Chapter 6

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Although Andrew tried to treat the fleeing with philosophical calm, from time to time irritation broke through. Early, too early to leave, nothing is ready yet. The dens they had explored, capable of being a safe shelter for a day's sleep, were too close to the monastery, a new home would have to be searched blindly. More trouble and anguish were caused by hunger: after yesterday's events, both ghouls needed blood. They had no stomach for killing a dog from a neighboring pack: their minds, clouded with pain, had understood the inevitable consequences of such a reckless action, so they had spent half the night hunting. It was easier to deal with one man than with a dozen furious beasts: one of the gang's sentries had seen that for himself.

"It's time to stop killing." Celesta covered the dead man's eyes and turned to Ala... Medea. She, unable to wash properly, soaked a piece of cloth in a puddle and scrubbed her face. "We are not beasts, after all, but sapient beings. Even if we were."

"We'll have to go hunting more often."

"So we need to get close to our prey, that's it. Do you know what I want? To find a good lie-in at the port."

"Are you kidding me?" Medea grinned incredulously. "They'll notice us at once."

"The port is not just big - it's huge. Even with the high population density, there are enough ruins in the seaside quarters to hide in. It is impossible to completely control such a large and complex area, no guards can do it! If we don't get cheeky and leave bodies behind, for example by disguising attacks as robbery or drinking the blood of lonely commoners, we can remain undetected for a long time."

"You seriously want to move closer to people," said the beauty grimly.

"Not all at once. First, we have to learn the situation, prepare an intermediate base, stock up on human food... It will take months of work."

"Why do you need human food? We don't need it."

"Food, weapons, and medical supplies are always needed. They'll come in handy. I think..." Celesta paused, then looked at her companion with a thoughtful eye. "Suppose a patrol spotted us. They wouldn't immediately recognize us as ghouls, would they?"

"They'll come closer and find out."

"How? How are you or I outwardly different from an ordinary human girl?"

Medea froze agape. Gradually, her face grew understanding, enthusiastic, and childlike, her lips stretched into a wide smile: "If we could get normal clothes and control our thirst, we would be indistinguishable from humans! Dark Master, why didn't I think of that before!"

Andrew mentally noted the exclamation that involuntarily escaped the woman. After all, Carlon had had a great influence on her, even if she tried to deny it. But out loud, he found it necessary to cool her enthusiasm: "It's not that simple. If you show yourself on the streets too often, sooner or later someone will be interested in two young and beautiful women. Where they live, whether they have any protectors, what they do at night away from home at all... Don't make big plans - it's easier to withstand their downfall."

"Where did that wisdom come from?" the singer giggled.

"Just common sense. A light dose of paranoia never hurt anyone."

"Sounds like a quote. Did your memory come back to you?"

Andrew thought for a moment. He was tired of pretending, bored of pretending to be a victim of amnesia. He wanted to share his story with someone. Against the backdrop of the hell going on in Taleya, the introduction of an alien creature should not cause much excitement - there are no reporters here, the secret services, which are everywhere, always and under any government, are busy with more important things. Who the hell needs him? Only Medea. Who trusted him, went up against a scary priest, and pulled him out of some very serious shit. For which the girl well deserved to know the truth. Besides, there was a pragmatic aspect: knowing what to look for, she might well remember something useful. To point out the path leading to the house.

The older woman sensed the awkward pause that had arisen and was now looking at Celesta with surprise. She sighed and "cracked up": "Actually, it never disappeared. The memory, I mean. - I just didn't know before, and I don't know how you're going to react to the truth. It's too fantastic, you know, and I don't want to sound crazy."

The story took an unexpectedly long time. Andrew kept stumbling and returning to things that seemed to be already fully described. He had to explain every detail, telling about his world. He deliberately inserted numerous details, wishing, on the one hand, to give the most accurate picture of his past life, on the other, intending to convince Medea: his story is too complicated to be fiction. The man in the woman's body thought, with an inward chuckle, how amusing the situation looked from the outside, remembering his recent floundering. The first night he had thought what was happening to him was the result of an incredibly powerful hypnotist, and thoughts of the illusory nature of his surroundings still haunted him. Perhaps now he was trying to prove the idea of the existence of multiple realities to his imagination? I wonder what the doctor would say if he heard him?

