Chapter 24 (Patreon)

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The matter of the Ring and the moral dilemmas raised, I was seriously burdened because it is hard not to be burdened under such conditions. Of course, I didn't run first of all to free all my women from the damned slavery. I'm not that idiotic, though sometimes I try very hard. Even if I put aside the idea of freeing the Bloodsucker and the Deviless as suicidal, there are still Taria and Hestia - one of whom tried to put me under the knife quite seriously, and the second of whom would have killed me without any doubt if I hadn't attacked her with the Ring quite suddenly. Again, it was thanks to me that Hestia lost her humanity and was reborn as a behemoth, and in such a way that with each level, she became closer and closer to a creature - even her talents are more in line with creatures than behemoths, which is a direct hint.

I don't know about other people, but I would have been very offended by such a treatment, and if I had been free, I would have shaken the throat of the one who had freed me. No, then I would have forgiven him and understood that it was necessary to appreciate a gesture of goodwill in the form of releasing that freedom, but I would have preferred to grant forgiveness, as well as to make a heartfelt speech on the fresh grave of the person who had made such a mess of me. Of course, Hestia's fate and all that she sacrificed for me and became for me touches those strings of my gnawed soul, for which my conscience used to cling, making me morally hard and generally uncomfortable.

I would very much like to give her back her endowment, a normal body, and generally make it great. Hestia Raimel, always indifferent, completely phlegmatic, and possessing amazing tact, was dear to me as a companion, as a woman, and as a person, even if she had long ago ceased to be that person from the point of view of the Almighty, who is the All-Seeing, and for ordinary guys from the neighborhood - the System. But what's the use of me giving her back her free will if I have to immediately organize a mortal battle with her, with an updated version of her after Eternal? Taking into account the boost from Touch's Cauldron, victory might not be so easy, not to mention that Raimel, who knows my tactics and tricks well, might take a break from me in an attempt to escape. of the Mist's of her level and characteristics when it doesn't want to be found is a very exciting sport, rivaled only by its extreme nature.

And I'm not even mentioning the threefold (even three and a half, given the peculiarities of Hestia's subjugation) corrupting Gift she'll get with her release. However, it may turn out that by giving her freedom, I'm just switching roles with my slave, and oh, not the fact that she'll be gentle with me, yeah. It's like that joke: Why us?
T.N. There's a joke. One friend says to the other - let's go beat up the neighbors. What if they beat us? Why us?

If I want to at least assume in the distant future the option with her release, I have to make sure in advance that the already released lady has no serious reasons to wish me bad things. At least, at the very least, to fix all the horrors she suffered because of me. And then add more on top to placate and convince her not just "not to kill a fool" but also to stay in the team and continue the common quest. Such plans can't be solved during one heartwarming conversation, can't restore meat from cutlets, can't turn back the twisted mincemeat, which I understand, and Hestia herself will understand. I'm sure. If I mention the very possibility of her release, she won't hesitate to cooperate even with Giver and brainwash me, so these silly thoughts won't come into my head at all. And all the other ladies will help and comment.

Taria was simpler, more complex, and generally in a specks.

A born actress, pretender, and hypnotist (not by class, but by nature), she was familiar and understandable to me but still a mystery. Her personality, her real personality, not the face-grown role of a common bandit-robber-whore, was revealed only after the Ring had subjugated her, and as absurd as that confidence may seem, I do not doubt her loyalty, even if the subjugation suddenly stopped working. She's not likely to stab me with a dagger, turn me into the authorities of the Empire of Ages, or just go off on her adventure, slamming the door. I'm giving you a one-in-a-hundred bet and willing to take it myself.

But if I could lose this bet, despite my ability to read other people's souls and destinies, which I had developed quite well during my clairvoyance training and just from my heroic nature, even if the probability of losing was low, then I wouldn't even accept the next bet. If I understand anything about Taria and her character, the first thing she will do when she gets her threefold gifts is to use them on me. Even now, she can hardly hold back, and only because she doesn't bet on her success. I didn't put bookmarks in her head, having removed even that almost disintegrated primitive that I put at the very beginning ( I should note, I didn't give a direct ban, purely out of a desire to see how she reacts to it all).

Ygra...

Well, it's not even funny. She wanted to eat me, and she almost did it! Seriously. If you take away the level and danger factor, the only creatures that came close to killing me were the Creature from Kraj, Dreamer, and Sovereign. And I'm not sure about two of the three. There's an argument for supremacy there. What makes me barely contain my laughter is the clear realization of an almost absolute truth: if I can try out liberation on anyone, it's Ygra. Simply because her entire personality was originally so primitive and simple that it's just an anecdote. The current Ygra, who loves to be brainwashed and have her body pleasured, who has a near-legendary skill of self-satisfaction, and who is firmly hooked on my cooking and even stopped eating human meat for the sake of it, may not notice the difference in the presence or absence of submission.

She'd try to fuck me for sure, and she still used her gifted abilities on me every chance she got, despite my attempts to explain to her why she shouldn't. Sometimes, I think she understands it all perfectly well, just pretending to be more stupid than she is, but I keep those thoughts away from me. I, after all, also have, if not pride, at least self-esteem. After tripling her seductive talents, I'm going to see if the System will give me the title of Ogrefucker, and I'm going to get bruises caused by too much hugging if not fractures.

To kill me - the source of a whole bunch of glorious hunts, including her favorite "criminal element horror movie starring them," the author of a new food program, which opened to her the delights of stew, kebab, pilaf, fried meat, meat porridge, soups, and broths, gave her a whole tribe of small-green-funny toys (the fact that they consider a big-ass giant as a toy, she does not know, and even if she did, it would be all the same)? It would take a lot of effort for me to become her enemy after the subjugation had been removed.

Taria

Hestia.

Ygra.

Why can't I be a standard harem isekai character with an enslaving artifact? I always get some unhealthy bullshit instead of a fun takeover of the world with the help of a brainwashed battle flower garden interspersed with large-scale orgies and other debauchery. And the harem-floweryard is wrong, too, like those bees and the honey they give me. There's only one human in the harem, and that's Taria. I can only be recognized as a human with question marks, even after I've recovered a bit.

Man, was there even a dude in this world who seriously kept a Swamp Ogre, Bloodsucker, Mist Monster, and Lust Devil as a sex slave? I have a feeling that if there was one, he either ended badly (in every sense) or was not an example worth looking up to. Or, more likely, both at once.
T.N. ended badly (in every sense) - there is some play of words. It's also 'cum badly'.

Questions, questions, questions, and who would give me a cheat sheet for them?

"I'll stay. You're not going anywhere from me." The red-haired Dancer didn't answer at once after a long pause for thought. "We've been through too much. You've given me too much to say it's only subjugation works."

This time Taria thought over the answer as long as any other time, not only during our journey but in her whole life. The girl was a person of pure action; she wasn't used to self-examination or long and diligent planning of the next steps. In her life conditions, speed and impudence, the ability to grab first and grab more, was much more important than a high skill of planning or minimizing risks. There, at the social bottom of the bubbling cauldron of the Kraj, only such people survived by breaking through to the top. And the fact that it was mostly very shitty people who broke through, you know, shit doesn't sink.

When I stealthily and under un-existence made my way into her room and, without letting the smiling maiden enjoy my presumably interested state, dropped a description of the Ring's latest innovations, she froze as if struck by an electric shock, then sat down on her tucked legs and, gesturing that she pausings for thought, began to ponder in silence. It was rare to see such a focused expression on her beautiful face, such complete concentration, and, most importantly, no snide smile.

The fact that she understood exactly what I wanted to say, what I meant, and what questions I was asking myself without any words or gestures on my part was no surprise. Taria's ability to understand what familiar and not-so-familiar individuals think and how they think is not too far behind Tia's similar skills. Except, Tia's is centuries of practice and specific training while Taria's is simply natural inclination and an uncanny ability to get under the skin and give a good tug on a sensitive nerve. Combined with a respectable degree of development of acting and pretend skills, the picture was very peculiar. If she was given the Internet and brought it to Earth, the probability of global warming and the greenhouse effect from burning butts of earthlings would increase by tens of percent at least.

However, having expressed, absolutely seriously and without her jokes, the answer to the question, the girl lost all that seriousness and even a certain majesty in that seriousness, again letting out a snide grin on her face, so successfully complementing the sly devils in her gleaming eyes. I mean, she became the typical Taria that we all know and, sometimes, would like to send away for a couple of days. Usually, by the moment, when you are ready to send her away manually, or at least to spank her not in an intimate sense, she is no longer around because the culprit of such an agitated mood has long ago washed away and hid with illusions somewhere in a deep corner. I can find her. I can manage, but while I search for her, I calm down a little and cool down.

"Only, I'm sorry, darling, but you're going to have to lick... a lot." Despite the dreamy expression on her face and the deliberately provocative phrase, part of Taria's mind is completely serious without going into an exchange of witticisms. "You made me me. You subjugated that back alley wench who foolishly tried to get you as a lamb. And I am what I am now. I swear by all the gods I'm against your releasing me. But they're my witnesses. I can't hate you. I can't be your enemy either. Not enough of you, Tin, asshole. Though, I confess, you could fuck me more often so I don't have any thoughts of your unconventional preferences in my wild head!"

I smiled, though it wasn't a happy smile, assessing Taria's words. Appreciating, at the same time, realizing the main, perhaps, meanness of the Ring. It will only fully reveal itself to those who earn the loyalty of their slaves without the effects of slavery. Taria is not much of an example, for when I had her subjugated, she was almost a nobody, a blank slate - no level, no class, no special talents, no family bonuses. At the same time, all the skills of the Ring shout that it should be used not on ordinary peasants, townspeople, or even street thugs but on those already pumped up, dangerous, having power, strength, and means of use ladies.

That's exactly what Hestia Reimel was.

But it is her kind, in case of release, will threaten not to bewitch and then not let out of bed for the next couple of weeks, most of which will be dominated not you at all. No, just these "ideal targets" who have lost everything they had before, on whose pride drove a multi-ton paver, deprived of honor and dignity, faithful or at least neutral will not remain, sincerely wishing to do something bad to you. In my case, I was still demonstrating both humanity and normal attitude, and even respect..... but this is from the category of "although he is a rapist, he was polite and did not tear the clothes, taking them off very carefully, and he used a condom." There's a difference, of course, but it won't earn her a pardon, at most, a slightly quicker execution.

Taria, who, thanks to her acting skills, was able to put on the skin of her liberated self, got much more than she could lose without paying for anything she wasn't ready to offer. The coolest tit-talent, high level, powerful classes, excellent cover for high-level co-commanders, the most effective help in leveling, which other heirs to the throne can not get even in dreams, the fulfillment of most of the fleeting whims, access to the squad treasury with the permission to spend it on clothes, on sex toys, on brothels or whatever she want and simply adventures, which even stories and fairy tales do not tell about - all this was given to her in exchange for sex and loyalty.

Let's just say that all her bosses, under whom she had worked and lain before our meeting, had orders of magnitude higher requirements, offered a thousand times less, and her service brought very little pleasure. All dangers, risks, and battles on the verge of life and death were perceived by the adventurous and risky girl without unnecessary panic or apprehension. The original Taria would have turned gray up to her eyebrows if she had known who she would have to fight, fight, and win, what she would have experienced and seen, but she had divided her past and present selves for a reason. The former bandit has grown not only in level but also in personality and, therefore, her "core," devoid of obedience and absolutely loving loyalty consciousness, will still remain with me, only now I will have to wait twice as attentively for the attempt of aggressive bewitchment.

If I'd behaved the same way as her past bosses, whether it was a legitimate job in a tavern or a small gang leader, then the conversation would have been different. No, she could stay with me and be relatively obedient, but she would try to betray me or just permanently brainwash me if she thought her chances were high enough. As it is, she might try it, but as part of one of her "erotic pranks" in the style of the local Seducers, not in the style of classic betrayal performed by those same Seducers. Kill, betray, ditch first before they ditch her - she'd lived like that and was used to it. By squeezing her out of her habitual algorithm of life and showing and imposing my values, I got my imperatives to be recognized as more valid.

Such situations with Heroes, a priori able to read the souls of those around them and lead them all behind themselves and their goal, occur all the time, only without the Ring. Tia mentioned a couple of times that even slaves or captives of Heroes often found themselves overrecruited, caught up in the maelstrom of events created by "heroicness." Not that Heroes were never betrayed by their Companions. It happened too, and more than once, but still, but still. That's why we were disliked so much that even Yoke was created because Heroes had such properties - it's not a skill, not an effect of class or skill, not brainwashing or psychological processing, no, or, at least, not only the above.

The Hero is self-believing, self-disclosing to others, and thus deserves faithfulness in return.

Taria, in fact, does not want to remove the subjugation. She is strongly opposed to it, but, in general, not to the point of hysteria or an attempt to hit with hypnosis, just so I do not even think about such thoughts. In a way, it can be considered an indicator. The more vivid the negative reaction to a possible freedom, the more correct it would be not to give it. If the Dancer had realized, even if it was subconsciously, on the border of consciousness, that she would try to harm me-kill-kill-break-break-betray, then she would never have agreed to even think about using the Final Corruption.

Taria only warned me that she'd charge me for every time I took advantage of her submission and fucked a defenseless beauty.... and triple for every time I didn't take advantage of her. And in this case, I would probably have to carry my slippers in my teeth, not as a joke, but quite seriously. She looked very promising and anticipating. Even the reluctance to break the subjugating bond was fading a little. It would give him a reason to keep his guard up around her, or she'd have a hard time remembering how she'd literally fucked the Ultimate Hero every chance she got.

"Are you provoking me to break the submission and then brainwash you again, but through Dream?" I specify without surprise, but also without trying to probe the answer by clairvoyance, probably, only because I know the answer without clairvoyance. "Are you sure you won't regret this decision?"

"I like it, I told you." She just waved it away, not even pretending to be the least bit ashamed of her attempted manipulation. "The more so, then we'll be even, and you won't have the conscience to punish me when I get you and make you yap on command."

Reddened cheeks, quickened breathing, a bitten lip, and a host of other small signs, not just unhidden, but deliberately demonstrated, asserted that such thoughts turned Taria on in a heartbeat, no matter which of the two directions the final outcome turned out to be. And also she really well studied me, trying to put the situation in that form, so that have fun, and not quarrel with the bosses in my person. Oh, I feel, if I do decide to release her, I'll suffer with her even more than I'll fuck with her.
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As in, if I don't release, the difference is ridiculously insignificant.

It's just that in the release option, the Dancer will have much stronger talents.

And yes, the expression on Taria's face and her general mood was such that I didn't risk leaving after just talking, especially about such a topic. I had to relax and enjoy myself, though I had the feeling that I wasn't the one who was the blackmailer rapist, taking advantage of the situation to get my partner into an unbridled orgy.

Giver, of course, is a master of pretense, disguise, and treacherous stabs in the back, which is obvious, but she diligently blurs this obviousness, deliberately showing herself in such a way as to always leave room for a frankly sudden action. It's not even plans for some future intrigue but a banal method of existence, a way of life. Devils are all like that, if they are elite and smart enough they literally can't do otherwise, at the level of unconditional reflexes. Here, let's say, I expected something like this from Giver of Caress, even was ready, and still it turned out suddenly, or even out of the blue.

You can only really see her Threads when they are attacking someone other than you. An attack in your direction is simply not perceived by any sensory streams, even on my level. Only track the consequences, well, if you somehow manage to counteract them. The Threads of Giver correspond to a fully developed mythical skill of high rank, as if not higher than the third, and not just a separate skill, but one of the whole complex of such. A devil of the domain of Lust, what do you want?

And now, even though I was prepared and had taken every possible blocking measure, I was only partially able to offset the effects of the Threads. In fact, I used the mirror network around the shelter, creating on its basis a reflection of my real mind in the right state, moving there a part of my awareness of myself, no matter how strange it sounded. This part was watching the main personality, which was not shown but reflected, tracking sudden changes, and being ready to intervene and break the contact.

Tracking worked, but not much more than that.

My body relaxed in the chair, not reacting to the instantly rising boner, and my mind was absolutely clear, calm, and not wanting to interfere in any way with what was happening. You realize everything, you understand everything, but you are not going to resist, and you are not able to track if anything has changed in you. So, if Giver wanted, I wouldn't have realized any influence at all, but she obviously sensed the mirror billet, and now she was ready to partially replace my personality with hers so that the replacement would carefully and without arousing suspicion disable this billet.

About a second or two, she was ready.

And then something shifted, returned to its previous state, giving me and my brain freedom, leaving me with the lightest dose of the flair that the deviless, who had accelerated herself to maximum readiness, had released. Even the host's condition would have been off-limits if it weren't for the need for stealth, full readiness, and a lock on clairvoyance. For a second or two, we stare at each other. I am a pale and unhealthy isekai, steadily recovering, but not yet fully recovered from my adventures in the capital, and a beautiful possessed woman who looks so passionate, vicious, and innocent at the same time because of the sharp tension of the entire fleur reserve and sonm, that even without sensory abilities it will be clear something is wrong with her.

And then.

Flare!

Spark!

Except without the insanity.

My head jerked to the left when a powerful slap almost threw me out of the chair, but immediately the danger of falling was over because the next, literally deafening in its power, slap put me back, leveling me out of the tilt. The third chord comes to another slap, but with her leg, a classic kick from karate movies, because of which I fall out of the chair and, if I had not closed the room of the creature from sounds, clairvoyance before the conversation, the rest of the team would have already come running to the noise, immediately attacking the treacherous devil, ew to be like that.

