Chapter 13 (Patreon)

Chapter 13

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I have long ago realized the reason why all sorts of lords, invincible warriors, and powerful mages dislike the "lurker" classes. It's not about such an ephemeral thing as honor or conscience, at least because the opponents of such classes don't have much conscience or honor. The reason for dislike and contempt for hitmen is hidden in the simple fact that surprise surprise, they kill. Or rather, that's where I misspoke. The reason is that a good assassin has a good chance of killing even a stronger and more dangerous opponent without a fight if he can gather or get information from someone about the target, his techniques, and his habits. The chance is not one hundred percent, but the situation is quite common, almost habitual.

It's hard to feel like a king of life when that life can be cut short by a dagger thrust or a drop of poison in a glass, despite your fortieth level, a crowd of guards, and dozens of layers of protective charms. An underlying fear, displaced by contempt and self-confidence, accusations of foul play and violation of the rules they invented, which play into the hands of those who invented them. Killers kill, as Captain Obvious would say. That is their strength, skill, and calling. In direct combat, even a high-level assassin, spy, or agent can be killed by a much weaker warrior if he can force his opponent to accept combat. The problem is that an assassin fighting face-to-face is a very bad assassin, an unfit specialist.

My skills and classes, even with all their power in direct combat, are sharpened for this kind of foul play. Instant jump, super-dense attack, retreat, and repeat until the target or targets run out. Add to this the talent of hiding from the seers, and I can become a local man with a barcode on the back of his head - orders will flow if grateful customers do not kill for all the good first.

All these words to the fact that attacking suddenly, I can kill even those who, in another situation, would have given me, if not kicks, then a good fight going to the other world is not quite easy. No level and stats will allow you to be in full readiness all the time. For this, there are premonitions, intuition, and thousands of different skills, amulets, or perks, obtained independently or through rituals. But when you know how to bypass this intuition, you become a really scary opponent, an ideal liquidator, able to kill any target without a fight.

I didn't think I was perfect, and it would be stupid to see myself as the coolest guy around. The dry lines of the same Weaver's dossier, for whom my efforts would really seem ridiculous, had not disappeared from my memory. Nevertheless, I had the ability to make a sudden "surprise, bitches" to all sorts of bad guys, and I appreciated it. Just because of those situations where suddenness is very necessary and vital to achieve goals or to save one's skin.

It would be a foolish move to use shadow techniques while in the Eternal, where they were searching for one shadow user with a microscope. Yes, the heat of the search has subsided, but too-powerful flashes on the sensors will immediately return it to its former position. And then I will deal not with the guards of the magical Lunapark but with the cadre army of the Empire and its elite units. That's why Shadow was off the list of available means.

The Dream was also not so accessible because somewhere there, in its depths, sat Weaver and his horde of creatures, who constantly and passively searched for any clues that would lead the chthonic fucker to Kostenka, who had once offended his child. Yes, he did not have and could not have direct leads simply because I either removed them or did not have time to set them up due to my "youth." But if you stir up Gresa too much, it would be no problem to attract the attention of the main expert in its use. At the very least because he'll obviously be interested in who's out there making crap with the power of a couple of guilds of dream walkers.

And I did the crap.

And I did it with such inspiration that I even scared myself.

In the utilization of Dream, the main problem may be considered its most important advantage - the extreme lightness, the weightlessness of the energy of this plane. It is this lightness that provides such ultimatum stealth, the ability to pass through most barriers, the ability to ignore conscious mental defenses, and the ability to influence another's mind without alarming either the amulets or the victim. Alas, where one's strength lies, it is easy to find a commensurate weakness.

It is very difficult to hit hard with a Dream, especially if the battle comes suddenly. That's not to say that adepts of this Realm can't show anything in battle. They can but with very great difficulty and problems. To accumulate more power, to strengthen it in pieces of broken mirror, to charge it with broken images and meanings, and then to strike - such an attack, if not more dangerous than direct damage by shadows, then at least it can be considered relatively comparable. It is too unusual an approach, requiring quite unconventional defenses that an ordinary opponent would not have time to reorganize.

The same Weaver proved its fighting ability in practice even to such entities, from which I could only run away very quickly and far away. For those who are not Weaver, alas, the situation is much more deplorable. You can hit, but the effort and time to prepare such a blow will have to take disproportionately more than for some wave of flame. But if you have a class that allows you to use Dream directly and not scoop it up by its edge, as most of its adepts do, you can do a lot.

I was used to fighting with Shadow, and the Overlord class was much more developed. It was a means of gathering information, stealthy influence, and long-range attacks on an unprotected target. I used it only twice in direct combat. The second time, I used it as a proxy. In the fight with Ferer and during the epic of Kickass. Both times I noticed that my opponents were very surprised by my tricks, not immediately realizing what to hit me with.

So, starting an attack right in the middle of the domain of the "Honorable Owner" present here, I was not acting out of thin air but had a plan, albeit one that had been hastily created in the forty minutes that had passed between the moment Losius was challenged to a duel and the moment the duel began. And by plan, I was confident enough that I could carry it out, even if only partially.

To the House Owner's credit, he had done a good job of protecting his creation from dream walkers and mirror mages, only slightly inferior to the Eyes, especially when it came to his private study. But personal chambers were one thing, and it was a different matter to cover the whole thing with high-class and extremely specific protection. Yes, the protection was there, and it was miraculously good, but not enough. It was doubly insufficient, considering that the main source of Dream was, in fact, inside the room, working directly, not through an intermediary or reflection.

I didn't just suddenly decide to have a jolly fight for fear of getting punched in return. I started preparing to strike the moment the duel was announced. And even though the lion's share of concentration was consumed by maintaining the cloak on Losius and the rest of the team, I had enough time to do enough to make my actions no longer seem like jumping onto a tank with bare feet.

First of all, of course, I should mention the stained-glass windows that I'd turned into resonators, which I'd looped together with some of the free shards of mirrors I had. It was enough to not only deploy a powerful closed field but also to make it invisible to the House's defenses. Even that couldn't fool the Owner himself, especially since he was right next to the eye of the storm, but that was the function of the barrier.

Cut off.

Hide.

Decive.

Disrupt.

I didn't even dream of somehow affecting the connection between the Owner and his Domain. I mean, in theory, it was possible but very difficult, costly, and not as stealthy as I still hoped to make it. Except he was standing right there, which not only gave me a perception advantage and nullified the possibility of deception but also put him at risk. A Dream is a great way to fool the mind, a superb tool, and it's hard to think of a better one. And even if I couldn't prevent the old man from changing his position in space by a simple willpower effort, moving to some particularly protected node of his Domain, let it! But I could strike not at this connection but at the very perception of reality. Forbid, for a brief moment, but still forbid him to wish.

A second is like an eternity in the case of battles, but the problem was that I didn't want to kill the old man, though I could try. But if I really hit him hard, there was a good chance he'd be able to kill all the people inside the House if not hit me back. Just because of the agony and grip of doom, as if in some fairy tale where Koshcheyev's kingdom collapses with the death of the Dark Lord. I can't, alas, say, proudly raising my head, that I wouldn't have gone for such a swap if I'd been really serious. But now I saw other options.

But those options, where I could kill the "honorable" with a guarantee and without risk to my companions, on the contrary, were not visible. Not by logic, not by clairvoyance. This place is too strongly connected to him, so much so that it will die with its lord. There were simply no options here. After many years of symbiosis with the House, this property had already become an insurmountable law.

I can survive something like that.

I can even cover my own, with a high guarantee of success.

But then I'd have to use Shadow to the fullest extent, causing the others to ask understandable questions and equally understandable desires to grab me by the throat and not let go until I was dead and then some more. So, if I wanted to cover my tracks, even partially, and not draw attention to myself, I would have to solve the problem by using Dream alone, which was what I was doing at that moment.

The first step was the unfolding of the barrier, which simply turned off, imposed sleep on all those who got into it and were not marked by me as an allied unit. To be more precise, all of them except for the Owner, the strongest fighter in the diplomats' retinue, and some gray-haired beastfolk from the audience who had come here just to gawk. The latter was only holding on by sheer willpower and stubbornness. I'd been smart enough to set up a field against the few amulets that could counteract such a subtle threat, and the attackers lacked much of their strength.

Losing consciousness and having a pleasant dreamless sleep is practically a gentle attack that shouldn't even give you a headache. The fact that I'll be wrenching and mashing their memory in a hurry to get everything done will give them a headache. But this attack? No, no, and again a bold no with a hard sign at the end.

The House guards watching the duel, by the way, were even better protected from Dream than the retinue. Or rather, not so much from Dream as from any influence on the mind - a complex defense, very necessary for a casino worker, who had always tried to bewitch, deceive, or zombify anyone. I push through, of course, especially with preparation, but still - an impressive result and level of service.

While the men who had fallen asleep on the move were only dropping in clumps to the ground, I already knew they would not be a problem. I knew, and I was rapidly preparing my strike against the only worthy target within easy reach. I didn't expect or even want help from the team because they could get in the way. As a matter of fact, I even bother to send them a vision-image telling them not to interfere unnecessarily. The same Tia could have killed Grandpa just in case, and Grandpa himself was weakened by the blow to his brains and could have died from the hit of the liquidator.

The impact of the Dream that had fractured in the stained-glass windows gave me the seconds I needed, but I had to act on my own, relying only on myself. The distance between us was ridiculous for our speeds, but each step cost me a fraction of my reserve and human form. Each step made the ribbons of violet mist around me weave together, surrounding me with a weightless garment. Forcing me to change my appearance from merely human to something faceless, thin, and long, like a melted and stretched mannequin.

Dozens of mirror shards popped out of the pockets of my clothes, which were hidden in a blue haze, and surrounded my figure with a halo of mutually reinforcing homemade amulets. If he'd had a second, he would have just thrown the whole thing off. Run the fuck away.

But there wasn't a second here.

Even a fraction of it.

And so, no sooner had my heart struck, no sooner had the unconscious statists fallen to the ground, no sooner had my companions even realized the changed situation, and a dozen mirror blades pierced through the chest of the "honorable", allowing me to pour an obscenely huge amount of Dream into him. And no matter what his level was, no matter what his resistance was, and no matter what protections his Domain connection gave him, he couldn't stay conscious after that.

Somewhere off-screen, looking into the frightened eyes of an old man who is rapidly blacking out and trying to call out to his home walls, I can make out a brief scuffle as the team knocks out the few people who, by some miracle, haven't blacked out because of the field. There are no more standing enemies left, but that's all tinsel.

The hardest part is now just beginning.

I had seconds, not minutes, and those seconds were slipping away. Yes, the closed field allowed me to cut off the dueling ground from the signaling charms, suppress them and prevent them from raising the alarm, but at any moment, everything could go wrong. Whether it be a sudden check of the defense systems, the arrival of backup that could have been summoned by the guards in advance, the attention of one of the high-level aides of the "honorable" or something else, but the options are there.

The Dream is great for turning a living being into your puppet, willing or unwilling, aware of its condition or even unaware of it. But even with a mythic class and a third rank in said class, it takes time to rewrite a personality. In the case when the victim is not trash, but quite a pumped-up individual, accustomed to the integrity of this personality to keep and preserve, we had to talk about hours of hellish labor at best, if not many days.

On the other hand, I didn't need the puppets or the sleeping agents. All I wanted now was to erase some details from their memories. And that could already be arranged. Of course, any erased memories could be brought back, manifested, and restored from the ashes. I even knew of the Empire of Ages' possession of a few suitable artifacts. It wasn't certain that those artifacts would be used at the behest of those who fell into my hands, but the possibility was there!

In general, a simple memory wipe was not an option, or rather, only the initial stage of my actions. As it happens too often in my life, I again need to create a new and very clever technique on the fly, which can survive the attempts to crack its structure and fulfill its purpose. And all this under the threat of help coming and then sawing either us or that help out.

It's just a regular Tuesday, whatever.

