Chapter 8-2 (Patreon)

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There was quite a stir in the upper levels of the catacombs. People, monsters, and creatures were going crazy. The former referred either to those who had lairs in the catacombs (nightmen, smugglers, and cultists) or to the yet timid visits from guards and personal errands of the magistrate's bigwigs. The second and the third were stirred by the storm of energies that swept through the dungeon, frightening them and making them frantic. By the way, they went upstairs, too, and there were people down there!

It is good that Hestia, unlike me, does not forget such little things, and then gives me a reminder. Before I went, so to speak, "on the job," I was not lazy to work on the Dream, and to work well and very, very stealthily. Both so that the absence of our company would not be noticed and they thought that we were drunk all this time, and for other, not less important things.

A few low- and mid-level oracles had gotten vague visions of monsters crawling out of the ground. The large monster-rat packs that crawl into poor neighborhoods once every ten or fifteen years had long been commonplace, so they were surprised by the clarity of the visions and their synchronicity, but they didn't assume any outside influence. Especially since the magistrate had a couple of quite professional visionaries, and they, too, sensed the events.

The second point was the slight, almost absent influence on the Head of the guards. The man was in a shitty mood, so he suddenly wanted to give everyone a drill. Without my help! And a slight hint of an idea allowed him to come up with his own idea to turn the usual "rat slaughter," where rats are purposely lured to the blood of a couple of still-living sheep by ritual reinforcement, into something else. By the beginning of the "H" hour, the chief guard of Tavimark was personally pestering everyone and everything, going back and forth with an inspection.

Instead of a couple or three roadblocks in convenient places, where they invite the most low-level and a couple of elite guards to watch, they blocked all known passages, raised all the guards in blades, and even issued special equipment. In general, it was not a simple duty but a preparation for war.

The adventurers, without my influence, decided to pick up the banner and train the youngsters, and give the veterans a good kicking, so they wouldn't have to stick their asses in the tavern stools. In general, next to the intimidated and cursing guards, a little less intimidated and a little louder cursing adventurers began to walk.

At the very least, a little conjecture and personal paranoia made the local thugs think that all this drill bullshit was no drill at all but preparation for a sudden hit and slaughter of them all. Very well prepared, for all the informers, as one said that it was just Ser Ponmentor who had caught the reins under his tail again. But you can't fool us! By the time trouble began, all blades and fighters of the Nocturnal Masters were in their underground bases, armed and ready to fight the guards. Unlike the guards, they weren't expecting an attack from below, well, or almost not, keeping a minimum of precautions in case they did. But I do not care about their lives and their goal - not to let a wave of underground dwellers to the civilian population - they will fulfill simply out of lack of choice.

It was the same with the cultists, even if they were the least affected. They already had their ritual rooms deep in the catacombs so they wouldn't be found by accident, so they were almost always ready for an attack. The Night Guilds regarded them as mere smugglers, hiding particularly valuable goods (which were indeed stored there, among other things, so they wouldn't idle their earning power) and so paid little attention to them. They tried to pinch them once, got a slap from the professional guards, and then negotiate and parted peacefully.

And what about the general population? And they, watching all this commotion, assumed all sorts of bad things. From the imminent announcement of a siege of Tavimark (I wonder who by?) to the impending gang war and so, they locked themselves in their homes and decided to give themselves an unscheduled day off. Those who could not, too, remained cautious and ready to flee, to hide in the workplace, or simply to defend their lives.

Such a mysterious chain of coincidences meant that the whole town was more ready than ever before to repel the wave of frightened, rampaging meat from the tunnels. We didn't interfere or help while we were running to our inn- the guards could handle themselves and let the thugs and cultists die.

We made it without any bloodshed at all, except for one small, by comparison, sixth-level rat, which flew away from the kick of a speeding Taria. It squeaked in a very hurtful way that sounded suspiciously like, "I got you, bitch, remembered."

Only when we got into our rooms were we able to catch our breath.

Hans was sick but in a good way. At the very least, he was vomiting cleansing potions instead of dissolved viscera, as Taria kept reminding him. Hans would have liked to say something back to her, but he was, as you can see, too busy to speak freely.

I felt sick, too, and the headache was so powerful that I was afraid to move it. In all seriousness, it felt like one move would make my brain detonate, splattering all over the walls, the ceiling, and my companions. They didn't need a brain shower yet, not at all.

Hestia lay motionless as a doll, breathing barely audible and barely resembling a human, despite the disguise works. She was in no danger, just that the damage from the loss of so much of her misty body was recovering faster. And the pain, of course, also played its part. According to the woman, it felt like a mixture of a stab wound and an acid burn, and without a clear place where the pain was felt. Since she is no ordinary sack of meat, but a real and mighty Spawn of the Mist, she is now in pain all at once.

