Chapter 1

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On Earth, when winter began, people often rejoiced - after all, many people like this particular time of year, with all the snow, blizzards, New Year's celebrations, the possibility of taking a perfectly legal sick leave without actually being sick, and all the rest of the package. I was not really a big fan of winter because I didn't like the cold, didn't play in the snowballs because I lost them regularly, and almost always celebrated New Year's Eve alone, apart from the rest of the Internet crowd. However, despite the lack of festive tendencies, winter was not a bad time for me either, remaining at the same level of "who cares what's outside the window".

Alurei, as you might guess, has changed my opinion of winter. Of course, in a world so utterly insane, such a romantic and sublime thing as Mother Winter was bound to be something morbid and chthonic, or, at least, deadly. Alurei did not disappoint me by recounting from the mouths of a subordinate tribe a host of folkloric tales, one more *awesome* than the other.

For a start, the most unpleasant news was the presence of a peculiar Spirit of Winter in this section of the wilderness, which sometimes passes through the land, taking whoever it is into its grasp. Actually, this creature operates much further north, in the deeper parts of the wilderness, rarely venturing into the frontier. And yet, rarely doesn't mean never. My personal tribe of green-skinned tit warriors knew for a fact that there was a certain line it was best to walk across only in summer, but never even attempt to cross it if there was a single pathetic pile of snow on the ground. Winter could not only pick up a careless visitor but could follow his footsteps to the very walls of the tribal camp.

I do not know how much of this was a fairy tale, for there had been no real precedent in generations to come, neither with "my" tribe nor with any known adversaries or allies. But I know that clairvoyance, without giving clear answers (with my skill!), also told me not to go to those places in the near future. Сlairvoyance said it was dangerous here, away from civilization, but it was ten times more dangerous there. I decided, for a change, to listen to reason and not take any chances.

I could not and did not want to refrain from checking my conclusions more persistently. The rest was the same: the old camp, the mirror, the visions. The visions didn't tell me much, but I trust orcs and their lore a lot more now. The creature that wakes up every winter and freezes large territories every winter, just for the hell of it, really existed. And it was strong enough that I gave it the upper hand of the mythical rank and forbade me from even going near it. Despite all the precautions, I nearly froze just by looking too deep. And I would have frozen if it hadn't been for the Shadows, who were at arm's length with the concept of cold!

It's like Undead Frost and Satan Claus all rolled into one. Shaken but not stirred.

Undead Frost It's a play on words in Russian that I can't convey. If anyone has any ideas, please comment. And so, the word "dead" in Russian sounds similar to "Grandpa". Grandpa Frost is a folkloric character similar to Santa Claus. MC add the word "no" so Not Grandpa Frost. And Not Grandpa sounds like Not Dead. And not dead it's Undead. So the name of the creature appeared.

It was probably this experience, the first time in a long time that I had encountered a very frightening shit that I had no chance of defeating, that made me realize that our company's stay in the wilderness had been somewhat prolonged. Yes, with the help of a tamed tribe, it was much easier to survive here. And more than that. I was free to develop my alchemy skills, pump my crew on dangerous beasts, and stock up on an obscenely large number of reagents and concoctions made from them. If I decided to sell even a third of what I had amassed in Melareth, I could bring down the whole fucking market for years to come.

No, not joking, but a completely serious assessment of my capabilities. With the help of the orcs taking over a hundred percent of any menial work, our team was left with only hunting and destroying. According to Losius, that's how the richest of the aristocrats are pumped up, wanting to get the maximum level. I don't mean on the same monsters, but the same methodology. Just fight and gain experience, and leave all the other problems to the servants. In our case, I'm also in charge of tracking down and selecting prey, as I have the most appropriate abilities for that.

The greenhorns do all of the work, including cutting up the loot, transporting it, procuring the most useful reagents (I take away the most valuable so they don't spoil), and setting up the temporary camps. Pumping went really quickly, allowing us to fully practice the command cooperation and slowly turning us into a full battle group. For the first time in my life, I got exactly what I had started the adventure for.