Without removing the claws-mirrors from the body of the Owner of the House (so it was much easier to control the Dream pumped into his subtle body and not let this force endanger the poor man), I take action. Right now, I can easily turn him into a vegetable or erase his memories. It's difficult. It'll take a lot of stamina and control, but given the inputs, when I've literally stuffed him with my energy... it's doable. Except instead of hitting the fragile structure of his memory with a sledgehammer, I'm doing something else. I'm not just fucking up the last few days of his life, no. It can be reversed, at least partially.

It's as if I take in my hands dozens of varieties of paint and a hundred different brushes, and then I start scribbling all over the canvas of memories, distorting, confusing, swapping memories, shuffling images and events, their order, chronology, and participants. Figuratively speaking - I make a frame-by-frame cut from a dozen different movies, creating a five-minute clip reminiscent of some wild trip from the hallucinogens taken. Even just trying to remember this day will cause real migraine explosions, and trying to decipher it all will be a challenge. At the very least, because all of these images are true, not created by me, just mixed up.

Losius's name. All in all, his name is just one of the thousands of details that can be found and pulled out, but only by knowing exactly what to look for. Otherwise, success is still real but difficult, very difficult. The Dream continues to boil and bubble, wanting to take over the old man's memory and soul completely. It is already in him, has already embraced his essence, and is ready to descend on it like boiling water on a sugar statue - to dissolve and lubricate. To merge into one monstrous lump.

Instead, I start tearing the threads of memories, mixing them with the endless stream of events, with the very nature of this plan, turning already disguised memories into mincemeat and then annihilating that mincemeat into nothingness. One by one, these techniques can somehow be circumvented, bypassed, and overpowered. Difficult, very difficult, but still possible, especially with said artifacts. But all three layers of defense together make the process of extracting knowledge and obtaining the truth simply impossible.

Only a god can fix something here, and not just any god, but one who specializes in working with the mind and memory. Or, you can still try to recreate this truth and tear it out without caring about the life and postmortem of the victim. But I sincerely doubt that this old man (I, by the way, never found out his name because I don't have a single extra second for interest) will allow himself to be used as a victim. The rest of my victims - that's another matter, but they have a lower level, and therefore the defense of the mind is also weaker.

Virtually unresponsive to my team and increasingly distorting my native appearance, turning into a lump of lilac mist and viscous weightless ribbons, within which is hidden a frighteningly thin and long figure of some creature, I continue to work. From one sleeper to another, moving in unnatural jerks, as if the dream-cloud distorted space like a crooked mirror. The sleepers were getting exactly the same treatment as the "honorable one", only faster and deeper because of the lower levels. A couple of them even received the kind of damage that would wipe out a couple of months or even a year or two of their lives, but by some miracle, no one was killed, maimed, or turned by a creature right there.

Time lost all meaning, merging into a series of cut-off frames.

I remembered correcting the signals of the sensory systems, distorting the analytic enchantments while maintaining a field of distraction around the arena, trying to make sure no one would accidentally enter. It wouldn't help against those who were determined to get into this place, or rather it would. It would turn them back around, but they would quickly realize the strangeness of the situation. Luckily, so far, the ones caught were just strolling through random locations of the House, not intentionally going to this particular point in reality.

Time, time, time, where are you going? I wish I had at least an hour or two, or forty minutes, to finish what I wanted and start running away. But I didn't have an hour, and I didn't have forty minutes. Not even half an hour, only about twenty minutes. I had about that much time, as my premonitions told me, until the moment when it would be impossible to maintain my disguise and to hold other people's gazes and intentions.

I had created deceptions, refracted the reflections of the real owner of the house, and framed them for others' call, but none of that was a serious enough argument. I was wrong in thinking this old man was the center and brain of his Domain. Or rather, I was completely right, but I was still wrong. The Domain was subordinate to him, loyal to him, was an extension of his will and desires. And the closer was the center of the Domain, the foundation of the House of a Thousand Spectacles, the more reality obeyed its Owner.

But I was wrong to consider the domain an integral part of its owner's essence. Because even without the will of the "Honorable" induced stupor, the House had its own, unlike anything else, thinking. And he felt. He felt the impropriety in the deception I had created, the plug between two souls - the human being that had become the House over many decades and the House over time had become akin to a human being. The House sensed my deception, tearing it apart like the wind and sun dispersing the morning fog. The House did not yet understand, did not realize the degree of danger, but only this partially reasonable and quasi-living structure of many charms, barriers, enchantments, rituals and binding it all the will and essence of the people who gave birth to his creature to understand the falsity of the replaced connection between him and the owner... It will be a pain, and everyone, including passersby, turned off by the Dream.

For a moment, the floating consciousness caught a surprisingly clear thought, as clear as it was for my current state - there were no more targets. I could have done a better job, made more deceptions, blurred more images, but all of that required time, time that was no longer available for anything serious. The remainder of those minutes would be better spent trying to escape unnoticed without engaging in unnecessary combat.

My body reverted to human form very reluctantly, much more reluctantly than it had with Shadow Form. I had to remember to speak, reopening my lips, which had grown back to smooth skin. I had to wish to see with my eyes, not with the strange stream of images I had oriented myself with after my eyes were gone. I had to remind myself to breathe, to get my lungs working again and my heart beating.

Slowly the cloud of violet unreal dissipated, the ribbons and cobwebs with flecks of mirror debris fell to the ground as weightless ashes, and the figure of me hiding beneath those garments returned to human proportions. The Dream didn't press, didn't demand, didn't eat away at my essence, but that made it even more dangerous. No one prevented me from regaining my human form, no one but myself, who had almost forgotten what that form was.

After all, it's so easy to lose the real you in the endless maze of mirrors.

My first words were not instructions to my companions but barely audible and very angry swearing. My body, which was not used to being a body, whimpered as if I had been used long and hard instead of a rolling pin for molding dough. And my head, which had passed through hundreds of hundreds of man-hours of other people's lives and experiences, was buzzing like a hive of hornets. Nevertheless, I felt surprisingly normal for the experience, though it was too early to tell. We hadn't gotten out yet.

"Tin?" The questioning tone in Taria's voice was a little hurtful, as if I could really (and I could!) endanger myself with such a small thing. " Are you okay, or should we carry you?"

"Was it scary?" In the spirit of a native Odessite, I answer a question with a question, rising to my feet and warming up a little with some apprehension.

T.N. It is a tradition of Odessa residents to answer a question with a question.
How are you?
And you?
And why are you asking?
Do you always answer a question with a question?

The apprehension was reasonable enough, for despite my certainty that I had everything back the way it was, there remained the option that a chunk of my muscles was growing in the wrong direction..... or my brain had moved up my ass. There is no doubt that I sometimes think with it - I am quite self-critical.

"Nah, everything's fine," Taria said cheerfully, shaking her head negatively and pretending to be a model of optimism and trust in her infallible leader.

"Normal." Hans supported her, though his acting talents were not enough to make me believe it.

"It's perfectly all right, my friend." Losius, too, joined the general wave, not wanting to stand out after his past had caught up with us all and given us a good kicking.

"It was one of the creepiest things I've seen in my eternity. I won't say it was the scariest thing I've ever had the misfortune to see, but it will definitely be in the top two hundred." Tia broke the illusion of normality, not showing her fear in any way, but still continuing to calm herself after experiencing the spectacle of an already-almost-Dream-creature at work. "It has been rare to see Mirror masters in action... especially masters who allowed themselves such a large and direct use of their power."

Moment of silence.

"Why your looks?" The smallest bit irritated, so small that even I doubted the reality of that irritation, the elfess uttered in response to the team's silent rebuke. "I'm not going to lie for such a trifling matter, especially lying to someone who knows how to break other people's lies."

"You could pretend with your skills, too." Taria rebuked her, having learned so much about the tactics and capabilities of the Seers that she could go teach the young prophets some equivalent of higher mathematics.

"I could." Tia nodded, stony calm. "But you couldn't."

I don't know what fascinates me more - my companions' attempts not to show how frightened they were by my unusual (unlike the Form) transformation, Tia's attempts to play on the contrast, or Taria's subtle trolling, which made Tia get into a completely unnecessary argument and feel a bit silly. The Dancer managed to do the latter only due to the still-unresolved shock of the contact with the planar force, which made the elfess dull her guard somewhat, albeit for a measly couple of seconds and a fraction of a percent. And also because it was just Taria who didn't even doubt for a second that I was in control, which was undoubtedly flattering. I wish I had that kind of self-confidence.

"Now is not the time!" I'm finishing up my warm-up while simultaneously winding down my clairvoyance and gathering information on what was going on while I was distracted by important matters. "We have only minutes left! Let's get out of here fast!"

The commands have to be literally coughed out. At the same time, I helping myself with the remnants of the dream barrier that is rapidly thinning under the onslaught of the House. The stained-glass windows are already cracking, so there's no time for explanations. I just have to put ready-made explanatory images in their head, explaining my plan literally in an instant. I can't accuse these individuals of being poorly oriented in a combat situation, but even they (including the elf) need time to understand my intentions.

And time, once again, is short.

The first priority was to finish with Melareth's Envoys, for they were the ones who knew too much about Losius. Too much. So much so I could not reliably correct their memories in such a short time. So I didn't even try, sparing only those who had nothing to do with our company. Those who wished to watch the deliberate and cruel death of poor Losius did not deserve pity.

I could just toss their souls deep into Dream, but I've probably left too much of a trail already. Whether the Weaver would catch the trail or I could retreat, hide, and erase it was a matter of time. The main reason for my restraint was the uncertainty of being able to control myself in such an inadequate state. I'd be tempted to want to make the bodies and souls of these assholes into toys for Weaver, which was a bit much for everyone except perhaps the controller of the Summoned one.

Instead of a relatively mild memory disintegration, they received a poke with an obsidian pebble under the chin. The experienced Tia had managed to sneak a few specialized artifacts on her clothes just for this occasion. Having failed to use these one-off amulets during the assassination attempt, she simply wove them into her novice druid hairstyle. Pretending to be simple dreadlocks, they were a rare device for discreetly eliminating valuable witnesses.

Based on a drop of Death's power and high-end ritualism, the design not only killed with a single scratch (unless there was a normal defense or an attempt to counter hostile spells by controlling internal energy) but also by dragging a postmortem cast onto the obsidian itself. In the future, a good death mage, ritualist, or seer can try to decipher what has been taken. Far more important for us is the impossibility of questioning the corpses from whom the stones will siphon all the answers.

Actually, one such amulet wouldn't be enough for really cool specialists, but here Tia was just over-insured, not wanting to take any risks. Because as soon as another piece of obsidian cut off the life of someone from the retinue, the corpse was struck by the power of a dream redirected through the same stained glass windows, turning each body into a wrinkled lump of incredibly disgusting clay. And I was tearing up the remaining connections, too, filling them with toxic and maddening chunks of visions - the very thing for which Dream is disliked so much. The house presses harder and harder on the deceptions that are weakened by my manipulations, but so far, the deceptions haven't collapsed.

The only one who wasn't touched was the Envoy, as the owner of the juiciest information and the remnants of the controlling mechanism. I can't sense the latter with my senses or see it with my clairvoyance, but it must be there, and I must try to find it. Well, or at least seriously question the bastard because I have enough ways to make her talk, as well as to hide the bitch from all the searches for her ammunition.

The entire final cleanup took a matter of seconds, after which I proceed to prepare a way out of our pitiful predicament. A few shards, which were sadly few, were stuffed under the Envoy's dress, allowing me to very gently sedate her further and then put her body on like a glove.

It sounds dirty, but in reality, it's just unpleasant and exhausting - a little weaker, and I can't get the sleeper to convincingly pretend to be awake. Any stronger, and I'd just maim or kill her. And if I killed her, I could damage her memory or the remnants of the very control mechanism that only exists in my theories. If I had the time (how many times have I used that phrase in the last few minutes?), I'd make her into a perfect doll, a perfect replica of the original. Whether it was trivial brainwashing through dreams or the much more elegant Sleeper Reflection, the rudimentary form of which I was using now, the result would be indistinguishable from the real Envoy.

Alas, we had to hurry.