The city is bustling and boiling, but it shouldn't affect us. At first, the same adventurers won't even think to involve muddy newcomers in the cleansing of monsters, then they can't get to us fast enough, and they have no free messengers now, and after that, they won't need any more. The monsters under the ground lived numerously, but they never fattened up to really strong unless you count the Errant ones. The farting shit I killed during my night walks through the city was in the big leagues there. At that rate, all those monsters running straight out to the blades, stripped of their usual conditions and surprise effects, would only be a means of boosting those whose level was around the tenth. Those who are higher will no longer get a freebie.

The only negative thing is the minor damage to our reputation because we "drank" all the fun. However, this damage is more cosmetic than real. The fate of the city did not depend on our appearance, and the very right of adventurers to lose their hard-earned gold in a blaze of debauchery and revelry is an immutable law. If the guild thought seriously to blame us, not during martial law but in peacetime, their subordinates would eat them up with all their ambition and shit.

At most, they'll tell a couple of jokes about us, saying that our ranks come out of the rooms, and there's smoke everywhere, the smell of blood, the howling of monsters being killed, and we, hungover, stand there thinking that we've missed all the fucking fun. And Grzegorz Brzenčiščiakiewicz should not be afraid of jokes about himself. Let them laugh. The main thing is not to be taken seriously.

Kostik is an idiot.

Kostik is a fool..

Kostik is a big-aged dickhead!

Imagine what kind of reaction all the burgomasters and their cronies, the aristocrats and the rich moneybags, who know exactly what's sitting on a chain under the city, will have when their detectors that show the state of the Seal die? Assume for a second that they're going to start spearing everyone and yelling evacuation, taking people out and getting ready to burst through the spatial distortions, saving their lives. And then remember human nature and ground your assumptions by a couple of orders of magnitude.

These motherfuckers just ran away! And not with their feet because that's the risk. It is possible not to have time to leave the city, and then the anomaly could crawl in the same direction! It's such a risk! In short, they activated the teleport to the capital and ran to "report the emergency" further damaging the already useless structure of the artifact after the past machinations.

That means, attention, our company will be in the city for at least another month, if not more! If I had known that the situation would turn out this way, I would have walked to the capital. Judging by the trend, I would have made it even faster than I am now. One good thing is that because of all this panic, the big bosses, the deputy big bosses, and their deputies could not get their hands on Tavimark's "victory" and "salvation". The deputy deputies, along with the competitors of the ruling elite, who were not "accidentally" allowed into the portal, managed everything. They couldn't wait, you see, because they were in a hurry to make a report.

And here is such a setup. All the issues have been solved, all the nightmares have been put to rest, and all the horror described by the big shots, from which they had to retreat, wiping stingy and angry tears from the realization that they cannot fight evil in a common formation, have been overcome without the help of deserters. Shortly, Tavimark will clearly face a personnel reshuffle, with a redistribution of spheres of influence among the obscenely thinned-out criminals. They have fulfilled their mission by protecting the city's population from harm, but they have also paid a very heavy price, hardly manageable. Several Fathers have died or ceased to be Fathers due to the lack of people to obey them.

There was even a man - the owner of the local gambling houses, i.e. the fattest piece - who miraculously survived after all that had happened, being literally covered with corpses. They dug him up and fixed him up, and, no kidding, he considered the event a sign from God and involuntarily changed his class from Rare Godfather to Epic Penitent. The local priests of Grimmentrei, the bearer of Retribution and defender of Equilibrium, quickly accepted such a promising cadre into their ranks, even forgiving his past.

All the finances he had, which the holder of Tavimark's most cash-strapped plot had nowhere to go, he gave away to charity. A few of the murky personalities who tried to pocket the charity, he instantly figured out and sent them to trial. God's trial. The fact that two of them were high-ranking priests of his new patron didn't stop him at all. Colleagues of "a little carried away, but still very decent" clerics would probably have nailed this "incomprehensibly rabid beast," if not for the silvery blue aura that manifested - and had not disappeared for three days - around the former criminal, giving off such a background of Heaven that small evil within fifty meters would die by itself. A more direct hint from their own Big Boss was not required, even by the very stupid.

No less sensational was the story of how the daughter of the head of a large china factory - the largest in Tavimark and the surrounding area - who was trapped in an unfortunate alley and almost torn apart by a stream of monsters, was saved by a homeless man who happened to be in the same alley (he was sleeping there after drinking his brew). He got level eighteen even sooner than I predicted at our last meeting.