I can't say it went without problems, for there were some. In the beginning, when the mechanism of pumping had not yet been established, quite a few orcs and goblins had been hit by monsters. And while not many of my minions died simply because they weren't thrown into battle, the male population of the outpost was reduced by a quarter.

Hestia's enhancement turned them into very powerful units for their level. Alas, they were only powerful because of their increased characteristics and some limited combat-appropriate talents. Otherwise, I remind you, all the men were turned into dumb and executive puppets who lacked the instinct for self-preservation. Combat skills were intact, as was the ability to react or use tactics they knew relatively intelligently. The rest, however, was complete dementia and weak-mindedness, with a little admixture of bravery (these meat tanks had even less emotion than brains).

It should come as no surprise that not everyone managed to survive such mutations. In our ventures, not many died because we did not let unnecessary people near the battlefield, but in the campaigns... On campaigns, though, some got nibbled by monsters, others got pummeled by one of our prey, and others got mangled and died like a Darwin Award nominee. One of the former boyz blow up with an explosive potion, and I refrained from arming the male half of the tribe with anything more dangerous than a club. That potion couldn't even theoretically explode by accident, but the idiot drank it first (instead of healing one). Then topped it up with another booster compound and his own brew. The alcohol somehow reacted in the wrong way and detonated the potion he drank. The result: nine corpses, all of whom were sitting by the fire, and a couple of other passers-by. Even a couple of females were hit by the shockwave and shrapnel, and only one of them was saved.

So while the women finally got the hang of commanding the men. While Losius was able to provide a normal tactic whereby we didn't lose orcs to stupidity. While that tactic was practiced... In general, these bastards, even when fully submissive and brainwashed to whiteness, managed to give me a gnashing of teeth and a wild headache at the same time. It was like being in a mix between a Benny Hill show and a cheap B-movie horror movie - lots of blood and not knowing whether to laugh or cry.

As if the orcs and goblins weren't enough trouble for me, the orcess and gobliness were giving me a hard time, too. The Greenskins are quite hierarchical creatures, and I (or Hestia, but at my behest) had, for a moment, shredded their hierarchy to the ground. When they realized that those who had been listened to and streamlined were mostly dumb pack mules, who could not even speak articulately (those who still could be silent, for they lacked the will to talk), the ladies began to decide who was in charge.

Some women initially had quite a high position, like that of a shaman or a couple of female boyz in charge of their own gangs. But for every one of these "pumped up" there were several former wives, keepers of the hearth or, as the orcess warriors themselves say, "bitches". Not to mention a lot of goblinees, who weren't even considered "persons" by the orcs. The bitches got an excellent kick-start to their careers and began to work their way up, using gifted by Hestia's abilities.

This situation has resulted in more than one raid being in jeopardy because the one you put in charge last time, today, thanks to some kind of hypnosis, can no longer get her tits off the ground because "her nipples are now glued to the rock, Chief". And that's still the most innocent of things that happen at times. Goblins didn't lag far behind the orcs, managing in small crowds to handle solitary orcess who rarely perceived them as a threat.

Fortunately, over time, a clear hierarchy was formed, although the regular intrigues have not ceased to this day. Grtlashra, the former wife of the chief, who had been given one of Hestia's most trumped-up abilities, was able to stay afloat, remain "in charge" and clearly put a lid on those who wanted to move her. After that, it was quieter, and I didn't have to swear and flash my eyes frantically to clear the dope from the minions' brains right before the raid.

The Greenskins did not use their skills on the Ultimate Hero's Team, which Hestia was smart enough to have strictly prohibited. It wasn't that they didn't want to. It was that they couldn't bring themselves to do it. Every time their minds went in the right direction, they immediately switched to something else. However, Taria had played around in this way, having already worked her future "mistress" with her tits. On a few occasions I had to restore her mind through the Dreams when she was overplayed, but for the most part, it went smoothly. The few people who could permanently damage her mind were the ones she stayed away from, exercising reasonable caution.