"Let's finish." A brief nod to each other, and the somnambulist who had jumped to her feet deftly took Losius, who had recovered from the duel and now looked only a little disheveled, under her arm while we all pretended to be visitors leaving the House.

Hans with Taria and Hestia in his embrace, like a real man, or even a macho.

Losius with puppet.

I'm with Tia.

Just a group of clients who had found a couple for the night, hurrying to a much more down-to-earth but less expensive hotel. Of course, suspicion would also be aroused by the obviously very high-ranking aristocratic female messenger walking in the arms of a modest-looking Losius. And some tension in our team and increasingly falling from the dueling ground field of distraction, but these are already small things. And the small things I solved by releasing the distraction field through the shards of mirrors I had left. Like I had done during Kickass's adventures, but not so actively - fewer traces and less chance of raising an alarm because of the too-dense layer of sensors and multiple gazes.

* * *

According to all the canons of action movies, we would have been caught at the very exit, which was a short walk from the dueling ground to one of the exits, and then it would have been time for a hot firefight, in which someone would have died a tragic and heroic death of the brave. Alas, there were no action movies on Alurei, so we were safely out and had even moved farther away from the House when I sensed the fall of my decoys and the alarm being raised by the House. By then, we had slipped into one of the alleys, and I shifted a stolen Shadow to each of us, changing appearance and hiding from Seers.

Now the main danger was over, but time kept ticking. There was still too much to be finished to meet a specific deadline. In any case, there was no point in going back to the lost legend of simple adventurers. This thread will be pulled with a hundred percent guarantee, even if I turn myself inside out. We had plans for such an outcome, just as we had backups, which meant it was time to clean up our tracks.

Two thugs busting heads in the alleyways of the capital's not-so-wealthy sections would be a very suspicious pair in such a decent neighborhood. Even with normal clothes on, the habits, gait, and grasp of such individuals can be seen a mile away, and you don't need an interrogator class to recognize them. Nevertheless, no one paid any more attention to these two than necessary, as if their being here was the most logical thing in the world.

For that kind of ability to be above suspicion anywhere, those two jolly cousins who had once slaughtered a debtor's daughter and fed her thighs to a debtor's daddy would have given a lot. Now there was a lot less greed and cruelty in their heads but a lot more of the blue fog that took away everything that made them the thugs they were.

They could pass almost any test, deceive any of their acquaintances, pretending to be even better than before, but they were in no hurry to tell anyone about it. Neither was in a hurry to be proud of the fact that now they could slaughter a couple or three patrols of guards without attracting attention. Or send a dozen or two murderers to the grave without attracting attention and staying above suspicion.

They did not open the good doors of the stranger's house with lock picks, though they possessed that tool at the level of a solid journeyman but with keys. And these keys matched the lock even better than the originals, perfectly copying every feature of the keyhole. The house was a stranger's, but none of the attentive neighbors paid any attention to their intrusion, though the intruders did not even think of hiding their actions.

Once inside the house, they went about their work in silence, without even a glance at each other. The older man began stripping off the shards of mirrors from the walls, the touch of which wiped the fingerprints from his fingers, turning his hands into white and smooth grasping things whose fingers were rapidly lengthening and losing their bones, while the other began carefully bagging the personal belongings of the inhabitants of the house. By the time most (but by no means all) of the shards had left their designated places, the older man no longer resembled a human, and the younger one had collected two bags of belongings.

The younger man left the way he had come, dragging the bags to the only address he knew, still out of sight of neighbors and passersby. The older man climbed up into the attic of the cabin, using a mixture of a third arm and a tentacle growing out of his back to steady himself on his tucked legs, the knee joints which began to bend in all directions at once. There he threw a load of shards into the largest of the mirrors, after which he simply sat on what was left of his bottom.

The complex construction of mirror artifacts began to literally devour itself, not only self-destructing but also erasing all traces of anyone's presence in the walls of the strange house. Almost complete sterilization for any seeing person - what would not disappear in the labyrinth of images would be distorted so badly that it would be impossible to understand the original nature of what had been distorted.

About half an hour later, when the quiet ringing had almost ceased, an amorphous blot with multiple limbs pulled two containers out of a special container isolated from the surrounding chaos, simply crushing them in its unexpectedly strong limbs. Flaming protuberances were born from the broken clay jugs, taking whatever the mirrors couldn't.

Surprisingly, the house that burned in minutes did not affect the neighboring houses, despite the dense construction and the fact that even the stone from which the house was built turned to ash in the cheerful green flames.

A few weeks later, when the owner of the house and, at the same time, the burner were released from interrogation. And he had already stopped cursing every hour those bastards who had rented the house and himself for having rented it to them, the man found a rather large bar of gold under his bed. And a paper note, on which there were no demands, no threats, and no promises - just a sad smiley face drawn in charcoal.

The finally exhausted younger of the brothers had disappeared forever on the same day that what the elder had become had perished in a fire. But the venerable and learned clerk of the adventurer's guild didn't look under his bed often to find an apology sooner. Good thing too. Or the gold would have been taken away and interrogated even more tightly. He didn't doubt his innocence, and the guild would cover it up, but who in their right mind would give up a gold bar?

Our backup base was a whole group of buildings, formerly a small craftsman's settlement, where a small but proud pottery guild was located. Or rather, a branch of the main guild. This place was once full of life and people who worked here for a pittance, even if that life was far from joyful. It was a grim place, for they had never even heard of labor protection, but it was still quite normal and familiar. They made pots, sold pots, tried to develop slowly, and saved up for a new house in a good neighborhood for the head of this wing of the guild.

And then there was a duel between a mage fleeing from the law of the Eternal Dynasty and the liquidators pursuing him. This mage was a well-known personality, so it was impossible to sic the guards on him officially. The difference, however, was not great - the masters of the city and the state had enough secret and "secret" masters to eliminate inconvenient personnel. The magician was quickly forced to go on the run, tricked out of his fortified estate and straight into an ambush.

The mage was clever, but his intuition was underdeveloped, so even if his gut did not warn him of danger, but by bare logic he recognized it. And he tried to break away from the battle by going through the quarters of the manufactory, where there were always a lot of people and secluded places where he could bandage his wounded side and make a new plan.

That's where the seasoned professionals caught him, forcing him to give his last fight, which was not included in any textbooks or stories. Even the death curse of the high-level Malefic, which he had directed in desperation at one of the Eternal Blood bearer's closest retinue, was incomplete and interrupted. His last will might have been able to break through the defenses, but the liquidator had blown the mage's head off earlier. The curse scattered, spread, and soaked into the ground, walls, and foundations of the pottery, killing about two dozen people at once and another fifty a little later. The simple cripples added up to nearly a hundred, and the land on which the buildings were located became unusable and uninhabitable.

If the case had been in any decent place, the land would have been cleansed, regardless of the strength and persistence of the curse, but the mage was a good master with a level near forty, and the neighborhood was just a little short of the bottom of the slums. The price of land in this place just wasn't worth all the necessary purification rituals and expert labor. And so the houses and barracks stand, almost untouched, but already dilapidated.

They tried to take things from here but quickly stopped after the first casualties among the looters, their families, and the buyers of the looted goods. Even rather expensive pottery wheels or money in a few stashes were not taken. However, the main treasury was pulled out, and even cleaned of the crap stuck on it. The curse ceased to expand without bothering the neighbors unless they were paranoid. Occasionally, there were accidents with kids who got into the area, but a couple minutes or even an hour of being here didn't have any terrible effects.

That's how another urban legend appeared, the rumors about which only multiplied. There were fantasies about this place among the poor! And treasures were hidden here, and the rookery of evil black magicians was arranged here, and hundreds of other impossible fantastic options. In reality, only one thing could be said for sure - no one, except local children, needed this place.

In fact, the idea of setting up another rookery here was a bit risky, simply due to the presence of an unbreakable curse on the entire area of the manufactory. Before our arrival here, this place had never been used by our "colleagues" in illegal activities, although, if you think about it, they could have. It's much easier to cleanse a small area of harmful emanations than to remove all the crap, and the remaining fragments of the curse will not allow observers to approach. Probably, those who could do it preferred to look for a softer option, and those who not only thought of it but also wanted to arrange such a hiding place, simply did not pull the creation of a harmless space.

I had found a small cache of one of the gangs when I was exploring the place - some weapons, some gold, some copperware, and raw iron. The gang never came back for their goods, though they left them here for a few days. The poor wretches were slaughtered almost entirely for their brutality and attempts to drive respectable people out of the markets. What a pity!

Except for that attempt, no one had ever tried to settle here in all these years, so the place was deemed suitable for my purposes and our residence. A couple of relatively high-quality mirrors treated with my skills and a little alchemy to clear one of the cottages of the curse was all I had invested in the place when I spotted it on one of my walks through the city. Now, with the loss of our primary residence and our move to an outlaw status, I had to work a lot harder.

A quick run across the cursed ground was offset by the stolen shadows, which transferred all the damage to beloved me. And in that cocktail of chthonic muck that I had instead of thin bodies, the curse dissolved faster than it had time to take hold. Actually, this stuff is quite powerful and tricky - the accumulative effect that siphons off life and makes it difficult to use magic was only a key to the main attack bundle. Having accumulated enough influence of the basic curse in the subtle body, the victim received the second one, formed directly in the energy and at the expense of the victim's energy. From a few hours to a couple or three days, after that, the loser is stupidly dead - instantly and without external damage.

No wonder they wouldn't take away even things valuable to the local poor - even a copper coin taken from here could kill you if you kept it in your belt purse for a couple of days. It's possible to remove such crap, but a poor manufactory isn't the kind of place where you'd be able to find something valuable enough to compensate for the purification procedure. Even Hans and Taria could be affected by the curse, though it would be harder to kill them since they had enough control over their subtle bodies to notice and try to resist it. But the author of this horror was no ordinary man, and he was dying in hatred.

Trying to hide here is a pretty good idea and crazy in equal measure.

Just the right option for us!

Creating a new enclosed dome of Dream required my utmost concentration, especially given the need to do everything quickly. In theory, Tia could have helped, but I was too imbued with Dream to risk it for any percentage of efficiency. Instead of helping me, Tia and Taria busied themselves with cleaning up the traces of our stay in the already abandoned house. I gave them the keys to the consciousnesses of the puppets I had altered with a light heart. Taria could be a bit of a freak, but the elf would make up for it, and Taria's tits would help the elf where she needed to be convincing.

Losius was left to keep watch over the still-sleeping Envoy, with whom it was not yet clear what was to be done. The only ones left without work were Hestia and Hans, who had no suitable targets for their talents. So they began to play cards, watching what I was doing.

I cleared out a whole house that belonged to three families of senior masters who lived in the house. It wasn't as "fancy" as the headmaster's house, but it was closer to the center of the cursed territory. There were no rumors of untold treasures, unlike the local chief's house. Not that anyone could break in, but why even such a microscopic risk?

The puppet that had delivered our things had already gone to drown in some ditch far away from our location, and I was still working on a proper barrier. Ideally, it should not only protect me from psychics or an attentive eye, but it should also reflect the curse that was gradually regenerating. Postmortem nastiness is nasty in every way, including the inability to remove it only partially. If even a shred of it is missed, it will quickly take back the reclaimed territory.

The mirrors were satisfactorily good, but there was a shortage of shards, as well as time to work. So this lair was almost finished, not too much inferior to the storage room where Tia and I had made our acquaintance. But we had a prisoner to interrogate and do a whole bunch of immoral things to her. Actually, that was the main problem. I not only needed a stash but a lab as well. If we sat in the Eternal for at least a couple more months, just in time for the start of the trading season, so that we could safely "leave" without attracting attention, then I'd have created not only hiding places but backup sites as well. Both alchemical and for working with Shadows or Nightmares of Dreams.

We went out for some fun!

And we could have just gone to the House a day or two later! We wouldn't have met Losius's blood enemy if it hadn't been for such a stupid accident. It's like, "The world is big, and it doesn't care," but there are familiar assholes around every corner. The funny thing is that it was the defense of the House, where all sorts of rogue visionaries regularly tried to beat rogue croupiers, so clogged my perception that I didn't see the possibility of Losius and the delegates meeting.