"You're a douchbag, Konstantin." The honeyed voice was flattering to my ears, from which, because of the state I hadn't recovered from the threads yet, I almost cum in my pants. It hit me even harder than slaps, though they were pretty good at the possessed woman whose body had not badly leveled her physical characteristics. "And your jokes are even more douchey. I... you know how this could end, you stupid degenerate!"

She accompanied the last shout with a flare in her voice, too, either losing control or pretending to make my cock throb in time with my heart, frozen in a moment of shameful orgasm. Instead of squeezing out a flurry of shadowy energy or just jerking my pelvis, bringing myself to a peak by rubbing against my clothes, I start giggling small and shrill, shifting into hysterical laughter. This causes a wild, inhumanly angry, and lustful grin on the face of Giver, who starts kicking me without any pity, making full use of the characteristics of someone else's body.

I use the perk for weight control and partial shadow transformation, due to which I do not let you break your ribs or knock off your kidneys while not stopping laughing, as well as "cooling" now and then erupting passion because cum from each devil's kick will be not only humiliating but also banal dangerous to health to a much greater extent than the blows that can cripple the Hero developed physical characteristics.

After all, not everything was fine with me, and my love of dubious humor would one day lead me, if not to a prison, then to the need for a long stay in bed. The creature, of course, overstepped all possible limits. In any other situation, I would have killed it myself, banally out of unwillingness to become its toy and well, if just to die. After all, she had gotten to me with the Threads and could well subdue me with a guarantee, imperceptibly and permanently. I had my reinsurances for this case, and in a direct fight, it would have gone differently. I would have had time to react, but in this case, she overtook me for a fraction of a second, for one moment, but managed to strike suddenly, hiding deception after deception and inside another deception.

A cunning creature, strong, very dangerous I reminded myself once again.

Why am I giggling as she beats me? With each blow, she was injecting a drop of flair into my body, more cosmetic than actually damaging, injecting it involuntarily because she'd only recently put her host body into overdrive, partially damaging and partially dissolving her insides into honey molasses. I guess it's because that's what I expected from her, yes. Well, for Tia, I decided to test the creature's reactions to stimuli that went against her wishes and directives. I'll tell Tia that if she finds out about this conversation, but I know that the reason for it is the inexpressible impulse from the Soul of Mocker, which is literally pressing on my brain worse than a bad tooth, so I decided to let the joke take place.

I enter the deviless' room and almost defiantly cover her in complete isolation under the bewildered, amused, and barely hopeful gaze. And then I drop her a description of the Ring's liberating skill, telling her we have a lot to discuss. As soon as she realized what it said, her entire sonm activated, switching to support the sonm's visionaries, scanning me from all sides like a warm and sweet X-ray made of honey and marshmallows. And I, pretending to be too tired from the disguise (I have not yet recovered, and the degree of my fighting ability is best known only to myself), let that one catch some, not even shadows of images or hints of their existence.

No, of course not.

I could pretend that the avatar of Conscience had bitten me, that I was thinking of releasing the creature, and try to make a more or less normal pact. I'd manage to glue a hoax together, but she wouldn't believe it, no matter how perfect the hoax turned out to be. It was just a very idiotic ball, on the level of outright imbecility and an honorable nomination for the dumbest fate worse than death this decade.

I showed her something else, not stupidity and stupidity multiplied by stupidity, but stupidity multiplied by stupid greed. I showed a hint of a desire to realize a daring plan, a very daring plan. Together with Giver herself, develop a plan, according to which I will be able to subdue her with Dream and Tia's ritualistic after I release her with the Final Corruption. Because there must be such cool gifts, synergistic with Giver's talents, just too cool not to try to possess them.

I admit, at first, I thought she hadn't noticed my deception, that I'd made too small a gap in the shroud of un-existence, so she couldn't hook it with an active sonm. I was already planning to reopen that gap, only now a little more clearly, when the creature suddenly activated the Threads, shutting me down without a fight. If it had struck at the very moment when I was expecting her attack instead of preparing a new deception, I would have had time to switch first to Form and then to Aegis' afterburner, but history does not bear subjunctive moods.

Giver wasted no time, trying to rewrite my brain as quickly as possible so the deceptive idea would never reappear in my head again. At the same time, she slightly blurred my perception, so I, in the subsequent conversation, would not notice how she was patching up her damage and restoring the host. So I didn't just unnoticed it but also kept my cover for her. And then, as my mirror tracker showed, she would send me to sleep, perhaps even making me jerk off and cum while looking directly into her eyes and smiling lovingly.

She implemented the right algorithms, rewrote a chunk of the mindset, suppressed the personality, and only then set about uprooting the suicidal self-confidence and equally pernicious greed... to realize, all at once and in all aspects, my great joke. At that point, it too inflamed her sonm and destabilized her defenses, so I can be sure of its sincerity. At least the first two slaps and kicks were entirely a consequence of her breakdown, and then she took on a new role and played it, hiding her self-inflicted compulsions behind her already artificial instability. Trying to lead me to a new portion of emotions, at the same time bathing in the fact of her "loss," in the realization that she was outplayed. And in a second layer, pushing that very realization into my perception so that I, too, would be proud of my social-fu victory and perhaps repeat it. The third layer, which I felt more logically than intuitively, was for me to listen to the devil's wishes like a normal person and do the opposite and not do it again. I repeat - the intrigue of the highly evolved devil was to get me to show less blunt risk-taking. Maybe I did go a little too far, just a tiny bit. She's right about one thing, one thing she succeeded in. I won't do it that way again. A joke repeated twice becomes unfunny.

Well, congratulations, Kostik.

The "drive the deviless to hysterics and temporarily change her aspect from Lust to Malice" achievement has been obtained. You can be proud of yourself.

The only question is, why?

Actually, I didn't come to visit the creature just to get smacked in the face and make sure that my defenses were not absolute. I didn't even come for the feeling of smugness from a successful prank, either, though it wasn't easy to convince myself of that. Strange as it may seem, Giver, surprise surprise, is an excellent master of analyzing other people's characters, even if her manner of analysis is quite peculiar. I wasn't going to consult with her about the fate of the Ring and its victims; I'm not completely brain-dead, after all. She could convince me, for example, to subdue Tia in a reasoned and logical manner. The devil does not like a free elven liquidator of her level, who can hide herself from clairvoyance or other attempts to read the elf. For a devil used to subdue or be subdued, this is a red rag.

She also realized that the only thing preventing Tia from betraying me in any way was her debt to eternity. It seemed very safe, but it was impossible to be sure. The deviless can calm down either by using my ring on Tia or by letting the creature work with her brains, which no one, according to common sense, will do. So the possessed is sulking like a mouse on the croup from a nagging splinter in her sense of social comfort.

However, that's me straying off topic, probably even too far off topic.

What I could consult the devil of Lust about is the extent to which any ring-induced fetishes affect the human, not very human, or even not human at all. It should not be forgotten that she, of all my girls, is the only one who has undergone Double Corruption and, at the same time, is an absolute expert in such matters, and it is difficult to find a better one with my means, and there is no need to look for one. If you ask Lust about fetishes, fetishization, and the degree of their influence on the personality, what can you get?

"...the aspect of acceptance is multidimensional, I believe, not closing the possibility of conscious conflict, but leaving such a possibility in the noted spheres." You guessed right. You can get into a long lecture comparable in complexity to quantum physics or rocket science. "I would single out eight axial notes of direction applicable to any type of personality matrix, but some of them will be of little use for endowed or even monsters because of specification...."

If she had tried to weave hypnotic induction into her lecture, she would have had a good chance of success. Not only was I tired and already beaten, and with the fleur in the shell, isekai was somewhat weakened in terms of resistance, but I had to open myself up and listen carefully to what she was saying. Combined with the work of clairvoyance, which she contributed to as part of the sonm, it was really hypnotic, and an ordinary scholarly man shorthand for her explanations would have been turned into a lump of desire for any moving object in a couple of hours, and even faster for a seeing man. Most of the creature's effort was spent on making her words less affecting.... or to pretend to do so.

"...the directive component of the branching structure does not conflict with the base of the sheet music, this in itself is nonsense, I have never seen evidence of any form that such an effect can be achieved by the influence of an artifact that is not tied to a fleur or processed souls, it always requires the personal involvement of a highly skilled weaver, beckoning or at least testing." The terminology of the creatures of Hell translated into common parlance is given to Giver without much difficulty for the reason that they too had to educate their cultists in one way or another, and thus have long ago fitted lexicons, not to mention the very bundle of clairvoyance that reveals what the lexicon will not show. "A seeker, a prisoner, or even, I grudgingly admit here, a giver, would only be able to cope with such an effect if they were fully focused on the goal, sufficiently attracted by the an'st'ama're and reconfigured the sonm. I would not have been able to cope even with the door ajar of the common Bank, nor will I now, but I can try...."

What the Giver resents the most is the naturalness of the fetishes invested by repeated depravity, their degree of acceptability, acceptance, and awareness. Even just perceiving them as something alien is not easy. They arise, but the whole personality is adjusted to them, so it is very difficult to convince the victim that these fetishes do not belong to her but are induced. No, it's not cognitive distortion when you can prove anything, but the mind rejects even the most direct evidence. This is much easier to work with. It is naturalness, perceived, pardon the pun, naturally and normally. It is possible to prove to the victim the fact of attachment to fetishes, their foreignness, and suggestiveness, especially if one explains or warns about their obligatory appearance before the use of Corruption.

But even a very disciplined mind - another reference to Tia only makes me roll my eyes in irritation because the idea of using the ring on Tia took the form of "Carthage to be destroyed" - will not be able to perceive the suggestion as a suggestion. The installed fetishes will belong entirely to the victim, slipping in and out of thoughts, fantasies, decisions, and so on, even if one realizes this is the effect of the Ring. In order to explain it more clearly and comprehensibly, it is necessary to know the Vice more fully, and neither I nor, as it seems, even Giver wants that. She doesn't mind, but she is afraid of "breaking" me too much, more than she wants now.

So, the Ring once again confirmed its imba. Now, in the eyes of a true professional. She didn't notice the embedded fetishes herself right away. Only when we were here in Arenam and she start patching up damaged thin bodies and checking brains, looking for possible surprises left behind after being cut off from the domain. Such things don't just happen. They are guaranteed to be there because any Master would try to reinsure himself in case of escape of a valuable unit-asset-toy-beast, regardless of domain and aspect. The giver, for example, would have long ago received the directives of control or disarming, up to the complete pausing of all thinking or even nullification of personality.

Then, after the Hall of Touch, she switched bodies with the devils attacking us, not only out of combat necessity but also by filtering herself with her Threads, leaving the aforementioned bookmarks in the reset body-doppelganger. Until that moment, she rewrote her brains three times a minute to keep them from working before the attack on the small (but great) Cook-Chef began.

It's not hard to guess that at first, just finding the sudden extra elements in her personality, the deviless became very nervous, fearing a missed trick, which would then detonate her sonm or take control of it and send a beacon signal to the punitive group of those who would have to return the toy to its owner's house. Even if that group, the house, and the master himself were no longer there, the risk was still enormous and not pleasant. And she'd talked about it before, only in passing, not having the time to clarify it first and then not wanting to set herself up. If she was sure that she hadn't uprooted some of the tricks from her personality matrix, or at least if she wasn't sure of the opposite, she would have been the first to run into a suicidal attack (she did run. It's just that with her ability it's not hard to survive such an attack).

But now Giver could give an expert assessment of how much Doubled Corruption crippled a person better than anyone else so that later when testing (one couldn't just take her word for it, could one?) in practice, one would know what to prepare for and what to expect. Her answers were complete, detailed, and even too detailed, although there was a benefit. The most important thing is that uprooting such fetishes is very difficult, but, in principle, possible, although dangerous. It is easy to cripple the brain too much. It is much easier to dull, level, or lock them up. She liked the quality of the new fetishes and the degree of their fusion with the base. She locked them away in a separate section of her mind, always happy to be able to release what was locked in a

By the way, it was not just the first fetish that fell out (if only because she already had them all at once, even the ones that cannot be perceived in the human mind, like some li'iin'ai'sa... and I won't even try to realize what this fetish is), but tied in nicely with her gift of the Ring - those very threads.

Giver gained a passion for division and multiplication that was ardent even for a devil. No, not for mathematical equations, though that would be much more perverse, for rewriting herself into different bodies and subsequent joint orgies. In general, a good man should be a lot, only here instead of Agent Smith is a cute-cute hell-girl, right-ready recipe for a horror movie. In general, it's very good that devils are not only maximally subject to their impulses but also better than anyone else can control and fix these impulses. Otherwise, it could have been fun. However, her gifted fetish can play the opposite role, I realize in a slight prophetic insight. To copy my personality, just the memory and part of the personality matrix, without those parts of the soul that are responsible for classes, titles, and personal firepower (shadow and mirror, of course), to record it on one of the servants in the shelter of the bloodsucker and then...

I looked carefully at the possessed woman, who was as innocent as possible and didn't arouse any suspicion. I decided I didn't want to know this one. I'd check the servants, and if there were no injuries to the soul or corruptions, I'd pretend I hadn't seen it. She didn't have time for these games. She was patching herself up and hiding, just like she didn't have a mold of my personality. Even if she managed to take it off that time, when she tried to take me away from the fight with the archdevil, then recording that cast on a new medium would only endanger the unfortunate test subject. And now, after my prank, now she might actually try to... no, fuck it, I'll deal with it as I go along because, like I said, fuck it. Everyone jerks off to whatever they want, as long as it doesn't have nightmarish consequences.

In any case, we're not talking about Giver's preferences or her amusements right now, but about the way the effects of the Ring work. The Deviless is willing to bet half her sonm that her case and choice of suggestion is a consequence of the exotic nature of such a creature as her brethren and herself are. Ordinary people and fetishes are given a simpler, more sophisticated fetish than the standard tag list on pronosites, but not by much. And she's willing to bet another quarter of the sonm that the "payment" acquired under the lewd gifts will depend either on the gift itself, as in Giver with the threads, or on the characteristics of the person. That is, either reinforcing the perversions already present, pulling out hidden and shameful desires, or selecting those that are most disliked. The fifth part of the sonm, since I could not check it in any way, acting strictly on intuition and my own experience, the devil bet on the fact that a significant role is played by the connection between the Ring and me - hardly my slaves will get something that causes me outright disgust. Simple rejection or indifference, yes, that's all I want, but not sharp nausea-level denial. It would be comforting, but as the saying goes, try to find something else to disgust an oldfag with experience!

Hm.

Mystical artifacting multiplied by higher mentalism and all on a level clearly around good old /b/... somebody gives me back my 20s and unlimited internet.

The creature also offered to make an approximate table of probable outcomes for each of the girls I subdued and for those who were not subdued by me (when would she ever get away from the long-eared druid?), but I didn't really need that table for now. I didn't stop her from developing another report, so I quietly went to my room, still keeping my disguise on. She had me so loaded it was like she was really fucking me, and you couldn't say I hadn't asked for it.

Now that we've gone our separate ways, I realize even more clearly how idiotic my act was in getting me to go along with Soul of Mocker. Even setting aside the fact that I'd be adding extra weeks to my full recovery because of the need to scrutinize myself across the spectrum for any surprises left by a creature that wanted to do me good (and therefore only made me more frightening - you know how to fight off the usual ones). There were still other risks, and listing them in alphabetical order, one could write not a dictionary but at least a dissertation. In the end, everything could end very differently, and even if this time my instincts did not fail, limiting the consequences to offensive blows, giving instead the spectacle of a really shocked deviless, so it is possible to play up to it.

I mean, I'm sure I will.

I didn't make another promise to myself to never-never, or at least to think before I did. I simply counted the number of times when such an internal monologue had already sounded in my history. When I got down in the middle of the list, I spit, got upset, took a couple of bottles of wine and a bottle of very strong brandy in the cellar, and then started trying to make something out of them that could cause intoxication even in my body and at the same time would not conflict with the other potions inside my body. Given the way the Impulse worked, the task seemed relatively doable, even if outside the lab.

I did, the hangover came out like a real hangover.

A couple of droplets spilled past the glass melting a hole the size of a soccer ball in the floor.

I had to fix it before my comrades-in-arms noticed, or they would never forget.

An essentialist repairman - fast, high quality, and free because you don't pay yourself a salary, do you?

Unfortunately or fortunately, Hestia didn't have clairvoyance in its most basic forms, though she had some, especially after being strengthened by the essence I'd given her. That's why tricks like the one I used to close the logic of Giver of Caresses are less effective against her, so I didn't want to play on her nerves.... and I just feel sorry for her. She's been through enough. Or maybe I'm just scared, especially after last time. I overestimated my reassurance once. Anyway, I just went into her room and dropped the description of the skill, falling into the guest chair and stretching my legs with pleasure.

Raimel spent her time in her version of meditation, but in reality, she was just sitting in front of the mirror, dressed in an airy and see-through bedroom set, motionless and beautiful. That's who develops fetishes without a ring. I wouldn't be surprised if soon she seriously asks me to help her through Dream and indoctrinate her for a while that she is a motionless sex doll in the form of a woman, not a living and sentient being. She's had this perversion before, when she first got her body -perfect, amazingly plastic, and flexible, not needing food, water, or even breath. It would be a good place to chime in on the topic of fleur contamination, but the way her psyche had been jolted after Touch made such a small thing seem petty indeed. I checked, but it is rather difficult to deeply analyze the creature, which is a cloud of bottomless and all-dissolving or all-corrupting fog.