It would be even more interesting if Medea didn't believe him. It would be hilarious. What would he do then?

She believed. As any resident of the Midlands Empire, magic was an everyday occurrence for the former singer, now raised from the dead and a night hunter. As a child, she listened to fairy tales and fantastic stories that turned out to be embellished truth, her father held the rank of the magician of the third degree and served in the city government, home teachers along with literature, geography, and history taught little Medea the basics of magic and the hierarchy of spirits. She grew up with an awareness of the simple fact that miracles are possible, they just have to be carefully prepared. So, by her standards, the story Celesta told seemed surprising, but not supernatural. What interested her more was something else:

"Wait..." The woman's wide-open eyes gleamed excitedly. "So you were a male in your world?"

"Yes. I was."

"And... how are the differences?"

The frown on her friend's face didn't stop her. The predator had smelled prey, and even Morvan himself could not have saved Celesta from being torn apart at that moment, had he come in all his might.

"I have no idea. The body is different, it's not quite human."

"It's bad," Medea pouted, for a moment transforming herself from a beautiful wiggly girl to a sexy high school girl. That's what Monica Bellucci looked like when she was sixteen, Andrew thought. "The legend of the archer Shanna tells how an evil sorcerer placed her soul in the body of her uncle. After severe trials the sorcerer was killed, Shanna sat on the throne, but at the first opportunity, she regained her original sex. She chose a prettier slave girl and moved into her. When asked why she did so, she replied, 'A man does not feel a tenth of the pleasures that a woman is capable of feeling.'

"I have no desire to experiment. Not at all."

"Well, you should. You should take every opportunity you have, so you don't regret it later. Listen, what's your real name?"

"Andrew." The girl squinted at the small but well-defined breasts, examined the thin thin arms, smooth skin, moved the tiny graceful feet, ran a strand of long blond hair through the brush, and with a sigh decided. "Call me Celesta, like you used to. Otherwise, I'll go crazy."

The ghouls rarely banded together. There were a total of three groups in the vicinity of Taleya, the monastery group, and two more in different quarters, plus a large number of singles or couples who didn't want to join any of them. No explanation could be found as to why this was the case. Maybe the mental state of the undead was to blame, maybe it was the uneven distribution of potential prey, who knows. A year ago, the Duke's soldiers wiped out the only major colony of ghouls, slaughtering nearly three dozen, and no large alliances had arisen since. And, as the girls estimated, there weren't that many of their kin. The first three months after the Plague was the peak of "resurrection," and then the number of those who returned from the realm of death began to dwindle. Most died in the first nights, some died of starvation, and few survived - the word "life" both considered inappropriate in this case.

For obvious reasons, humans killed ghouls. Who would want to have a blood-sucking monster around, seeing you as a source of sustenance? At the same time, it was human blood that gave them strength and allowed them to stay active for a longer time than animal blood. They had to find a shelter where they could feel safe and at the same time have their prey within reach. And besides, they wanted to be comfortable: they were fed up with asceticism to the end of their lives. But how to find such a place, if every person who notices a ghoul will certainly try to finish him off, or at least inform the guards?

We had to walk slowly, sometimes going back, checking the cellars for protection from the sun in the process. We spent the day wherever they could, each time doubting whether we would meet the next sunset. More than once our caution saved ours skins, allowing us to spot a threat beforehand. The greatest danger was posed by small groups of armed men. An experienced fighter can handle an undead alone, the speed of reaction and the ability to see in the dark against an experienced swordsman will not help. And masters of the blade was unexpectedly a lot, which had an objective reason: fencing was revered among the nobility, so there was a large enough layer of servants to satisfy this whim of the ruling class. In addition, officers and soldiers, ordinary commoners who wanted to make a career - in a word, there were enough specialists. Girls had no desire to engage them in a fair fight, they attacked only from the back. Fortunately, the night vision allowed me to move silently and appear unexpectedly.

Once we witnessed a real sacrifice. A group of ragamuffins led by a completely insane eunuch - the psycho wore no clothes, which allowed us to see a piquant detail of his anatomy, or rather, its absence - laid out the caught victim on a slab covered with dried up smudges and quickly dismembered it with wild howls. The victim was a man in his forties, and, judging by the smell coming from the improvised altar, he was not the first unfortunate victim to die at the hands of fanatics. The ghouls watched the bloody orgy with disgust and longing. They'd had enough of killing, but the senseless waste of precious blood seemed like a waste.