At this rate, I'm going to start believing that I've trampled on the feet of one of Fortune's high clergy. Here, on Alurei, such an ephemeral thing as Fortune is not just a word but a full-fledged Law, on a par with Time, of which the imperial rulers boast of their affinity. I wouldn't want to mess with the servants of that goddess or with her. There were many deities involved in the creation of Yoke... I'd have to know the exact list of deities so I could kick some ass.

With a quiet sigh, I put the last shard back in place and began to make minor adjustments to the barrier that had already risen, at the same time blowing back into Dream the surplus power that had seeped into reality. My companions, who felt the degree of eeriness diminishing, also began to come indoors. There was no dust, as the thin layer of revived shadows was enough to replace vacuuming and wet cleaning, but the feeling of mustiness and abandonment was still there.

"Did you finish your creepiness?" Hans, as always, showed his straightforwardness from the start, not shying away from calling shit shit and creepy - creepy. "I was as nervous as a new recruit before a parade, for fuck's sake."

I stretched audibly, crunching my stale body like an old fart, nodding at his question at the same time. Really done, at least with this case. The next one's going to be even more fun.

"Taria and Tialrianrelia haven't reported anything?" She was the only one who could fluently pronounce the elf's full name in everyday conversation, surpassing even the eloquent Losius. "I couldn't ask you, nor did I want to distract you."

"Contacted them through mirrors not long ago." Calmed Hestia down, remembering the details of a brief image exchange session." They're done with the cleanup. They didn't have to do much of anything. The puppets did a great job. We made a relatively minor mess this time. While the victims will regain consciousness, while they will start looking for the guilty, while they will find our "group of adventurers"... In any case, we managed to activate the processed ергпы and send them to the cleanup before the serious forces took over.

In all fairness, our team was indeed quick on the scene, but not so quick that we didn't have time to do anything. The house burned in alchemical flames, and the imprints of events drowned in Dream left very little room for evidence. So little, in fact, that it's going to be a lot harder to get to us now than it was in the last ruckus. No, if we're raided in the style of the raid that took place after the prince's death, it'll be bad enough that our current shelter isn't well enough protected to withstand such a thing for long, and there are more traces, albeit false and distorted, leading back to us. The only thing is that the events do not reach the necessary scale, and we can fight off the easier ones ourselves.

It's not the Imperial Eyes or the brave men of the venerable Owner of the House of a Thousand Spectacles that concern me now.

* * *

Helped me exactly the same thing that hindered me, albeit very relatively. The protection and energy of the House. Just as it prevented me from sensing in advance such an unformed and easy chain of events as the meeting of two people, I knew the same way it prevented everyone from considering the consequences of these meetings. I remember what the Weaver's beasts were capable of when they encircled Ostmark. I also remember the many lectures by Cassie-Empty-Friend-List that eloquently showed what the bastard was capable of.

Let's compare my sensitivity, the fact that the creature seems to be in Dream constantly and continuously, and the fact that he has dozens, if not grosses, of helpers at hand, always ready to support and point out, and then we begin to despair. If a conflict with a bloody media magnate had happened out of the blue, right on the street, and Weaver would have known the details of this battle by this evening, if not earlier. Even if I didn't really shine in front of him, didn't give him the images he needed for the search, but the mere presence of a dream walker coming out of nowhere was already a notable enough detail.

The House of a Thousand Spectacles is a very old establishment belonging to generations of owners, of whom the current one is not the most famous. Yes, he's more attached to his brainchild than the previous owners, but there have been others before him who were as good as him. I can even make a very bold assumption that each previous owner also used the House as an extension of his own will. And with each representative of this peculiar dynasty, the protection of the structure only grew stronger, and the structure itself turned from "just" an enchanted construction into something much more strange and unusual. A full-fledged piece of its reality, tied to the blood of the family that had created it.

It was hard not to notice the excitement in Dream, or rather, the excitement of such a scale when a piece of this Dream was almost dragged into reality. But, at the same time, to see something behind all that splendor of all sorts of defenses and planar influences came out with some creaking. For Weaver, it was a bit of a squeak because I wasn't even going to worry about someone weaker.

I'm almost a hundred percent sure he's got a good sense of the approximate location, the location of the "almost breach," but to get a closer look at the subject, he's going to have to shift his focus and start looking. Except that Eternal is not an out-of-the-way Ostmark, where there is nothing and no one capable of interfering with him. Here, in the capital of the Empire of the Ages, where the temple stands on the temple, the guild on the guild, and powerful mages make your eyes water - it would be a very unwise decision to try to take the whole city under the hood.

Yes, the Empire of Ages does not have dreamers and mirrors of any comparable caliber. No one has them, except for the Empire of the Arms, and even then, with huge reservations. But even just a group of competent specialists would be able to notice such a brazen appearance. Weaver, of course, can deceive, confuse, subdue, stupefy, or even replace too vigilant guards with puppets, but even he has a limit. And he will not come into conflict with the entire capital, with all its resources and already agitated defenders.... right off the bat.

Yes, his attention, or, to be more precise, the attention of his handmade emissaries, is to be expected. It is simply impossible not to expect because he will send them with a guarantee close to absolute. But it will be quiet and unobtrusive attention, cautious, and therefore slow. This forced delay will give me a chance to erase and lose the most important details, images, and evidence, to hide them before all interested parties get to them.

It is because of this that the mood is slow to improve.

While the rest of the team, including the couple who'd already returned, were slowly settling into their new home, I needed to dive into the Dream and work there. And I'll dream about House-2 for the rest of my life if I manage to get even a decent nap, let alone a full night's sleep, in the next three days.

T.N. House-2 is the name of a reality show. Of a notorious mind-killer.

* * *

To erase memory is both difficult and easy if we are talking about a spherical average person in a vacuum. The essence of the problem is that any influence on the mind will be counteracted by the victim of the influence, his subtle body, the mind itself, and banal willpower. To make a knight in love completely forget his lady of heart is extremely difficult, especially if you want to do it in a rush. A good specialist will stretch such a task for many small steps and one-time effects, removing the image of a beautiful lady from the memory of the knight. Slowly, imperceptibly, gradually, undermining feelings and blurring the experience until the beauty will not stop visiting the washed head.

Even a simple landscaper is not so easy to radically rewrite the memory, although there the resistance will be purely symbolic. Yes, high levels, skill, and experience in the use of their talents will allow mentalists and other fans of twisting other people's brains to do a lot of things, often even unnoticed by the victim. But always, the main enemy and ally of such masters will be His Majesty Time - as long as there is time, as long as you can take your time, the chances of success are much higher. As soon as time starts to run out, difficulties multiply like mushrooms after rain.

On the other hand, when it is not about something intimate and carefully kept in the depths of the human (or non-human, let's not be racist!) soul but about mundane stuff that you didn't even pay attention to, the situation turns around. Among classes of this type, a fairly popular but punishable and frowned upon exercise is to go to a busy street and glimpse minimal impact on the minds of passersby. If the level doesn't allow it, then on the minds of all sorts of shopkeepers who aren't moving anywhere.

Nothing fatal, no. It's just to remove, say, the image of a random passerby, a complete stranger who passed by an hour ago - the subject has long forgotten this person himself, and the mentalist or memory wizard only needs to make sure that they can't remember him back. Not only those who work with memory but also those who rule the personalities of future slaves and servants like to use such tricks to hone their skills. It helps a lot to get the right tricks, but if you do get caught, you will be beaten very long and thoughtfully. It is good, if just with feet and not with blades taken out of their sheaths.

In my particular case, there were plenty of witnesses, just as there were plenty of people who saw our faces. I'm not talking about the guys who'd overheard, even if they didn't care, Losius's real name. They were not only in the arena, where they all had their memories corrected but also in the corridor. That's a little unfortunate, to put it bluntly. Even for a good Seer, it's very little, just extremely little. No need to really panic and bury yourself in a coffin. If it were otherwise, the world would be ruled by seers, not kings and emperors.

And we didn't hesitate to over-insure ourselves either. A few potions with cosmetic effects, slightly distorted appearances, false names, and legends, absence of traces or personal belongings, body particles, and imprints of essence. All this fits into the concept of paranoid caution. Even Losius, though his appearance had changed less than others, might have gone unrecognized if only for his reaction to meeting his blood enemy. That's why he apologized for getting into trouble - he immediately showed that he knew the guy's face, though he could have tried to pretend he didn't understand. Not that it would have worked, but he could have - he resembled his real self quite distantly. However, this world knew cosmetic alchemy better than many other parts, and he refused to recolor the mane. And I'm not even talking about the obligatory change of small details with the help of shadow disguise, without which no one walked under the gaze of others!

In any case, I have no trouble brewing up a new batch of cosmetics, followed by a bit of makeup. Without a full-fledged healer, it's easy to turn yourself into a freak, but even the small and safe changes that can be made with just a potion, without any intervention, are enough to disguise. And that's not even mentioning the possibilities of using stolen shadows and shit. A permanent illusion, maintained by a treated Shadow and requiring no intervention from me, is also available.

At one time, I even tried tying such Shadows to contract anchors in the form of small amulets, but after thinking, I decided not to make such a vulnerability. My critters could be turned on and off (and the project had the makings of a freely controllable disguise that could take any form, not just the true one I had set) with a simple application of magic. We did not use this method simply because even a purely energetic disguise was not easy for the psyche, and if the material for Creation will serve as an even stronger Shadow, it will be too powerful. And it was also noticeable. The current disguise, under which Losius and I had visited the Library, was extremely difficult to detect, but if you put a lot of extra stuff on it, like the ability to freely change your appearance to an arbitrary one, it would be harder to hide the background.

Now, I guess I'd have to work at it, dealing with the Shadows again. I'd be fine, but the rest of us would have to cuddle with them! And if Losius hadn't met those bastards, even if he had just walked out into that corridor a couple of minutes later, everything would have been fine! But it's time to get back to the problem of wiping up the traces instead of continuing to think about the reasons for the fiasco and what I should have done to prevent it.

I could have tried to erase all the memories and traces of our stay from the minds of others, even if I couldn't vouch for the results of such an attempt. I didn't make that attempt because it would have been a rather stupid thing to do. That is, in such a situation, the absence of traces would be a trace in itself, a very bright trace. Right now, the House owner's men, as well as some of the Eyes, are looking for a subversive group, among whom there may be a strong dream walker and mentalist or simply the bearer of a powerful artifact tied to Dream. It's a serious company, dangerous because it's in the heart of the Empire of Ages, and who the hell knows what their brainiacs are up to?

But for now, the saboteurs sought, who disliked Melareth for something, fall under the definition of "just" a cool group of powerful and previously unknown to the general public. Or, more likely, of those personalities who have previously worked far, far away, so far away that information about them is either false or not widely enough known to the all-seeing Eyes. But if I pull it off, no matter with full or partial success, the very "wiping to zero," they will be looking not for the elite squad but for the second Weaver. Or the first one, wondering at the same time what the ancient creature wanted from Melareth.

Alas, as much as I'd like to pretend to be my enemy, the Eyes are not fools. And I'm not sure I can convince them that I'm the Weaver. More likely, they'll quickly realize that someone very clever has decided to pretend to be an ancient scarecrow... and sell me out to the creature itself. They won't even have to try very hard, just not too hard to hide the rising tide of events. A Weaver-level clairvoyant, with all his supporting nightmares that could easily replace dozens of visionary circles, would simply not be able to miss the attempted frame-up. The Eyes will be left, figuratively speaking, to grab some popcorn and crunch it while their two unambiguous foes work out their problems. I have already heard and seen how jealously Weaver treats his anonymity and professional pride. Even if that thing hadn't been after me, it would have started after this.

Not try to mimic someone else's handwriting, but still erase everything I reach for? In a different situation, it would have been ideal... if Weaver wasn't already willing to hurt me! That left only the most difficult, complicated, and difficult option - to try to hide only part of the echoes, to take away only part of the memory, so that the remaining information ballast would be enough to build the version I needed.

