information is the tiniest and all the answers are not to be found in that place, but it's really the beginning!

I survived to this day!

Kostik passed over sex again, as he always did, and started to suffer through the bullshit. Sometimes I feel like fate is playing tricks on him and me.

But Taria satisfied her perverted desires.

In terms of dice, everything is good - a hundred with a bonus for Hans at the expense of experience and superiority in level.

Taria has a hundred, and a natural one - from one attack, plus she developed Mirage to the second level. That's who the main hero is here - she can finish the fight with one blow, and the beautiful girls lick her legs. With such speed, she will also complete the main quest herself.