The father was ready to kiss the smelly homeless man right there, and the lady herself almost fell in love. Almost because the smell and appearance of the bearded beggar somewhat prevented such a turn of events. By the way, if he had demanded his hand in marriage as a reward, it is not certain that he would have been refused. The local industrialist was more worried not for his youngest daughter but for the set of promissory notes she was carrying to the family executor. That's why there were five guards instead of one or, at most, two, as usual.

So for saving the lion's share of his financial well-being and his beloved daughter (and only in that order!), he was indeed very grateful. And the homeless man, if washed up, mind you, sparkled with a rare class and level eighteen. One of six daughters, and even the most goofy one, the reward might be excessive, but not by much.

Good thing the homeless man didn't know about these opportunities, or he would have choked. Instead of a hand and a heart, all he asked for was more booze. Overwhelmed by such an uncomplicated reward - his colleagues would not have understood him if he had given little, while he was willing to pay much more - man dug out an artifact of rare grade in the bunkers. A bottle of wine - not bad, but not too elite and extremely strong - which never runs out of said wine. Pour even muddy water from a puddle into it, and it turns into a clean and delicious wine. And if you don't pour it in, it will condense on its own, just not very fast. If, of course, to count for a feast for five men, but for one vagrant - just right.

After such a gift, the homeless man was ready to save this girl forty more times, and time after time, defeating in Her (the flask) name even a whole legion of Fiends led by their Lord. He could eat rot, grass, and tree bark without consequences for his health and well-being or even not eat at all for a couple of weeks, but, alas, he could not provide himself with the ability to get drunk at will.

Until this day.

Now nothing Alurei could throw at him would stop or intimidate this ascetic. A man was serious about moving outside the city walls. Even in the bitterest of winters, he could survive and find food there, and he had been able to for a long time. What kept him in the city was the booze which was impossible to find in the countryside, and it was too difficult to make his own brew from berries and roots. He could also go to the dungeons, where it was dark and damp, but no one was ever there. The weak monsters didn't scare him too much, and the strong ones had been knocked out recently. He could only wait until all the commotion had died down before he could move on.

The city froze in anxious anticipation of further events.

The investigation team arrived fairly quickly - on the fourth day. By that time, we had only just healed Hans, who, because of his age, had developed some side effects from the medications he had taken. Slowly we started to go out of our rooms again and to socialize in general. We listened to a couple of jokes about how we drank and in general.

The mood in Tavimark was high. For an event so ghastly as an avalanche of monsters, the death toll was not so much low as ludicrous. The civilians had to dig a dozen graves at most - just an accident, just a series of lucky accidents. The only ones who grieved were the bandits. Terrible loss of human recources and a lot of lost finances, which the new Repentant did not donate voluntarily, after thermorectal diplomacy, to the other Fathers, but wasted on the construction of a couple of orphanages and help to several hundred sick poor and middle-class people. The houses, of course, have not even begun to be built yet, but after the fate of the previous people in charge, they will definitely be built, and not stolen. That is, they will probably steal, but within very narrow limits.

But nobody gives a shit about bandits except the bandits themselves, do they?

Such a series of coincidences would have alarmed many people, and it did, to be honest. I can feel even now the residual waves raised by the whole circle of visionaries, sifting the picture of events through a fine sieve. To hide me, my comrades, and my actions from such a toothy crew, only slightly inferior to the Melaretian brethren, even if they have simpler toys instead of the Shoreless Eye, I would be able to do it. Not without difficulty, not without preparation, but I could.

I did not have to, for which we need to thank the same anomaly, which was so lucky to give us a legendary artifact. It is one thing to assume that our faults and mistakes are permanently wiped out but to be sure of it is quite another. The usual methods of the search will not find us without extreme efforts, such as a screening of every resident of the city at least by a legendary specialist. Even the Eternal Empire doesn't have enough resources for such tricks, not to mention the fact that not all of the Empire is concerned with us at all.

We even allowed ourselves to go on shopping, go to taverns and brothels, and other traditional adventurous entertainment. There was little more chance of meeting the investigators who had established a base deep in the last tier of the dungeons and the city magistrate just by walking down the street than sitting owls in our rooms. But there was far less suspicion.

In fact, we never met them - after a couple of days in the dungeons, they found everything they wanted to find and ordered the circus to disperse. However, they had time to give away the elephants to the uninvolved, punish the innocent, praise the incompetent, and just remind everyone who has the biggest dick there.

I had to work hard to gather all the necessary information about the investigation without arousing any suspicions. But there seems to be no adequate, reliable, and mass protection against Dream. Unless there is a high level and natural resistance, along with willpower. It is harder to get into the dreams of such individuals, and it is not so easy to direct the dream in the right direction, and it is difficult to leave something new in their heads, and it is trebly hard to do all this without being noticed. But my own level is good, my talents are terrifying, my power is immense, and my modesty is divine, so I have had success in my research.

What to say?

