I woke up, still in pain. I wouldn’t say my condition had improved, but at least I no longer wanted to trade anything for an immediate death. Those players! They dared to mutilate me, to tear away a part of my soul. I hate them!!!
“Blame yourself for this.” - The voice of Being sounded. – “If you hadn’t confessed to the murder, this death would have been considered an accident. Everything was shaping up perfectly. You didn’t give the order to the one who caused the death of the figure. And the rules don’t restrict ordinary people from making their own decisions. And after everything was done, you signed your own sentence by sacrificing the figure.”
Hatred in my mind mixed with irritation. As for the trial, I didn’t confess to the murder. It was an unauthorized attempt to use a game ability. But the Judge wanted to get his victim and make me a scapegoat.
“Yes, you’re right.” - Being agreed. – “But you fell into this trap yourself. Anyway, let’s forget about that. You helped me greatly in this game. Again! But this time, it was almost fair, and so I hit the jackpot. The people, or rather the Vritras as their heirs, won this war. O-o-oh, if only you had seen what they did. They disabled the birth control mechanism and in just a hundred years populated the entire galaxy. They didn’t just destroy other races. They consumed their worlds! Imagine - an endless ocean twenty kilometers deep, entirely made up of Vritra bodies. These beings lost their human appearance, almost lost their minds, but still continued to mate and breed. In two hundred years, they were the only form of life in the galaxy.”
“It was hard to expect anything else.” - I forced out, overcoming the pain.
“So, you did it deliberately?” - Being’s voice shifted from delight to cunning interest.
“No, of course not. I had my own goals. It’s just that human... are simple human. Pitiful creatures whose meaningless existence is aimed only at satisfying animal needs. Pitiful, but cunning and smart, though as dumb as earthworms. They refuse to recognize the need for self-control. And so, as soon as they’re freed from the chains of the law, they immediately turn into ruthless, all-consuming beasts. So, the ending you described is quite logical.”
“Oh! You’re a philosopher. One of the few philosophers who have maintained a sound view of the world. Yes, you’re right. The Vritras turned into an all-consuming monster. Imagine, in the end, when they aimed to conquer other galaxies, we had to destroy the entire galaxy. Literally, vaporize it completely and then collapse it into a black hole along with all those mad souls. O-o-oh, what a sight it was.”
Judging by the transmitted emotions, Being was in a state of real ecstasy and clear intoxication. Apparently, it had made quite a killing off its kin with this game.
“But let’s get back to you. According to the Judge’s decision, you must be reincarnated in his world. I even picked out a suitable body for you - an old, sick goblin-shaman who has only a few months left to live. So, you’ll quickly suffer and then go free with a clear conscience.”
Before I could protest, I lost consciousness again. I woke up wrapped in some rags, lying on a stone surface.
“What about the rules?” - I thought, sending the thought into the void.
“No rules.” - A whisper of the Being replied. – “Blow up the whole world if you want.”
A fading maniacal laugh was heard, and I was left alone with the harsh reality once more. Everything hurt. My frail body, ravaged by coughing, my strained magical core, and most importantly, my soul, which was scarred with unhealable wounds. I felt that the patches the Being had put on were a temporary fix. Healing the soul required Bahion. And no one was going to spend that value on me.
Then another cold and indifferent voice entered my consciousness. The Judge! My mind trembled with the overwhelming hatred it felt.
“If you want to restore your energy centers, I can give them back in exchange for three points each.”
“And you can heal my soul and return everything to how it was?” - I responded with a mix of hatred, contempt, and mockery.
“...Five souls for each tail.” - The Judge said after a brief pause. – “And I will heal your wounds.”
“Fine. You’ll get your sacrifices.” - I agreed. – “Just don’t complain afterward. The Being told me there are no rules in this world’s game.”
“Yes, that’s true.” - The Judge’s voice carried notes of malicious glee. – “I hope you prove your usefulness.”
The foreign presence in my mind disappeared again, and I weakly sprawled on the hard surface, trying to find a somewhat comfortable position where my bones wouldn’t try to pierce my skin.
Those bastards! They want me to rake in the heat with my own hands? Fine, I’ll find a way to deal with you too.
“None of you will be spared. You’ll all die without forgiveness. Who forgives sins - that’s for me to decide. I’m the scapegoat?” - Lines from a song by Vysotsky spontaneously surfaced in my mind, turning into a curse directed at the 'higher powers.'
Finally, I found the strength to open my eyes, get up from the bed, and look around. I was in a spacious cave, with bright sunlight streaming through a narrow entrance. Gathering my limbs into a pile, I staggered toward the exit, taking in the surroundings. Poverty and destitution. That’s what I saw before me. The body I had was on its last breath. I was wearing rags of unclear origin. And the most valuable thing in the cave seemed to be a stone - a large piece of hematite serving as a table.
I stepped outside and surveyed the surroundings of Onega Lake. Well, maybe not Onega, but some lake was definitely present here. I stood on the slope of a mountain, with forests, swamps, and the lake stretching out before me. Somewhere on the horizon, other mountains were visible, stretching as far as the eye could see.
The nearby area was also untouched by the encroachment of civilization. Some gray-green humanoid creatures wandered about, going about their mundane tasks.
“Great shaman, have you recovered and decided to honor us with your attention?” - asked a gaunt boy, who was grinding something in a mortar, sitting by the cave entrance.
My apprentice named Bonehead, I realized. It seemed some part of the donor’s memory had been transferred to me. Last time, I couldn’t even recall my own name. By the way, what is my name here?
“Lame leg, what brings you out of your den?” - a wrinkled old woman with a long nose spoke to me. – “Have you decided to see the sun one last time before you die?”
“Don’t hold your breath, old Hag.” - I waved her off.
What names they have here? I wonder if she was called Hag even as a child? My memory refused to answer that question. A few seconds later, I remembered that the old woman had looked like a dried apple even back when I was still walking under the table—thirty winters ago. Indeed, a harsh life for goblins. Thirty years, and you’re already an old man.
“And I’m not old at all.” - The old woman retorted. – “I’m still full of life.” - Her voice carried a hint of lasciviousness.
“Tell that to Bonehead. Maybe he’ll fall for your charms.”