Another unpleasant thing was the competitors. This was not about Carlon and his followers, though Celesta had not forgotten about them either. The kinsmen, irritated by the presence of intruders in their territory, were unwilling to help in the search for a new lair. Frankly, they did not respond well to contact - much easier to communicate with ordinary people (victims) who, after a promise to save lives, blurted out everything. If they didn't go into a stupor from fear. Once lucky: the captured old man agreed to take them on a safe route between the burrows of the five mutated monsters, in exchange for asking for help in a fight with a hostile gang. The ghouls killed the four bandits, fulfilling the deal, and wouldn't touch the human family - moreover, they gave him almost all the loot. Such a pragmatic-minded individual might come in handy in the future...

The city was astonishingly large. Medea told me that Duke Parvat the Second had once forbidden the construction of buildings taller than the central tower of his castle, and since then the ban had been invariably enforced. As a result, Taleya grew expansively, while property prices in the center of the city never dropped from their exorbitant heights. It took an entire week just to get away from the monastery, whose proximity unnerved Medea, and they made their map along the way. They marked mutants, kinsmen, large gangs, water sources, ruins of libraries - in short, anything that might be of interest and use. It took another week to find a shelter, which in the end was chosen an abandoned sewer. To be more precise, what was the correct name for a one-story building with huge locks on the doors and a single window on the roof, the girls did not know, so they simply called it "home".

The attic with all sorts of junk was of no use in functional terms, although the stuff scattered there was worth poking around in. Andrew also intended to board up the window. He was deterred by his reluctance to change the exterior of the building. What if the locals would pay attention and come in to check who lived there? For the same reason, the massive door on the first floor was barricaded from the inside, littering the small anteroom with heavy blocks. Eventually, they hoped to install metal bars on the attic window from the inside.

So the living quarters were the two rooms downstairs, which housed the meager belongings of the two new settlers. There was not enough light there even for the sensitive eyes of the ghouls, so they had to find, or rather steal, a small oil lamp. The floor was covered with a strange dark material that bounced underfoot, and the furniture was a cupboard, a relatively complete table, three chairs upholstered in tatters, and a bucket of water in the corner. That was all the furnishings. Medea wished for a mattress: for now, she had to sleep on a pile of rags in the corner. The closet held the treasures she had found - books, the few working appliances, jewelry, and clothes.

The only entrance, apart from the window, was the basement manhole to the sewer. On the concrete floor near the covered hole were an oversized booty and a large barrel of water, drawn from the nearby river. In the sewer itself, there was no water left long ago, the accumulated dirt dried up and turned to stone. The occasional rain moistened the surface and hardly penetrated down to the ground. Everything will change when winter comes: then stormy waters will clear the debris from the underground. In some places, the ground had sagged and the passages were blocked, but there were still enough passageways through which the girls reached the surface at night.

Of course, traces remained - there was enough dust, so we had to set some primitive traps in "their" section of the dungeon. Their effectiveness was questionable, but they could buy us some time if we needed it. They kept a wet rag in the house because of the dust, and they did not want to dirty the place. It cost them both an enormous effort to make the house look habitable, to shovel out piles of garbage secretly, but now they were proud of the work they had done.

"Look." A piece of something that looked like plastic served to explain Celesta's words. "The guards patrol the borders of three sectors: the Golden Quarter, the central part of the port, and the food stores. Regularly they clear the roads between them - it's easy to see them there, too. We are equidistant from the port and the warehouses, in the territory of Black Mash's unit. A bandit like everyone else here, but a lucky one. Luckily for us, the people are a little slack and risk moving in small groups or singly, the more so since both Mash and the guards control the area thoroughly. And, mind you, there have been no rumors of ghouls for two weeks: they think we're just common burglars."

"It's just for the time being." Medea was in the mood to argue. "There are more soldiers here than there are fleas on a dog."

"That's right. That's why we have to find a hiding place close to the port and move there for a while. We should hide where they're not looking."

"We just got the house in order," sighed the beautiful woman. The topic had been discussed more than once, but the woman still hadn't accepted the need to leave her cozy little nest.