Shaking off the fantasy obsession, trying not to show how excited she was about her game, Hestia pondered for a few moments, then raised an eyebrow in a questioning gesture. How does that even work? For me, no matter how much I wiggle my eyebrows, it looks like a moving eyebrow, plain and simple. And this bookish phrase, taken directly from ladies' novels, "to raise an eyebrow questioningly," I always considered it a phrase, a beautiful turn of phrase, worn out at the level of an oscilloscope arrow. But Hestia or Tia have this gesture perfectly. It looks exactly like that. You can see and understand that the eyebrow is raised not just for nothing but as if asking a mute question - it's not about the eyebrow, but about the pose, facial expression, choice of the moment, and other kinetics of the body. I can do it now, too, with my body control, but still, I can't help feeling that I'm repeating parrot after the real masters of fine facial expressions. No other way, it is necessary to be really cooked from childhood in aristocratic circles and to receive the corresponding education.

"U-uh-u-uh!

Goddamn bourgeois.

Cough.

To the mute question of Hestia, who had obviously noticed that I had withdrawn into myself and attracted my attention by gracefully shifting from the mirror to the second chair and seated opposite me, I answer only with a heavy sigh and an equally heavy question:

"What am I supposed to do now?" Uh-huh, tell me, good auntie, how to live my life right.

"With me, nothing, of course." The companion replies with a slight judgment, as well as a carefully concealed inner tension. "I don't think I need to explain the reasons why this influence should not be applied to me in any case?"

"Yeah, I'm not stupid." Although, occasionally, sometimes, often, almost always, I have doubts. "The question isn't whether I can't free you unless I want to find out in practice if you manage to hurt me badly. The question is, can I somehow gain the trust of the original Hestia Raymel? You know yourself, so what could I offer you that would make you not a friend or ally, but at least not an enemy? I have, as it were, much to offer you."

I finished with the thunderous, gushing, ringing, and truly beautiful laughter of the monster, who now looked more human than she had in months. Her laugh is truly graceful and beautiful. I and Taria laugh plaintively, though the Dancer is doing quite nicely. Hans has no comment, Losius too, though he keeps his manners. Tia can probably mesmerize with laughter, but she doesn't laugh much. Hestia's laughter is beautiful, just exemplary. I could listen to it if only I didn't feel like a fool now and wasn't a little offended.

"Tin, please don't take offense at my momentary weakness." Granted, it wasn't a second of weakness. She laughed a lot longer, but I'm not offended. "That's not how it works. You can't just take and buy someone else's hatred or animosity, pay for a lost life and a lost essence, or you can, but only by rent, buy pretenses and hidden evil, a blade of hardened steel waiting to be used. That past me... she wasn't unhappy. She just didn't know happiness and was used to it. But she lost everything, first in battle with the creature that came after you, and then almost became another creature herself, giving the Mist too much of herself, almost everything, leaving only a little memory, a little bitterness, and a tiny tear that mourned the past."

It was a very colorful turn of phrase, a clear indication of how much this conversation was hurting her since it had drifted into an overtly lofty style more suited to Tia than to Hestia's dry, bureaucratic style. She seemed to have thought about it more than once, to have told herself the same words more than once, and that was why they came off so easily, so smoothly, as if they had been prepared long ago.

"Perhaps Hestia Raimel, whose name I bear in memory of her, would be willing to accept a payment, especially one such as you, Tin, can offer." I don't know whether there is more of a sad melancholy in her gaze, an unhappy sneer, or a weary understanding. "To humble my pride, to take my oaths, to make the promises. But if she were to be given my strength, knowledge of your plans, ability, if not to fight, then at least to retreat even from your wrath? If I were to give her this body, this memory, these feelings, this eternal sense of the Mist that would never leave her and would always be there for her?"

As if to demonstrate her words, the woman stands up and does a ballet pas, twisting in a pirouette and dispersing her already concealing garments, revealing a view of the milky white skin of her perfect body.

"You can never be sure of my loyalty, or at least my silence." As if explaining to a child, she says, sitting down on my lap, bringing her face so close that I can feel the faint warmth of her breath. "You would always have to wait for a blow or a breach of contract. I was an enemy, an enemy who died in battle and let it stay that way. You already know that. You can't help but realize it. You just can't keep silent. You think silence is wrong. It is foolish and a little hypocritical, my lord, for I am the present one and could not answer otherwise. You, I understand, wanted to believe that in the depths of my memory, there was an answer that would enable you to find a compromise equally convenient and not changing anything. It doesn't work that way. It never does, Tin. I am yours, completely and forever. I cannot and will not even want otherwise. I will kill, freeze, and change anyone who dares to offer me what he would call freedom. If you wish to give me a gift of gifts, just remember these words of mine, as well as those spoken to you in Eternal. And that will be the end of it."

The reverent and tender touch of slightly cool palms, the supple and demanding body pressed against me, the attentive and piercing gaze of gray eyes. If that wasn't a hint of possible intimacy, I don't even know what could be considered a hint. Everything seemed to be perfectly normal, but she managed to ride my... no, not my ego because Taria can't be beaten in that, but my desire to stay clean, my selfishness and self-deception, and such wounds, I admit, are very painful. And ruthless and merciless Hestia plays the role of the one who cauterizes the wounds or stops the blood. It hurts and offends, but sometimes it is necessary to speak out with a caustic word so the time has not come for reckless actions, for which it is too late anyway.

I didn't come out of her quickly either, but completely happy and satisfied.

I didn't show the Bloodsucker the Ring and its latest modifications. There was no point, she couldn't help me, and I didn't give a damn about her opinion, not to mention the fact that freeing her was a slightly better idea than freeing Giver. A vicious and vindictive creature with a set of near-mythical synergistic gifts-talents in addition to pumping essences and general strengthening - what could go wrong?

The other is Tia. She was not under the Ring and can trivially share her experience on the subject of artifact-givers and their consequences. Lectures on this topic were present in our program, but more in connection with other issues. No, we had discussed some aspects of the process of gifting through artifacts or rituals a long time ago, back in Eternal, but at that time, it was about the effects of gifts themselves, their effectiveness, and risks. The question of minimizing the effects of gifts was never really raised. There was simply no time, not even an occasion. There was a reason - the Repeated Corruption, which was revealed long before the Final one, looked very attractive even then, and Taria hinted more than once at the possibility of being a volunteer and a first-tester. I refused her then for the same reason - the risk of going crazy based on invested perversions and uncertainty about what these consequences would be, the degree of their danger, and their impact on the brain.

In fact, I had already learned the most important things, and I could, by and large, tell her nothing. She would definitely be against my plans. I'm against it myself, but I can't at least not to test this issue, to pick up a plan of action in case ... just in case. At least then, to prove to myself that I did something there, thought and even planned, and not just accepted the fact of the possibility of removing the subordination and continued, as if nothing had happened, to enjoy life (as far as I can enjoy it in my conditions). You know, self-justification and all that - no one wants to seem like an asshole, a victim of circumstance at most.

The usual human hypocrisy, nothing more.

And the fact I can't stand this hypocrisy doesn't prevent me from being a hypocrite myself because that's what hypocrisy, double standards, and other good things born of society and the personalities in it are for.

In short, putting Tia on notice would be unnecessary.

Of course, I told her everything - at least to see the look on her face (miss, pissing her off, as I'd pissed off Giver, it didn't work). I could have shown her the result of my prank on the deviless, but even if that would have broken the barriers of elven self-control, then I would have just found myself beaten again, not with a pillow. I had not yet grown so enamored with the process of beautiful women beating me that I would be asking for a thrashing too often.

I also told her about the data I'd received from the devil on the possible cure for the perversions as if to say that I was doing the minimum to ease my conscience. Tia didn't approve of my communication with the creature nor of my communication on this very subject. Tia didn't approve of my interaction with the creature, nor of it, especially on this topic, having spoken quite directly and unflatteringly to me, forcing me to keep my face impassive and guilty.

"She could have attacked you just by the fact that she had information." The druid reprimanded me with the tone of a kindergarten teacher or a pug trainer. "Her kindred were and would be like bending trees in the wind, crumbling rocks in the waves, turning wood to ash in the jaws of fire. They are beings of reaction, its masters and slaves, who perceive the world and its inhabitants as parts of the reactionary mechanism. If you provoke a certain reaction, you can get an equally certain action from the devil - that, Darkness and Abyss, is what the entire school of Hell spellcasters of the dark branch of my people is built on! You shouldn't provoke a devil. Never should. It is even more dangerous than giving him the initiative in weaving a conversation. It is easy to provoke, to give impetus to an avalanche, especially knowing the new desires and will of this abomination. Provoke, Tin, not to predict the result of the provocation."

If my body hadn't changed so drastically under the impregnation of planar energies, my ears would have blushed at how accurately she'd predicted the result of the recklessness. Well, yes, indeed provoked. It did work out pretty well, but it didn't turn out the way it was originally intended - it just so happened. Devils are really very impetuous in decisions, always striving to exchange roles in any dialog. That's why it's so easy for them to get into other people's brains. In a normal situation, speaking about a "normal" elite devil to provoke him so accurately and obviously will not work. They are experienced and play these games much longer. The black-skinned eared ones mentioned by Tia take a long time to approach every devil, always keeping in mind the risks they have calculated because, all too often, it turns out that way. But I knew Giver, and her loyalty, and how much that loyalty bound her, and, leaning on the core of her new personality, I gave the impetus for action.

And still got screwed

Another reminder that with creatures of this type, you should not play Mocker. You should beat them to death. In the extreme case, beating and mocking at the same time. This method has proven to be quite effective.

"As for the things brought in your images, I dare to assure you that I will provide you with a ready draft of the cognizing after some time, perhaps long enough, because I have a seed of thoughts that should be allowed to grow." If she noticed (like hell she wouldn't!) the reddened ears and slight shame, she either misinterpreted it, decided not to trample my pride even more, or planned something else. "This knowledge, in fact, is not only dangerously above lethal, as in any other moment when we talk about anything taken from Hell, but also gives ground for new ideas. The important thing is not to fall victim to those ideas if you know what I mean."

I do understand. It's hard not to understand for so long. Devils' knowledge is always useful, always clear and pleasant. They can easily get into the head and soul, plant a seed of doubt, persuade to try the forbidden fruit of Vice by the very edge, letting the claw get stuck before dragging the whole bird into the honey mire. Perhaps I should check myself for any surprises left behind a few more times and at least a couple of sharp planar pumping transitions, just a bit of a departure from the last exercise of this nature. I would like to take the Form and then put on the Cloak or even create an Image, but I can't afford it yet. I'll do it, but again, I'll send the whole rehabilitation to the known place. Everyone will swear, yell, and smarten up, and I'll just flap my eyes, lying down.

We know, we've been through it.

If I had a figurative hamster and a toad, the main pain of these two entities would be the trophy sword of the late Prince Eternal because greed was screaming a very loud "I want," but it was of little use. It wasn't even that the artifact would be searched for. It might well be considered missing somewhere in Hell or Shadow, rather even considered and not as paranoid as they might be. It just so happens that there is no one among us all who wields huge two-handed blades. Something Tia could do, who had a lot of weapon skills, but it was very little, and the specialization wasn't the same anyway. She could teach, but it would be poor training. The two-handed weapon whose technique was most suited to an artifact blade and which the elfess wielded was either a battle pole, a heavy Partisan, or even a Warbrand. Having mastered these blades, it is quite possible to fight with almost textbook Zweihänder (only the garde was a bit thinner and narrower), the school of techniques is quite similar.

But if I expect to work with this blade in the future, I should use not an adaptive or substitute school but a specialized, well-practiced method, perhaps even for a specific blade, sharpened and adjusted. And I can master such a method either from good high-level mentors, who are not lying on the roads (if they will not be brought there by guys of higher level), and work for very big money or as I have with daggers, as Taria has with firearms, as Losius with swords (in the last case only partially, there was initially a good school). Practice, practice, practice, lots of practice in constant threat of dying if you don't get that practice right enough.

If you think about it, I don't have the technique. I don't have the knowledge and techniques of battle, tricks, gimmicks, and combinations - only experience, the son of many deadly fights, crystallized in the indicator of skill. I just know how to do and how not to do it, intuitively choosing the right moves. This is not a style of combat but rather an anti-style, an anti-technique. Except that it works in combination with very pumped-up clairvoyance, survivability, and developed attributes. If I happen to meet in battle with the owner of equal skill but properly trained by the best fencers (even if his classes will not be exactly fencing), without using clairvoyance and premonition of danger? No, I won't lose immediately. I won't even be inferior, but lack of experience and bottomless failure in trivial academic knowledge will have an impact, yes.

Well, it's just not realistic to reach my skill level playing from the "hit anything you have to" tactic. I am helped by high characteristics, very, very rich combat experience, and an enemy list, as well as the synergy of clairvoyance and combat skills. In the case of the same Losius, Taria (if we are talking not about shooting, but about classical fights), or Hans, there is still a basis, a set technique, honed by training. And these basics are already polished by experience and intuition to the highest ranks. In the case of Tia or Bloodsucker, on the contrary, it is the technique that plays the first fiddle, only limited by the experience of applying the skill. For elves, it is always so, and bloodsuckers, if they want to live long and not die, must necessarily learn, learn, and learn again, as if they have the place of the Original Patriarch (a figure rather mythical in the sense of fictional than real - too many species and types of bloodsuckers exist, too different from each other, plus regularly emerging new ones) is occupied by Comrade Ulyanov himself. It's not even about the need for self-improvement, but the strict requirements for controlling Thirst, and in order to control it, not the other way around, you need a strong and erudite personality. It is so much easier to cling to reason and sanity, especially in moments of full pumping and accelerating of bloody essence.

Naturally, no one is preventing me from starting to develop the mastery of my trophy in the same way I learned hand-to-hand combat or dagger wielding. Go ahead and fight. The System will show and register the result. But this, you know, will be very long or will require killing with a blade such freaks, the strength of which is comparable to those killed by my picks. Still, it will be faster to master the master base. I'm already well-developed, and it's easier to make the first leap, but... if you can, for once, use a completely legal cheat, why not?

Not a bug but a feature and all that.

That's why I gave the bloodsucker the task of raising the available agents and looking for possible mentors for me. I had to give up on the higher segment, where master fencers, who charge the price of a small plot of land for a lesson, were located. They have all their lessons scheduled years in advance, and you can't come to them just like that from the street, and they can learn a lot of unnecessary things about a muddy student at a glance. One of the advantages of professional tutors. It is a peculiar form of clairvoyance, which is very difficult to block because you yourself signed a contract and gave the teacher a kind of door and the power to open it. Or at least to peek through the keyhole.

Both the Giver, who had calmed down a bit and was not showing any signs of her recent breakdown, and the eared encyclopedia were happy to provide me with lists of cool instructors of combat on all kinds of sharpened iron, most of whom had profile classes from epic level upwards. There was even one myth bearer, but I hadn't heard from him in a while - a classic hermit who chooses his apprentices. I would have thought about trying to find him because he's really the best of the best, but after a dry and detailed description of the tests he conducts for those applying to be his disciples, I changed my mind. Even I might not be able to do that.... not in my current state. For the future, however, remembered.

As it happened, the mosquito could find mentors in the vicinity of Tavimark, Skraban, and Lorit-Marazil (well, and Arenam, though it was smaller than the three cities mentioned above) much better because of the availability of the right people and agent network. She was looking for the middle-elite segment of specialists who were not ashamed to learn from, but it was not difficult to clean up their memories or lives because such a cleanup would not raise too many waves. I still wasn't sure I needed these mentors, especially the middle segment of the elite. But the creature's face was so satisfied with the realization that my request had been fulfilled that even I didn't have the heart to deny her a great mission.

The folder with the reports was brought to her by one of her trusted agents, now working simultaneously for crime, the magistrate, and a couple of noble families. A very valuable specialist, whom the creature openly rented out to her other subordinate assets, even if they didn't know about the subordination. I got the impression that that twenty-ninth-level guy with the classes of rare Agent and barely pumped, but epic, Infomage would have gone under her thumb if given the choice. High-level cover, regular training, unlimited funding (because you can't lie and squeeze some of the money), and complete freedom of action. Under her wing, the spy grew as if on yeast, that is, his level was growing, and the man himself was only a little overweight. He was a chubby ball, smiling and clumsy, and it was hard to take him for a spy almost physically, which, of course, indicates a high level of professional skills.

So, he brought her the folder, but the creature flashed her eyes, gave the agent a boot with a high shank, almost to the middle of her thigh, and sent him away while she began to memorize the report frantically so she could submit it herself. Well, I pretended I hadn't tracked her actions through mirrors and clairvoyance, giving her some much-desired communication with me. I swear by the platinum threads of the 4chan. However, her fixation and desire are sometimes more repulsive than Giver's. The devil's always masking herself, but this one can't mask so well.