The aforementioned boy shut his eyes in horror and began to quietly crawl back into the cave. The old woman laughed, watching the increasing panic of her future lover.
“Ha-ha-ha. You don’t take care of your apprentice at all.”
“And why should I? He’s already on his seventh winter. If he doesn’t find himself a wife before the first snow, I’ll have to give him to you.”
Bonehead bolted away, shouting as he ran:
“Uncle Patsy, Uncle Patsy, give me your daughter as a wife!”
The whole village stopped their activities and stared at the unexpected entertainment.
“O-ho-ho-ho. You’ll send me to the grave. I haven’t laughed like this in ages.” – Hag teared up.
We fell silent and watched the courtship unfold. Bonehead was a shaman’s apprentice and a desirable fiancé, but Patsy was known as the strongest warrior in the tribe after the chief and wanted to trade his only daughter for weapons for his eight sons. The blacksmith from the neighboring village wouldn’t agree to such a deal, settling for no more than two rusty knives.
I distracted myself from the local drama and pondered my fate. I had lost the sources of spider magic and chakra. But I still retained the Vritra structure, which possessed spider magic on its own. This body also had magic, but it was somehow strange. Most importantly, this magic barely sufficed to sustain the spirits the previous owner of this body summoned. Shamanism can’t be called energetically inefficient for either side. Spirits weave their influence so intricately that they use even less energy than the most gifted spider.
I had to think about how to become stronger. I looked around and sat down on a bench specifically placed in a sunny spot. The sun was shining through the cold autumn air, and the old body was inclined to just sit and enjoy the last days.
No, get a grip. I must achieve immortality and reclaim what was stolen. I clasped my hands in a chakra concentration gesture and sent tiny amounts of magical energy through my body, trying to clear my mind.
The thought of gaining power brought to mind the information about an ancient dragon magic awakening ritual from the shaman’s memory. At the cost of his life, a mage could push his magical core into overdrive, gaining immense power for a few minutes. The energy flowing through the body in this state was much purer and stronger than the swamp sludge typically used by mages in this world. And once the time was up, the mage would be consumed in magical flames, leaving no trace behind, not even ashes.
The ritual wasn’t too complicated. But not every mage was willing to perform it. Usually, it was only used when saving an entire tribe’s life was at stake, and no other solution was possible. Rumor had it that even a month after performing the ritual, the emanations of pain felt by the mage in the final moments of their life could still be sensed in that place. The lucky ones managed to kill themselves before the power got out of control. I figured I’d only have one chance. That should be enough to create a crystal with a soul trap.
I began the mathematical calculations, but soon concluded that even after strengthening, my power wouldn’t be enough to create a full Vritra. At least not a complete version. But I could try to make the simplest one, just enough to provide access to proper magic. Later, the vessel could be upgraded to a full one. I still needed to figure out how to create the necessary spiritual shells. They required the majority of the energy for their creation.
There was only one way left—a sacrifice, a bloody and agonizing death of a gifted individual, whose spiritual shells I would use as a temporary solution. It’s like wrapping oneself in a shroud made of skin freshly stripped from a person. A disgusting solution. But what wouldn’t I do for the integrity of my soul?
Lost in thought, I didn’t notice how the sun leaned toward the horizon, and the cold began to creep under my rags. I had to get up and move my thin behind to the fire inside the cave, around which the happy Bonehead was already bustling. Apparently, Patsy had given his consent, though knowing him, the price must have been high.
I didn’t question my nominal apprentice, who was in fact the new shaman of the tribe, about his affairs. To me, these goblins were nobody. Only due to the emotions and memory of this body did I not contemplate sacrificing them all. I needed to focus on my own problems, or I’d never see my own tails as my own ears. I glanced at my ear, draped over my right shoulder like a cloak, sighed, and concentrated on devising a plan.
Three days later, at noon, I stepped out of the cave and headed toward the tribe’s chief. The corpulent man had been ruling the village for eight years, making him quite experienced by goblin standards. He met me at the threshold of his house and silently led me inside, showing respect.
“What brings you, Lame Leg, to my home?” - he asked after we both had a cup of herbal brew with honey.
“Chief, my death is already near. It stands behind my shoulder, waiting for me to take my last breath.” - The chief glanced over my shoulder and averted his eyes superstitiously. – “Before I die, I want to help the village one last time. The swamp goblins have long had it in for us. And as soon as they learn of my death, they will go to war with us on the very same day.”
I fell silent, sipping my second cup of the drink. According to Lame Leg’s memories, this was the second time in the last ten years he had drunk a honeyed beverage.
“The tribe isn’t ready for war.” - The chief replied darkly.
“I know.” - I nodded in agreement, pouring myself a third cup of tea. If we’re going to do this, let’s go all in. – “That’s why there won’t be a war. I want to awaken my dragon heart and kill the swamp’s chief shaman in a one-on-one duel.”
This time, the chief truly flinched and turned pale. Among ordinary goblins, there were terrifying stories about dragon magic. He filled my cup for the fourth time, pouring the remainder of the 'drink of the gods.'
“You’re not obligated to do this.”
“I know.” - Agreed the old and wise shaman in my guise. – “It’s my own choice. I want to die in a duel, saving the tribe, not in a stinking hole, shivering from the cold. Let them compose a song about how I died a hero, not about how I clung to life and with me the sun set on the tribe.”
The chief grimly nodded. The desire for glory was not uncommon even among goblins. And my act would be considered heroic even by the bitterest of enemies.
“What do you propose?”
The drink was finished, and I sighed as I set the empty cup on the table.
“In a week, Stinking Belly will start offering sacrifices to his swamp god. On the second day, only a small squad will remain to guard him. I will prepare a ritual site in the nearby forest and then lure that half-trained shaman there.”
“After the sacrifice, he will be at the peak of his strength.” - The chief countered.
“And that’s exactly why he will choose to fight me rather than flee. I will awaken the dragon magic within my body and offer him as a sacrifice to the spirits. All you need to do is ensure that the enemy warriors don’t interfere with me. If something goes wrong... leave.”
The chief pondered my plan for a long time but eventually agreed. For him and the entire tribe, it was the best possible solution. Even if the attempt failed, it would show all enemies in the vicinity that the mountain goblins could put up such a fight that even a victory would feel like defeat.