My very first version, which was "the creature had had enough of sitting around, the creature broke the chain and escaped," turned out to be prophetic. That was the main version, and the invited ritualists and space mages even gave out a very plausible version. According to it, the creature in the Seal was able to synchronize the soul signature of the Army Corps with its own beating. As a result, the Seal stopped working the way it was supposed to and instead began to help its captive squeeze its way home.

The funny thing is both I and Hans, who quickly joined in the discussion, are sure that it really could have done so. If it had a couple of hundred years, just as long as the souls of the martyrs would finally connect with the Trails and, most importantly, the intention to do just that. The entity was too close to natural phenomena to feel any discomfort at all from its imprisonment. Or to feel anything at all.

The official theory did not cancel the suspicions of unofficial ones. The city had survived all these events with suspicious ease. The way Night Brothers were framed for the attack was suspicious. It was agreed that someone in the Magistrate had seized the moment with a common prophecy of several oracles. There was even a candidate, the same "oppositionist" who had been left at the mercy of the legend, by the Mayor (I painted the magistrate in vain). He definitely loses his position. Only he did not expect the legend to flee, but simply a very powerful influx of monsters. The uncle's intuition enhancement perk and some ties to the local urban bottom, though, unprovable also fit in here.

And this man did not take long to dissuade the investigators of their suspicions - they not only did not harm him but also added points. After all, formally, and in fact, he did not do anything that would be contrary to the laws of the Empire, and even his opponents are not framed - they have managed to bury their careers.

The guys were left with a sense of completely solved intrigue, for which I mentally congratulated them and wished them good luck in the future.

In the month it took to recharge and rebuild the overloaded portal again, we diligently did nothing. I was determined not to get caught up in another story. There were still opportunities, the cults, for example, and so I had no doubts about my abilities. I was as bored with feasting as I was with resting, so the group was taking on some low-grade work for the new adventurers.

They would have tried to get us involved in something more serious than hunting a depleted population of monster rats, but there was really nothing to do in Tavimark this winter. We had to crawl down to get the obligatory reports on completed contracts - the guild does not tolerate idlers who take advantage of the preferences given but give nothing in return.

Instead of crawling through the tunnels, setting traps, and scattering baits, we got into a particularly distant and rarely visited corner and had a picnic there. And I caught rats with the shadow sphere, and all I needed was their tails, as if in some game from my pre-isekai life. The tails from these beasts not only served as proof of destruction but were also a good alchemical reagent. I guessed that the heart, liver, and eyes also fit, but they were too cheap and weak to bother with.

For fun, I brewed a weak booster for plus five to perception, even with noticeable side effects, out of these organs taken from the murdered on the quest of fifty rats (can be a little more, a little less, there are no computers, so full accuracy is not required). And let the local alchemists bite their elbows in envy!

In addition to the rat quest, we also helped in the raid on the distorted wolf that came to the walls of the city. He was spotted from the wall but did not shoot in time. Besides us, on this mission were three other groups - who, like us, had nothing to do. So we had to work within the framework of the classes and levels we had announced.

The wolf was found quickly at the behest of Hans, who, even with deliberate restraint, outmatched his fellow trackers, and one of his temporary allies, who specialized in archery, took the wolf down with two well-aimed shots. The first wounded and slowed the wolf down, and the second, already leisurely, pierced the wolf's head through. Quickly disassembled the loot for trophies, we returned to the city. The beast was not too dangerous, despite the sixteenth level. The beast hadn't yet gotten used to the new abilities that made it more than just a beast, so it was a level twelve at most. Plus, we were very lucky to track it down and get in position to shoot it without disturbing the poor thing-it was clean.

Ygra, while we were still kept within the walls of the city, was already finishing destroying the existing targets that I had pointed out to her. In the spring, someone will clearly notice a decrease in the number of aggressive creatures, and those who have ties with the bandit gangs will sound the alarm. I'll be far away by then, so I'm not worried about secrecy, especially since Grzegorz's identity, which was annoying enough to be asked by everyone if he knew a certain Szczepan, will also be scrapped.

Personally, I'm thinking more about whether to try to drag her through the portal with us or leave her here and let her catch up with us on her feet. It wouldn't be hard for her, but it would be fun. Well, normal pleasure, not the kind she gets from hand-jobbing. Lustful green fool, motherfucker!

Originally, of course, the plan was to send her on foot, but now I really have plenty of time and thoughts of varying degrees of idiocy. I'm thinking quite seriously about sneaking her under the scanners. And yes, the scanners in the portal rooms just can't be absent, and neither can the gates. I'd even say those scanning fields are an order of magnitude better in the portal rooms. Everyone passes through gates, and portals are used by the wealthy, who are a priori more interesting, and who know how to hide that "interest" from the scrutinizing eye.