"Rinkor sva-Rigma, also nicknamed Dog of Sutul."(1) Bloodsucker listed all sorts of options one by one while I, lazily lying on the couch, either checked the information with my intuition or simply discarded the candidate immediately. "The classes aren't mentoring, but he has over a decade of experience as an instructor for army units, as well as a proven mentoring title and skills. The exact level is unknown, but second class is guaranteed to have been revealed as far back as five years ago. Teaches mostly spear fighting, which is not suitable for you, my lord, but he possesses the necessary skill and has gone into battle with two-handed cleavers or swords on more than one occasion. He has many recommendations, mostly among adventurers, less common among the aristocracy."

I also discarded this almost old man. The images flickering in the ceiling-mounted mirror showed a very greedy and unpleasant character who would have to be killed to keep him from selling information about the strange student to the intelligence of a couple of high houses and, probably, to one of Neitmak's spies, with whom he sometimes shared a bed. Don't get me wrong, I don't judge rainbows by hating all humanity equally, but specifically this old sodomite was a faggot not only in terms of orientation but in life.

With a wave of my hand, I interrupted the bloodsucker, who was just reading out the list of recommendations of that slouch dog (I suppressed a giggle, but the nickname made me scream inwardly), at the same time filling my head and the mirror with unnecessary images of how in that very Sutul several groups of murky mercenaries, one of which was captained by Sva-Rigma, had organized a punitive raid and another list of war crimes. Not at all embarrassed by my culling, the creature moved on to the next point on its rather long list, which included not only those candidates who lived in the surrounding areas but also those who had been here once or had been rumored to be here.

"Abdei Beedril(2) recognized bastard of House Beedril, honored fencer of the Moonwalker School, is still on its roster. He teaches only by recommendation, having left the capital long ago." The new persona sparked a notable interest on my part, not a potential mentor, but one whose name the Brether School was named after. "He's more inclined towards one-and-a-half weapons or heavy one-handed swords paired with a dagga, but his two-handed skills are well-developed. He holds Instructor and Mentor classes, as well as several specialized titles."

The story of one of the few heroes-duelers, who reached his half-hundredth level, working in his specialty and even founded his own fencing school, I touched only marginally, there were a lot of things there, too well hidden, but I made a note to myself, very entertaining there were events, the reflections of which I managed to catch in my "TV". Yes, and indeed, I'm replacing the native zombie TV with a mirror ... only I have it can really zombiefy if it's handled carelessly. By the way, I'll have to ask Tia about that Walker, I've not often seen mentions of adepts Guest, combining lunar techniques and dueling, as opposed to the classic killing in the back.

And yes, this hero did not die from the enemy's blade, remaining invincible until death, having died from vomited entrails due to stale stew with fresh poison of the highest grade.

In order not to show myself not listening to anything (God, as if at a lecture or a school lesson), I give a lengthy comment, not on the topic at all, just not to be silent.

"Shame his name isn't Roy." Combined with his last name, it would have been a killer combination, with enemies surrendering... or never surrender, desperate to avoid capture in any way.

"Roy Bidril, (3) Abdei's now-retired paternal uncle, would hardly suit your purposes, sir." Immediately, the bloodsucker responds with a completely off-the-wall answer. "One of the illustrious veterans mopping up Alishan raiding parties in the Imperial forests, he had long lived solely off of healers and rituals, and his power had the archetypes of Beastlord and Insectomancer, his narrower specialty, with a specialty in swarm monsters. It was extremely rare for such to reach high levels, and Roy, barring a few very unpleasantly combined curses, could have reached the level of a gem in the classification of... Sir, are you all right?"

I only raised my hand in a calming gesture, trying not to choke on the morsel I'd sipped at the wrong time, so jarred was I by the new information. An Insectomancer named Roy Beadrill! Of course, after the librarians Pypysh Popyatchev and Ollo Lo, it doesn't really hit the psyche that hard anymore, but right after the dog slouch, it still came out a little funny. I even cast a suspicious glance at the bloodsucker, wondering if she was intentionally trolling me. She's definitely got a sense of humor, I checked, and with Taria, her pain in the ass, and hypnotits, they might have come up with the idea of messing with me. They just don't seem to know the cultural references from my home world. But that's just the "sort of."

"Dambil Bombas, mentor and commander of the Breakthrough Infantry, eight years of border conflicts in the Zainberg expansion zone, for which the same Zainberg still had a bounty on his head." My attempts to hold back a giggle were noticed, but they didn't ask or clarify anything from me, continuing to offer options. "He didn't have any good reviews or recommendations, but a fair share of Lecenar half-stormtroopers had been trained by him, and judging by the fact that Zainberg hadn't removed the bounty, he taught quite well."

Half-stormtrooper on Alurei, at least on this continent, are those who are paid a slightly higher wage, similar to Earth's Doppelsoldiers. In this case, the heavily armored soldiers with two-handed blades or hammers, less often axes, are paid double and a half wages if they reach the minimum bar. Triple, by the way, is called their "close brothers," also called "needles" - because they are like a needle into the enemy formation or injected by teleportation right inside the enemy formation. But for such guys, it is obligatory to have titles of the spatial stability branch, which allows one to instantly throw off nausea and withdrawal after teleportation, as well as a very strict selection. Only the Empire and Neitmak have full-fledged units of these guys, and Zainberg has them, too, but much smaller and leaner. The Arms Empire and Alishan don't use such tactics at all. They have their own methods.

Actually, the man offered by the bloodsucker, a beastly-looking hulk with the stamp of no brains on his scarred face (a deceptive impression), was the best fit, even if he lacked recommendations. He taught how to work with a classic two-handed weapon but, alas, more steeped in the sense of elbow and work in a formation or a tightly-knit group. At high levels, such skills are much less useful. There, you are your own formation, group, and cover, but in the range of fifteenth to twentieth levels, it is such a build that allows one to cut like butter with a knife, a standard formation even covered with buffs and shields.

"Oh'Mi Ayes,(4) honorary chairman of the Tavimark and Scrabane Fine Calligraphy and Penmanship Society, even if he rarely appears in Tavimark." As if recognizing the moment when I had finished pondering, the pale beauty with the heavy diet continued with "the whole list, please." "In addition to calligraphy, he is considered one of the best masters of fighting with glaives and rumfeathers, but he agrees to instruct only by his own choice and not for gold."

No, this one is definitely not my candidate. He'd be better suited to be an agent of the fanged creature, given his connections and the fact that the Penmanship Club, at least these two clubs, is a small (just a small, to be on the safe side) secretive community of Brethers throughout the region. When, for various reasons, it is impossible to hire a cutthroat from the Assassins' Guild, they hire a brether, who will provoke a duel, will kill his opponent in that duel, and then stay clean and leave you clean. Ideally, of course.

After all, the opponent could also hire a Brether to replace him, perhaps even in the same club of calligraphers, and these Brethers do not like to fight to the death. In their "anonymous" community, it would cause inevitable conflicts. So they preferred to work without much blood and death, which is nonsense from the point of view of most of their classmates. But the results of this approach also translate into not the most common titles or even classes. It often happens their duels decide, for example, a judicial dispute over a plot of land and its ownership. On an official fucking level! They would have gladiatorial fights to solve such disputes, and the term of the party whose gladiator lost was given based on audience sympathy. Fighting for likes, Alurei Edition.

"Giorgio Refrenci, nicknamed Sender (5) for his unpleasant manner of forgetting something important and sending his closest subordinate for it, even if they had time to move halfway from the camping place." Seeing my questioning look, provoked by such a detailed and not quite appropriate characterization, the bloodsucker explained, a little embarrassed, though I could see it only with my third eye. "This part of the report was compiled by my agent based on the records of former subordinates and wards of the Sender. It came out too colorful, so I apologize for that. I'll skip the non-substantive lines. So, uh..."

First of all, an agent who has not cleaned this particular part of the report (added one of the last, since the report from the grassroots informant came almost before the deadline) will lose the boot he was given. Or, on the contrary, he will get another one. Who knows? Either way, the mosquito will pay in full for the way she screwed up in front of me, even if she is the only one who considers this fact an epic fiasco and an epic rejection. And, obviously, she can't blame herself for the fact she was in such a hurry to show her usefulness and was so eager to do this report personally that she didn't read her folder all the way through.

Second, this character doesn't sit well with me either. As a mentor, he's good, even closer to the elite than a mid-elite segment of teachers, but the foundation of his teaching is built on the doctrine of mounted combat. Horses, you get it? These four-legged hoofed messengers of the deepest pits of Hell, next to whom Sovereign will seem like a funny kid, and the damned Bobik - a cute puppy or, at the very least, a well-trained and non-threatening dog in a muzzle! I fucking hate horses! In short, fuck this man-sender. Let him keep chasing his subordinates for a forgotten tobacco pouch or his favorite pipe.

And thirdly.

"You already know which option you want to offer the most, don't you?" I interrupt the prolonged circus, combined with watching a movie on the mirror TV. "Let's, you will not lead me to some thoughts, and tell me at once, which of the candidates came to your liking? I don't like such verbal maneuvers."

Uh-huh, that's why I don't like it because I can't outrun my opponents. Tia and Giver are too socially pumped, and Taria is too Taria to argue with normally without effort.

Ashamedly lowering her eyes (I pretended to believe it, yeah), the creature pulled out a handwritten document from the middle of the paper pile, which did not differ in appearance from the others, and held it out to my outstretched hand. In turn, having read the provided certificate, I sincerely believed that before choosing this option, one creature consulted with the second - purely intuitive understanding, without direct evidence, which is even too lazy to look for.

Saaki Me, an immigrant from the Island Principalities, had a good job in the Empire of the Ages, taking advantage of her relatively high level and very specific titles that allowed her not only to stand up for herself but also to teach the wisdom of wielding two-handed naginata or more classic imperial warbrands to anyone who wished to do so. And she specialized not just in training, but in working with already developed warriors who were used to fighting and killing, but with other types of weapons. Yes, not exactly the same weapons, but excellent ability to retrain and retrain in the right way.

We also add the fact that the lady was absolutely outlawed, and if she mysteriously disappeared, only those who sincerely wanted to kill the bitch (only in the personal sense, not existential) with their own hands, stretching the pleasure for as long as possible, would be upset. After all, the portrait attached to the document turned out to be a wanted list with a bounty for its head or its whole body, and they offered almost three times as much for a live one! The petite Asian woman, who was not particularly beautiful, was a little boyishly built, but she was a real troublemaker in an exceptionally bad sense of the word. She liked to hurt people very much and to tear them off, too.

Even her teaching methodology was based on painful practices, if not beating her students, and her pay included the services of a healer and regular replenishments of medicinal alchemy. And how she liked to have fun in her spare time! Her regular selection of handsome young men, whom she agreed to train on a voluntary basis, changed faster than medical gloves in a good hospital. This, of course, wouldn't have bothered anyone; she paid her dues constantly, and her clientele included plenty of those who had her back from the law. Alas, she liked to break and tear not just pretty boys but white bones - they were prettier, they screamed funnier, and it was more pleasant to break them.

After the treasurer of a collateral family of one of the most vindictive noble houses in the first hundred lost her not-so-favorite nephew to be found as a broken doll with only the tailbone intact, Lady Me's games had come to an end. The level thirty-something aunt had fought off the group sent to her and managed to get away with some clever amulet, but she had been routinely driven off ever since. If the dead boy had been closer to at least the head of a side branch of that family, or the nephew had been a little more beloved, the story would have ended before it began. But so far, the lady is still hiding, still living, it seems.

The bloodsucker's informants and her personal lieutenant hadn't found the fugitive, and how could they, since the professional bounty hunters (at least three separate teams) hadn't caught up with her yet? But it was possible to assume that she was somewhere in our region, and even if not quite close, should I be afraid of distances? I've got a new slave candidate. Thankful that there aren't at least three of them already processed to hit me in the heart.

I shook my head, pushing away the image of a delusional vision or a future version that hadn't happened, focusing on the present. First of all, trying to find the crazy woman, who may well have been related to the same devils, so specific her tastes were. Alas, sometimes sick bastards are just sick bastards, coping with their moral descent to the bottom and then breaking through it.

She hid quite well, having gotten a couple of good amulets that littered her images with multiple garbage visions, and she also kept to the cardinal rule of conspiracy - don't be seen, and if you did, just eliminate anyone who has too sharp eyes. Her location was not too far from Tavimark, in one of the gamekeeper's backroads where hunters of all sorts of prey sometimes camped. Not adventurers, but hunters, hunters of furs and horns. There was no keeper at the lodge, but there were stocks and a couple of strayed hunters she quietly buried, having previously amused herself with the youngest of them. And she felt very, very strongly disgusted with herself that she had to have fun not with a young boy or at least a girl but had to crunch the bones of a bearded and smelly man, in whom the only childish thing was the ability to cry from the pain in his tormented body.

A very peculiar woman, a wonderful toastmaster, her contests are great, ten out of ten. Perhaps it would have been hard to find a more suitable victim for experiments who wouldn't have been pitied. Whether it was luck or Giver's help in directing the bloodsucker's agents to this character's trail (the check didn't show anything like that, but it was too suspicious), I was seriously considering adding to the harem, if not to the harem, then at least to the collection of statistics on the ring's effects.

Quickly built nightmare allowed him to put in the victim's head quite tolerable and, most importantly, unnoticeable construction, which, firstly, will not let her off the hook and secondly, gradually seize control over her psychoses in several stages making the sadist is quite normal in terms of the twists and turns of personality. Well, only very cruel and bad-tempered, but not having some unnatural craving for violence and fractures. At the same time, he organized her a little more reliable cover from the seers and instilled in her the intention to keep a course in the direction of Arenam, right into the greedy hands of the Bloodsucker.

She'll find a place to put this illiquid commodity, whether to send it on some suicide mission, or to change its appearance and create a new identity, or to give it to those who are looking for this scum. Alas, I will not wait for her arrival, nor will I learn from the islander-chan - it takes time, the right attitude, and a full recovery.

No.

The longer I linger here, in such a comfortable and almost familiar Arenam, the higher the probability of being found. Even if in this asshole of the Empire, the threat of being discovered and opened by someone's psychic dipstick is not so high, but it is there. It is constantly growing, and sooner or later, you can get caught. The most sensible thing to do now would be a complete and very well-concealed retreat into the depths of the Wildlands, right into the already existing Green Tits base.

Ironic, but earlier, I had seriously planned to forget about the orc stronghold. It had already served its purpose. It gave the whole team time and energy to regroup, procure consumables, pump up skills and levels, develop classes, and, of course, test their skills in battles with the extremely dangerous flora and fauna of the wild land. Now we have to consider returning there not just a working option, but almost the only viable one! And this is already a problem because you can't just take and run on foot to the beloved orc and goblins (that's who will be glad of our visit), to then deal with the consequences of their intra-tribal intrigues and attempts to brainwash each other.

Walking or even running on foot, without stopping at settlements or contact with the rest of the world, would still be bad. Here, in the mirror fortress, I can count on a relatively successful reflection of any search attempts from all but the Grimmentray and his High Priest, who have me too firmly in their grasp. The rest of them simply don't know what to look for. They have no foothold, so I successfully reflect their attempts to see and confuse that reflection. I won't have a fortress on the trip, and I won't have a mirror network either. I'll either have to invest full and above, again risking to roll back my recovery, which is already going very slowly or.... or it's gonna be bad.

So walking, or running, was not suitable. I need to jump at once and in a flash, from under one dome of protection to the second one, and then I also need to improve the protection over the camp because, since its creation, Kostya has become a little bit stronger. It's not a task for mid-levels, but I have ways to solve it, and two of them - Mirrors or Shadows. For traveling, it's much safer to just turn into a huge Shadow, using the Form, grab the whole crew with tentacle hands, having grown the necessary number of limbs, add valuable cargo and artifact trophies, dive deep, and take a courier plane.

In principle, I can do it, even before I could, but I will fuck up all the recovery again, waste another six months until full recreation. And I'm also afraid that if I do, I lose my mind. So, the rest of my companions will only have sauce to pour on themselves. Even if I don't eat them under the influence of my instincts, I can just drop them, and there are always plenty of entities willing to eat in the Shadow. But that's just the usual risk. More importantly, such a number of strong and colorful souls or artifacts (especially the new sword of Losius) can attract the attention of those who will not be deterred by the authority of my Overlord title. I had already seen what the deepest depths of the Shadow were home to. I didn't like that. I was only comforted by the fact that the new acquaintances didn't like that even more.

To hide the flames and light of other people's souls, you have to literally wrap the bodies of the passengers in your own flesh and infuse that flesh with more energy. I've done that before when I pulled Tia through the deep layers, and I don't want to do it again. The tighter the embrace, the harder it is to loosen, and now there will be not just one delicious elf but a whole host of delicious ones. And I haven't recovered yet. I can't say with certainty that I'll keep my self-control at its maximum.

The option of using Manifestation in conjunction with Creation, trying to organize a portal based on shadow magic, is quite workable. I can create one of the larger Shadows, then split it into two again, and then turn the bases of their essences into a portal passage. I have a rough idea of the effort and time involved in such a mission - it's tolerable enough. Alas. To create such a portal, I need to link two pieces of reality to the Shadow and ensure their manifestation. Displace two pieces of Shadow, despising the distance between them, and then force reality to accept Shadow's rules.

You get it, don't you?

For this purpose, it is necessary to have a prepared piece of space where I have to go - in the camp. And at that time, when I left the camp, I had not yet mastered such tricks, so I had not thought of creating a damned billet. The funny thing is that I could have created a billet, a piece of more clearly perceptible, more clearly manifested Shadow, which I could try to get even from here. But why bother with a useless thing that could not be useful right now? The main thing was not to tell Tia, or she would definitely try to partially or not so partially fulfill that stupid dream of hers.