After the group of the best hunters set out for reconnaissance in the swamps, I began the second part of the plan. I needed to create a vessel for my soul—a ruby measuring two by three centimeters. I knew how to make it with magic, but my strength wasn’t even enough for that.
I had to resort to ritual magic, which I hadn’t used since building the ziggurat on the demon planet. The ritual-artifact circle with the necessary spell pattern took up space in the darkest corner of the cave. I strictly forbade my apprentice from even approaching it. My calculations proved accurate, and the crystal grew in full accordance with the program. Once it was ready, it would only be necessary to cast a spell on it, infuse it with the energies of the sacrifice, and then I could transfer into the new body.
On the appointed day, I went to see the chief first thing in the morning, where we discussed the operation plan in detail once more. The scouts reported that events among the swamp dwellers were proceeding strictly according to tradition, so at least this part of the plan was secure.
At noon, I returned to the cave and went to retrieve the crystal from the circle. Only to find the ritual circle torn apart and the crucial element of my plan completely missing. Hatred flooded my consciousness, and I headed for the exit, spreading waves of terror. Those damned creatures had stolen a part of my soul, and now some beast was hindering me from even retrieving what was lost.
I emerged into the main hall of the cave, and Bonehead rushed toward me with eyes wide with terror.
“Where is it?” - I hissed, jabbing my index finger into his shoulder.
“What, teacher?” - He hissed back, his body trembling in pain.
“The precious gem you stole from the ritual circle.”
“I didn’t steal anything, teacher.”
“Then who could have passed by you?”
We both turned our heads simultaneously and stared at the new inhabitant of the cave—my apprentice’s wife. I pulled my finger from his flesh and noticed the edges of the wound had charred. Bonehead himself lunged forward and, with a running start, punched the thief directly in the face. She staggered a few steps back and screamed, after which the young shaman began to beat her. Eventually, the screams turned into plaintive wails, and the missing item was immediately found.
Bonehead brought me the gem, which I literally snatched from his hands. Examining the offering, I nearly howled in frustration. This bitch didn’t just steal it; she had tried to drill a hole in it to hang it around her neck as jewelry. She hadn’t been very successful but had managed to chip the edges of a couple of magical symbols.
“Filthy whore” - I roared, entering an unrestrained rage - “Your children will grow scales and feathers in your belly, and you will give birth to them against the scales.”
A drop of the power I had accumulated all week slipped from my hand and transformed into a ritual curse, embedding itself into her body. Now no mage among the goblins would be able to remove it. I clenched the gem in my hand and headed for the exit. But after three steps, I stopped and turned to the sniffling slut, who didn’t even seem to feel guilty.
“And this is for trying to steal from the tribe’s shaman.”
Another spell slipped from my hand. It was a legacy from the spiders, who knew a thing or two about torture. The inhuman screech pierced my ears, bringing peace to my heart. The wails accompanied me all the way to the chief’s hut, from which I had just emerged ten minutes earlier.
“What happened?” - The chief rushed to meet me.
“This cockroach’s female stole and damaged the amulet I was going to use in battle.”
“So... everything is canceled?” - The goblin turned ashen, unconsciously clutching his heart. It seemed he had some issues with it. But that was none of my concern.
“No. We will set out tomorrow. I will occupy the spirit sanctuary and try to restore the amulet. Give orders. Let them bring me food, and no one is to enter the sanctuary until tomorrow evening.”
Without waiting to see if he understood me, I left the hut and trudged to the sanctuary, savoring the sounds of the thief’s screams that stood in my way. Finally, my apprentice managed to stun the bitch with a spell, and the concert of the listeners’ requests came to an end.
The sanctuary was something like a local temple. While the shaman’s workspace also served as his residence, the sanctuary was a ‘sacred’ place that couldn’t be desecrated by everyday concerns. I didn’t care much for these superstitions, especially since how many of these concerns did I have left? What interested me far more was the concentrated magic here, which I intended to use to restore the gem. Let the goblins thank this bitch later for making their temple no longer attract spirits.
I spent the night and the entire next day without sleep. I managed to create a simplified ritual circle and restore the damage, but the disruptions in the crystal’s structure remained, and I could only hope that they would not be fatal.
In the evening, I had dinner and allowed myself a brief nap. But as soon as I woke up, I realized that sleepless nights with the strain of magical core at my age take their toll. My body was reaching its final peak and was steadily moving toward death. I needed to hurry.
The squad of the village’s best warriors arrived at the sanctuary at sunset. I scanned my companions and was relieved to see that Patsy was not among them. Apparently, the chief had figured out that the vengeful father was not needed in my team.
“Lame Leg, you look pale” - the Chief of the Fat Belly expressed concern.
“Thank that brainless bitch and the rookie shaman” - I spat. – “Let’s go, time is precious.”
We ran through the evening forest, but after just three hundred meters, I collapsed to the ground, a sack of misery. When a goblin’s legs give out, his days are numbered. In this world, even the well-known saying goes, ‘a goblin’s legs feed him.’
“Chief Belly, I’m ashamed to say this, but one of you will have to carry me. Otherwise, I’ll only reach the swamps after the first frost.”
The chief silently signaled, and one of the tallest goblins picked me up and slung me over his shoulders. The run continued, and this time we moved much faster. By midnight, the squad was in position. While the scouts went to check the situation in the enemy camp, I set about drawing another ritual circle. God, how low have I fallen? Using these crutches just to perform a simple spell.
Our plan was fairly straightforward. The swamp goblin shaman, known as Stinking Belly, was currently finishing the sacrifice of one of his kin. Knowing the tastes of this slime spawn, it could be assured that it was a young goblin female whom he had been continuously abusing for the past few days. The more the victim suffered and enjoyed before death, the higher its value on the peculiar market of summoning spirits. The shaman was paying for the deal, and then the spirit would serve the tribe for a year.
This sacrifice was the third in the series, which meant the shaman would have two full-strength spirits on his side. The first sacrifice had been guarded by an additional squad, but by now the shaman was supposed to have enough power to protect himself. No one wanted to stay an extra day in a camp teeming with malevolent spirits. I had planned to attack the shaman yesterday, but that bitch!... I suppressed my anger and focused on the task at hand.