And yet, even before, I did not doubt that I could fool these scanners for the whole group. But it's one thing to have a humanoid, albeit with the essence of a behemoth, Hestia, and quite another thing is Ygra. Ygra is three and a half meters of green muscles and boobs multiplied by an equally green ass. I don't think I can prove it's my pet. If I were declared as a Monstrologist and a legendary class in that branch, I might be able to play from that version. True, given the Swamp Ogre's appearance after my (Ring, but who knows about him?) treatment, my class would just have to suspect elements of a Transformer and some kind of Bimbomancer.

I wonder if there is a Bimbomancer class on Alurei?

After the Whoremancer, I don't surprise about anything, but can I believe in the best?

A quick check through the minds and dreams of the local men in the known, of those who specialize in gathering information on all sorts of classes, as well as the ways to use and/or obtain them, confirmed - no, I can't believe the best, and yes, there is such a class, too. Epic (in some cases even legendary), by the way, is very, very rare and highly respected in the aristocratic milieu. All its holders try to keep it under control and oaths even more than ordinary Slavemacers. In the capital and near-capital circles of the Empire of the Ages, these guys are in steady demand.

It's not even about handling slave girls. It's about much harder and more complex missions. These guys are some kind of elite mental assassins who change a mare's horseshoes at a gallop. That is. They turn the target - most often a woman, but orders for guys are not uncommon - into lustful, submissive, and in love with the customer, preserving skills and abilities.. Or not in love if the goal is not to get someone in bed, but to shame that someone.

Some of their work takes several years so that no one suspects the influence of the slavemancer on the consciousness of the target, which, quite often, is well guarded and generally monitored. Such a specialist is called when you want to turn the bride (or groom) imposed on you into your plaything, although the spouse herself is not going to be a follower in the couple. Or if you want to make a rival in a magical guild, which received a grant, for which you wanted, a public "token-whore" so she was kicked out in disgrace, and you took her place.

In a few years, slowly and gradually, without arousing suspicion, they can turn, say, a high-ranking adventuress into whatever the customer desires. Has the too-smart bitch hurt your high-ranking ass? At first, she starts to read less. Work starts to fall out of her hands, and her head will hurt from her thoughts. Then simpler words will gradually creep into her vocabulary, then words-parasites, then she will stop stressing over small things, and at some point, it will turn out that from a brilliant scientist-ritualist only the former glory remained, and the scientific genius was replaced by concern about cosmetics, clothes, looks and carousing with subsequent debauchery. They say the girl got to the capital, began to live a metropolitan life, and fell out - it happens all the time. Add here the same gradual changes of the body, too, not causing suspicion in its smoothness, and you get what you get.

Hm.

And if you think about it, isn't that the kind of specialist who worked on Hestia for At'orovai's mistress? I'm not so sure about that, but there was a minimum of change, and the smoke was a lot lighter. They could have been punished for undermining the Stone's defenses, so if there was any influence, it was much less and not crippling to a valuable specialist.

To summarize - such guys and girls (note: in this class, which is uncommon, the number of men and women is equal) are feared because their effects, for all their slowness, are very difficult to track, easily mistaken for mere fatigue, a thirst to unwind and this and that. In addition, the former state is practically never restored by any conventional methods. By the time someone hits the alarm, the onset influences are already part of the personality. Without the same rollback of consciousness through Dream or another technique of comparable caliber, reversing such changes would be problematic.

It is not even level or the planar connection that will protect you - long preparation and tuning to a particular personality allows you, up to a certain point, to bypass such sharp corners. It is a well-developed intuition, not a sense of danger or other clairvoyant skills, that saves the day. Actually, against targets with such skills or classes, Bimbomancers either don't work at all, or work with great caution and reluctance, or use partners who can see to jam. And, of course, they try their best to get skills and perks for non-existence.

The name, by the way, came from one of, who would have thought, Summoned. And not a Hero, I might add, but a true Chosen One! The annals still keep a record of him (yet another reason to visit the Eternal Library) and his exploits. The old geezer, a level twenty-seven Scribe in the Magisterium whose memory I dug into, had scarcely scrutinized that biography, sadly. But even the references are enough to feel and rejoice in the fact that this bastard has long rested in agony.

Few people have managed to process an entire elven enclave in such a way that they honestly believed that learning the particularly advanced practices of seducers, banging their husbands and sons into a vegetable-like state (Hestia is not the only one who respects this trick, it turns out) and demanding that the brazen man declare all elves of that enclave his harem (with quite real leverage from such social status) was their own idea. Twenty-five years of preparation and painstaking work, but the result... Such a kick in their swollen pride the elven race doesn't get very often.