Celesta ignored her arguments: "We'll bribe one or two men, we've looted enough. Let them learn the exact route of the patrols, tell us the schedule of duty, and then we'll sneak into town. I have a rough idea of the situation in the port, and we'll be able to settle in comfortably."

"Why?" My friend nervously rubbed her hair in a ponytail. "Why all these actions, what are you trying to do?"

"Well, I want to go home," Celesta shrugged. "But the prospects of this case are very vague, and it is useless to think ahead. So my immediate goal is much simpler, expressed in two words: "a decent life". I want to live in safety, I want to go hunting without unnecessary risk, I want to sleep on a bed and not on the floor, and I want to bathe at least once a week. Nothing complicated, as you can see."

"I'd say you have really royal needs."

"Everything is possible if you not sit on the butt idly."

If you want to make God laugh, tell him your plans. A clever man said, very clever.

The next night Celeste set out for the port, to map out a preliminary route to take, to find a place to stay for the day. Medea stayed behind to stow sacks of supplies and make a final raid on the houses in the neighborhood. The houses had been searched more than once, first by the humans, then by the girls themselves, but there was still a chance of finding a few useful items. Again, the value of the items fluctuated: an ordinary tin can was now a glass of grain, though no one picked them up immediately after the Plague. The ghouls did not engage in bartering, but they knew the prices, with a view to the future, quite well.

Andrew estimated that he had just crossed the border between Mash's "domain" and one of the smaller gangs. There were plenty of small groups competing fiercely for the scraps from the duke's table, and there were skirmishes between them every week. Ruler Taleya was neither sentimental nor altruistic, but he helped as much as he could, so everyone was eager to work for him. Or almost everyone. In times of cruelty, people were drawn to a strong leader and forgave him their shortcomings in exchange for confidence in their and their children's futures.

The Duke could give a guarantee of survival.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

Hearing some noise ahead, Celesta habitually hid in a dark corner. No matter what the bandits had divided among themselves, there was no point in getting into a fight. She wasn't hungry, she more or less knew her way around, and she had clothes, so why risk it? Of course, if an opportunity came up, she would take it, but she would not organize it. Andrew noticed how in his thoughts he referred to himself as a woman and inwardly cringed. It happened more and more often.

The noise was getting closer as if several people were dashing down the street at once. Uncharacteristic of the locals, their life had taught them to be cautious. The incomprehensible ones had been dead for three years. Most likely, someone is chasing them or they are trying to chase someone. Yes, that is how it is - one man dodges ahead, three men run silently behind, saving their breath. They will chase. The fugitive's footsteps are too heavy, judging by his hoarse breathing, he is tired. He seemed to have a sober appraisal of his position, for, near the ghoul's lair, he swung sharply to attack the first enemy who had lunged recklessly ahead. He recoiled, but not quickly enough. A long blade sliced him on the head. Still silent, the chaser fell, drenched in blood.

Dead one, the girl determined professionally. The smell of blood excited her, but she had only recently eaten, and she was easily overcome her hunger. And watching the fight was unexpectedly interesting. The man deftly fought off two opponents at once, moving and shielding one from the other constantly, his sword constantly threatening, and at times it was unclear who was attacking whom. Nevertheless, the enemies also gave the impression of experienced warriors and made no mistakes, skillfully driving their victims to the middle of the street and trying to get behind them. They were similarly armed - swords, long knives on their belts, their bodies covered by something like leather shirts with stitched metal plates, and boots of sturdy leather or leather substitute on their feet, which sounded like they had sturdy soles. But the lone man's broad steel bracelets still gleamed on his arms, and all the ammunition seemed better.

The darkness did not bother the fighters, the moonlight and the sparks from the clash of swords were enough to see their opponents. They fought for no more than a minute, but the frenzied pace taken at the start of the fight soon exhausted both sides. The fugitive was the first to make a mistake. His hoarse breathing was interrupted for a moment when his enemy's sword slashed across his thigh, the man dropped to one knee and with difficulty repulsed the next blow. It was clear to everyone involved, and to the invisible observer in the shadows, that the denouement was near. The assassins had only to wait until the blood-deprived enemy stopped fighting back.