At the peak of the tension, I intended to disrupt the sacrifice, nullifying the shaman’s efforts over the past few days. The last spirit was supposed to be the strongest. The previous two sacrifices had merely been a way to attract the most powerful spirits from the realm of malevolent spirits. If I interrupt the ritual, it would be a real slap in the face to that shaman. Of course, the ritual could be repeated, but the tribe might not understand that. And every year, they had to give up three of their best youths to appease the bloodthirsty spirits.
So, it was certain that the shaman wouldn’t tolerate such an affront and would seek revenge, presenting my head as an explanation for his failure. He was at the peak of his power, and even if our entire tribe came, we couldn’t be sure of defeating him.
But everything changed with the circumstance that I planned to awaken the heart of a dragon within me. For a few minutes, my power would increase enough to twist the enemy shaman and all his spirits into a pretzel. I just needed to time it right and prepare the battlefield.
I stretched my aching back and surveyed the results of my work—a massive ritual circle almost twenty meters in diameter. This direction of magic was unknown to the goblins, so it was unlikely that the shaman would suspect anything. This place was the only suitable one for reaching the ‘fleeing’ me unless the shaman intended to go for a swim in the bottomless mire. As soon as he stepped into the circle’s boundaries, I would activate a barrier that could contain the mage and his summoned spirits. After that, I would leisurely activate the magical core in overdrive mode and use all the preparations to transform into the Vritras. A simple protective contour would shield me from arrows, and the tribe’s warriors would cover me from melee attacks.
I moved back to the required distance, drew another circle with a protective contour, and then focused on the spirit realm. The returning scouts confirmed that everything was going according to plan, and I closed my eyes, entering a trance.
The dance of spirits circled around the dying victim. The girl had long given up hope of salvation. She pleaded for death, begged for someone to hurry up and devour her to grant her peace, but her body continued to live, sustained by the shaman’s magic.
Then, the circle of minions scattered, avoiding a massive being that had ‘emerged’ from the depths of the spirit realm. As an experienced fisherman, Stinking Belly made the victim tremble on the brink of death, luring closer the very entity for whom this whole spectacle was staged. The spirit was impressive. Strong, malevolent, smart enough to follow orders, but not cunning enough to bypass the trap of the contract. The otherworldly creature was still hesitant, circling around, but with each second its hunger grew more intense, making it lose its caution.
Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.
And then, the spirit world was pierced by the sharp sound of a snapped string. The space shattered into fragments, and in one of the shards was the summoned spirit, while in another, the victim finally broke free from the shackles of flesh, only to be torn apart by a pack of lesser spirits. Weak and malevolent, they had known nothing in their lives except an all-consuming hunger. Even the presence of a powerful spirit nearby did not deter them. They saw that it was currently unable to harm them. And later, would be later. As the saying goes, "they can’t catch us."
The swarm of satiated spirits scattered in different directions, and my mocking laughter echoed through the spirit world. The great spirit angrily struck the 'deceived' shaman with a wave of energy and vanished into the unimaginable depths of multidimensional space. The furious howl of Stinking Belly was a true delight to my ears. The curious intermediate spirits eagerly picked up my laughter, spreading the news of yet another failure of a foolish mortal across the spirit world.
“Lame Leg!!!” - came the enraged and furious response, tinged with a touch of helplessness and pain. – “I will find you and gut you. I will offer you as a sacrifice to Dagon.”
In response, my contemptuous laughter rang out, accompanied by the murmur of the spirits’ voices. Stinking Belly shouldn’t have mentioned that name, especially not shout it across the spirit world. Now the weak would fear coming at his call, and the strong would first question whether he had fulfilled his promise. The enemy shaman realized this too and quickly returned to his body to seek me in the material world. If he didn’t carry out his threat, he would effectively cease to be a shaman.
If a real Lame Leg were in my place, he would have slashed his own throat without hesitation, leaving his opponent with nothing. But I needed not just a victory in a magical duel, not the safety of my tribe, and not even fame and honor. I needed a sacrifice with a 'meaty' spiritual body that I could use in my ritual. So, I remained where I was, shifting most of my attention to the material world while still keeping an eye on the spirit world.
The victim appeared within sight in just ten minutes. The waning moon provided enough light for a goblin’s vision to discern the surroundings. Seeing me confidently standing ahead, Stinking Belly became cautious. But he had no choice. Either he sacrifices me to Dagon, or he can slit his own throat right here without bothering to explain anything to the tribe’s chief.
“Lame Leg, I will destroy your village” - the shaman shouted, advancing and carefully scanning the ground ahead for traps. My companions hid in the bushes, making me an easy target. But the warriors trailing behind the shaman were in no hurry to attack me. Shamanic disputes were not for mere mortals. An attack by a mere warrior could anger the spirits and bring disaster to the entire settlement. If only Empty Belly were not here, the events might have taken a different turn.
“And how do you plan to do that? You’re no longer a shaman” - I laughed. The enemy warriors exchanged glances and moved closer, almost reaching a narrow strip of land connecting two islands surrounded by impenetrable bog. Only knowledge of hidden paths and the help of spirits could assist the goblins in getting out of this place into the forest.
“My power over the spirits is stronger than ever” - my opponent retorted, manifesting two hand-held spirits in the material world. Such a trick did not scare me in the slightest, but the simple warriors recoiled.
“We both know that’s not true. Come on, attack me. Or are you so powerless that you’ll send warriors to kill a half-dead old man, hiding behind their backs?”
From the gritted teeth, it was clear that this was exactly what Stinking Belly intended to do. But battles between shamans had to follow a certain code, known to too many. If he showed any weakness, his own warriors would kill him. A shaman held power over his kin only as long as he instilled fear. Once he admitted that he had lost control over the spirit world, he would become an outcast. No tribe would accept a goblin from whom the spirits had turned away.
“I will gut you” - the shaman shouted, taking a step forward.
“I’ve heard that already. In the world of the dead, where your spirits have abandoned you.” - The more I pressed on Stinking Belly’s mistake, the angrier he became. – “Come on, summon them. Create at least a swamp fire.”