This guy gave rise to all the classes of the Bimbo branch: he actually organized an order-school-guild whose splinters still exist today, no matter how hard they try to destroy them. And before him, there were all kinds of masters of subtle, long-lasting, and unobtrusive mental influence. Even my Lord of Dreams and Reflections is capable of such tricks, among other things. Brainiacs, Charmers, Web Creationists, and Re-educators, there were plenty of examples. But it was the Hentai King who shaped the image of the Corrector Class as one that was solely dedicated to debauchery and sexualization, but in which it reached true heights.

It's a good thing the elves were able to kill him, albeit at great cost (which one was not specified). Because the man was clearly one of those who had lost their brakes in childhood and only accelerated from there. However, I would not rule out the very high probability that the story was distorted or, at the very least, did not tell the whole story. Because I, if you think about it, am also a bastard, about whom the annals will not leave anything good if they leave anything at all.

Indeed, it is worth seeking information about him. I'm curious, and his powers were obviously some pumped-up version of what Hestia does, only slower and even more invisible.

In the course of my research on the fellow isekai, I checked out the couple, which consisted of the young and odd-tasting heir to de Mallikat and the love of his life, Doreah Raig. Their relationship developed within the confines of the script I had laid out, in which the life-beating heartbreaker Seductress grew more and more attached to her victim. She was even willing to put him into the deepest trance possible three times to interrogate him about his sudden feelings.

The woman was far from romantic and knew better than anyone that sudden feelings and desires might not quite be yours. In the days when she still cared, she was pretty determined. If Adrian had told her that he was influencing her, say, with some kind of passive aura, she would have been able to overpower herself, suppress her feelings, and wring his neck. But the boy knew nothing, and then Dorea herself had come to terms with the fact that she seemed to have managed to fall in love with her toy and then decided to let her desires free reign and think about problems later.

To mutual satisfaction.

After looking through the gorgeous mirror in her bedroom at the equally gorgeous scene in which this lady was jumping on top of a motionless boy, I left them alone, with only a few adjustments and additions to the construction in her mind. By the way, the guy still had never had regular sex with her. When she wanted to relieve the tension with something harder than her favorite toy's tongue, she would plunge him into a trance, forbid him to cum, and ride him until he was exhausted.

It wasn't that Doreah was so obsessed with controlling a guy and his release. She just wanted the first time she let him take her to be something extreme and without any seduction techniques, triggers, or behavioral constructs. She had a very specific notion of love, and I would have felt sorry for poor Adrian if he hadn't enjoyed his position more than his "mistress".

I bet the other day she'll talk to him normally, without mind control, and try to ask his opinion about all this. She is aware of his attitude toward her and her control, but she would still like to hear confirmation that he consciously lets her do what she does to him. Although, if he suddenly changes his mind, I doubt she'll just let him go - her feelings aren't going anywhere.

I'll have to check on this couple from time to time.

I was going to have to check on Taria now, and I don't want to leave the recovering Hestia out of my sight, either, or she might take offense. She wouldn't allow herself any remarks, but she'd look indifferent-offended, as strange as that might sound. And I am not so sadistic as to offend a poor and unhappy (because of the fact that she got in touch with me) woman... albeit a behemoth.

The month went on and on, and I continued to do nothing. I wandered around Dream, visiting acquaintances and trying to create a permanent characteristics booster from the reagents brought to me in the tavern dishes. So far, it wasn't working, even though I was really trying. My companions, when they found out what I was doing and what I was transferring my food, stared at me for a long time, shook their heads, and walked away in silence. I think I heard the sound of the skull banging against the wall in the distance, but I can't say for sure.

I taught Ygra the vocabulary, but it wasn't very effective. No, at my present level of skill, I could easily cram the entire vocabulary into her skull in a couple of nights. But this child of nature simply did not want to use even learned words, sincerely considering them banal unnecessary, and superfluous. She can say more with one "Y!" than I can with three dozen phrases.

It would be easy to change this attitude toward learning, and surprisingly easy--she trusted me so much, so used to letting me into her dreams, her soul, that she wouldn't even resist when I started to change her. Except it would be the same murder of personality as the work of some slavemancer. My triggers, set before the Kraj, have altered her enough to strengthen her addiction to pleasure to the point of being almost narcotic and to sprout in her mind so that to uproot them would be worse than to break and rebuild them.

I had to let my very first victim of the Ring decide for herself what she wanted out of life and how she would achieve it, if only on the scale of what I let her do, only in the direction I was going myself. Typical me - first make a mess and then sit on the sidelines and start watching everyone else clean up after me. That sounds familiar.

You can laugh with me, but if the Ring's binds come off her right now, she won't even notice it - my actions and her craving for pleasure have trained Ygra enough to keep her from becoming my enemy for sure. Except that, in that case, she would be much more active in trying to drag me into the bushes, either using her abilities to do so or simply brutalizing me with pure physical force. Hit with a stick and into the cave.