Somehow it's suspiciously reminiscent of my home planet - I went to a corporate party, but instead of rest, I got a heavy hangover, problems, and a new pile of work the very next day. Worlds change, situations change, but some things stay the same, fuck.

I didn't open my eyes until morning, so I spent the night hugging mirrors, ruining my clothes with Dream. I was protecting myself, but there was not enough concentration to protect my clothes. Tia came back to help me from dousing the room of the new shelter with the same Dream. The master of rituals, even without a class, was quite able to build a chain of some symbols that did not let Dream out of the central hall. When I looked closer, I realized that there were six of them, each one farther and farther away from the previous one.

Well, yeah.

Stopping the power of this plane with a standard ritual figure on neutral magic was a quantum physics problem. If she had at least a specialized class or a higher (i.e. legendary) skill level, she could have done it right away. Alas, Tia had to work hard because the power of the Dreams simply merged with the first versions of the barrier, distorting and blurring it. By the time she managed to find the right combination, the first two circles had already stopped working. And even the matching circles gradually thinned, forcing the elf to draw new ones.

She would have used a ritual based on the power of the Stars, but she was afraid of throwing off my concentration, and her druid class was too destructive, especially against the backdrop of what could be made of the already crappy plant constructs under the influence of the power of Reflection. I think if the background had gotten too serious, Tia would have switched to heavier artillery, but the situation wasn't serious.

And rituals?

This house is made of wood by a larger measure. Only the foundation is stone. For a druid of her level, a simple wish and a drop of energy would be enough to make the signs appear on the boards. If she had carved them by hand, the security of the defenses would have been greater, but Tia sensibly chose not to exert herself beyond the necessary. Or she didn't want to pry her hands closer to the room, where the lilac mist made it impossible to see even the walls.

* * *

"How are you here without me." His voice came out surprisingly even and even without a wheeze or a dry throat. "No emperor killed, no revolution started, no dragon eggs stolen?"

I add the venom in my voice more out of inertia, wanting to inflame myself again, to bring me out of my stupor. No matter how much I braved it, no matter how much I talked about my awesomeness, this marathon had been hard, very hard. It wasn't even the reserve, especially since it had been a long time since I'd emptied it. It's about mental tension and the constant readiness to get kicked.

I had to work under the constant expectation of a blow, both from the dreamers of the empire and from the Weaver who came near me. Neither of them attacked me, leaving my buns alone and my asshole untouched. But the very anticipation of some kind of shit was twitchy, infuriating even. I was used to being the person to jump out from behind another bad guy with a "surprise, motherfucker" yell, not the bad guy.

"We didn't do any of the above." With complete seriousness, Tia brushes it off, interrupting Taria's clearly in the mood for a prank. "All dolls have been eliminated, all personal items have been delivered, and the rest of the bases have been checked. I still don't think we've chosen a good place to take shelter and wait out the storm. The harbor is a better fit, and there are more ways to get away from there as well."

By port, she means a small house in the River Port of Eternal. It belonged to one of the merchants with criminal ties, who had drowned at the bottom of the river for the natural reason of having a stone tied to his neck. In the next couple of months, while the bandits shake their fists and find out the extent of their wrongdoing, no one will visit the house. Everything of value has been taken out of the house, and a chalked-up sign from one of the river gangs will keep the scum from settling their asses there. There would probably never be a war between the gangs, but the building would be forgotten for a long time. That's why I created another billet for a base there, in case the main one was lost.

"No, don't be ridiculous." Hans shook his head, interrupting Taria again, only with an indignant exclamation. "I've been there, back when I helped Tin get the fucking mirror in there. There's not enough room to get comfortable. You need space to paint your shit, Tin to brew potions, and stare at mirrors."

There was truth in Hans's words, for the cottage was not very large. But it was very conveniently located, and it was easy to swim along the river to the richer neighborhoods, as well as to retreat. The same trouble with signaling systems, which can't be put in the water so easily. Tia, I'll note, was aware of all this, but she was used to any inconvenience. If necessary, she could live in a village latrine for a month without being seen by the villagers and without resenting the cramped conditions. In this respect, I and the others are inferior to her. We're used to comfort, even if it's relative. And being cooped up in the middle of a patch of free space is not the experience we all need.

"A lair in the harbor really isn't much for a long stay." I'm diplomatically trying to quell the conflict. "You can work just as well from here, and freedom of movement is really important. Well, for me, it certainly is."

A treat of unprecedented generosity - look into the eyes of a beautiful elf and feel like a sissy. That was her way of giving me the image in response to what I said. Not to insult me but with a desire to poke fun at me. The habit of always ignoring personal comfort when working outside the native forest is ingrained in her quite seriously. She understands that my option is no worse, except for some distance from the city center, which is no barrier to my abilities. But still, she doesn't accept the desire to make her ass comfortable, even if she has to work a little harder for it.

If such a decision really decreased efficiency, I would even understand it, but so far, all the disadvantages were expressed in slightly longer escape routes. This is even though I was the first to arrive here. So I could start setting up defenses right away and then work with a brain eraser.

"A prisoner now?" Losius hides his excitement too much when he asks that question, and he's a little out of sorts, and not just because of his dueling problem.

"Yes, let's do her now." There's no hurry because the necessary steps are done, and there's no time pressure anymore. "And no, Taria, let's not have any of your fantasies on the subject. I'm not going to do any of the things you just imagined... probably. And, speaking of imagination. Tia, what was the deal with the search through the seers? In the depths of the Dream, I didn't pay much attention to that vector."

It was our second professional seer who was given the task of monitoring the work of the enemy seers. In principle, she had already learned with my help all the traps and deceptions prepared for the prince's assassin, so she was able to act with limited effectiveness even in the center of the capital, where only the lazy people were not looking for her. Even now, with the decline in searches, she could only conceal herself and keep track of attempts to find her. Active searching... let's just say she'd need to get away from the walls of the Eternal for several days passes at least. Or better yet, immigrate to the Empire of the Arms altogether.

"Within our expectations." She reports in a detached manner as if she were in her thoughts. "The abandoned residence has already begun to be searched, but even the stone hulks have faded and turned to ashes from the fiery heat. I was able to catch a rather carelessly disguised glimpse of the interrogators. The form you took was revealed by the illusion crystals. They captured images of ours, even if only partially."

Yes, I had known about the fact the House had both means of surveillance and analogs of Earth video tracking. It's good that no one put those crystals in simple corridors that even record voices, but only those that record images. Some part of these crystals, which resembled not video cameras, but photo traps, capturing separate frames, was destroyed by Dream's power during the escape. But even the rest was enough to find the images of the suspicious company and get to our tail.

It was good that at least all the brothels of the House had a special purification field that removed all traces of organic origin so that they couldn't be used to cast the same beacon or curse. I had to work hard to get this line of investigation "buried". To trust the most incompetent, so they would not strain themselves, confused, mixed up girls, and all that. Though, to tell the truth, they were already searching in such a way that only the above-mentioned closed field would be enough to hide Hans, Losius, and Taria. I did as little as possible to prevent them from bringing in any cool specialists and to prevent them from searching at all.

"I did not go into the depths of the stream, recognizing the risk as too great." Tia continued, removing the traces of the rituals she had created. "It might be worth checking the investigation itself, but without your support, it would be too complicated an endeavor."

She exchanged a series of images with me along with her words, pointing out details that words could not describe or would take too long to describe. Strangely enough, we did seem to have gotten away with it. Of course, it was still unclear how much I had provoked Weaver or if I had provoked him at all, but so far, the outlook wasn't too bleak.

The hunch did not come at once, but when it did, it was ridiculously obvious, so much so that he could have guessed it earlier rather than speculate. The Honorable Owner is a very high-flying bird, and there are plenty of people who want to kill him. Not to say he's so conflicted, but the mere presence of money, power, and influence makes you an a priori target for all those who would like to see yours as their own. Even if you were the holiest of purities, there's still no way to avoid conflict! The Honorable was a relatively adequate person by local standards, which I was able to grasp while I was cleaning his memory, but he still had enemies.

And here he is literally caught with his pants down, cut to pieces, and not killed. I can't tell yet what conclusions he drew or what hint he thought our accidental conflict was, but without even directing my knowledge, I'm pretty sure he won't be looking for that set of artifacts he tried to barter from Melareth again. Because he honestly can't believe that a group of a Duelist who took down a real Summoned and a brainiac who managed to take him down was sent to visit him by accident.

It wasn't the only version, but it was one of the strongest, one that had taken root deeper in his mind than any other. They had killed those who knew too much about the artifacts, and the careless buyer had been persistently dissuaded from further search. And it was not certain that they no longer had the artifacts, as they told him because they could have stashed them for themselves.

There's even a logic to it. At first, Melareth had no idea what he had in his stash, but the very interest of the House and its Owner force them to search. And they found it, and more than the old media magnate knew! They found it and abruptly refused to sell it, trying to politely jump off his offer and balking at the price. And someone did not appreciate it and nailed the diplomats, at the same time, hinting to the Owner of the House so he did not show off and did not twitch.

And the very presence of a Dream Master of such a level led straight to the Empire of the Arms, which was not at war with the Empire of the Ages and could be considered an ally. That's why they killed only the delegates and the guide-curator from the Eyes, who was probably already bought and taken as a share. It was a polite reminder from the yellow-skinned dreamers that they were allies, of course, but it was not worth it to be impudent and get involved in the trade of their relics. Well, or not exactly the Empire of the Arms' relics, but something for which they were generous enough to give such a showy slap on the face.

Funny.

My actions were mistaken for those of the two most powerful neighbors of the Empire of the Ages, the ones inhabited by humans. The few whose opinions even the Eternals had to reckon with. It would be nice if I could fake the Kingdom of Neithmak to get the big four together, but I'd better not, or there'd be no one left to blame my shenanigans on. And if they (or their diplomats) talk to me and realize that someone is playing a trick on them, it'll be a crying cry for Kostik. However, negotiations and voluntary exchange of top-secret information between Alishan and the Ages is a too fairy-tale fantasy even by Alurei's standards.

As soon as my discussion with Tia was over, Losey called me to speak, and he looked so pompous and exalted that it made me uncomfortable. That was why I didn't wait for him to speak, answering immediately before the question was asked. I was afraid, I confess, that the Soul of the Mocker would make me do something stupid, after which I would have to apologize.

* * *

"I will look into her memory.' I say, not taking my eyes off my friend's very attentive eyes. 'If she knows anything about your mother's disappearance or knows someone who does, you'll be the second to know after me."

In response to that statement, Losius looked confused, then thoughtful, then frowned, and even waggled his head in annoyance, which wasn't really characteristic of him. After all, I too often forget how young he is, much younger than I am. This world makes you grow up when you're still a child if you want to live and breathe. Against the background of this child of Alurei, Konstantine of his time on Earth was simply the epitome of infantilism. However, I must admit that even by the standards of the Earth society, I was the embodiment of infantilism and not only for Alurei.

"Losius, I don't mean to be rude, but you're looking at a clairvoyant." I can feel my long-distance captain's uniform sprouting on me. "In normal times, I do my best not to look at your personal bugs, and I do it successfully. So successfully that I only found out about the candied fruit stolen from me when I saw the empty bag of candied fruit!"

"You can't prove anything!" Taria burst into the conversation, immediately assuming a look of insulted innocence as if she hadn't said anything.

"So, about clairvoyance." I wait for the chuckles of my comrades to subside, happy to notice that even Hestia and Losius are smiling, even if barely perceptibly. "I try to stay out of other people's business, yes. But, trust me, what you're thinking right now would be guessed not only by the possessor of the ability to understand but by anyone. Even Taria."

"Hey!" Insulting and feminine.

"Ha!" Fun and investigative.

"Or Hans." I clarified just to be sure.

"What?!" Outraged in a tracker kind of way.

"Ha!" Vindictively feminine.