I laughed contemptuously with the same disdainful laugh he had heard not long ago. That was the last straw, and with a furious cry, the shaman charged forward, swinging his knife. As soon as he stepped inside the circle, I activated the trap, and the goblin collapsed to the ground, stripped of magical energy, which began flowing into me. I would need every little bit.
The warriors saw the shaman fall and rushed forward, but were repelled by the protective field surrounding the perimeter of the circle. A few unlucky ones even fell into the water, barely escaping the engulfing mire. A dozen of the weakest water spirits I had summoned made this part of the swamp impassable.
I checked the state of the trap again and began the ritual to awaken the magical core. The warriors threw a few knives, but they were deflected by the shield. I was already mentally celebrating victory when over a hundred warriors appeared from the forest, accompanied by a junior shaman of the tribe.
“What a luck” - came the voice of the shaman’s apprentice, who had long reached maturity. – “I will kill you both now, and next year we will destroy your tribe. That milk-faced fool won’t be able to stop me.”
I had to agree with the assessment of my apprentice’s abilities. He was more of a mage and herbalist than a shaman. However, I was more interested in the events unfolding right now. Reinforcements gathered on the opposite shore but did not advance. As long as it was a confrontation between shamans, the simple warriors dared not interfere. They suspected that I was not alone, but while it was not known for sure, fear of the spirits kept them in place.
“Are you so sure you’ll survive this year?” - I laughed, continuing to awaken the core. – “Without the aid of your rotten god, you’ll be easy prey. And we won’t miss the opportunity to tell the trolls of the northern range about your weakness.”
The warriors murmured anxiously. Shamans or not, if word got out about what happened, the entire tribe would be doomed. There was no room for adhering to the 'moral norms' of goblin society here.
“Quiet!” - the shaman’s apprentice interrupted the rising panic. – “I’ll take the two spirits my teacher summoned. It’s not three spirits, but it will be enough to last a year. And in the spring, we can conduct another sacrifice, buying slaves from the same trolls.”
The apprentice’s words played into my hands. I was almost in the right state. Another minute, and I would turn these mortals into bloody mush. The murmur died down, and the warriors watched us with interest. After all, when would they get to witness a shaman’s battle? In a regular fight, it was not the focus. My opponent stepped forward and, with a thoughtful look, tapped his staff against the force field.
“This is magic. So, you don’t want to use spirits. Or you can’t.”
The assumption was correct. I was not familiar with the spirits that had been fed by the donor of my body throughout his life. To them, I was no more appealing than a stranger with the scent of the master for dogs.
The shaman waved his hands, and a whole pack of spirits surged from him towards me. Unfortunately for him, the goblin’s intellect was not enough to understand the essence of the trap before him. The force shield did not hold the spirits for even a moment. But as soon as they entered the circle, the spell drained all their strength, sending the entire pack back to the otherworldly realm, and enraging them against their master for such a setup. The shaman’s furious cry was music to my ears. Just a couple of minutes ago, his master had screamed the same way.
Meanwhile, my core had fired up, and, enduring the pain, I finally felt like a real mage. How I had missed this feeling. Two spells flew from my hands. One paralyzed the goblins in front of me, and the other drew the immobilized apprentice shaman into the circle. As they say, too much is never too much – the excess we’ll discard.
Time was running short, so I immediately activated the soul trap ritual. The spell was already embedded in the stone, and now it was unfolding and filling with energy, entering operational mode. Just then, the night was torn apart by numerous cries. Alas, this time the attackers had come at us from behind, so my tribe’s warriors had to engage in battle, fulfilling their part of the agreement. They had no other choice. The enemies had come via the very path they planned to use for retreat.
While the battle raged nearby, I focused on maintaining a steady flow of energy. Unfortunately, as I had suspected, even this enhancement was insufficient to be considered a normal mage. I was barely managing to sustain the spell and could not afford to divert even a moment of attention to help my allies.
Finally, the first phase ended, and I began extracting the souls of the shamans. They screamed and threatened various forms of retribution, but they could not resist my power. I also used the two spirits that had accompanied Stinking Belly. Bound by contract to him, they could not escape to the world of the dead. After a long two minutes, the process was complete. I could have sighed in relief, but at that moment, I felt my strength leaving me. My magical core had completely burned out and was beginning to disintegrate, giving me unforgettable sensations. However, it was nothing compared to the tormenting spiritual pain.
With the remaining strength, I activated the soul transfer process. I even had to draw the last bits of energy from the protective spells I was maintaining. And, of course, just at that second, one of the attackers rushed at me and impaled me with his sword. The spell sputtered and collapsed. I tried to 'jump' into the crystal myself, but I lacked the energy for a full activation, and the last remnants poured out through a defect in the crystal’s structure.
If only I had a drop of energy left. If only I had been impaled by the sword just a few seconds later. If only the shaman’s apprentice hadn’t brought reinforcements. If only I had attacked yesterday and the enemies hadn’t learned about our plans. If only that bitch hadn’t stolen the stone. If only...!!!
Already as a disembodied soul, I awoke from the whirlwind of regrets and saw the Judge before me.
“You are dead” - the Judge declared indifferently.
“I want to use a Righteous Judgement Point for my resurrection” - I replied.
“You made a sacrifice, but violated the rules in the process.”
“The sacrifice has been accepted, so I have one Point.”
“Your body was destroyed by the ritual of awakening magic. According to the rules of this world, I cannot restore it” - the Judge pointed to the burning sparks scattering everywhere – all that remained of Lame Leg’s body.
“My body is there” - I pointed to the crystal hidden in the tall grass.
“The body of a Vritras in this world? Interesting…” - the Judge drawled. – “I hope you don’t plan to reproduce.”
“No. I categorically do not plan to. This knowledge is meant only for me.”
“Very well, I will resurrect you.” - I felt the Judge’s mockery. This was the first time I sensed real emotions from him, not just their faint echoes. – “It will cost me just a drop of magical energy.”
The soul crystal began to glow, and even the enemies surrounding Fat Belly paused for a second, astonished by the magical radiance. My soul merged with the new vessel, and the flow of magic, which was called dragon magic here, surged into my consciousness.