Or, on the contrary, should I have told her?

Okay, that's not what I was thinking.

Manifestation.

I practiced it. I made areas of reality more dense, shaded, and immersed in the plane, making me more comfortable in them but not so much the enemies. Allies, too, by the way. I played a couple of hunts on different evil chupacabras just from the use of almost not-pumped Manifestation. Just a couple. Two times. After this, I recognized the approach as ineffective, especially in a team. It hindered them even more than the monsters. And all traces of Manifestation I wiped up after me, returning reality to more or less normal form. Well, if I had known where I would fall, I would have laid a straw, set up a trampoline, and I would have known no grief.

There was still the option of creating and then dividing the Shadow. One-half would have to be directed through the Shadow to the camp so it could get there on its own and only then create the transition. It's also an option, even if a lot of things go wrong (they're guaranteed to), but there's not much of a limit to what I can do. The only survivor of the Warrior's kick, the unfortunate Ancient One, hasn't even recovered enough to cause me problems. She's going to have to fight for centuries to survive, even if she's only marginally affected. I'd be happy to bet on the most likely outcome, that the creature had been disembodied by God's will, but knowing my own survivability, even if the chances of survival were very low, I'd be wary of burying my enemies in advance.

Option written down, deemed acceptable, time to seriously consider the second of the escape routes - mirrors.

First and foremost, after which the rest do not require mentioning, the "pros" factor is the previous attempts to apply this trick, which were successful and without unnecessary difficulties. It is relatively easy to create a mirror transition even in an unhealed state (if I had heard myself a year ago, or better two!), the transition itself is devoid of much risk, does not require dancing with tambourines around the Shadows, and there is a proven methodology. The only problematic issues are the distance (past experiments in crossing mirrors had shorter distances), which for Dream still means too little, and the issue of attention of the Weaver, from whom I have already learned to hide quite well. However, it is still very dangerous, as well as the need this time to carry not only myself but the whole team.

That's the latter, and that's what keeps me from choosing the mirror option right away.

The Shadow, for all my fondness for it, is not much of a threat to my comrades. Its influence is straightforward and easily leveled by the available skills, no matter how strong and dangerous it may be. The shadow, the very plane, the very place, wants to devour, to chill, to take away, to deprive of everything, and even the attack of a malicious environment can drink a person dry in a couple of seconds even on the upper layers of this plan, but here at least it is clear what to defend against. Dream is more insidious, more cunning, more unpredictable, and there's Weaver, from whom I can hide, and I can hide my companions while they are still in Reality. But to hide us all in the Looking-Glass... I'd hate to feed the local Jabberwocky with my loved ones.

That's why I chose the third option, the combined one.

"What can you think of to avoid studying?" I asked the silent bloodsucker, silently waiting for me to stop thinking about my thoughts, asserting rather than questioning. "I've taken care of that bone cruncher. She's coming to Arenam, and I'll contact you separately. I don't know what to do with her yet, so I'll postpone the decision because I need to develop the skill of Procrastination."

In response, only barely suppressed surprise and clearly not the words the creature had originally intended to say.

"Does such a thing exist?" Without surprise, but with a distinct and greedy interest, because such knowledge, knowledge of the System and its mechanisms, gives power, and the creature respects and craves power.

Yeah, sure, I have everything, but it's time to stop with such jokes. In this world, a joke about some skill, title, or ability has all chances not to be taken as a joke, because the System is serious. It's not for nothing that they call it the All-Seeing. They don't give such a nickname to just anyone, you know. I had already thought of a way to say something so as not to show myself as a degenerate, at the same time dispelling the bloodsucker's unintentional misconception. Tia, who had arrived at the dialog, intervened. I hadn't noticed her behind my TV, which was a disadvantage for me and a plus for her.

"Yes, such a skill exists, though not often the Sun and Stars see the bearers of such a skill that sowed its seed and managed to germinate." Now, the main thing is not to let it appear that I'm choking on air from such discoveries. "Refers to a very rare branch, characteristic of masters of spiritual practices, focused on the knowledge of the world around them. A poisonous bloom, most often giving much less than it takes away, but in combination with extremely difficult to acquire, characteristic mainly for the people of Saia or Lanai. This bloom only confirms the truth that any poison can be turned into a cure."

What followed was a brief extract, not even a lecture, but a reference, telling us that if you pump up Procrastination and fuse it with a couple of monastic-sage classes, you can easily achieve all sorts of things. For example, slowing down time for yourself or others, not just subjectively, but even affecting the Law. But without proper training, without strengthening the mind with hundreds of types of meditations, asceses, and voluntarily accepted tests, you will slow down only yourself, which will not end well. Masters can work with the rollback times of one-off skills, go longer without food, water, or air, slow down the thoughts of those around them, or generally retreat to the next room for five minutes and spend a couple of days there, investing in those very five minutes. The likelihood of going into the latrine for a minute and coming out a year later is noted as much higher. It's worth noting.

Yeah.

Perhaps it is good that this skill I never pumped, it seems to have helped the constant presence in harsh conditions, where there is no time for rest, and then I just got sucked in, like a long pasta in someone's mouth or a sneezy-neezy in the vacuum cleaner pipe, in the company of a pet hamster that had already gotten there.

Negative skills are easy enough to get, but not getting them doesn't require any special talent either, just brains and a little self-control. Who the hell needs a masterful or even legendary skill of alcoholism, except for a very narrow circle of owners of specific classes? The same Drunken Monk or memorable on Tavimark high-level homeless bum, which Homeless, will definitely have with such a skill synergy, and after bringing the skill, albeit negative, to a great master or even a legend, you can begin to derive some benefit from it, such as the inability to die from overdrinking, easing hangovers and curing hangover delirium.

Instead of trying to understand what will give Mythical Alcoholism to the owner of the skill, I continue to internalize another portion of knowledge. It would seem that how to get another lesson without doing shit? Ask me how, gentlemen, just ask me.

I want to use the mirror portal for myself alone. It's more convenient and easier, while the rest of the group will be dragged through the Shadow. It was quite logical and even professional. Tia couldn't find anything to pick on in that respect. But, of course, I'm lying, she even found it, smashing the original plan in every possible way, adding a lot of little things to it, but keeping the basis of my idea.

Point one: create a shadow construct for the portal billet here in Arenam, paying special attention to the very idea of Creating the dual and divided Shadow I need. Then, tie the half-part-whole to a contract anchor in the form of a suitable pebble and then isolate it from any energies at the level I can only afford and sustain.

Point two: link the long-existing billet of the mirror transition to the Camp and a more advanced due to pumping, but also more hastily made billet based on the mirror network of the current hideout. Then, triple-check all possible disguises from the Weaver and scan the surrounding Dream for his trackers or leftover child-beasts. And, only after completing the previous tasks, to move quickly and decisively to the camp, having previously informed about it his ward orcs, so that the leaders of the Green Tits do not interfere and even help a little.

Point three: Upon arrival, take out the two-unit Shadow from the capsule, gutting it and its sister, who will remain in Arenam, bridging the two parts of reality through the Shadow and opening a passage for the rest of the company. Using the same passageway to decisively return, stabilize the passageway on both sides, check it three times, then a couple more times, shelter the team from the harmful effects of the plane, and only then allow them to go through the gate at top speed and leave Arenam.

Point four: give a superior look to the bloodsucker, look at the result of his actions with a proud gaze, and slowly, slowly, with a sense of dignity, returns to Tits Tribe. At the same time, don't forget to dull and weaken the connection of the shadow gates, but don't destroy them completely, leaving yourself the opportunity to re-deploy them later when they are needed again.

It would seem that the plan is not the most complicated. What could possibly go wrong?

It was even stranger because nothing big, crazy, or even wow-ish had happened, and all the problems that had suddenly arisen were within the working margin of error. Mostly I didn't like the strange activity in Dream, covering the whole Empire, including the borders. I can't say with any certainty, but it seemed to me as if the part of the border we had once crossed had been given noticeably more attention. I wanted to believe that it was the secret mine with the rarest reagents, but I couldn't stop my paranoia.

Most of the attention was definitely not that of the Weaver. It was too coarse and primitive handwriting, corresponding rather to all sorts of private dreamwalkers of various degrees of skill. Even among them, however, there were some very interesting shots, using very unusual tactics, the traces of which I would not have been able to trace even if I had been in good health. The same imprints of the mirrored glare that could be caught led to the Monkey Court of the ruler of the Empire of Arms, but this could be understood even without any deductive methods.

Apart from these Chinese-like traditionalists, no one in the world apart from the Weaver had such advanced schools of dreamwalking and mirror magic. And I would not be ashamed to honestly steal a couple of tricks and use them later if I had the chance. I, in fact, have, and I stole them, although in this world, for the creation of a torrent distribution, where you can download the method of development and pumping that you like, will be killed by the whole world. Not a bad reason to think about... No, not over caution with the borrowing of other people's development, but over the creation of that very torrent because "bastards, take off the sails" and then immediately "board the ship."

Especially memorable was the method of personality swap, when a freshly-raised and therefore not paranoid enough suffering from paranoia Agent of Eyes was awakened in someone else's body and was simply stoned with hookah, drunk with wine, and generally given a rest while the narrow-eyed Sleepy Traveler, who woke up in his body, quickly familiarized himself and imprinted the juiciest documents in his memory, to fall asleep again and switch back. The Agent of Ages himself did not remember his strange dreams, so the operation was very successful and, most importantly, no traces - there is not just a memory swap, but almost a soul transplant, the result of which on the original soul of the owner of the body does not leave any traces of interrogation.

I'm willing to bet my newfound blade of irrepressible pathos on the fact that among this pile of signatures, there were enough of them, which the interest of the Arms only pretended to be, in fact, belonging to a lot of other forces, and somewhere among them hid and the vector of attention of Weaver. Because he physically could not miss the wave raised by the recent events.... and in fact, in the most terminal stages of the devils' success, he might have considered a change of residence to another, calmer world. I found a few suspicious nightmare entities, one of which seemed to be slowly eating and substituting himself for a medium-sized security officer of the Empire of Arms. Or rather, I figured it out by indirect signs, and by the same signs, I assumed the presence of several cover groups consisting of creatures not caught in the zone of attention. And apart from Weaver, practically no one works that way.

Grandpa, according to Cassie Cemetery Friendzone, is a perfectionist. If he sees not enough professionally molded nightmares, he can give a master class and show how to do it. And sometimes not even on you, because how can you, talentless, learn something if you kill at once? No, he kills or forges often, but he can really only show the true art. On the family, relatives, and loved ones of the dream master who disappointed him.

In general, weaving nightmares few people risk because there can be consequences.

In any case, I finished with the checks as well, staying in the mirror network of the shelter for almost two days, leaving my body in the care of my companions. In the process, I strengthened and modified the network, at the same time following the guidelines that Tia had advised me to follow, stabilizing the network to reduce to a minimum (or better, to negative values) its wear and tear and gradual decay, which was fraught with all sorts of harmful effects for those who would be near the "working reactor."

I would like to emphasize the successful communication with Grtlashra and her coterie. First through induced dreams and then by establishing a live connection through a secure line of mirror communication. I needed only minimal assistance from them. That's why I didn't go into the situation and didn't lash out, rewarding the uninvolved and punishing the innocent, limiting myself to a very cursory inspection. Hunting continued, supplies were being procured (although the pace had dropped very noticeably), training was being conducted (orcs knew about the need for self-development even without Hestia's fog, so almost nothing had to be changed here), and porno-intrigues were being porno-intrigued.

The leader herself looked very lost and a bit dumb, personifying the proverb about the perfect soldier, but this, considering the fact that I plucked her literally from the company of a couple of orcs and goblins (the latter she used to, before the departure of our team, not often dragged into bed), was within the norm. However, I had to get her thoughts back on track a few times, and even almost had to suggest a plan for my meeting myself! By God, she even began to speak even more brokenly and briefly, though, by the end of our stay at the camp, she almost completely got rid of the savage rudeness in the style of "my is yours not understand."

Whether the mist and the long absence of Hestia, who controlled the mist, had short-circuited something in her head, or whether the important position and absolute power over the tribe had relaxed Grtlashra, who could not withstand the test of this power, but she obviously became lazy and began to cope with her work worse. She was such a diligent and prudent person when the bosses were around! Well, there's nothing to be indignant about yet, there will always be time to give a figurative and literal piston to the relaxed green maiden, and, as a last resort, we can change the leader of the Green Tits. I will try the Ring on someone. I will strengthen the gifts of corruption, and if I use Double Corruption, the problem of personal power to hold the power will be solved almost guaranteed.

Preparations on both sides of the portal are complete.

It's time to jump.

Jumping out of the mirror-polished rock next to the camp, I nod to the delegation meeting me, noting the disheveled and freshly satisfied look of the yet-to-be-chieftain, involuntarily catching a vision of the fact that even performing the task assigned to her, she was almost late, having fun with one of the carelessly spoken about her rival, then slutting in a private hot bath, and then using her favorite goblin maid with legendary licking skill. She was literally almost too late! She was forced to run here, dropping her authority and kicking those who didn't risk going without her so as not to be seen as the first to greet me.

I mean, I don't mind her not being here. Mind you. After all, I'm not the boss from the nearest Earth office, and her presence is not critical, but from her point of view, it is a manifestation of impudent disrespect in the Orс society. She perceives herself as a Сhief of a small tribe before the big Сhief of Сhiefs, which means she is obliged not only to welcome the guest but also to give honor and respect. And she realizes her mistake. That is why she tries not to look so guilty in public. The other leaders of small tribes have noticed this mistake and I feel Grtlashra will soon have to prove her authority once again, dropping the authority of others.

Well, I don't care about local politics. I have to get ready to create a shadow portal because, without me, the defense of the bloodsucker's shelter is noticeably weaker. No, it will hold a lot, almost everything, and serious tests on it for about a month have not occurred. The hardest days of active searches have passed, but why take risks? I'll calm down only when we get settled in the new place.

"Keep your distance. I'll get to work." I nodded and sent the greens who were faithfully watching me away, slapping the leader on her bossy ass on the way, causing a mixture of a light growl, a groan, and a languid chuckle, almost a giggle, uncharacteristic of the iron Grtlashra I remembered. "Well, let's rock..."

A matte-black ball of what used to be a piece of extremely rare and difficult to obtain (I seemed to have gotten my hands on the only sample in all of Arenam) wood with a slight tinge of Shadow impregnation hovered in front of my eyes and began to drip down to the ground in heavy drops, dissolving faster than those drops reached the ground.

The Shadow within and the Shadow there, far away, within the walls of my own power-soaked hideout

Insensible at first glance but inseparable is the connection between the two parts of the whole.

The will of the Overlord of Shadows, a hard iron thread stitching one and the other together, joined the previously separated.

Steam begins to come out of my mouth on an exhalation. The surroundings become noticeably cooler. The colors gradually disappear, leaving only black, white, and all shades of gray monochrome. Now, an ordinary person, and an extraordinary one too, if he or she is without quality protection, should not enter this area at all. I chose a small clearing closer to the outskirts of the tribe's territory under Dream's dome, sheltered by the effects of the Mist encapsulation. A couple of shamanesses, who held the power over the contracts that held the techniques of natural manipulation, literally spliced two large trees together, weaving them together to create a natural archway. An arch had a very thick shadow, now too thick for a mere optical phenomenon.

I was expecting something difficult, a sudden problem, but, except for a slightly higher cost and a slightly harder push through reality, everything was going so well that I involuntarily began to expect a triple-whammy. There was no tearing of space, no portal-like sharp cuts in the fabric of reality, as if pieces of glass were grinding against each other, threatening to cut the body and energy of anyone who got in the way. I was pulling the two pieces of Shadow together, disregarding their coordinates relative to reality, and reality could not resist Shadow - not in this place, not in this monochrome landscape.

The cold covers the grass and leaves with hoarfrost, forcing him to remember all the lectures of the elven dictator about the affinity of Shadow and Cold. The body is aching, but the energy that is still in the last stage of healing is not threatened by a new crisis. The tonics with minimal toxic effect, taken beforehand, level most of the micro-injuries. The shadow in the arch becomes thicker and thicker, and it begins to seem as if there, beyond that arch, is not the same glade and forest as it should be, but a somewhat different landscape, indistinct, as if blurred and characteristic of the upper layers of the Shadow. It was like when I could not dive deep enough, and the shadowy steps carried me so close to reality that the picture looked like the same reality, but distorted by the influence of the Shadow. The contours of objects and subjects, the gray-black palette, the stamp of exhaustion and desolation, as if I were looking through the Gaze. Everything was so familiar.

The last effort, accompanied not even by a flash, but by a slight prick of aching pain all over my body, after which I got to my feet, evaluated the resulting creation with all my sensory senses, launched forward a dozen small Shadows, killing them with Creation to use their remains to strengthen the "walls" of the passage. It seems to have turned out well, so take it and applaud yourself, Kostik.

Next phase, let's get started.

We ran around for a good twenty minutes, even though we'd prepared ourselves in advance, talked about all the important things to do and plans to make, and made a schedule of what we needed to bring through the passageway. After all, we have a full-fledged working cargo portal of the highest class here, so it's a sin not to take advantage of the opportunity.