Afterward, Celesta asked herself many times why she had interfered in what was happening. What had pushed her? After all, she had seen fights like that many times before, so why did she want to help the losing side? She could not find an answer. She only remembered how, on an inner impulse, she had slid behind the back of the nearest pursuer without hesitation. With a familiar gesture, she pulled her hair, revealing her neck, and sank her long, thin fangs into the enticingly beating vein, while her gaze suggested to the defeated fighter: "Seize the moment." Both men froze in horror. There was silence for a brief moment, interrupted by the squelching sound and clatter of the soles of the body beating in the rebel's embrace. Apparently, her mental call had reached its destination, or the fugitive was simply the first to recover from the shock. Either way, he gripped his sword by the hilt like a spear and hurled it at his still-standing foe with force. The otherwise pointless move worked: the weapon pierced through the man's neck.

Celesta finally finished her meal and curled her prey's neck with a deliberate twist. She took a few steps forward, dropping the corpse to the ground, and stopped, watching the man with an approving chuckle. The man drew a long knife from behind his belt and held it out in a threatening gesture, while he crawled back against the wall.

"You can calm down, I don't intend to kill you."

"Yes?" he grinned incredulously. "Why such a grace?"

"First of all, I'm full." Gluttony, Celesta corrected herself grimly. "And I don't like to kill without a reason. Secondly, I need something from you."

"What exactly?"

"Information. So put your toothpick away - you can't kill a ghoul with a knife anyway." She threw her hand forward in a motion imperceptible to the human eye, and gripped the man firmly by the wrist, "You've lost a lot of blood, you're not as quick to react as you used to be."

Andrew let go of the wounded man and took a step back, showing peaceful intentions. The man, who hadn't had time to be frightened, stared at the ghoul for a while in silence, then placed the knife beside him on the ground. He rummaged in his small waist bag and pulled out a surprisingly clean rag, which he moistened with a pungent-scented liquid from a small vial. From the scent, it sounded like some kind of alcoholic tincture. Celesta raised her eyebrows in surprise: any medicine was expensive, and common people hardly ever saw it. And he was dressed too well, his armor quite good. Looking at the awkward attempts to reattach the wound, she suggested: "Let me help."

"You?" There was a cheerful snort in response. "What a day today... Well, help me."

"Put the knife away. Behind the back." Waiting for the man to follow her instructions, she sat down next to him and began to apply a bandage to the washed wound.

"What's your name?"

He answered after some hesitation: "Richard."

"And who are you, Richard?"

"Warrior."

"A good warrior, I see. What's the matter with these guys?"

"It's just..." he shrugged slightly. "We were on our way back from the port, with a sack, just the three of us. How could we not be attacked? Ten men came with Argash, and I still don't know why they didn't shoot arrows at us from afar. They probably wanted to mock us."

"Did the two you were walking with die?"

"One died for sure, Maroush seems to escape." The wounded man licked his parched lips. "Can you help me get to mine?"

"Why should I? You'll make it on your own. Or do you want to offer me regular food in exchange?"

Richard, despite his good self-control, recoiled at the sight of the ghoul's changed appearance. Her skin tightened, her eyes flashed red, and her grinning mouth bared long fangs. And almost at once, the ghastly mask vanished, replaced by the charming young face of a mockingly smiling girl.

"How many people do you have? Answer."

"Until tonight, I had twenty swords."

"Not bad, although you can't compare it to Mash. What do you do for a living?"

"All sorts of things. We guard the wagons, patrol the city, sell things. In short, we do what they pay us to do."

"You rob people," added Celesta to the list.

"Sometimes, and not in the city: the guards are watching it. I wanted to settle in the port, but the locals wouldn't let me in: they divided everything and don't let strangers in. There's not enough food for everyone."

"Then why don't you go to the settlements?"

"Because there are a lot of mutants, every night at least one person is killed."

"What's going on at the port, tell me."

A lot of interesting things were going on in the port. According to Richard's words, a certain Count Lash, who was a favorite of Duke Dinir, was in charge there. In the beginning, he'd managed to take control of a huge territory, found several large yachts, fought off a couple of pirate raids, and organized fishermen's regular trips out to sea. In other words, thanks to him, Taleya maintained a regular supply of food during its most difficult period. The Count also planted his men in charge of the accounting and distribution system of supplies, which made him violently feud with two other duke cronies, Baron Tarreke and Count Maulvlar. The first was listed as something of a diplomat, communicating with all the surrounding gangs and commanding those guards who served in the port and warehouses. The second was in charge of the project to rebuild the villages around the city and of the garrisons stationed there. In short, the principle of divide and conquer worked well here.