The glowing star rose into the air and then unleashed a series of spells that annihilated all the goblins in the vicinity. Only Fat Belly remained standing, now the sole survivor among my entire squad. Well, I got what I wanted. It wasn’t Fat Belly’s fault that my plan almost failed. So, I might as well help him and his tribe.
A healing spell enveloped the chieftain, healing his wounds and his age-weakened heart. Now he would remain the strongest warrior in the village for another ten years – an unheard-of achievement by goblin standards. I looked over the mutilated bodies of the warriors, lingered for a moment on the deformed corpses of the shamans, whose flesh resembled melted candle wax sliding off their skeletons, and then dashed toward the main encampment of the swamp goblins. Within five minutes, the tribe was finished. All that remained were burning huts and torn-apart bodies.
I surveyed the surroundings one more time with a mental glance and shot off southward like a glowing meteor. I had finished my business here. All that remained was to find a quiet place and complete my rebirth as a Vritras.
By morning, I had found a suitable location. The basalt outcrop was visible from afar by the characteristic crackling of the stone in the form of hexagonal columns. A stream flowed nearby, surrounded by trees. All the necessary materials for creating my new body were within reach.
The synthesis of the new crystal took only a couple of hours, and that was only because I aimed to recreate it to the atomic level. The device for transferring me from one crystal to another, however, took until evening to construct. I certainly didn’t want to mistakenly end up bodiless again. At sunset, I transferred into the new vessel and sighed in relief, starting to create my external body.
All night, I worked to perfect myself. I needed to obtain all the necessary chemical elements, optimize the energy flows in the body, and learn once again how to act without the magic source of spiders in my soul. In short, there was plenty to do.
In the morning, I transformed into a quadcopter and flew toward the nearest game figure. It turned out that the Judge’s 'gift' allowed me to determine the location of any figure on the planet and gather information about what it was, what it could do, and so forth. This data set could not be called an ability revelation; rather, it allowed precise identification of the object. Knowing whether a piece was a druid or a necromancer greatly aided in searches.
The closest figure to me was a 'king' ruling a small local country. He wielded dragon magic and was quite a strong figure by local standards. Interestingly, while he was rated as 'strong' compared to other figures, among ordinary people, he was considered 'godlike'. And, by the way, he was human. I confirmed the existence of humans in this world just half an hour into my flight.
When there were about ten kilometers left to the city I needed, I landed in the forest, took on human form, and removed the disguise spell. I needed to integrate into the local society, which first required me to learn the language. A person who only speaks goblin would appear quite odd, to say the least.
Orienting myself according to the cardinal directions, I headed toward the nearest road. It wasn't a main road but a shabby track between two villages. Soon I was walking on dusty ground, trying to determine from the tracks who had passed before me. The presence of an unknown traveler ahead was indicated by the dust rising into the air. Honestly, I had never imagined that there could be so much dust on the road, kicked up with every step. Fortunately, I didn't need to breathe it in. Though... there's a lot of chromium in this dust. I could use some. Maybe I should breathe a bit deeper, haha.
I wasn’t in any particular rush, rather just enjoying existing as a Vritras. How comfortable life can be when the body wasn’t created by a god for humans, but by a human for himself. It's clear that ordinary organic life is quite a shabby job. Or maybe a finely tuned instrument of torture. Just remembering my torments in the goblin body makes me shiver.
Half an hour later, I reached a small hamlet of five houses and caught up with a small cart drawn by a regular horse. The driver was a perfectly ordinary-looking... goblin. Ugh. However, a few seconds later, a human came out of a house and started explaining something to the newcomer, actively shoving a chicken into his hands. Goblins seem to live quite well here. I noticed the decent-looking outfit worn by my ideological relative. Finally, the goblin agreed to take the chicken and tossed a coin to the human. The human skillfully caught it, bowed, and hurried back to the yard.
I approached the local driver and spoke in the purest goblin language.
“Hey, grunt, can you take me to the city?”
He looked at me with surprise, took in my dusty but decent clothes, and moved over.
“Hop in, I’ll take you. And hold the chicken.”
The feathery creature was handed to me. I effortlessly jumped onto the driver’s seat, and the cart started on its way.
“Future dinner?” - I asked, inspecting the goods.
“No, it will lay eggs. And then, who knows, it might end up as dinner.”
I watched the hamlet recede in the distance. From the height of the cart, I could see well what was happening in the yards of this settlement. However, I didn’t see anything original. Just ordinary village life. The only noteworthy observation was the general affluence of the peasants and the fact that they weren’t afraid of bandit attacks or wild animals.
“So, tell me, how did you end up in such a life?” - The goblin demanded once the houses were hidden behind trees.
“What life?” - I was surprised.
“I’ve never met a human who speaks goblin without an accent before. And on the northern dialect, no less.”
“Oh, that. I lived in a goblin village for several years as a child.”
He scrutinized me with a keen eye.
“And what’s life like up north?”
“Harsh. Poverty so severe that a knife could get half a village killed. Only the shamans help people survive.”
“Did you interact with shamans?”
“I had to. Who else would take me in a goblin village?”
And so, with leisurely conversation, our journey to the city gates passed. At the same time, I used a mental spell to copy the knowledge of the human language and local realities. I would need to figure them out later.
At the gates, we were met by a couple of big thugs in armor. Behind the gates, there was a dozen more of the same, languishing from boredom. The goblin turned out to be a local celebrity. At least, they didn’t create obstacles for him but greeted him by name and accepted a copper coin for the cart’s passage. They didn’t charge the pedestrians, who moved back and forth without hindrance.
Soon we reached a turn onto a narrow street, where I returned the chicken and said goodbye to the goblin. The cart turned right, and I went forward, looking around like a true tourist. The only thing missing for a full effect was a chest of gold following its owner on its own. Instead, I displayed a plump purse on my belt with coins visible through the fabric.
To start a normal human life, I needed money. And where to get money if you don’t have any and don’t want to work? Of course, rob someone. And following the proletarian ideology, it should be robbed from robbers, i.e., from thieves. So, I played the naive fool, waiting for someone to rob me, or at the very least, pickpocket me.
After strolling through the main streets, I turned onto narrow alleys, then into backstreets, and eventually reached some slums, but no one seemed interested in my presence. Finally, in one of the narrow alleys of the city’s working district, three men with cold weapons in hand blocked my way.