A stockpile of mirrors, all the mirrors I could get from Arenam and its environs without suspicion. I'll need to build a new dome over the tribe. Now, given my accomplishments and my increased skills. I had to do a lot of work, erasing traces of the mirrors' existence and preventing the thought that somehow, a lot of them were missing and not enough were left. One accidentally broken mirror was nothing, but if there were a whole bunch of such cases, then it was necessary to call, for example, Malefics because someone had cast a complicated curse. Or investigators because there's a clever scam going on. Or priests. Or battle otters. Someone still needs to be called.

A large amount of quite rare and valuable herbs, which the tribe had accumulated with a huge stockpile, went in the opposite direction. Orcs and, to a much greater extent, goblins of both sexes, even before the change of power, had good gatherers in their ranks, and afterward, under my unwitting guidance, they have leveled up their skills and even opened some talents in the most successful cases. It won't be possible to use all the stocks, so it was decided to give a part of the most popular stock in the human lands to the bloodsucker for sale. There was no point in giving her really rare and expensive reagents because she would still be able to sell them, but she would not be able to leave any traces. Even so, it would be necessary to cover her through Dreams, allowing her to get into the alchemical market. Not personally, but through the official authorities of the city, who will already let the fabulous profits for the development of this city. Plus, the creature had sketched out a plan to utilize the inevitable ties with the alchemists' guilds to allow the magistrate of Arenam to counteract raids by regional and capital city bosses. I had to help her. She was following my orders to help the city, which had attracted the attention of those who would want to raid it for themselves.

The stockpiles of wine, fruits, delicacy cheeses, and spicy sausages, which in the conditions of an Orc's Camp could not be cooked. They were joined by other sets of household trifles, blankets, fabrics, a change of clothes, and underwear (it is possible to clean underpants with essentialism and restore fabric with it, but even to me, it seems excessive, like picking your nose with a shadow dipstick... ah, yes), cutlery, some books, ritualist's drawing instruments, a big-big box of glassware and a set of alchemical devices.

We were stocked to the brim.

I helped the rest of our team with Shadow Theft to make the passage as easy as possible, and Tia added a set of wooden trinkets to help in case my defenses sagged. The defenses held and didn't bend, though, and neither did the passage itself. The black archway between the trees and the same shit in the doorway of the shelter (the door led to a preemptively empty pantry in the farthest corner of the bloodsucker's rookery) was scary as hell, but even without the Theft and Tia's amulets, it wouldn't have killed the passenger. It's more like a reassurance, reasonable even from my reckless point of view, but still a reassurance and not applicable to everyone. For example, there was a big, dumb log that was protected by her ritual patterns on her body more than by the wooden trinkets.

I had to carry Ygra in my arms, assumed the Shadow Form to carry her inside the city walls with the usual combination of Step and Grip, and then lead her through the tunnel. Somehow, it seemed to me that when I put her on her feet, the ogre was even upset, though being in my shadowy arms should have caused, if not instinctive terror, then mere apprehension and rejection. Apparently it doesn't work for Legendary monster of the fiftieth level with such Endurance that the absence of heart, kidneys, and liver she may not notice until the moment of their full regeneration. I'm not sure she'll notice the loss of her head, or she'll just pick it up, put it back in place, and go about her green business. Though, no, that's a bit much even for her stats..... I guess. In any case, the ogre quickly forgot about her frustration and the swamp she'd taken up (and also badly cursed by her witchcraft), realizing that she was back with her familiar little green friends, who would obviously be using her as furniture again soon.

Even an ordinary person could use the tunnel several dozens of times in a row and get only mild exhaustion and cold (it was cold in there, after all). The passage, in general, felt like a passage, like a narrow corridor for five or seven wide steps, but the main thing was not to look at the sides and under your feet, directing your gaze forward, where gray shades become lighter. Personally, it seemed to me that you were walking through a mixture of the mouth of a living and evil creature, a suspension bridge over the abyss, and ... I don't know how best to describe it. It was as if every step you took was both a step and many miles of distance - the Shadow was compressing space, imposing the will to Reality at my command, but in fact, the distance had not disappeared anywhere.

The team went through the passage and stayed on the other side. The things were carried by the servants, who would be paid for three working days anyway, by the bloodsucker. I was just afraid to leave the passage unattended for any length of time, let the degradation and increased risk of getting lost in that tunnel appear in five hours when a few steps through the cold corridor will turn into several dozens, and inside, there will be turns and branches hiding the exit, through which you can either fall out somewhere in reality (not necessarily on the route between the camp and Arenam) or fall out in parts or not fall out at all.

By the time everything needed had been moved, supplies replenished, and surplus herbs and other reagents given to the Mosquito, the tunnel was between sixteen and eighteen paces long, and the cold draft could really frostbite. The servants had to put on pre-prepared warm tunics, and I had to steal their cold through the shadow technique. The creature, terribly proud of the fact that she could help me by warming up my body with essences, unlike the possessed, who had to do nothing, received a firm handshake from me (reflex, honestly, I didn't even realize to whom I was shaking the limb, and then I didn't wipe my hand in front of her eyes, did I? ), a promise to keep in touch (and I'll have to, there's still the issue of alchemists and possible new bigwigs from around the capital regions to solve), a motivating "keep up the good work" (I was doing really well, despite some screw-ups, like those games with a couple of agents and the capital's inspector), and three spare anchor balls with half-full Shadows, so that I could create another passage to another point if I needed to.

The last to be carried were the artifacts. Losiy's sword in the isolation container didn't cause any problems because he had asked her not to rage, even though it was necessary to give a sword to him at the very beginning when the team was still in the first minutes... with the others, it was more difficult. The two-handed sword in disguise didn't cause any problems, though it did force him to concentrate an un-existence around it. The hammer, which was constantly stinging with bursting vibrations, was grabbed with a dense shadow whip, almost a Shape, and brought to the other side quickly. Valerium, like the sword, was originally with Taria and gave no background. But the containers with the Box and the Chain link were also carried personally, covered with a cloud of neutral essence and a lot of shadow walls on top. Luckily, the things had stopped amplifying the effect of the cursed territory, though I'd forbidden the bloodsucker to remove the rituals from the room where they lay or to enter the empty room. Still, it felt as if the cursed relics were just waiting, gradually pushing through the defenses against their influence and building up the "strength" to make a breakthrough.

Although I could be wrong about that. Tia, who meditated in order to shake her memory, says that after a certain limit of intensity of negative impact, the degree of adaptability of demonic emanations produced by the relics is frozen at a certain level, as well as the maximum amount of cursed territory. Except there's a suspicion that these two things aren't exactly common, even against the backdrop of the kind of shit that the relics of the Infernals are.

A timeless tale that doesn't and can't have an ending.

Abandoned children of dead gods.

The thought of the gift from the unnamed old demonist made me cringe as if I'd tasted a lime. Something would have to be done with such a questionable trophy, but for now, the only ideas I had were to place them in the far corner of the dome, isolate them as much as possible, and never touch them again. Or at least until they're restored to their peak capabilities.

The primary mirror circle had been laid out in just a couple of hours, even before the transfer through the Shadow began. So now all that was left was to place both relics in a protective circle, give strict orders to stay out of here, for worse than killing, and put up a Dream-based repulsive construct to make sure no idiot from the male population of the camp got in. They'd already lost too many of them in the cleanup and subsequent hunts after I'd left, so there was no reason to further destroy the new tribe's supply of cannon fodder.

Then the portal was closed, and not just closed. It was necessary not only to cut off the connection but to cut it off with the prospect of possible restoration, and at the same time so that no traces could be noticed by a too-attentive sensor or a colleague - shadow-user. What that shadow-user should do in the creature's house is a separate question. But what if the bloodsucker would play its games and take its shelter by storm, and there was my door?

I closed without pain or bleeding from my eyes, but I was still so tired that my clothes could be wrung out, and all I had left to dry. The reserve didn't show a decrease even by half, but I was tired all the same, more from the monotony and tediousness of the work, though many mages wouldn't understand me if I called my task tedious. But to me, the work on neatly unweaving the portal with the possibility of subsequent weaving reminded me of trying to dismantle a newly built house brick by brick without damaging the plaster, whitewashing, and other communications.

I'm exhausted.

At least it wasn't for nothing.

"I've been given a title," I reported with mild surprise, suppressing the pain in my entire body from the strain of near-excessive exertion, cautiously taking a seat next to the deactivated tree arch. "I thought it would be a while before I got anything from the System after the capital, and if I did, it would burst at the seams because of the strain on my essence."

"So your condition is better than we thought and improving faster than calculated," Tia replies as if nothing had happened, not letting anyone suspect her of deliberately coloring in on the necessary treatments, taking a seat next to him. "I guess the title doesn't really apply to the portal branch since the construct you created didn't look much like the Path of a Single Step."

Well, who would have doubted that she would have noticed that fact? Even if I understood the differences between the Pairing Gate and the classic portal-space techniques, Tia understood even more. She was the one who'd set up her ritualistic protection and had to analyze the structure of my brainchild. That's why I nodded at her question without bringing up my accelerated recovery. It was accelerated because Tia was working hard to tame my most foolish impulses and encouraging the rest of the team to support me in this endeavor. I also toss a copy of my title description to everyone around me. For a change, it was not particularly snide in its description.

T.N. Below are jokes based on wordplay.

Conductor (epic): the ability to quickly get from one point to another cannot be valued cheaply. If those two points are separated by many days of arduous trekking, the value of such a skill is multiplied. And if you can ensure the arrival of an entire delegation, a trade caravan, or a marching infantry corps in a couple of minutes, you don't need to be able to do anything else - you'll be golden as it is. Creating planar-based travel passages is deadly dangerous and extremely difficult, even more dangerous than using such passages. But since you've not only mastered such a sophisticated technique but also managed to make it safe, you deserve a reward. Bonus: working with the spatial aspects of planar techniques is easier; the clarity of sensing other people's spatial techniques is increased.

Not the strongest of the available titles, and the reward for it is relatively modest, especially against the background of myths, but the value is considerable, even if I never have to repeat my experiment (and I will have to, I give you my word!), there will still be an opportunity to counter portalists a little more effectively. Yes, this branch of classes is kind of considered non-combat, but at a high enough level, even a Janitor or a Washerwoman will start to OP. And in support, a portalist can be extremely unpleasant, helping, covering, and ensuring the retreat of the rest of the group. There were and are many gold and gemstone adventurer teams that had a specialist of this kind or someone who could do something in the specified range of abilities, even without being a space adept.

"Not bad, I tell you, not bad." Hans read the lines very carefully, obviously realizing something for himself, as much as the owner of the title in my person. "I also have such a title, but it's written differently, and I'm a legendary, but the award is similar, but I think I got more from the Legend. But my title was given to me for something else."

If logic serves me right, it was for regularly messing up the paths of a whole bunch of high-level creatures and a few Legends, like Dreamer, whom Hans was seriously involved in killing. And, come to think of it, it was from that moment that something had changed in his senses, and his tricks for changing paths for the enemy had gotten noticeably better. Or was it that he had developed the Pathfinder class then? I'll ask him later if I have a chance, but now I'm too lazy to go anywhere... and the greens must have prepared a feast for us.

"So you, Hans, will be the Conductor, and Tin will be the Semiconductor!" The dancer jokes in a ringing voice with a hidden mocking chuckle, squinting at me with a sly look. "Your classes fit the title like a key to the lock. Don't be stupid. That's why the ekzaust turned out to be higher here."

"Exhaust, the correct word is exhaust. It came from the Dwarven dialect of the universal and from there from the Old Dwarven dialect." Hestia corrects her friend. Hestia, sitting down with the rest of the company with the look of a martyr doing her duty as a grammar Nazi, who had unwittingly read about gnomes and gnomish because she used walking golems of their design. "And Tin couldn't have gotten the title of Semiconductor since he is neither an Electromage, nor a Storm Adept, nor even a Technomancer."

"That's what I said." That was the phrase she said again with such certainty that I again wondered if I'd overheard it earlier. "What's the title?"

"Something to do with electrical impulses and the ability to dampen or redirect them." Suddenly, it's not Tia who answers, but Losius seemingly surprised himself at his erudition in such an uncharacteristic question. "It was in the family library. A title of no particular secret, rare in its degree of value, many air or lightning mages get it one way or another."

"Semiconductor, my ass." I don't even have the strength to laugh, especially since it's not the most surreal thing Alurey showed me. "I'm not even gonna ask about the Insulator, just in case."

"Yeah, that's right, no kidding." I'm not going to ask, but who would ask me if I were an erudite man? "Our chief jailer, who keeps watch over the cellblock, used to swear, too, because his gift of the All-Seeing, well, that's the one, the Isolator, was for his ability to make walls and doors unopenable by the skills of honest guys, yes. So, from the inside, no lock-pick or any weaker magic, well, can not open, in short, even if you have a class. In the magistrate's office, they messed up and gave him a patch on his cloak with a white and blue pattern instead of brown and red. So, you know, they rewarded him for the virtue of Air Mages, not for the virtue of law officers. They also have an Isolator, but it's more useful for the shields of mages. It makes them stronger.

"Not stronger, but denser, and only to counter electromancy techniques or Storm-based strikes." Tia corrects the man, looking at him with the look of an entomologist who has been given a new specimen. "And the collision of the similarity between the titles of Insulator and Isolator does exist, sometimes causing the administrative machinery of the Empire of Ages to creak its gears. For example, giving awards of elemental mages, not necessarily only air mages, to all sorts of jailers or guards. Of course, only if they wish to make their title public for the sake of a pay raise, personal tax reduction, career advancement, or simply to make themselves known to others."

I memorized another remark about the local fuss about classes and titles. Then, follow the example of the whole company, focusing my eyes on a somewhat pale boy of about seventeen or eighteen, sitting a little apart from our company with a very guilty and very lost look. If memory serves me correctly, he was one of the heavy-lifting servants chosen for his young and quick feet and because he had the unusual title of Porter, which increased the amount of weight he could carry and the degree of neatness with which he could carry it.

The pallor was probably due to his lifestyle, which was predominantly nocturnal, thanks to his superior, and also because the same superior had fed on him a couple of times, albeit cautiously, siphoning off some of his vital essences. And his loss was provoked solely by the fact that he, for some reason, did not leave with the rest of the servants back to Arenam. Although, I thought that the bloodsucker had trained her minions to perfection, both by the usual methods of stick and carrot (she also beats with carrot, following the commandments of the Earth's office bosses) and by light and not-so-light compulsions and other influences on the mind.

Ah, no, not any reason, the reason was exceptionally green and titty. One of the orcs helping with the loading and unloading on this side had talent from Hestia for fixing one's gaze and thoughts on her buttocks and labia in the bait method. And here she (un)successfully bent over, putting the boxes with flasks, the guy's gaze swept over the opened sight and stuck. When the orc went to get another bundle of herbs, he involuntarily followed her, as if on a leash, since the seventh-level guy had zero resistance. When in the crowd of tantalizing butts of dark green color disappeared, there was a break in the leash, which made the guy dizzy, so for the next half an hour he just sat and did not think about anything.

Orcs did not risk distracting me and my "very cool personal gang" focused on the case, covering their asses at the same time, as not looking after these asses, discreetly leading the victim of buttocks, like a lamb to the slaughter, to the very point where he was sitting now. They said he would wake up there and then leave. If he didn't leave, he would be picked up by his men, or his superiors would yell for him to be taken away. Even Tia and Losius, who were doing almost nothing, were dumbfounded because at least Hestia was keeping Taria under control, and Taria was driving Hestia crazy.

That is, the lost man didn't disturb anyone, didn't touch anyone, didn't pose a threat, and therefore the two clairvoyants of the highest caliber, who were focused on searching for a probable threat and hiding from quite specific threats, missed the lost man and didn't notice him. On the one hand, I don't want to rebuild the portal and then hide it again, even if I don't take into account the fact that this way I can play with health threats. On the other hand, it wouldn't be right to leave someone else's handyman here. On the third, a guy who was honestly hired by the creature to do his job, and who was also honestly (though he was not informed about it) kept under the bloodsucker's control, was not in danger of death here.

Well, physical death.

He'd have to remember to issue a directive to make sure he wasn't turned into a vegetable along the lines of orcs and goblins, but let him have his fun. According to the mosquito's embedded compulsions, he doesn't notice anything odd about his loading task, but now that there's too much oddity, the quick compulsion has all but dropped. The long-playing constructs in his head were simply cementing loyalty to his employer and opening up the possibility of mashing up sections of his memory, replacing them with routine memories.

Having put the victim of arbitrariness through Dream, I sigh tiredly.

"We'll give him back." Then, I once again estimate the amount of work and specify another tunnel turnaround and specify. "We'll definitely give him back. But later."

I told the chief personally that the humane man, although not in the chief's gang, was still a servant of the one who served the pale chief, and therefore, it was not necessary to bring him to the state of the other green males. Not out of solidarity but simply because there were enough idiotic coincidences connected with Kirs (that was the name of the hero of the column "Failure of the Week"). I put him on the lodging, saying that I would return him to Arenam on the next trip (without specifying when that trip would be and the extent of the witness's memory cleansing), slightly readjusted the perception filter so that he would not be too shocked by his surroundings, and went to rest.

I recall this camp had some pretty good hot springs.

If I were an anime character, another filler arc would be going on right now.

But I'm not there, so I'll take a day off and get back to work.