Dinir also had a personal guard, according to rumors, about fifty well-armed fighters. The duke directly or indirectly controlled all the armed forces. This was greatly aided by his habit of personally appointing officers of absolutely any rank, as well as by some kind of security service. What exactly the latter did and who led it was not known. Ordinary people only knew that it existed.

But the upper classes were of little interest to Andrew. Of course, he wondered how the Taleyan nobility had survived the Plague while the rest of the noble families were dying out. Later he would consider the question and come to the unpleasant conclusion that the rulers of the city had no magical powers: after all, the catastrophe had primarily struck the bearers of paranormal powers. At any rate, he could find no other logical explanation. Now the goal was the port, or, more accurately, the opportunity to live in it for a while with impunity.

By all appearances, it looked like there was a way for a ghoul to make a living anywhere. There were no gangs in "government" territory, but there were plenty of all kinds of unfortunates who were actually slaves. The poor people toiled day and night, getting barely enough food to keep from starving to death. They often died of hard work and disease, so no one would pay attention to one or two extra corpses from that milieu. Especially if you act carefully and do not kill, then no one will believe the tales of the stupid trash.

He will have to ask Medea later how much class inequality there is. Slavery didn't seem to have existed before, but it didn't smell like democracy either. There were still some thugs, small bandits who plundered, thieves, and other scum who didn't dare to gather in large packs because they would have been destroyed, but they were practically indestructible.

Drunkards could be another source of food. There were six or seven taverns in the city that served hot drinks from samples of local moonshine. This was a costly affair, available only to soldiers and officials, and they were regular customers of the city's only brothel. These institutions also served to strengthen the duke's power: distinguished soldiers were rewarded with free admission, and the proceeds from ordinary visitors went to the treasury. It was much more dangerous to touch the public, but a drunken alcoholic wouldn't remember a thing in the morning.

There would be no problem getting into the right place, as Celesta realized more and more clearly. It would be easy for the silent ghouls to slip past the guard posts: the soldiers wouldn't notice them. It wasn't quite clear what to do after that. The city slowly cleared of crumbling buildings, reinforced houses, removed trash from the streets, and people walked everywhere. The activities of the authorities meant trouble for the day; it was not safe to lie down in the first house you could find. It meant a well-hidden shelter, which would take a very, very long time to find. It was a vicious circle.

My thoughts flowed smoothly to the man leaning tiredly against the wall. Could we use him? He was not an ordinary person - the kind of man who strove to be the first always and everywhere. To be near such people is as dangerous as to collect diamonds on a minefield: either you provide for yourself for the rest of your life, or lose everything. Leave him here? And let the dead trio's accomplices finish off the wounded man? No, in her position, throwing chances away was foolish. They need all the help they can get. It was necessary to somehow bind Richard to them, to make him want to cooperate, to convince him to see the ghouls not as enemies but as possible allies. A delusional idea at first glance, but sometimes cats and mice are friends.

"I think I'll escort you," the ghoul hummed. "I'll take you to yours. In exchange for a tiny, tiny favor."

"What favor?"

"It's not so hard, take it easy. Help me sell some of my stuff. Two crossbows, bolts, eight swords, some clothes."

Crossbows were the most expensive. The art of shooting, unlike fencing, was not considered noble, so few people mastered a bow. What was the use of crossbows when there were better weapons that could hit at much greater distances? As a result, after the catastrophe crossbows became very popular - you can learn to use them in a short time, and they hit harder. The only problem was that there were less and less craftsmen able to make such sophisticated weapons and the miniature hand-made ballistas cost more than a bar of gold in their own weight. Over time, the situation was improving, there were more and more skillful archers, but so far people preferred to throw knives, darts, some experimented with the slingshot.

"Yes?" Richard groaned, trying to get up. The girl smirked, threw one of his arms around her shoulders, and got up easily. The large man's body was not particularly uncomfortable: she could have carried him in her arms. "What do you offer in return, dead one?"