“Hey, you! Get lost! There are all kinds of people wandering here.”
I didn’t understand... Were they not going to rob me?
“Didn’t you understand what was said? This is our neighborhood.”
“What do you mean, ‘your’? Did you buy it? Or did the king gift it to you... personally?”
At my remark, the thugs’ faces twisted in fear, and they quickly fled, leaving me without answers to my questions. I scratched my head and decided to first review the information package about the surrounding world from the goblin’s memories. After walking another three hundred meters, I reached the city wall, which was accessible via a narrow staircase. Climbing the steps, I found myself at a guard post where the guards were intently watching the outskirts.
To avoid interfering with their important task, I cast a spell to divert attention and settled on the parapet, taking in the views of the city while sifting through the goblin’s memories.
The country was ruled by King Vandal. Discovering this name almost made me fall off the wall. Luckily, it wasn’t Koschei. Otherwise, I’d be endlessly searching for chests in the woods. Anyway, the king lived comfortably, managing his kingdom with considerable success. Specifically, he had completely eradicated theft, robbery, corruption. The essence of this success was that investigations and interrogations were conducted by mentalist mages. And the only form of punishment in the kingdom was the death penalty. Initially, this led to mass executions, repressions, genocide, and the relocation of peoples, but after about twenty years, it somehow turned out that there were no more criminals in the country.
Since then, life in King Vandal’s realm had improved day by day. However, technological progress was stagnant, but who needs it? Certainly not the king. He had magic. Neighboring countries occasionally tried to correct this inequality through wars and plundering, but the king gathered his army and quickly instilled the correct ideas into the heads of neighboring rulers, usually by chopping off those heads according to wartime laws.
The only serious problem was malevolent sorcerers from overseas who repeatedly arrived in the capital to sow discord, spread chaos, and kill the king in one nefarious way or another. In general, I immediately felt who among us was good and who was evil. I even felt a bit guilty for planning the assassination of such a remarkable king. However, these moral qualms lasted only until the first bout of spiritual anguish caused by my injuries. After that, I didn’t care how many millions or billions of righteous kings would be sacrificed for my well-being. For what is material existence compared to spiritual existence? Just vanity and futility.
Understanding the current political situation, I returned to analyzing the memories of the city’s layout. The city was divided into three parts: outer, middle, and inner. Anyone could enter the outer part. Access to the inner part was restricted to those with documents, money, and a valid reason for visiting. The inner city contained the king’s palace and the homes of the country’s most distinguished mages. Entering there from the outside was virtually impossible unless invited personally by the king.
The goblin had little knowledge of this side of city life, so I had to tap into the thoughts of one of the guards stationed just three meters from me. Scanning his thoughts, I learned that entry to the palace via land was off-limits. There were so many checks, traps, patrols, and documents that it would be easier to shoot oneself. But there was still the possibility of entry via the air. Flying machines were not in use here, and the guard knew nothing about magical air defense systems.
All that remained was to wait for darkness and, under the cover of night, parachute onto the palace roof. By the way, the palace was situated on top of a hill and had at least a couple dozen floors, so from my vantage point on the wall, this hybrid of a temple and office building was clearly visible.
I spent the sunset watching the play of sunlight through the palace’s stained glass windows. The day was clear, but after sunset, clouds gathered, and in three hours, the streets were in complete darkness. I considered this a favorable sign, so I soared into the sky, hiding from curious eyes among the clouds.
I decided to start by observing the king and checking the quality of his security. Cloaking myself with every possible form of concealment, I silently glided down onto the palace roof and began searching for ventilation exits. Despite all the magic, no one had taken care of the internal air filtration and regeneration system, so the ventilation was soon discovered. I slipped through all forms of alarms and protections like a stealthy stream. I didn’t encounter any major problems along the way, as such minor tasks were handled by local mages who were no match for the power of spider civilization.
Finding the king didn’t take much time because I could still clearly sense his presence. I hoped he couldn’t sense me in the same way; otherwise, my spying would seem quite laughable. Navigating through the air ducts, I reached the necessary room and cautiously peered out from behind the ventilation grille.
Good grief! That was all that came to mind when I saw the king. He should not be called godlike but god-equal. In terms of the amount of power emanating from him, he could compare to the Being and the Judge. Well, at least to my untrained eye. If I had two tails, I might be able to resist him... for a few seconds. As it was, I had no chance at all. I was to him like a mosquito—he’d swat me without noticing.
Now it was clear why the Judge had laughed so cunningly. If I could bring these figures as sacrifices, he would become their master, pulling a fast one on the gullible players. The only problem was that to bring down such a behemoth, I needed a bigger argument. Approximately a megaton, if not a hundred megatons. This made it obvious why my modest self was chosen for this scheme. The local people clearly believed that magic was the pinnacle of power. So, a thermonuclear explosion would be an unpleasant surprise for them. At least for the first few times. Therefore, I needed a plan. Do you have a plan, Mr. Fix? Of course, I have a plan, Mr. Fix. For those who know me, my plan is quite clear. Deuterium lithium is solution for everything.
I slowly backed away from the grille, climbed back to the roof, and took off, speeding away from the righteous king’s palace. Only after flying a few hundred kilometers could I finally breathe a sigh of relief and start planning my actions. Actually, what’s there to plan? I need to:
1) create two dozen thermonuclear bombs with magical detonators;
2) develop remotely controlled delivery systems;
3) blow everything to hell;
4) profit.
The first point was simple and clear to me. My body is a natural element separation factory. Moreover, obtaining deuterium lithium is one of the physiological functions I developed for my body. I don’t even need to do anything. I had also long calculated the magical detonator powered by spider magic. A few experiments would be enough to confirm its functionality. After that, creating a thermonuclear bomb would be a tedious but straightforward process.
The second point of the plan raised questions, not so much about its feasibility as about the time it would take. I knew a spell for a 'remote video camera' that transmitted images to the mage’s brain. Next, it was just a matter of making artifact airplanes and attaching a control system based on two-way information transmission. For someone who fundamentally understands radio-controlled models, solving this problem is not an issue.