Rest, mirrors, rest, alchemy, rest, sleep, mirrors. Taria and Hestia broke in on me and decided to molest poor Kostenka mirrors again and then sleep again. Ah, yes, all this is interspersed with regular checkups and scanning rituals because even if there is no need for any special restorative procedures, the banal, thrifty attitude toward myself is not a bad medicine in itself. However, it cannot be said that nothing could be done because of this frugality.

The Infernal's relics are hidden by the fourfold ritual circle and located in the depths of the Dream dome, but not at its border because they could damage the border. The stolen, that is, looted artifacts were located in secure vaults, and if the sword still raised questions about plans for its use, the hammer was a different story. Ygra's favorite stick was now preparing to take on a new wrapping for the hilt - the originally unusual cloth, bearing some of the magic of a skilled weaver, in the sense of a craftsman with class, not that other one, was now being infused in a mixture of several potions. All of the concoctions, once mixed, began to bubble and boil, even though the temperature of these liquids continued to remain well below zero. The essences of stability, impenetrability, indestructibility, and many other varieties squeezed out of the reagents impregnated with Cold would be able to secure the hands of the holder of the damn Crusher. Or rather, the one who holds it, no one else will ever pick it up.

Thoughts of removing the binding and reconfiguring it to Ygra remain thoughts, though some plans are in place, as they should be. But using Shadow Theft as a basis, it's too easy to ruin the artifact, and if you distort or even break the reflection of the Crusher, reconfiguring it to a different owner, you can ruin the brains of Ygra. She doesn't have too many of them already, so why make it worse?

In a small ritual circle, the pieces of the mirror had been created after the Eternal Library's buffoonery lay, holding much important and top-secret information, waiting for my recovery. Very soon, I will start working on that as well, but first, I will need to be fully operational. Likewise, the Ring experiments were waiting to happen. In their case, I wasn't going to wait until the end. I just wanted to finish the mirror dome first, using up the stock of consumables I'd so diligently lugged from Arenam.

In the evenings, when it became either dangerous or boring as hell to use the skills, we gathered a consensus on how to pump the Summoned Heroes. No, I knew exactly what to pump, though I sometimes asked for advice, but the intervals between investing points, as well as the ways to track the consequences of such investments, regularly became the number one topic of conversation in the evening. Hans and Taria were either napping or playing cards quietly, trying to out-cheat each other, or pretending to listen for a change, occasionally giving a thought on a topic, rarely even a really clever one. And that's how it is with most other high levels - you get your characteristics and free skill points for a long time, and then you invest them slowly and leisurely, trying to learn the potential as much as possible and not to cripple yourself in the process.

The story of the unaccounted passenger ended rather quickly, but not in the way I had originally planned. Actually, when I gave orders to Grtlashra not to make a new mindless male out of this lad while at the same time placing him somewhere to keep him out of sight, I had something different in mind. I mean, keep an eye on him, feed and water him, and maybe put some greens on him so he doesn't wipe his palms (and not just his palms) bloody. In fact, he was really taken in without making a meat golem, but not much more than that.

By the time I remembered about the lost one, he had already been so tightly surrounded that there was almost a quarter of a hundred bookmarks and triggers in his brain, and he had changed a dozen owners and forgotten his real name (he also changed new names regularly, and there were no decent, or at least not too humiliating, ones among them). I only shook my head with an attentive look at the chief who was pulled off a new toy and started to fix the roof of the lost guy, who had gained up to the tenth level in a couple of days, almost getting question marks in the Status (there were a few ladies in the tribe, who could not only pump themselves with life-giving sex, but also develop others, but with consequences and weakly-weakly), and also acquired a rare class of Ladies' Chaser and a pleiad of specific skills, for the most pumped of which it is necessary to work with the tongue and this, I will tell you, is not a speaker.

Well, I practiced creating and re-creating the shadow door, kicking the dreaming (it didn't stop him from walking) Kirs, who will have only very vague memories of the past weeks, most of which will seem like a wet dream, new levels, class and skills, and a note taped to his back asking her not to lose any more of her people. I also have a very hard fetish for all things green, but I've tried to fix that shit. Without Hestia's makeup, it's very rare to find pretty orcs among orcs, and even then, mostly among half-breeds.

Speaking of Hestia

She was testing her increased abilities, pumping up the already pumped-up green-skinned, strengthening a separate talent or skill, then forming a second one, preferably synergistic with the first one. At the same time, as before, the main effort Misty Beauty concentrated on trying to keep as many brains as possible in the skulls distorted by the mist, as well as to maximize their controllability, from which the strength of the gifts affected. I was adding the fixing of the effect through Dream. It wasn't particularly pleasant to browse through the minds and dreams of distorted orcs and goblins, but it was pointless to compare this routine to being in the company of a suspiciously modestly behaving Possessed woman (she hadn't even made any lovers yet, though she'd gotten a couple of them brainwashed). There's a whole other level of "not particularly pleasant."

Actually, if it were not for my help to Hestia, I would have been playing John Snow, who knows nothing, for a long time. Somehow, word for word, I asked Hestia to see if the attic of her best creations was leaking while she was away. Mistakes in her work, excessive lasciviousness, even against the background of altered lust, laziness, and almost complete neglect of her duties in favor of fucking, throwing these duties to the nearest retinue or, in general, to the first involuntary, which was repeated by her companions. No, the green-skinned always had such practice, but it was one thing to get rid of annoying and hard work at someone else's expense and quite another to get rid of the chief's work, which actually determined the status of the chief.

Distribution of hunting brigades, rewarding and punishing, judging and resolving conflicts. If you don't do that, you are no longer a Chief but just a very strong Nob who can't be ordered, who does what he wants and always has a share of the spoils, but the whole tribe will follow the Chief, not the elite Nob. Grtlashra simply enjoyed the status, caring less and less each day to maintain it, only edging out those who challenged her. But without her control, groups of hunters could not decide on the division of animal trails, food supplies were divided in their way, and conflicts were solved in any way because each side went to a separate lady of the elite since the Chief was having fun again. And if she was disturbed, she would also hit you with her gift.

The problem wasn't even that she had abandoned her duties, which could be overcome by choosing a new chief, but that she didn't let the others work, considering attempts to create a parallel power structure as a challenge to her authority (she was right, actually). As a result, the tribe functioned on the rare talented personnel who took care of the tribe and who became fewer for various reasons, most often because they got bored, as well as on the hunting grounds and stocks available after the clearing of the vast territories.

Yes, the tribe existed quietly and could continue to grow, only much slower than they would have liked, and they could with their gifts, my potions, and essentialist-treated equipment. There was no threat of starvation, let alone total extinction, but it still felt sluggish in a lot of ways. In short, city planning strategy is definitely not my thing. Therefore, it was necessary either to fix Grtlashra, returning the old version of her, cunning, dodgy, and ready "in the name of the Pale Leader and the Misty Maiden" to work day and night with a break for domination over competitors or to find a more suitable candidate.

I turned to Hestia with such a problem, and she calmly accepted the introduction, checked everything, and then said that she did not register any destructive and degrading influence from the side of the Mist of Vice. Then I stopped glimpsing the images of the past and present of the Green Tits tribe, tensing up in earnest, staring with my third eye into the mysteries of this Madrid Court.

And I laughed.

No, I was stunned at first.

And then I was already laughing.

The mistakes and missteps of Grtlashra, who was rapidly losing ground, were not the harmful effect of corruption, not her own laziness and complacency, and not even an enemy attack from a neighboring tribe. It was an internal intrigue, almost a conspiracy, not in its final stages but somewhat past the midpoint. And I could have noticed this conspiracy if I had looked at it from the right angle with a minimum of care! But I, knowing the gifts of the chief and the other green girls, simply could not assume that there would be anyone with any chance of success among her rivals and detractors. Grtlashra's gift was too OP. I thought there was no counterpick for it, as it was not a gift but a crowbar.

It would be a lesson to me, a serious lesson: never underestimate the enemy and his cunning, wit, dodgy and improvisational skills. The core of the conspirators had at their disposal some rather interesting abilities, but they, separately or together, were no match for the gift of the leader, who became the leader largely due to this gift. But the conspirators did not give up. Having found ways to use their abilities creatively from scratch and having practically no information, they mastered the method of counteracting seers (to which the orcs standing at the head of the tribe could well belong), created a working plan, and, despite the failures on some points, began to implement it, stage by stage, goal by goal, having every chance of crushing success.

I wanted to tell the Hell devils all about it (but I didn't, because they might hear it, you never know) when I realized that the cunning beasts had erased their own memories, leaving only compulsions and bookmarks from their own abilities that made them act without realizing they were doing any harm at all. The tactic itself wasn't sophisticated, but you wouldn't expect such a thing from conspirators with virtually no previous experience. The precognitive nature of Grtlashra's gift could do a lot of things, predict a threat too, even if the source of the threat didn't realize it was the source, but not so ephemeral coming from far away and not a direct threat. What's the harm in letting the beloved and respected leader relax a little? Have a little fun with her defeated toys. If the harnesses soaked in a special potion would be especially pleasant to the touch if a special relaxing mixture were added to the hot water of the source within the cliff? Or, say, if the herbs and roots selected for freshly roasted meat make your breasts and thighs grow a little bigger and your lips a little chubbier, it's just nourishing food, and it can make you fat. You just need to massage your body more often, don't you think?

The rebellious group was slowly, steadily, and unhurriedly turning their leader into a laughingstock, with the active participation of the chief herself, who almost helped them in such a difficult task! They were still relatively gentle with her because they were naturally afraid to act harshly, but they had enough other intrigues, such as the now pregnant head of the small horde, which most of all interfered with the rebels and bullied their group. First, she decided to relax a little in the company of submissive males, then some more and some more, and then her belly grew. She couldn't get out of the enclosure with men. The axe and armor were lost somewhere, and she couldn't speak in sentences of more than two words. They were also quite good at using hints and small manipulations to get individual orcs to turn on each other or to instill false confidence that they would challenge Grtlashra, who was losing ground but still invincible.

No, I was seriously and earnestly admired. Having a minimum of means against the background of those whom they appointed as their opponents, using only the comparative anonymity of their group's existence and complete anonymity of the group's goals, the ladies squeezed out two hundred and fifteen percent of the available resources. They reminded me a lot of myself and my company (the main thing is not to say it out loud), though the situation is quite different. We, too, are fighting against the whole world, with a tiny amount of power (compared to the world) and not as absolute anonymity as we would like.

I'd even sympathize, honestly.

If my comparison didn't compare our heroic team to a gang of vengeful and lustful Mist-distorted... goblins!

If you say the phrase "goblin conspiracy" out loud in a civilized society, the reaction is about the same as the remark about honest lawyers. But no, the goblin conspiracy is even funnier, even more ridiculous, like wet flames or fried snow. These monsters have enough peculiar virtues that somewhat compensate for their shortcomings, but brains do not apply to them in any way. Goblins don't create cunning plans, nor do they simply live, for the most part, to the levels where those plans can be devised. There is no knowledge, no experience that comes with age, not just Systemic, and no power that will enable them to survive the lack of knowledge. Goblins are as tenacious as cockroaches, cunning and sneaky, instinctively choosing approximately the right solutions, but they can't even dream up a working conspiracy. They just don't have such thoughts in their heads to start dreaming.

But apparently, the impact of the fog and the change of race from monster to Distorted was enough... no, no, no! Not like that! The race change may have played a significant role, but far more dangerous was the presence of gifts, very powerful and dangerous gifts, which somehow equalized the goblins and orcs, even if on a specific plane. And having the power, which they quickly learned to use in the course of what gives goblins to survive without such gifts - cunning, dodging sneakiness, and good ability to improvise. Combined with the growing intelligence of the Distorted and the need to fit into a new society that gave them incredible opportunities, the mixture was sufficiently rattling to make the more straightforward and trivial orcs, who didn't expect these little brats to do anything serious, find themselves in an amusing situation.

The goblins, especially their leader, sincerely believed that they were doing my will because the tribe should be ruled by the best, and they would show me that they were really the best, they, and not stupid orcs, who belonged either in the pen, or instead of a chair for goblin ass, or on their knees at the feet of the same goblins. Perhaps the final stage of their plan is still excessive because it appoints the complete subjugation of each orchid and the installation of the dictatorship of goblin, while the former mistresses will be left with a role only slightly higher than that of the males, that is, to perform hard physical work, inaccessible to new masters due to anatomical reasons, and participation in military campaigns. Yes, the end goal is clearly overkill, an excessive waste of resources, which I don't approve of, and also just doesn't appeal to me personally, as I'm not bad with the same Grtlashra, Mtran, and other green beauties I've had the pleasure of messing around with. Goblins, though they can be shapely, are not always to my taste, so I've been in bed with them much less often, for which the conspirators separately strongly dislike their bosses.

But the rest of their plans, as well as most of the intermediate results, I'm not that satisfied, but I find no reason to interfere with them. Most of the administrative work has somehow fallen on the shoulders of the smallest of them - the goblins. Before the Mist came, they had only the dirty work, thankless and quickly leading to the grave. After the Mists came, but with some care for their health. Their health had risen along with their stats. I managed to explain the meaning of the term "work ethic" to the barbarians, though they clearly understood it in terms of "how to use a slave properly so that he would last longer and bring more benefits"... very similar, by the way, to the modern labor market on Earth.

If the rebel faction manages to take control and doesn't get too excited about destroying the minds and personalities of a hundred percent of the Green Tits orcs, I'll just congratulate them on their success, and then I'll give orders to the new leader. Thankfully, after the distortion, the life span of goblins increased significantly, and by twenty, they will not die of old age. That, by the way, is another reason I practically do not drag them to bed - I feel like a pedobear, and from the first days of being on Alurea, I have with pedobears some specific relationship. I realize with my mind and clairvoyance that this lady a little above my waist with tits of obscenely large size, especially on her miniature stance, is an adult both biologically and personally, and in general.

I have a picture in my head of Mr. Harvey cuddled up with Roskomnadzor - chan.

What's there to think high?

I shared the joke about the goblin conspiracy with the rest of the team, at the same time reassuring Hestia, who was worried, not liking the possibility of discovering an undocumented and unknown to her, as the owner of the talent, property of the Mist of Vice. Either way, everyone smiled, even Tia, who appreciated the irony of the situation. Giver, who had been keeping a low profile and almost out of sight, who was seriously engaged in the final stage of growing into her new body and disguising her sonm, smiled patronizingly at those goblins, then hesitated, then hesitated again, and retreated to her cave-room in a state of extreme thoughtfulness. It seemed to me as if her mental image was expressing a carefully concealed mixture of emotions in the pattern of "how could she not have guessed before. It's obvious," but I did not dare to think about the meaning of this vision.

The head of the goblin conspiracy, the cunning, sneaky, and fanatical Ngara, who wanted to please me, I politely visited in a dream, complaining that she had decided to hopelessly spoil my orcs because of her personal dislike of them. Having successfully played on the worldview of the gobliness, I achieved complete repentance and a promise to never again and all that, although in her mind, she was cursing the orc even more because it was because of them. Because of their value to the Pale Leader, poor Ngara was in such an awkward position. I had to calm her down and tell her in plain text that I would not help either side of the war on the invisible front. And when I tried to casually bring her up to the idea that those narcissistic Orcs would never recognize the goblins' supremacy unless the goblins became the shadowy power behind the throne, allowing the orcs to naively think they were in charge while they licked the slits of their miniature mistresses... I was looked at as if she were a mathematician to the core, and I had proved Hodge's conjecture and the Yang-Mills theorem to her on my fingers.

Not daring to interrupt the great thoughts and fantasies of the future great ruler (I would bet eighty percent on her success), in which shaking huge breasts and with difficulty connecting two words, Grtlashra demands order and says that now she will lick the pathetic goblin and let her know her place, and then begins, in fact, to work with her tongue all over the body of an absolutely submissive goblin, time and again giving new and new orders of the real leader and undisputed leader ... Anyway, I didn't watch her dreams any further.

So, after about a month of moving in, most of the routine was done, and most of the extremely hard work with mirrors and the alchemy pumping that would be followed by the use of the most valuable reagents required a full recovery. To avoid going insane from idleness, or as Tia put it, to avoid that idleness from starting to look for work elsewhere, a willful decision was made to work with the Ring and Repeated Corruption.

The idea was obvious. It was time to use this artifact a little more actively than before, and the green-skinned warriors of the subordinate tribe would be perfect targets. The plan was even to test (with a lot of precautions, the list of which was jointly written by Tia and Giver) how the third phase of corruption would affect a person previously brainwashed for loyalty. Ideally, if the subordinate is returned to her "pre-ringing" state, she's already been subjugated, even if by Dream, Mist, or something else. But that somehow seems like too easy a solution to not expect a catch. So far, the Ring hasn't shown any direct, unspecified catch, but we should expect more than that. It's very much in the nature of this world to be such a sneaky trick. Well, maybe it's just me after seeing Hell and talking to Giver, expecting a trick.

Whatever it is, it will have to be tested with every precaution you can think of, including the willingness to instantly vaporize and destroy a triply ring-enhanced woman. Because I don't want to test how powerful my defenses of mind and will are, especially if I'm not clear on the limits of how much a normal person will be affected by the perversions indoctrinated by depravity. Giver, I remind you, cannot be considered normal. She has too special a relationship with such matters.