"Undead one. Normal clothes and some information. I'm sick of wearing rags. What did you think I was going to do, ask for prisoners instead of canned goods?"

The wounded man was silent - apparently, he really imagined something like that.

"We don't always kill. The undead needs about two hundred grams of blood a day, and we usually take half a liter," Celesta reassured the mortal. He was not the type to intimidate, so she had to build a mutually beneficial relationship with him. "People die from contagion, general weakness, some kicking and tearing wounds. If you take a little quietly, there's no harm done. Although, of course, the public among us is different: many just like to kill. Do you want me to introduce you?"

"Thank you. I'm fine."

"As you wish. To the northwest of here, on the former street of..." Andrew strained his memory, remembering. "...Thanksgiving, I think there's a monastery of Judges. The locals don't go there, and rightly so. Can you find out if anything has changed around here lately?"

"This is foreign territory. I'll have to pay dearly for the answers, and I'll have to come up with an explanation for my interest."

"Perfect. I knew I could rely on you."

Carlon, the girls thought, had lost track of them. They'd escaped far enough and fast enough. But it wouldn't hurt to make sure they were safe. Who knows what the former leader had in mind? What if he wanted to destroy the heretics? The priest is the enemy, and the plans of the enemy should always be known. Let the man find out if people continue to disappear in the vicinity of the monastery, at the same time remember the address and tell the other bandits. Sooner or later the mortals will clean out the dangerous nest.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk." Usually, the sound of claws tapping on the stone was accompanied by the animal's breathing. Exceptions were rare, and always with good reason. For example, like now. The creature that had crawled out of the breach in the wall didn't need to breathe, and frankly, it was hardly alive at all. Neither was Celeste. Normally the mutants, which were increasingly being called "undead," ignored the ghouls, not thinking of them as prey or competition. This time was different. The smell of blood emanating from the human force the creature to crawl out of its hiding place, and the rebel's presence was perceived as a hindrance to the coveted meal.

Andrew paused in confusion. The undead creature looked like a dog about half the height of his thigh if you imagine that dogs have long claws, not for beauty, and scales instead of fur. It wiggled its spiked snout and hissed in displeasure. What is he supposed to do now? Wounded would do no good in a fight; he could barely stand on his feet or fight on his own. She and Medea had stumbled upon something like this creature on their way to their current hideout, and they'd fought it, but they expended a great deal of energy. Most likely Celesta would win the fight, but what would it cost her?

It is possible to choose the safe option: to leave Richard and run away. He does not owe the man anything, rather, the case is exactly the opposite. Andrew should not feel any moral torment from such a decision, because he understands that in a similar situation Richard would have left him without a second thought, to save his skin. The locals for the most part did not suffer from excessive kindness, the concept of Christian charity is alien to the imperial culture. It was not customary here to save people just because they were human. This is neither indifference nor cruelty, but the ethics are based more on the principle of "friend-or-foe" than in the native world. Unfortunately, the isekai himself is used to reasoning differently; his upbringing morality made him care about his companion. There is a difference between killing for the sake of blood, for the chance to survive - and the betrayal of the one who trusted you. Leave now, and then he would be... ashamed.

No one likes to think of themselves as scum.

Again, Richard was needed. There were just vague plans for the bandit leader, for his sake, the ghoul intervened in someone else's fight, risked herself. And suddenly some stupid creature dares to destroy a structure that could bring benefit! No, she should not sell him out, she could use him.

"Step back and stay out of it."

Richard jumped back slowly, leaning on his sword drawn from its sheath. The ghoul handed the weapon back to him, flashing her scarlet eyes mockingly and warningly. He took the hint and tried not to touch the hilt unnecessarily. The girl herself busily stripped the dead, put all the valuables in a neat pile, then packed them in a neat pack and hung them on her back. The bundle weighed, by the most conservative estimate, about thirty kilograms. How the undead dragged the loot and him without any exertion remained a mystery to the man. They say, correctly, that the living dead are physically very strong.