It was as if all the air had been sucked out of the duelist, so hunched over he was, and even, it seemed to me, aged in appearance. Old wounds like that - often resurface when you can't bear to touch them. Even if you'd wanted to for a long time, even if you'd dreamed of opening them at the right moment.

"So obvious?" Now there stood before me the Losius that even close friends rarely see, unlike the always impeccably self-assured mask that had grown not even to his face but to his skull.

"Losius." I let a little resentment into my voice. "I may not be the smartest, and sometimes I think where I usually sit, but I have a good memory. I remember very well what you said about why Melareth was not liked in your House. I remember it very well. And it's a question I've been waiting to ask for a long time, just not wanting to rush you."

"I wish I could wash your mouth out with soap, Tin, but it wouldn't help." He shook his head tiredly, sitting down in the dusty chair, which had become rusty with time and neglect. "I should have asked a long time ago, before the Stone. But there was no time to distract you then, and then we were running away. To my shame, I was afraid of finding out the truth and not being able to share it with you."

It took me a few seconds to realize the implication, and then I jumped to my feet and struggled to hold back a foul comment. It was just very hard to hold it back, and at the same time I was glad that Hans couldn't understand what he had said, or he wouldn't have even started to curse, but kicked Losius immediately.

"Losius, cunt!" I growled, and in a human way, without the addition of planar force. "I'm gonna kick you in the forehead, you peacock!"

Look to look and, to my surprise, Losius withheld that look without the slightest difficulty.

"Did you think I was going to leave you and your pain to fight alone and go on my main fucking quest?" The growl in my voice was getting stronger and stronger, and I was starting to get seriously pissed off, realizing I was right in my assumption. "You... you! Yes, you! Okay, I'm gonna go find some booze, come back with it, and only then I'm gonna fuck you up, lone hero, for fuck's sake."

"Tin, I..." He can't hold my gaze, but he tries to interrupt my monologue.

"And now you're going to explain your words to Hans!" I added vindictively, forcing the boy to look at the gloomy tracker, who had also gotten the gist of the situation.

* * *

After the Melareth's defeat of Sorz, which had been devastating for all sides of the conflict and in which the noble House of Asterium had lost the lion's share of its people, blood bearers, and landowners, they had been trying to get justice from the King. Not even the return of allotments or compensation for spending, but simply an answer to the questions they had asked. It all ended in a mysterious attack of brigands, during which Losius's mother and some of her loyal servants, who were just returning from the capital after trying to find out more, mysteriously disappeared forever.

The Asteriums were not fools, as I had experienced, and they realized that it was not for nothing that a well-coordinated band of brigands had managed to reach the caravan so successfully. They also realized that it was useless to search any further if they still wanted to preserve the blood and the name of the House in history and not let the whole family fade away. Losius understood that, too.

I also knew that if he could learn the names, or at least more or less recognizable identities, of those behind Vilia Asterium's disappearance, he could not, would not, and would not want to hold back. I realized that no duty, no word given to me, no burden shared with me, no main quest could hold him back. That he would ignore my possible orders and prohibitions, and then he would go to judgment since the Crown refused to give them all that judgment.

Do you get it?

This bastard thought I would demand him to shut his mouth and continue working for my ambitions and obligations because we were changing the world, not avenging a long-dead woman! I, of course, showed myself to be an enthusiastic person, and I was not going to give up my goals, but he really thought I would shut him down. It caused not even anger but some almost childish resentment. Anyway, I'd left right, letting Hans speak for the two of us. And then Taria would add to it, and Hestia would give me a judgmental look, which worked just as well as a good slap.

Fuck!

And he did have reason to think so, especially at the beginning of our adventures, before Stone.

I got the booze from a small liquor store, where the few well-to-do people in this poor neighborhood - that is, almost entirely criminals - shopped. I traveled through Shadow using a shadow step to get there faster. I put on my stolen shadow, changed the appearance I'd captured by Creation even more, and then stupidly walked into the shop, threw a handful of silver on the table, grabbed a few bottles, and left before the shocked salesman started telling me that this place was only for their own.

And I'm sure that at some point, Losius realized I wouldn't interfere with his vengeance, and I was even willing to help him. Especially since organizing the kidnapping of a couple of Melareth's top aristocrats was a good way to get some information on the subject of summoning Heroes and Shackled Ones. Not on the level of what I'd learned from Roche, but still, an extra source of information to check against would be useful.

He understood, he realized that he'd been thinking too much about our club... in the style of the local aristocrats. He realized it, but he didn't dare to speak, just so as not to offend. I'd noticed that he sometimes felt something like that, and I'd caught images of his happy childhood and his beloved mother, but I thought he was homesick, not hateful. And yet he, such a creature, kept silent! And he would have kept silent, if it hadn't been for the meeting with an old acquaintance and a carrier of the Envoy class who turned out to be in our hands. An envoy who could have had the answers to Losius's questions in her head.

Bastard.

I returned to the wine shop in the same guise, threw another handful of silver on the counter, and doubled the amount of glassware and clay bottles of high-degree drinks I had purchased. Then I realized once again that I couldn't get drunk anyway, so I turned back from the door and threw another handful of silver, tripling the number of bottles and filling the bag I had taken for this purpose to the brim.

"Hey, man." One of the thugs who came in here said in a bullish voice, watching me silently and without the help of the salesman shoving booze into the bag. "You, that is..."

"What," I said without emotion or even a question, turning around and staring straight at him, not letting out a drop of shadow or any other power.

"You, uh. Take the second bag, man." Cautiously says the bandit, taking his hands off the baton hanging on his belt, padded with iron rings. "It'll be uncomfortable to carry."

"Thanks." I take the bag lying slightly away from the counter and fill it with booze as well, throwing in a particularly large handful of silver and emptying my wallet of all coins except gold. "Have a good day."

"Uh-huh." Both the thugs and the salesman nod at once. "You take care of yourself, man."

Exit, go around the corner, go into stealth, and immediately transition through the Shadow.

I should have brought a third bag as well.

* * *

When I returned to the base, I found Hestia staring at everyone with a judgmental look, Hans with a blanch under his eye, Losius with a blanch under his other eye, Taria with a resentful look, trying to get out of the old and very dusty rug (perhaps the most valuable thing that had ever been in this house) in which she had been unceremoniously wrapped and Tia looking at all of this with a barely restrained desire to make a facepalm. They looked at each other grimly but without deadly resentment. That was good, I guess.

"Tin, help!" Victim of His Pileness mumbled bawdily. "They captured me, promising to do terrible and unnatural things to me! Save me, Tin, please!"

"Well, why did you do that?" I look at both men judgmentally, earning a smug snicker from the former townswoman. "Why didn't you gag her?"

"We tried," Hans replied, gently probing his front teeth, checking them for dangerous wobbles.

"But it rolled away very quickly," Losius added, writhing painfully at the touch of a bruise that was turning color.

"You have no heart!" The dancer accused us all pathetically and then created material illusions of steel blades, which cut the carpet that bound her into pieces, allowing her to get out, but raising too much dust, causing the girl to sneeze.

After a while, we sat down again at the massive cracked table, from which we even managed to wipe off the dust and began to stare at each other. No one began to raise the topic of trust and distrust. We understood everything we needed to know and let poets and other bohemian characters deal with the empty shaking of the air with pathos phrases about combat brotherhood and true friendship. The silence lasted for quite a long time, and I was beginning to feel some awkwardness, which I decided to smooth out by getting down to work.

There were no hints, no embedded images, or anything else. Just in an instant, we all realized that there was no point in sitting around thinking about gloomy things any longer, and it was time to get down to business. Amazing unanimity, nothing to say. This is the true manifestation of team cohesion.

The mind of the Royal Envoy and, judging by the contents of her mind, the royal bedmate as well, was a treasure trove of valuable information. Valuable, but of little use to me personally. Melareth was far away, and all that I could take from it had long since been taken. All these sins of the local aristocracy, details of the civil war, classification of conspiracies, and all other stuff were as useful to me as higher discrete mathematics is useful to an elephant.

Nevertheless, I sifted this lady's memory through a fine sieve simply on account of two important factors. First, I needed to find out everything I could about the individuals responsible for the troubles of House Asterium. Second, the already mentioned mechanisms for controlling the summoned, which I've only been looking forward to. The last one is directly related to the main quest of one dull-witted fellow isekai, so it's a must.

At my current level of interaction with Dream, other people's consciousnesses, and even, in a way, with their souls, the mind of a captive lady of not too high level and non-combat class was like a drawing board, not even plasticine. If you wanted, you could add strokes, if you wanted, you could remove the existing ones, if you wanted, you could reshape the finished drawing, or even use the board itself for firewood.

She had been taught to protect her mind, parts of her consciousness were hidden behind ritual contracts and divinely certified oaths, and some parts of her memory had been carefully shaded or excised with her assistance. Some she could recall under certain conditions or in association with the right individuals, and some she couldn't pull out of her memory under any circumstances. I didn't care - even if she erased something from her memory, she couldn't take away the memory of that memory from her dreams, couldn't remove the phantom images that remained reflections of past events.

The most frustrating thing here was that there was nothing of real importance behind her blocks except for another round of dirt and meanness, both her own and that of His Majesty Arial the Third, who had thinned out all his detractors by taking advantage of the Stone Riot raised by the fall. Melareth is weaker now than it has been in the last hundred years, but if they are given a chance to regain their former greatness. With that stockpile of dirt on all the new vassals and the complete sawing out of the few old ones who had a chance to "rock the boat." He's got them pegged. The main thing now is that the remaining players did not start the turmoil again, but it seems the most dangerous stage is over. The Empire of Ages should cover from external enemies, even if not without its interest in this cover.

It's all very interesting, goodbye.

Lady Tannerkal, however, knew regrettably little about the Summon, far less than old Ferer. In addition, everything she knew only confirmed the old man's theories without giving her any food for other theories. In this respect, she was a pure practitioner, not going into technical details but perfectly able to use the means entrusted to her.

Valera Denys was entrusted to her because she was of the right class and character. She was loyal to the King to the core. Not in the sense of boundless loyalty, but because if Arial turned his back on her or simply died, her life would be worth less than a copper coin. The last member of an impoverished and almost defunct House had no influential relatives, and she had made half of Melareth's enemies in the service of the Crown. Much of that was due to Arial himself. He had deliberately made her dependent on his favor, quarreling with possible allies.

The last of Tannerkal, by the way, expected to make the summoned one the successor of the family, as the heredity would be excellent, and the extra leverage of binding both the summoned one and herself was even beneficial to the crowned goat. The goat is not a joke. Not in the sense that he's horny and smelly. The implication was that the Envoy, who had worked for the royal administration half her life as a Seductress, had a very low opinion of Arial the Third's character and personality. She recognized and appreciated his professionalism and intelligence to the highest degree, but she could not tolerate his character, even though she sycophantized him with the utmost sincerity.

I don't give a damn about their sex lives or how the Melareth King bent their aristocrats over! The problem was that even after scanning the lady's body and energy in every spectrum available to me, I couldn't find even a trace of what allowed her to control the deceased summoner. I could see everything, everything, even the remnants of the acne-causing curse she'd gotten at barely twelve years old from her sworn girlfriend, but I couldn't see the controlling mechanism.

When I realized I couldn't find anything that way, I switched to plan B, starting to look for traces, not in the energy but in the same memory. And here, it was a little easier, even if only in comparison with the previous task. The Envoy remembered perfectly well the day when the summoning took place, as well as remembered the strange feeling that came over her at the moment of the summoning completion when a bewildered-looking man in family pants and with a can of beer in his hands just appeared in the multilayered ritual circle.

Most of all, Yoke resembled another system interface, only without the interface, as stoned as it sounded. As if somewhere in the back of consciousness, where the awareness of one's Status is usually hidden, another message appeared. The same sensations, the same inexpressible and strictly individualized feeling for each inhabitant of Alurei, that something has been added to your Status. An integral part of reality for everyone, from kings, emperors, and lords, to unintelligent animals.