Giver suggested a surprisingly reasonable idea, which made it necessary to check myself and the whole team once again for any trickery on her part. She, as an expert in cult creation, suggested finding a target who would willingly agree to the use of the ring and who would remain loyal even without subjugation and any brainwashing. Not just a spherical in a vacuum "will remain loyal" but will not decide to revise their views after gaining the granted power, which, in theory, could help her to subdue her benefactor and at once get rid of moral and physical debts.

The task, of course, is not an ordinary one, but with access to clairvoyance and the ability to sift many kilometers of space through mirrors, it is doable even without too many difficulties. The main thing is to preliminarily assess the degree of influence of perversions, check if they will not go crazy, and all that. Yes, I know I've already mentioned it, but I'll say it again - Taria had already hinted and asked me to strengthen "her girls" a hundred times, and it was easier for me to test the effects on someone than on a girl who had already become my friend.

Experiment number one.

One of the orcs of the tribe was chosen as a volunteer, one with frankly weak gifts and, therefore, quickly sliding to the bottom of the social ladder. In the past, Garsha had been one of two women in the tribe who had her small pack, commanded a group of sixteen green snouts, and was feared even by the men. She was a warrior, tall and strong even for an orc, a fast-moving thug capable of the one-on-one slaughter of a big Corrupted Warg, carrying primitive forged iron armor (actually just plates stuck on woven cloth and tied to the base of her clothes) as if it were a fluffy thing - formerly an elite, now she was not envied, and no one envies her.

Among her gifts, she got a great master in the skill of blowjob, an analog of Ygra's cleansing technique, only stronger thanks to which neither dirt, nor sweat, nor stink on her body and clothes, and also, after Hestia's return to the camp, the ability to transfer a part of her own or take a part of someone else's arousal to the one who looks into her eyes. Against the same Gossip Girl Tgudran, with whom even Grtlashra behaves relatively politely (although she protected herself from her influence with a bunch of bookmarks at the very beginning of her ascension to the throne of the chief), it's just heaven and earth. I'll remind you that it was Garsha who was the first victim of Tgudran's Gossip Incarnating in the victim's mind and memory - until the men finally turned into vegetables, she was the most obedient wife of the orc to whom the gossip tied her. A clever trick, albeit not without its pitfalls, such as the need to let the gossip fester to be heard and accepted by more people. It was also possible to repel an attack, but a pure warrior without any significant shamanic talents to support her had no chance.

After getting rid of the males, she got her brains back because the tribe needed strong and not brain-dead fighters, and Garsha was good. No one dared to argue. But outside of combat or hunting, the experienced, deadly orchid became a toy faster than she could think of resistance. So when I cleaned the mind of a woman who temporarily thought she was a sperm-pig ( I already had a facepalm sprouting from the fantasies of orcs about humiliating each other to dominate each other), who had once again had a good meal of protein food in the men's barracks, grunting happily, and offered her the opportunity to gain power and the ability to take revenge on her abusers, she didn't want to hear about any risk of moving her head. She didn't like grunting very much. There is a separate story connected with the fact that her first prey was a very strong hog, having extracted which she shamed a couple of her current girlfriends, whose prey was much more modest and who were not ashamed to remind her of this story.

Anyway, no orders had to be given, she was willing to do anything to participate in this risky experiment.

Why so risky? Not only was I going to use the Ring, but I was also going to try to use the mirror to see the future with the help of my newly acquired perks and make the gift come out stronger. I would consider it cheating, but according to elven experts, chronomancy and (or) clairvoyance were often used in conjunction with some artifact-givers. It didn't always work, and even if it did, not all artifacts had the very ramifications of probabilities. If a particular effect depended not on the element of chance but on the person on whom the gifting was being used, such tricks were useless. The Ring seems to adjust to the victim, but you can't rule out the random element either, so you'd have to risk the health of the all-prepared Garsha. There is, you know, a difference whether Taria will get an analog of her tits, synergistic and complementary to the previous gift, or a set of small modifications, practically useless at high levels, like what the orc subject already has.

"I'm ready, Chief." She wants to appear completely ready and collected, but, in reality, she almost jumping for joy mixed with malicious anticipation. "Ready."

Nearby are Taria as a spectator, Tia as a seer, Giver as an expert (she threatened to do something terrible if she wasn't allowed to see the effects of subjugation, albeit on someone else, once again making her not even think near the devil about the Praise in the Ring's list of effects), and Hestia as the Misty Girl. A whole scientific consilium to evaluate the effects of the prono-ring on someone who had already been treated by one of the previous victims of the same Ring.

Conceptually.

With this thought, I raised my finger, activating first the simple Subjugation and then spending one of the long, two months, to be more precise, recoverable charges of Repeated Corruption, making the green Amazon who had not fallen stretch out and shiver with every muscle from the pleasure that rewrites the mind anew. Of course, for the purity of the experiment, it would be better, pardon the pun, a human woman clean of any effects, but here, I did not want to hurry things up. These human women, like any other victims of the Ring, have a bad tendency to stay in our company, and I'm already skewed toward the female half of the cast. Let her be the one who would not be going anywhere from me anytime soon.

So.

Attempting to influence the strength of the granted effect was a very partial success. In the sense that I clearly recognized the possibility of such a cheating method, but I couldn't pull it off, and I could hardly pull it off in the way I tried now. Of the suitable methods that can really deceive the mythical ring and give several variants of gifts to choose from, I have only Break. I can take a risk and use it only in full force, and even then, I will think twice, even if I will have to engage in such a risk in a non-combat situation.

Otherwise, it was a pure success, both for me and for Garsha, whom I immediately covered with shadow theft, protecting both her and Taria, who could have fallen for the new trick of a muscular (roughly comparable to Ygra, but smaller in height - that's probably why I chose her for the experiment) subordinate. She was already brainwashed into submission, cementing her relationship to the Pale Warlord and tying her to me personally without erasing her loyalty to Hestia, but now she obeys Misty Wench only because Hestia obeys me.

The first use of the Ring raised the already unlocked and well-leveled lovemaking skill by thirty points, bringing it to legend without a single point, as well as giving the gifted talent of seven divisions. The Muscular Authority allowed her to influence the mind into submission and obedience, as well as give orders that were very difficult to disobey, especially in such a submissive state. But only to those whose Strength index and outward attributes of physical power are weaker than Garsha's. For me, even though I'm a runt against the background of this machine (by the way, although Hestia has corrected her appearance, the Ring has softened her features a bit, making the unnaturally and unhumanly beautiful orc even more desirable and beautiful), this talent is not dangerous due to my Strength - the effect is minimal. I wouldn't notice it if I didn't look for it intentionally. Ygra's Attractive Body is stronger. It seems becoming stronger with increasing levels. But Garsha's abuser, who was using her strength as her main stat, won't have it so easy, especially if the big bulky woman presses her victim against her huge tits, hovering over her, or even lifting her in her arms.

But.

It is better for the victim of experiments to avoid the same Ygra. The effect of talent has a downside, making the owner instinctively want to obey those whose strength index and its physical manifestations in the form of muscles are higher than those of the owner of talent. And while I, again, am constantly in disguise, as well as the rest of our company, who can surpass the ogre in this characteristic due to high levels and tons of titles, Ygra does not hide. I think the orc will instantly become meek and silky around Ygra, so the green fool will have a personal toy.... if she gets distracted from the goblins who hypnotized her with their merry dance, which made Ygra think of herself as a constantly orgasming stone pillar around which the goblins were dancing.

The second use of the Ring bestowed two gifts. One strong at the level of Taria's Subjugation Concentrator, with the same number of divisions of nine. The Subjugator's Depletion was partially analogous to Ygra's title, allowing the gradual shedding of obsessions, compulsions, bookmarks, and triggers, but that was more of a side effect. The basis of the gift is that it forms a kind of bond between the individual who subjugated Garsha and the victim. And with each successful subjugation, the effect grows stronger and stronger until the mistress and slave switch places. At the same time, the Subjugator's Depletion, especially at the last stages, physically cannot even assume that she is being influenced by this obedient slave. And it is enough for the slave to assume that "Mistress wants to lick me and then my girlfriends over there" so that this idea sprouts in Mistress's head, and then she cannot be persuaded that it was not her idea, for which Mistress has a thousand rational, from her point of view, reasons.

The second and last talent that the ring granted from the second use was the Attraction of Seducers of six divisions, causing a seemingly very natural desire to subdue and fuck this orc from those who have the right class, talents, or skills. And even if she doesn't have it, then at least get her drunk on some love potion, sleeping powder, or even just alcohol and fuck her half-conscious body. The first thing I did was to make a primitive amulet based on the contracted Shadow, which had been mutilated to complete harmlessness by Creation, as well as the effect of theft. Judging by the description I'd thrown in voluntarily and on-demand, this talent could be turned off, but keeping it inactive required concentration, not the other way around, and Garsha herself hadn't gotten the hang of the gift yet, so let her train it later.

"I will not fail, Chief! I'll get them all! I'll make them crawl! I'll show them the pig!" I don't want to listen to more gratitude, interspersed with dreams of revenge and fantasies of physical, moral and racial superiority, because I'm watching the most important thing, the effect of perversion.

Apparently, she has not yet realized what exactly has changed in her, but using a pocket mirror, I have already managed to understand. Well, at the very least, she will be visiting her pigsty, which is a barracks of mindless males, one way or another. Her fetish is quite attached to the presence of male genitals, and I have little time to spend on a new subordinate. Though, it will be possible to try, of course - unlike Ygra, she's a heap of muscles and tits, but at least she's a little smarter.

Her only, though it is unclear if this is a constant or if the number can vary, perversion is simple, though imaginative. A compulsive desire to make a man cum without using the three main orifices. With her hands, feet, between her breasts, between her thighs, and buttocks, simply driving his dick over her face or body. Yes, even her hair. To get herself covered in seed without using the three orifices mentioned above to do so. I wonder how she planned to explain her new passion to herself, whether she would take it as her own or consider it someone else's joke. She clearly didn't plan to return to the barracks, wanting to get rid of her rival bullies and regain her status for good, not just in battle.

By the way, she doesn't intend to use Exhaustion, as she surpasses all her rivals in strength, so the new Authority will work on them. Alas, when we said goodbye, the warrior went straight to her friend, who was losing all confidence and who, being a dexterous girl with secondary characteristics honed on Perception, was already feeling the pressure of Authority, which made her knees tremble, and her throat dry up. I remembered one important detail, which I had honestly forgotten.

"Hello, Orbla." The huge orcish woman imperiously cradles her more fragile counterpart under the interested stares of the few in the audience who have no business being here right now, either. "You're mine now. Something to say?"

Orbla only barely audibly squeaked in response, and in a far more proper universal, almost cumming the moment the strong hand under her buttocks lifted the nimble scout "onto her arms":

"Will you be my piggy?" Immediately, she relaxed as the hulking Garsha loosened her arms, letting the plastuke stand her ground, involuntarily taking a couple of steps backward and falling on four limbs.

"Oink?" With some surprise, excitement, and joyful resentment, Garsha "asks."

"What's the sperm pig saying?" Gaining confidence in her powers and shedding the remnants of the power that had suddenly disappeared and was no longer maintained, a very unpleasant smirk blossoms on Orbla's face. "What is she saying?"

"Oiiiiiiiink!!!" The squeal of happiness interrupts even the laughter of the witnesses and Orbla herself, who has used one of her triggers, which works well when combined with her talent for suggesting certain "animal" patterns.

It's a shame Orbla chose a wild pig for her victim in the template rather than a kitten of some predatory cat because a meowing Garsha would have looked even more surreal. I'm also a little ashamed that I only brought my subordinate back to clarity of thought rather than removing all the bookmarks. No, she was certainly in a big hurry to go settle up, especially after I made it clear to her that I'd be busy and couldn't spread her out on my bed or even fuck her right there. Only finished listening to my instructions about the blocking effect of the attraction and was done. Not that she refused to be in my company for even a little while, but I let her know that the conversation was over, forcing her to move on to item number two on her cherished wish list. I was so focused on studying the results of the experiment that I simply forgot to think about triggers.

That wasn't fair, yeah.

As an apology, I quickly put a restraining order on her, preventing her from even thinking about the fact that she had a talent of Exhaustion in her Status so it would be a surprise to the lover of pigs and other animal subjects. I'll patronize my direct subordinate if only a little, and after a couple of weeks, she'll sort out the new slaves on her own.

"Uh-huh..." Taria commented on the situation, which she was able to see perfectly in the mirror, and pointed at Garsha. "I don't know if I sympathize with her or envy her. How's that, Tialrianrelia?"

"I would choose a cat or a fox." The questioner answered, causing me to drop the mirror before I could pick it up off the ground. "Combined with the subject's appearance, it would make a very amusing contrast."

I think it shocked even Giver (in such conditions it was as if she were at a resort or work, which made her look at Hestia with new interest), who, though wrapped in a disguise, but I easily caught the deliberately open to me feverish images, focused on the goal of //"how to convince everyone around me that it's not my work because it's really not me."

"Are you messing with me?" It didn't come to Taria right away. However, I could only discern Tia's smugness, whose outright shock at the dancer's blatant shock elicited a slight inward smile only through clairvoyance.

"Yes." And almost without pause. "That worked out pretty well, didn't it? We all fall victim to expectations and contrasts if you get the pattern right and bring the dissonance at exactly the right moment, don't we?"

Now let's move on, there are many more tasks scheduled for today.

Just don't laugh.

Don't laugh. She has Valerium.

You can't laugh - she has a pillow, which is much scarier!

I, of course, laughed.

The pillow, of course, burst.

We continued the analysis of the collected images and assumptions on leveling Garsha's perversion in another room where feathers did not fly. I still couldn't understand where this strange hatred of pillows came from and why, if I made fun of someone, I got hit with them. And, more importantly, why do I get hit even when I wasn't the one who was making fun of the victim?!

There is no justice.

*

Author's Note:

https://drive.google.com/file/d/1U8uVZjDo76MvBjmiTCNvIVxghbcVDFQ2/view?usp=sharing - House veteran Beedril attacks with his tame behemoths.

*

Well, well, well, what have we got here, memes, memes, memes, ahahahahaha, at last. (с)

It's been a filler chapter, but this is the last of it. It's going to get more fun from here on out. Things are going to start moving again. Ahead, we're going to sort out what we came to the capital for, get stunned by the sorting out, and distribute skill points. Although, I admit, with the last one may be unlucky, if not a particularly good throw - then we'll have to wait, even fully recovered, keeping from pumping for a while. And I confess, I will not correct this roll with bonuses from omakes because another system-status chapter will be obviously unnecessary.

There are also some plans to continue the work after the time skip, while the most hentai adventures of the MC team and Konstantine will be described in detail in a hentai and semi-canonical (in the sense that it's not declared canon, but it may or may not have happened) sequel for a couple of chapters. It will include my thoughts on Big and Green, some ideas on Giver and why even subordinate devils are very dangerous (it's unlikely, but not likely), and just some fun mental hentai.

Yes, I plan on writing hentai fanfic on what was supposed to be hentai originally. Know my pain Nagato.jpg

Dice, dice, dice were relatively calm. The only dangerous moment was MC's banter, who first cast 3 (capitalization: three, with minuses brought to anticrit) to counter the Mocker's Momentum, and then was critically cast with bonuses by Giver, effectively gimping MC and gaining full power over him.

This time, she didn't use her position, but MC appreciated the situation. And now Giver can theoretically copy Tin's personality (the fake will be very high quality, the specialty of a deviless is affecting), stick it in some empty orc, and get off for all the experience.

She is able to.

But as long as the MC doesn't know, it doesn't hurt him, right?

I'd also like to point out the near-critical failure to try to control the options of the chosen gift. The only thing worse would have been MC not realizing anything, completely abandoning the idea, and deeming it unfeasible. In reality, it's doable. It's just complicated. In the future, with the leveling of the Ring, it may open a new effect, just allowing you to choose the gift you want and the victim can accept.

The most successful throw was made by the bloodsucker's agent. A pure crit and then 88 with bonuses, which made a second crit. That's how we managed to get on the trail of that Asian girl, but the MC just has no desire to pick up the blade. So far.

He realized that if he simply refused to use the artifact, it would be foolish. But he hadn't decided yet: would he ring his mentor or try to learn the new skill himself?

Among the interesting things.

A hundred with bonuses fell to the Lost One, regarding the leveling - a little more and would be ????? in the Status, but he passed along the edge. He went over the edge, taking the maximum bonuses. Maybe the critter will put him to some class work later, yeah.

There were a lot of dice, but I didn't have the strength. I'm dog tired, so come on.

To all joy, happiness, understanding, and the attention of your loved ones, do not meet on the roads Prioras especially low, increased wage rates and coffee without synthetic additives.

Ciao.

*

T.N.

(1) Dog of Sutul - In Russian, his nickname can be heard as Slouchy Dog.

(2) Beedril in Russian sounds like Paggot.

(3) Roy in Russian it's Swarm. So if you pronounce Roy Beedril fast it sound like Faggot's Swarm

(4) Oh'Mi Ayes it's obvious - Oh my Eyes.

(5) Sent someone - it's an idiom for "show a finger"

So, it's the last posted chapter. The continuation will most likely be after the war. Stay in touch.

Also. Give a shot to my other translations. It's fan work. Quality may be questionable but I chose everything based on my own taste, not on commercial prospects.

https://www.royalroad.com/profile/123403/fictions

https://www.scribblehub.com/profile/136870rip/