Now the package was on the ground, Celesta was rid of the burden. As a weapon, she used a long dagger with a handle for a small palm, taken from one of her "donors. In the past, in his homeworld, Andrei had briefly studied with an amateur baton instructor. After transfer, the lessons learned were adapted to working with bladed weapons. A real fighter would have cringed at the demonstrated technique, but for a ghoul, with her speed and strength, it was okay. Especially after her attempts to work with a long weapon had ended badly. Besides, it was comfortable to carry. Other clothing resembled rags, ready to tear after the first blow, light sandals on her feet, no armor. It is fair to say that only heavy armor works well against mutants: after all, the mages who created them were true masters of their craft.

Richard almost stopped breathing. He had once seen a creature like this attack a troop of six men. It took out two good fighters before it was slaughtered with spears. Though the monsters had been more cautious lately, and they rarely showed their faces near the port: they were too successfully exterminated. And then one crawled out from somewhere, attracted by the delicious smell of blood. Just when he, Richard, was wounded, and if it were not for the help of the ghoul, he would not even expect to get home. Strangely, she did not leave. So sure of her powers?

In the battle with beasts and not beasts, the first strike is important. If you manage to catch the moment, foresee the swift movement of the soaring body - and you win. One swing of the sword or kick to the underbelly is enough to make the animal lose all its ardor and run away. The main thing is to catch that brief moment. Some people prefer to look into the opponent's eyes, trying to catch the beginning of the attack by the change of sight, others teach to follow the body, legs, stomach. Over time, the need to concentrate on individual parts of the body disappears: the enemy is perceived immediately and completely. Even with closed eyes, in complete darkness. What happens is what many masters call "unification," psychologists call "intuition," and practitioners call "the sixth sense. In the general, there is no difference, as long as it works.

The ghoul stood still in a loose stance, her tension revealed only by the change in her features and her cold, vacant gaze. Andrew had enough experience of fighting - he'd fought more in his short time in his new body than he had in his whole previous life. So now he stood, trying to get a feel for his opponent, about to leap aside and deliver a single, hard blow to the neck when attacked. Any foul creature is guaranteed to die from a fractured spine, or at the very least, lose the ability to move and become helpless. The killing has to be done right away. Otherwise, thanks to its high survivability, the creature will recover and hunt again, gaining experience and a fierce hatred for two-legged creatures.

Complete relaxation, absolute peace. Tension and the desire to strike first. The dull greenish lights in the predator's eyes, the reflected light of the moon in the ghoul's whites, pierced with a mass of scarlet vessels. The creature felt threatened. Celeste did not look away. There was a thin line between the two enemies on the deserted street, and they both felt it. It was as if Celeste had touched the thoughts of the creature mangled by magic, felt its hunger, its displeasure at the situation, its desire to rush into battle, and its fear of finding a foe too strong. The living dead had never behaved this way before; they were getting out of the way. And you go, the girl's pale lips whispered, go today. As if hesitating, the creature took a tiny step back.

Do not look away. Whoever looks away first - loses.

The undead moved forward.

The creature grumbled in response and retreated some more.

A dark figure in rags silently held out a hand with claws protruding. The blade in the other hand gleamed dully.

Suddenly the creature turned abruptly on the spot and, with one last half-grunt and half-snarl, disappeared into the dark alley. The claws clattered, and that was it, gone as if it had never existed.

"Let's go." Celesta ignored the weakness, continuing to listen to the silence. "It might come back."

The man was smart enough not to ask questions. Precious minutes were slipping away like water between the fingers, and to waste them was a luxury he could not afford. Using his sword as a crutch, he leaped after his eerie savior. The ghoul walked a few paces in front of him, occasionally lingering in stony stillness, then glided down the stone sidewalk again with a silent easy step. It was about forty minutes before Celeste stopped listening to every rustle and relaxed. Only then did she pay attention to her companion. Richard was very bad, his thigh was bleeding and sore, his face was covered with large drops of sweat. His strength was exhausted; the wounded man needed a break.

We had to stop to change the band on the leg. The bandit turned out to be a hoarder, and he had a couple of mild painkillers, though they had expired. Still, the medicine had worked, and a short rest had done her good, too. Celesta picked the wounded man up again, allowing him to lean on her, and dragged him purposefully toward the camp of his detachment. She was in a hurry: There wasn't much time before sunrise, and she had yet to return home. So, after bringing Richard to the controlled territory, after giving him a last scare and setting a time and place for a new meeting, the girl ran away.

I should have shared the news with Medea.

* * *