For me, it looks like a barely discernible flicker of bits of text somewhere on the edge of my side vision. As long as I don't get distracted, it won't distract me, even in battle, but if I just wish, a new system will appear before my eyes. For the subject, it was a gust of cool breeze, a slight draft in an unheated room. For someone else, it will be something else - individual shit, I tell you.

So.

The moment Melanie Tannerkal became a Controller, she felt exactly the same as when she leveled up, gained a skill, or earned a title. She felt it, but - attention, honorable audience - she didn't see any messages from the System! Her Status update simply wasn't there. It was absent! Instead of the clear description, Melanie was accustomed to seeing, it was something else. It was as if the same message had not arrived, or even more accurately, it was an echo, a distorted recording of that message.

The intuitive understanding that she could control her ward and direct his desires with her words within extremely wide limits. Like a leash for a trained hound, like chains and stocks for a slave, like a yoke for a cattle prod. That's for sure the was enough cynicism from those who created and afterward named this creation.

Control didn't show up in her Status. It didn't give her titles. It didn't change her skills or abilities. It was just there, hovering in the back of her mind, becoming so natural that after a couple of weeks, she stopped even paying attention to the new sensations. It was as if the mechanism was with her. It was part of the Status but part invisible. I couldn't perceive it with any of my powers, including my obscenely developed clairvoyance. That made sense since this thing was designed for Heroes. If it could be sensed and affected by even the most advanced skills and abilities, it wouldn't be so effective. So effective that in all these years, it hasn't had any meaningful misfires. After all, even I, if you think about it, the mistake is not Yoke's, but the summoners themselves, that is, the client, not the program.

That reminds me of something.

Yeah!

It's like a cheat code installed in the main game...

It's definitely something to think about later when my head is fresh and I have more time. Preferably after I've successfully searched the Eternal Library without getting either a brutal kicking or an equally brutal de-anon. For now, I'd better lighten the load on my tortured soul, finish gathering information on the Losius matter, and go to rest.

* * *
Tomorrow. or more accurately, today, we have much to discuss.

"It was these families, belonging to His Majesty's Treasury, and those Old Houses that run the Treasury, that were the main beneficiaries of your ancestral lands." I finish my story while munching on some extremely tasty hot meat pies bought by the disguised Taria in some diner. "You already knew that, but now we know for sure, along with the details that will allow us to beat for sure."

Losius sits pale as if he were some very angry ghost, squeezing the hilt of his blade harder than jackals squeeze a jpeg. During my monologue, no one uttered a single word, and Taria, who liked to joke, was silenced with a tray of pies. Some of my knowledge came from Melanie's memory, but only a small part. She didn't know much of it, since she hadn't crossed paths or touched the subject in her work, but even the data she had was enough for me to build inquiring mechanisms. And after all this, further attempts at anonymity were no longer important - not after playing cat-and-mouse with the elite of the Eternal Seers to fear such obstacles.

"Those who arranged the land transfers were obviously the treasurers." I continue, summarizing rather than recounting an hour-by-hour summary of events. "They also, pardon me if I go over the wounds, disappeared your mother. The uproar she was making was uncomfortable, albeit not in the sense of the word. No one cared about the Asteriums and their lands, but the wave of rumors she was raising could indicate that the distribution of property taken from "these yesterday's scum who thought they were their equals" had been rigged. Or rather, everyone knew, but they preferred not to make a fuss because they were satisfied, and whoever was dissatisfied went fuck themselves..."

Vilia Asterium was a smart aunt and started complaining to those who had less land. By then, she had little hope for justice, wanting only to obstruct the invaders. It would be all right if those invaders just lived off her land! But the vassals of the younger clans and bastards who were sent there were very concerned with the issue of recouping the money spent to get the land to them. Therefore, they squeezed all the available juices from the lands and subjects and a little more on top, which for Vilia, who cherished and nurtured her family property and subjects, was like a sickle on her absent balls.

Losius listened, silent, and became more and more furious.

"The attack on the caravan was organized by one Artl Vintirum, with the help of Seishan Shirt." I look as gloomy as a cloud when I tell this story, and even the pies don't help much. "The first is a representative of a noble house. You even know him in absentia, for sure. He was in Stavrosk, at court. He was often mentioned in rumors and gossip. The second - from the people of the blade. He was in charge of the force operation. Well, above the pair stood Silai Mariun, His Majesty's Sixth Advisor. The six, as you know from your home lessons, represent the Royal Treasury. So it was this money bag that was interfering... your mother.

"Please, Tin." Losius doesn't even speak, but a barely audible hiss, having lost his voice. "Speak bluntly, don't hide it. I... I hold my anger in control, just... please speak."

I wrinkled my already grim face, biting my lip, but I didn't ignore such a direct request. It wasn't that I was going to hide anything, but it wasn't pleasant to say, especially with Soul of Mocker so eager to laugh. That's right, as much as that title helps me exchange taunts in fights and troll others, it makes me unbearable in casual conversation.

"She wasn't killed right away, and you knew that because they never found the body." I exhale, waving goodbye to the possible consequences. "She was taken prisoner for fun and money. It would be difficult to sell it to their own because it's noble blood, but there are fans in Melareth who need the toy to be expensive in every sense. In the extreme case, it could be sold to Sorz, where such a product would be ripped off, probably with the seller's hands."

Even Hans was swearing, and Taria had already shut up without the pies, which she'd stopped chewing twenty minutes ago. Hestia and Tia were silent, not hurrying to touch Losius, who reeked of menace.

"No!" I shouted, already realizing the conclusions my words had led him to. "They didn't get her to the slavemancer in time. At one of the passages she broke free and, with one of the vigilantes, so full and pockmarked, rushed at the sentries. Death in a fight, she even managed to snatch a dagger from its sheath. Much better than... you got it."

It was just a pity that she couldn't stab anyone with that dagger - not a fighting class, after all. And they had some fun with her, but without the slavemancing, avenging the slashed face of one of the overseers. But I'm not going to tell him these details... Just fuck such details, and that's it.

"You caught most of the bandits later, but all those who knew about the second part of the plan and the kidnapping of some of the prisoners were put to rest by your father's secret guards. " I explain, taking the subject away from the darkest details. "And the leader, who was given to you, had his memory cleansed with some artifact, and he was a madman who was no use to be tortured. Of those involved in that case, five more are alive now, and two have even settled down and started a family. Respectable people. They will be dead by the end of this decade, and they will be happy about it, I promise.

Losius stood up from the table and paced the living room of the long-abandoned house, the withered boards creaking mercilessly, trying to calm his nerves and suppress the urge to go straight into battle.

"Their families." The anger that was contained in two words would have been the envy of a weaker Shadow.

"No underage kids in there," I replied, smiling my wicked smile and lowering the disguise on my pale, pale face. "You won't have to get your hands dirty. Do you trust my imagination, or do you wish to order something special for them?"

"Your choice." The same meager reply and a new batch of steps in a circle, suppressing the urge to summon Heaven and beat, beat, beat, beat while he have the strength. "I do not wish to impose my will..... will you give my pain to the Sixth Advisor and his minions? I realize I am asking a lot, and I do not require you to assist me in my vengeance right this very hour, but..."

For the first time in a long time, I smile genuinely contentedly, reporting one of the few pieces of good news I was able to glean from my clairvoyance session.

"You've already gotten your revenge on them." I nodded at Tia, who looked up, thoughtfully remembering something. "Here, our lover of bad flora can tell you more about it."

"By then, I was already banished and forgotten, disenfranchised from being one of them." The elf said calmly and judiciously, not taking her eyes off the angry man's eyes. "But even in this state, the gift of sight has shown me part of the web of events, illuminating it with a light stellar and infinite. I'm sorry, but I can only speculate. I've had little interest in what's going on in recent years, even in the Eternal Forest, let alone in the more distant periphery. I'd rather hear clarification from Tin's lips than say something that isn't true."

I guessed, but only by the edge of her consciousness, by intuition, not having a clear understanding of the correctness of her version, so she did not dare to speak now when any word of her could wound my companion worse than a blade.

"That camp of slavecatchers and the bastard elf we saved," I reported with a satisfied smile, slightly reducing the fountain of hatred, but then I turned my head to Tia and clarified. "No offense to you personally, yes. So here it is. The Slavecatchers. They were Sylai's people, albeit through an intermediary in the form of Artl. Too bad Seishan was eliminated seven years ago by the same Artl. Okay, stop. The Slavecatchers."

Getting up from the table and warming up, and just from excitement too.

"The Slavecatchers were Silay's," I repeat what I've already said. "As you well remember, we trampled them a little, just a little. And the elves who came to rescue the little bastard did the rest. Artl, however, was killed by Silay himself. Drowned in the pool. The vision was so vivid it was sickening. And the sweetest Treasurer was sent an arrow with some kind of funny poison by eared comrades who were not his comrades. I touched the memory of the mirror in his house where they were trying to cure him. Anyway, it was a long, long agony. It was like he'd been dying for 24 hours and a couple or three years at the same time. I don't know if it was poison or magic, but it was quite beautiful. And you had a hand in it yourself if that makes you happy."

Losius flashed with a new wave of anger and bloodlust, then sighed, silently whispered some words I wouldn't listen to, and then poured a wave of Heaven power over himself, extinguishing his irrational emotions. The Heaven, by the way, could have been dimmed a little more - the disguise, of course, holds, but I don't like it!

"It makes," And after a moment's thought, he added. "Very much so."

"There may have been someone behind Sylay, and it wasn't the King. I'm sure." Just to be sure. "I'm picking up some very old images of a visionary. A familiar seer, I've seen prints of him on another case, a fucking artist. But I'll have to look harder and more carefully, and I already know everyone directly involved in that attack. And you, you glowing moron. You could have asked me earlier instead of waiting for who knows how long!!!"

Even Hestia flinched at my scream, and Taria fell from the chair she'd decided to rock on, but Tia grabbed her. No, she fell so that Tia could grab her and hold her, preventing her from hitting the floorboard with the back of her head. Tia realized this too and let Taria fall back down, causing Taria to smile and zero her weight.

"I admit, your offense is completely justified." Already quite calmly replies Losius, and only in the depths of his eyes flickers a bad glimmer of endless blue."As Hans would say, whipped out a cigarette."

"You fall!" Hans corrected him at once and couldn't help laughing. "You'd better not even try to speak normally because it's funny as hell."

"A normal one?" Losius was taken aback by such a rebuke. "I beg you, my friend, don't tell me that you sincerely think your manner of speech is normal!"

"Okay, I won't." Hans gives him a poker face nod, defusing the situation.

Even Tia smiled, which was quite telling, even if her smile resembled that of a person watching a video of a kitten trying to jump up on a table and hitting the table funny.

* * *

My Napoleonic plans for conquering the Library and the pretty librarians were turning to dust right now. The original plan had been for Losius and me to spend a long, diligent visit to the Library, looking for a riddle we'd thought up in advance without arousing suspicion and slowly picking up the keys to the defenses. It was a rather naive idea, but even with all its naiveté, there was a chance of success. But first, there was Tia, and after a funny fight, all the plans flew to the depths of the village latrine, and then we finished these plans safely with our efforts, having gone to the House of a Thousand Spectacles for a rest.

I shared those thoughts with the team, telling them to think about where to go from the Eternal so we could start the fun and the infiltration process all over again. The Empire of the Arms looked tempting, but it's too rigid a class society, where outsiders with the wrong kind of eyes are best not to show their faces. Besides, even though their guild archives are very complete, not to mention the Imperial Rarity Vault, you can't get free access there. And then there's the fact that there are many points of interest, not just one single Library. It's hard to guess where exactly to break into.

Alishan, despite its strength and dashing prowess, was a state entity with little prospect of finding information. This country is relatively young, and at the time of the creation of Yarm and the elimination of all those who disagreed with its creation, there were many separate caliphates and sultanates in place of Alishan, desperately fighting among themselves. Yes, its vaults are now full, and Alishan itself has proven time and time again that underestimating it is a very foolish way to die. The mere fact that the Empire of Ages has never once managed to inflict a crushing defeat on Alishan, despite centuries of feuding and many ruined lives on both sides, speaks a lot. The Empire of Arms prefers to remain neutral with Alishan, not risking a full-fledged war.