I don't know about Hans and Losius - I don't follow them. I mean, I know that they are not at all celibate in such an environment, but I limit myself to that knowledge. But I have a suspicion that at least our nobleman has tried once or twice to test his resistance to suggestion with disappointing results, but this is only a suspicion. And I am very careful not to even think in that direction, lest I provoke clairvoyance. I don't need to watch other people's private lives yet!

I, on several occasions, allowed particularly interesting and original abilities to be used on me to test my defenses. I can't say that it did much good, but it at least made me a little more aware of the concept of mental influence. It was only twice that they were able to push the Hero's defense, multiplied by the realm connection to two realms, and only because I had removed most of my protection, leaving only my basic resistance, and had relaxed beforehand.

At the same time, my defenses were punctured, not completely broken. An attack of Obscene Gossip, for example, made me believe that I wanted to fuck Lkana, and that was why I had come to see her today, just for a few seconds. And then I shook my head and shook off the obsession as if my brain had been flooded with foam. And even though she had been preparing the Gossip almost two days in advance. I couldn't help but feel by my intuition!

The only one who didn't mind being in a subordinate position was Ygra, for whom all this brainwashing was a trivial game. Taria found a way to spend her free time that wasn't just in the company of another green-skinned girl. Ogress went all out, unashamed of her desires. She managed to charm some with her own charms, but more often it was she who was charmed. The Ogre wasn't complaining, though, enjoying the thrill of having a dozen goblins playing with her. And the goblins themselves, even driving the ogre's primitive mind into a trance, shut down one by one from their long exposure to her body. The orcs held on longer, but they too gave up sooner or later.

Grtlashra managed the longest, avoiding retaliation through her strange foresight. She was the one who managed to turn Ygra into her furniture, convincing her that she was a table, a chair, or a sofa. This raised her authority to the highest level, but when Ygra became almost constantly in a trance, if not on the hunt, she had to be rescued.

Ygra herself seemed seriously offended by the rescue.

Tits are tits, and perversions are perversions, but I was sure that staying in the wilderness was not going to get me anywhere. And I was sick and tired of it. There was nothing else I could do but hunt and level up, and self-development in the form of alchemical arts that almost drove me crazy, plus debauchery in the company of either Taria or Hestia, who had learned to create a physical body, or both. Only Ygra would resent me for ignoring her if she wasn't so fascinated by the new world she was about to discover. And if she were more often in her, sorry admin, mind.

We had to get to civilization, if not with our green-skinned mega-harem, then at least with a team, because things were not going to do themselves. We had already completed the main task for which the trip to the lost world was intended. The authorities of Melareth have given up trying to find and punish us. Levels, skills, and abilities had been upgraded, too, even if that was mostly only for my team. A new supply of potions for all-everything was ready in multiple quantities, and it was time to get moving.

After all, it was always possible to return to this place. I hid it as securely as I could hide an entire tribe, along with the camp, at my level of skill. The hardest part was with the other tribes my orcs occasionally crossed paths with. Sometimes for trade, sometimes for an alliance, and sometimes for a fight. I was initially lucky if the correct use of clairvoyance can be called luck to target one of the most distant and unsociable tribes. They lived too close to the edge of Winter, as I'd said, so their neighbors seldom bothered them. Even the tribe itself would have preferred to stay away from such a place, but their "skyscraper" was too posh a place for an outpost that they could never give up. And it had been a long time since Winter had come to those places to seriously frighten the orcs, who were only superficially familiar with the very notion of fear.