The work with Cassi-Who-My-Friend had almost stopped because I had taken all the available information from him, and neither he nor his sources knew anymore. And the necromancer himself was busy right now - pumping through the undead and creating new undead to replace the lost ones required him to be constantly present, albeit only mentally. He even had almost no time to sleep now. He had to work for several days in a row, break for a couple of hours of sleep and then work again. Some specifics of the necromancer pumping, but he saw a great opportunity to take the new and useful title right now, so he didn't want to be distracted.

Instead, I watched the drunken monk, who was getting pretty tough, but still hesitant to take even kefir in his mouth. Since the second time I went under his disguise, he had never been in a situation where he had to use a "drunken attack". But he had managed to get into a relationship, and when I say "get into a relationship," I mean it.

His paramour, the swordswoman with the huge collection of strange hats, to whom I had once sent erotic dreams, had taken the signs of her consciousness for something important and had decided to let "this fool" win her heart. Especially in view of the fact that the dream I had sent her (she was running after him with a sword when he woke her up!) had managed to latch on in her mind and was now, at times, repeated in different variations without my help.

The main misfortune of the monk named Josef was that this beauty sincerely believed that relationships should develop as in love novels. If I hadn't seen it in her mind, I would have thought it impossible to have such a weird binge, but come on. I don't understand women well at all - it's not for nothing that I used to sit on the 4chan.

Flowers, the theater, cozy restaurants, and taverns, the requirement to memorize poems and read them to her under the moon, and other stuff became Josef's constant companions. Contrary to public opinion, she did not push him around or take advantage of him, but this did not make him any less miserable.

Flowers were all right, for he made good money at his level, very good money but the poems, theaters, and other crap that rich and educated people invented to punish themselves for being rich and educated, made him want to go look for a Bigfoot forest. That monster, though scary, but you can hit it on the head and, in theory, kill it with these blows. And you can't even burn a book of classical poetry because it's borrowed!

Well, at least she's beautiful.

The merchant from Ostmark - the Weaver's creatures had already left without finding anything - not only sucked on her assistant, but she was working her way up the ranks of Ostmark's elite quickly and with great determination. Yes, a small achievement, for she was nothing in the capital and remained nothing, but the fact itself pleases her. So are the profits, the lucrative contracts, the connections that come with them, the expansion of her business, and, of course, her assistant so good at relieving tension.

In the days since the assassination attempt, she has learned perfectly well not to think about who her unknown savior is, why he saved her, and how he affects her mind. It's not that she doesn't enjoy sucking her assistant's dick, but it does get her mind off things and keeps her from working properly. Not for her, not for him.

The only reason I visited these guys was to check on Ostmark itself. And, to be more precise, the traces left by my enemy's beasts. Alas, this was a complete failure, for the creature was excellent, fantastic at cleaning up the aftermath of his actions. The only thing I could do was to sigh, bypass a few alarms left by his pack just in case, and crawl back to myself. The only positive things I could do were to check on the health of my wards and to quietly eliminate a few of their ill-wishers. So far, they were not planning a murder, but they were messing around with administrative resources.

Since they could not be called good people physically, even without the occasional practical application of ritual black magic, I nailed them. Quietly and inconspicuously, they died falling headfirst against the wall several times in a row. Both of them. And the guards also found the last unfortunate victim, who was sitting in the basement. And when they also found a camouflaged ritual circle that had been soiled for years, they immediately forgot all about the cause of death, turning their attention to the search for a possible cult. Kraj, if anything, is very close.

The conclusion said something about a possible sweep by the more skilled warlocks, but everyone glanced at the enigmatically grinning merchant. No one dared ask, however, not even the guards, who were also beginning to fear the aunt. And return the money to "start" on her case about all the same black magic. Only to her, unlike the deceased, the ritual dagger was going to be planted.

On second thought, Ygra was still sent on foot. Although, he abandoned the cunning plan at the very last moment. For an ogre, even such a distance is two or three weeks of leisurely running through forests, fields, and marshes. With such stealth can only accidentally notice her someone developed to a level comparable to mine, but such characters alone without an entourage do not walk, and certainly, Ygra will not rush on too strong guys. She'll make it in a week if she's up to it, but what's she going to do then, near the capital? It's fun, and at least it's some kind of pumping.

And I had a good plan, a good, strong one!

And I had a good plan, a good, strong one! Well, the plan is a slang word for MJ in Russian.