In addition, in Alishan, you can officially buy any slaves and slave girls, in general, any and every taste. The best slavemancers and the most successful slave traders are recognized to live and work there. This is triply surprising - they sell their goods on the side, albeit in a reduced assortment (the most unique slaves will still go to the Alishan high society). And at the same time, it somehow turned out too rarely that the slaves left bookmarks or malicious behavioral algorithms. With the showy dishonesty and treating everyone who isn't Alishan like shit, it only raised even more suspicion. Professional ethics, as it turns out, even such badass blacksmiths have them.

There's no reason for us to go into this clop-house, even if there are plenty of interesting. The same developments in shadow magic, if you think about it. Dark classes are honored there, and their owners are not in a hurry to burn at the stake. If you think about it, Alishan is the place where you can successfully get lost and settle down for a year or two because there are enough pockets of dead lands where all sorts of things creep in and out, and the power of the Great Caliph remains nominal. And I am not talking about their Great Desert, which itself is one huge piece of perdition!

So far, the most obvious option was the Kingdom of Neitmak, which was small in size but very toothy and had one of the highest levels of erudition among human states. Compact and fertile lands, the availability of vast amounts of resources and the rarest reagents, as well as respectable military might. All of this allowed a kingdom the size of three and a half Melareth or one-seventh of the Empire of Ages to stand, if not on equal footing with the same Empire, then not to jump too high. And they had to jump up to get punched in the face quite often. There were so many people who wanted to seize their territories that they had to match it so as not to disappear from the maps completely.

The state itself, though older than Alishan, had not caught the creation of Yoke either. But they had many archives and repositories with chronicles of those days, as the current capital of Neitmak was located on the ruins of the previous inhabitants of their territories. That fortunate location, as well as a successful coup d'état, allowed these chronicles to be captured almost without a fight. In many ways, it would be even easier for us to infiltrate than the Eternal Library.... except the information I need is not guaranteed.

Various options were suggested.

The argument was quite intense, though without much fire. The defeat in the Eternal had taken its toll on us, whatever one may say. Leaving empty-handed, having failed all the achievements and only by a miracle not declassified finally - an unpleasant experience after many clean victories. Even I feel uncomfortable as if I'm abandoning the quest halfway through, even though I've long ago stopped perceiving reality as just another game.

And at some point, Tia, who had been silent, spoke up, taking an advisory part in the general discussion but offering no ideas. She was afraid to remind the others that the current situation was more than half her fault.

"And may I ask why we are going to change the vector of effort?" And then somewhat conciliatory. "Don't think like I'm trying to belittle your actions, but why would you even try to break through the walls of eternity yourself? Taria shared a story about how you saved the eternal of one of the Star Maidens. And that you didn't have to be there in person at all, but only a mirror-reflected puppet, a skillful garment created from the body and memory of your enemy."

The fanciful metaphor, however, immediately pointed to a solution to the problem that I had somehow forgotten. Or rather, not forgotten, but discarded, simply because...

"No way." I shook my head negatively, remembering the reason I'd dismissed it. "The defense systems, for one thing, can detect the puppet, and for another, the Library is protected from Dream, too. Or rather, the Library doesn't exist in Dream. There's no way to do an encore."

"What if we make the puppet in advance?" Tia objected. "I'm sorry, but I can only judge from not the most complete knowledge, having no real experience with Mirrors. Is it possible to create ready-made enchantments in advance, tie them onto the mirror shards as you do with the barriers, and then use one of the book servants like a living container to deliver the construct?"

Hm.

Hm.

Hm-hm-hm.

And I'm a very bad influence on her, just a terrible influence, let's be honest! Because the idea, though it is based on deep and sacrificial planarism, so unloved by elves, but it combines its experience and a lot of improvisation. For an elf, the very fact of suggesting "let's do random deadly dangerous and hard-to-implement bullshit" without a clear plan for the execution of this bullshit, but with the hope of improvisation in the future is a very uncharacteristic way of thinking. But there is a certain amount of common sense in this idea because it is so crazy that it might work.

I have seen Weaver's work. I have seen his creatures in which the very pieces of mirrors (or rather the materialized power of Dreams that took the form of mirror shards) were literally fused. And, if need be, I can repeat or make a confident attempt to repeat this abomination. The other thing is that such "art" makes me sick, but I'm used to working with Shadows, aren't I? For the sake of the case, I'll find someone who I won't feel sorry for, just as I don't feel sorry for the still unkilled Envoy!

"I guess we need to find an image of someone to be the foundation." Tia continued, slowly driving herself into a trance. "Protection from the gaze of strangers on the fates of the servants of book dust is good, but I'm familiar with their modus operandi. And the personalities of some of them."

"I know at least one too." I pick up her idea, attaching my images to hers, literally running the meeting both physically and psychically at the same time. "A certain Ollo Lo, tall little guy, thirteenth level Librarian. Met us when we first got there."

"Too low level." Denial, doubt, but also a flash of inspiration, like a ready guess. "But, at the same time, it is also an opportunity. The junior staff of a Library is always subordinate to its masters, and through the subordinate, you can reach the master."

The clairvoyance boosted again, and I connect to the mirrors and strengthen my impulses of cognition. At the same time, I'm already thinking over plans and discarding stillborn options. And why limit me to one puppet or, rather, one recipient for my first creation? It is possible to approach more creatively, albeit with great risk, but at the expense of risk getting flexibility and room for maneuver.

"I should get the name and image of the master." I licked my parched lips and began to crumple the piece of mirror in my hands, sinking deeper into my visions and feeling the presence of Tia's will beside me, helping me keep control and taking away the garbage visions. "The image of Ollo himself I have already memorized and able to find him. He rarely goes out into the city, but I suppose they even let them out sometimes."

"Everyone gets released." Tia agreed, immediately clarifying. "It's not good to stay inside the abode for long, especially for those too weak in spirit. Its walls sap strength and willpower, stunting development. Those who have achieved power do not fear such harm and even benefit from it, on the contrary, becoming stronger and practically settling there, but youngsters and weaklings are often forced to spend time in specially created rest homes."

She gives me a list of strange buffs and debuffs that ruin the weakest levels, slowing down experience and lowering skills if you stay in the Library for too long. But on the contrary, those who got the second class strengthen - levels come faster, and skills grow easier. The secret carriers, who are almost all the employees of this place, just have to be let out from under the protection. Albeit in a different cell, but still - it's easier to get them there.

Fun.

In a different situation, the bottom rung of the Library would be locked up until they die or get high enough in rank and position that it's no longer appropriate to keep them locked up. But because of the debuff, it's the weaklings who are the most vulnerable to being switched and recruited and have to be let out into the larger world too often. We're not the only ones who have taken advantage of this, but our target is not the little things but their superiors. Like so many before us, if you think about it.

"Do you know who's in charge of letting visitors into the holy of holies?" I asked, simultaneously taking the bowl of healing infusion from Losius's hands as the strain was making my nose bleed. "At least a general description, without the full image."

Tia drinks from Taria's goblet, as the burden is even greater on her. It was insulting, to say the least, to use a seer of her rank as a trivial prop, but there was no one else to choose from, and she understood that.

"Don't bother, Tin." She interrupts another cognizance, not letting me burden myself too much. "That image is known to me. There's no need to look it up."

At the same moment, she transmits a peculiar tangle of images and events, which is a kind of analog of a report not even created by her. She speaks in words along with the images, obviously for the rest of the audience, while I'm digesting the dossier on the person I'm looking for.

"Pypyshch Popyatchev of the House of Prykhodonotchev, a clan of the Trydygorod, is quite famous even outside the Empire." The druid gave out this name without a single hesitation. "A very good organizer and bookman, one of the six pure-blooded halflings in the Empire of the Ages, who received such a high position and trust, despite his non-human nature. He is cunning, cruel, and greedy but also very careful and dedicated to the cause, not the personalities commanding it. There have been many assassination attempts on him, but he leaves the Library far less often than he misses his second breakfast. In the last ten years... or rather, ten years before-- He hasn't left his desk in a long time. It's not going to be easy to get to him."

Taria claps a slightly distraught Tia on the shoulder, expressing the support she doesn't need. Yes, the elfess still wasn't used to considering herself outside of her race, but comfort and understanding from others were the last things she needed. I could have said something too, but she doesn't need my reassurance too. But I was just too shaken by what I'd heard.

Pypyshch

"Okay." Deep breaths and measured breathing. "That's it. Easy. It happens."

"Tin?" The question, with a kind of worry for my sanity, was asked by what seemed to be all the companions together, including even Tia, who had moved a little away from me.

"Pypyshch Popyatchev and his subordinate Ollo Lo." With a stony expression on my face, I squeezed out of my convulsively clenched throat. "It happens, yes. I need a drink."

T.N.

I ignored the glances between my companions, who were thinking about how I would be calmed down if something happened because there were more important things to worry about. Tialrianrelia was the most perplexed of all. She had felt my condition to the fullest, and now she did not understand what had caused it.

For about half an hour, the Ultimate Hero's team could hear loud laughter coming from a remote corner of the house they were occupying, occasionally turning into sobs and mentions of such strange and rather frightening (sounding in such a place and under such conditions!) entities as [untranslatable] and [untranslatable].

"Okay, everybody, calm down!" I say loudly and confidently, but cautiously looking around. "Taria, get out from under the illusion and put down your gun! Hans, put down the Trail Generator, and don't activate it inadvertently! Hestia, quickly pull yourself back together and look human! And don't think I won't find the center of your fog in that closet! Tia, deactivate the ritual circles and call off the star power! And anyway, woodpeckers! Take an example from Losius - he didn't move at all, and he didn't even call to Heaven.... and put the Golden Needle back in the container, traitor!"

After everyone had calmed down and I had managed to prove I was not insane from the planar pressure, we went back to discussing plans. And I delighted everyone with the fact that my nervous breakdown from the traumas of my turbulent youth was proving to be quite useful.

"I have a plan." I smiled a very wicked smile, and then I pointed my finger at Melanie Tannerkal, who was still asleep under the influence of Dream and a dozen potions. "And she will help us in it very much... or rather, what's left of her will help us. Hestia, there's a job for you. Tia, you'll help with stabilization through rituals because you're the only one who knows how. Taria, I'll need the power of your mighty tits. Come on, let's get to work!"

Konstantin Yurievich is on fire.

Konstantin Yurievich has a plan.

Whoever didn't hide is not Kostik's fault.

* * *

Authors note:

So.

31 pages is thirty-one more pages than I had planned to give out today. Consider this one three at a time and don't wait at least three or four weeks for the next one. Alas, it's been a terrible slump, and I fucked up the schedule today too.

Dice.

There are a lot of dice, but I'm only bringing the most epic ones, as per tradition.

97 - Almost a crit on the first hit on the Owner of the House. And yes, MC never learned his name. There were enough minuses to the roll, but the pluses made up for them, so this result is almost a clean one.

Actually, this roll set the tone for the whole chapter. If MC hadn't succeeded in his first attack, there would have been a battle and a lot more problems. Lucky, though I was hoping for something different.

The long-prepared story about the Losius family finally fired. I planned to introduce it after the defeat of the Slavecatchers, but it turned out the way it did.

100 - with a lot of bonuses for wiping up traces after the escape. But there are really too many of those bonuses, just too many. Eyes and the Honorable's men threw out about forty. Didn't even need any extra rolls.

??? - Weaver's reaction. Spoiler, of course.

16 - a plan of action. Too bad, they have to think about running away.

35 - escape is also not an option of, for the best option was chosen initially, and all the others are much worse.

Successfully (79) rolled Tia, giving MC inspiration (87, 90, 66, 79) to create a new plan.

And, towards the end, the MC's craziness and forming a plan (????) are spoilers too. I'll just say that not only is the idea pretty crazy, but it's quite workable.

Good for everyone.

Wash masks, sit at hands, and wear home.