Blowing up the targets didn’t seem like a big problem either. As I had planned, hybrid aircraft and missiles could be used for delivering the payload. Alternatively, it could be planted in advance near the target's location. If there was no advanced air defense system here, the first option was preferable. Missiles could be guided based on my sense of the figures’ locations. Of course, there is work to be done here, but if necessary, there’s always the option of delivering the payload to a general area and increasing the amount of explosives. As they say, after us, the deluge. I have enough stupidity to vaporize the whole planet, as the Being decreed. The main thing is to collect my tails from the Judge in time.
Having decided on the strategy, I flew back north, reached the sea, and disappeared into its depths. After just a month, I was ready to act. While my body floated in the depths of the ocean, collecting deuterium, my mind designed the unmanned aircraft with power from a cold fusion reactor, which was essentially a separate part of my body. For me, it was just a matter of physiology. It was no wonder I had loaded the station computers with such tasks—they proved useful. The target search based on my sensing ability was also perfected. And packaging the warheads in metal casings and integrating them with the drones took only a couple of hours.
Following the principle of ‘more is better,’ I created twenty bombs, ranging from megaton to gigaton. The last one was specifically for King Vandal. For a good person, nothing is too much. There were thirty-two game figures on the planet, including me. But I targeted the strongest ones. After all, I could later show the Judge that I cared about his well-being.
I hid in the mountains on the northern islands beyond the Arctic Circle. The only living creatures here were moss and penguins. The latter ate the former while alive, and the former consumed the latter after their death. In general, this ecosystem amused me. Most importantly, both the moss and penguins eagerly tried to devour any stranger, which meant that it would be harder for potential malefactors to reach me.
Finally, everything was ready, and I pressed the imaginary red button. A minute later, I said:
“I offer these game figures as a sacrifice to the Judge.”
Eighteen Righteous Judgement Points dropped on my account. Not bad. I wondered who turned out to be so resilient.
“I propose to the Judge of Game to exchange ten Points of Righteous Judgement for my energy centers and healing of spiritual wounds.”
As soon as I uttered these words, my consciousness began to perceive the 'spiritual world,' where the Judge was already waiting for me.
“Deal confirmed.” - The Judge said indifferently. I didn’t even feel a hint of his attention.
Two familiar, comforting energy clusters approached me and took their rightful place. After that, I received a drop of Bahion from a pipette, which was barely enough to heal the damage.
“Deal completed.” - The Judge’s form disappeared, and I found myself back on the island among the penguins.
For the next week, I sat in the cave, quietly cursing the Judge and trying to get my tails to work. If we use a physiological analogy, I had been given tails but no nerve restoration in my spinal cord. As a result, my control over the generated energy was almost nonexistent. Previously, I could control chakra as part of my body, but now it was a foreign substance, desperately resisting my will.
The only positive aspect was that the tormenting pain had disappeared, although it occasionally returned in brief bouts. My hatred for the players and their games was slowly maturing, gradually driving me mad. Or rather, a part of my consciousness was constantly, without breaks or fatigue, pondering how to cause the greatest possible distress to any player, so they could experience eternal infernal suffering.
At dawn on the eighth day, which coincided with sunset due to the approaching polar night, I sensed the familiar aura of the Being. This time, it deigned to take a material form, still indistinct—just a glowing spot. Ah, the same burning thorn bush. I recognize it.
“How is it that you manage this? Only the fourth game, and you’ve already earned titles as the bloodiest butcher on planetary and galactic scales. You’re becoming famous. Ha-ha.”
“The bloodiest?” - I doubted.
“Who just a week ago wiped out all life on a planet?”
“How about penguins?”
“Look for yourself.”
I stepped out of the cave and confirmed that all the penguins guarding my peace had died.
“What happened to them?”
“Radiation. Why are you surprised?”
“But I used regular thermonuclear bombs. They shouldn’t cause that.”
“Oh, you illiterate.” - The Being deigned to give a brief lesson. – “If you had used a lead shell, it would have been a thermonuclear bomb. But what you created was a neutron bomb. And you detonated twenty of them, almost evenly distributed across the planet’s surface. As a result, those who didn’t die from the explosion itself, suffered and died in agony three days later from neutron radiation and secondary radiation.”
I looked at the serene clouds drifting across the sky, carried by the cold northern wind.
“And I was wondering why my body’s chemical composition was fluctuating.” - It dawned on me. – “It was neutron conversion of isotopes.” - I had no desire to think about the ‘native’ goblin village.
“No, overall, it turned out well.” - The Being began to calm me down. – “Such an epic happy ending happened. Eighteen strong figures went to the Judge, and I received a reward for defeating thirteen players in the elite league. By the way, I almost forgot. The Players rebelled and, through a general vote, banned you from using thermonuclear weapons in non-cosmic worlds. Plus, the council of judges decided to strip you of your gaming ability. To be precise, the points you earned will remain with you, but you won’t be able to earn new ones. Honestly, your sideline work for the Judge upset me.” - A shiver ran down my spine, though I hadn’t planned such a physiological function for my body. – “But he played you darkly, and you didn’t have much of a choice. People have gone to even greater deeds for a piece of their souls. But next time, at least warn me about such plans.”
“I will, definitely.” - I assured the Being, whose heavy gaze literally nearly flattened me to the ground.
“Agreed.” - The pressure vanished, and I took on my humanoid form again. – “In general, the gaming server was shut down, the Judge was transferred to another department with a promotion for ingenuity, but all the game figures were confiscated.” - I could only smirk internally. For a full laugh, I needed to personally rip a couple of pieces from the Judge’s soul. – “I’ve already covered the decisions regarding you. Now let’s move on to the sweet part.”
“The prize?” - I inquired skeptically.
“No way! A new game. This time in a world familiar to you. And I repeat, no thermonuclear bombs. It’s not funny anymore. Just toss a figure into the game, and boom, game over. You can’t write a book or make a movie about that, it’s just dull. And the competitors are complaining about nasty cheaters. Ha-ha.”
“Are there any rules in this game?”
“There are. But you’re not supposed to know them. However, I can give you a hint: the goal of the game is to raise the most delicious Pokémon. That’s it, off you go.”
And then it was as if I was turned off.