To process an entire branch of the Transporter Guild, which is engaged in the delivery of all sorts of unique cargo. A kind of Statham on steroids, but without a car. So, to process these guys, convincing them that in the capital, some crazy aristo ordered a specially for his home zoo a piece of swamp. That is, a thousand-and-fifty-liter pool filled with water, slime, and waders, and make sure it comes straight from the swamp!

And so these guys, scowling menacingly, will drag this container to the portal. There, they'll scan it in all the spectrums and read the bill of lading, which the Transporters will make themselves, believe it to be real, and let us through. Because, you won't notice a marsh ogre hiding in a piece of swamp, especially if you cover it with a steal of shadow. And in the capital, this pool will be delivered to some inconspicuous corner, where the ogre will get out, shake off and go hide in the nearest park. Swim in the pond, catch ducks, and all that. In the meantime, I'll fix the porter's memory, so they'll think it's some froufrou peacock who took his order and paid for it. I'll even pay!

Unfortunately, the team did not understand my plan and began to talk me out of it with their joint efforts. It seemed dangerous to them to keep Ygra inside the city walls, where there were a lot of alarms, barriers, and closed fields, not to mention the regular artifact and ritual scanning. Even Ygra could be spotted, especially in the park, where even members of the imperial family sometimes stroll near the ponds. They would be surprised to see a new inhabitant of this closed ecosystem. They also pointed out the necessity of feeding the ogre and the fact that I don't give her people to eat, and no derelict cow carcasses are lying around anywhere in the city. Ygra is a big girl, she needs to eat a lot, and she can get her food, for example, by robbing a grocery store, but that's a risk.

In general, they talked me out of it.

They lost the spirit of adventurism.

The money was paid, the scan was passed, and the disguise was preliminarily maximized because I feared that the scanners in the portal rooms were more powerful at the entrance to the Eternal, and I might temporarily lose control of the disguise after I left the transference. For the sake of this, I even had to use Creation on my companions for the first time.

One, maximally processed and dissected Shadows planted in the shadow of each of them. One more, to cover Valerium and Generator. There are as many as six separate ones on the shining sword, constantly alternating between them so they don't burn. These creatures are so devoid of their usual instincts, so twisted from the eternally evil essence of the Shadows that they will last only a couple of hours. During that time, they can perform the only function for which they were killed and re-created: to maintain and rebuild the structure of stolen shadows, interwoven with the same Creation.

It should work because all my premonitions do not see any trouble in the future.

And if not, I did the best I could.

With these thoughts, I stand in the specified place on the slab painted with many separate ritual circles, which merge into a single arch-complex structure. I nod to my comrades-in-arms, and then I only have time to inhale the air, which has become strangely stuffy - from the magical energy that filled the room to the ceiling - and close my eyes.

The transfer through the portal, I mean normal transfer, through a normal portal, was much easier and more pleasant than my amusement with entering the Stone Room. The familiar feeling of glass scratching against my shell didn't disappear, but now the glass wasn't deadly sharp but smooth, like glass balls. The disguise, however, was damaged, a feature which was obviously deliberately reinforced, and if it hadn't been for the Shadows that had been created, it might have been disabled for a couple of moments. I didn't prepare it for anything, not at all.

The world flashed and re-created itself.

The air was still overflowing with magic, but it was different now.

And the city was different, too.

Well hello, Eternal.

Let's see how long your lauded eternity lasts after you meet me.

* * *

Author's Notes:

21 shitty, shitty pages. I decided a roll dice a bit.

https://drive.google.com/file/d/13M5ROTBo8dx3r9tKCT6HvZS4tRY8S41_/view?usp=sharing - A story from Taria's past.

There were an obscene number of dice, but I think, everyone wants to see Hans' dice. I'll just say that he rolls a critical success in a row, with bonuses, really - for kicking out a legend

Then a critical failure, but there were also bonuses that slightly improved it - 1+20.

And then, one after the other failed two of the three rescue attempts, although they just had good bonuses: 12+20 and 9+10

He was saved on the third chance, the last one, already without bonuses - 78. And, most importantly, he didn't get much of a negative effect from being on the Trails, as if Kostik had bitten him - 90 even.

Other than that, a complete failure at trying to find something in Ostmark: 16-50 for mashing Weaver, but not caught himself: 45+30.

Communication with Cassie - no time. He has his dice there. When I have a moment, I'll tell you.

Examination of the artifact - no one has the desire. Everyone is treated and rested. Kostya's dysfunctionality is contagious. Hans, of course, poked something, but he wouldn't risk it unnecessarily. It clearly said a test of will, so screw it.

Hiding trails from Sightseers and Pathfinders is an unrealistic plus to the odds. +40 for the seeers and +85 for the trackers. That is, in that nightmare, no pathfinders, except archipowerfull a priori will not see anything. And you can't get that strong quickly. Or you can't find them. Or you can't order.

That's it. No more space.