After thinking about it, I began to fortify the defenses of the camp, trying to hide it from all harm as much as possible. The first layer of protection was a compromise between inconspicuity and protection. The first layer is orcish incantations and contracts with spirits. The orcish tribe has lived here a long time, and during that time, they have managed to do a lot of different things. They could not be considered serious protection, but most of the simple threats could be either noticed or repelled.

The second layer was made by me personally and represented the same dome of false reflections as I did in the first camp, which had a huge stone mirror. I used some of the mirrors that the tribe had as a base and created a couple more with essence from suitable stones. The mirrors were smaller and not as significant as the huge melted monolith that was left at our camp, but there were more of them, and I also arranged them in a circle, securely covering the space. Hid not only in the real world but also in the world of Dreams. In recent months I've had the feeling that a fellow isekai is being looked at there... and I even have an idea what it is.

The barrier had two functions - stealth and defense. A stall was very difficult to find, or at least to spot. Even a man above level thirty, if he didn't know what he was looking for and pumped himself full of realm energy (or drank a lot of potions, or put on amulets), would simply pass by, taking a detour of five kilometers without noticing it.

If an attack did occur, enemies would miss, regularly experience dizziness, anxiety, and emotional swings, and, at times, go mad and start slaughtering allies. Not to mention the fact that any glance at a random reflection in a puddle could be the last - the mirror traps remembered from Kickass's adventures are actively used by me. When your own reflection starts squeezing your eyes out, your real body risks the same damage. It is possible to block such an attack, but not at all easy, and it would require very specific knowledge and defenses.

I would also note that the tribe has used similar magic in the past. I mean, not Dream, and not mind-affecting, but massive spells that can only nudge the enemy just a little bit at the right moment but work on all enemies at once. It's a good coincidence that the orcs, already dumbed down to the point of slippers, don't have to be retrained.

The last layer, protecting precisely the stable, was the effect of Hestia's Mist. All this time, she had been reinforcing the tribe and encapsulating the surrounding area. The camp was untouched by the Mist, for we also lived there. Instead, it encircled the stable in serpentine loops (during the day) or surrounded the rocky spire, overwhelming the orcs and goblins gathered below (at night, while we were resting at the very spire). The result was appropriate to Hestia's talent grade - very disturbing but powerful.

The changes in the fabric of reality had no combat applications, but the disguise had increased obscenely, even to the point of spatial distortion, breaking the metric of space. It would be difficult for the attackers to even walk normally through the areas within the camp itself and another kilometer in all directions. On the contrary, it hangs the buffs on the altered tribe and allows for some kind of Lovecraftian version of teleportation. The most deformed of all the orcs and goblins can, having inflamed their lust to the maximum, make a move and end up wherever they want.

Hans spent a good two weeks tormenting Hestia and those orcs but managed to figure it out and pumped one of his class skills to a five and was pleased enough, so Taria threaten to feed him a lemon, even though there were no lemons in the vicinity.

The last layer of defense was the same dream. Only now, I was not taking over the immediate surroundings but almost all of the tribe's hunting grounds together. Of course, this could not have had much effect, nor could it have been an easy task. With essentialism, I turn a pile of stones all over an area into mirrors, then bind them into one system and weave a vast net, or even a Net, covering a marked area. It was quite a chore. It took me almost a month (nearly four weeks, to be exact), but I managed it, even though, in the final phase, Dream came dangerously close to taking me with her for good.

The effect is not too strong, not too powerful, and not so effective. But it has, first, become completely indistinguishable even to the very attentive eye and, second, permanent and uninterrupted. The territory of the tribe - they used to be called the Bloodwind, by the way - of the Great and Mighty Green Tits (Taria, after pushing the name through, with the help of Grtlashra and her tits, could not stop laughing for three days) seemed uninteresting.

Anyone coming in here would find this place simply useless - no normal hunting, no prey, no traces of other tribes... nothing at all. nothing at all. I expect the newcomers will try to find out where the local tribe and their conspicuous encampment are, but they will give it up in a short time. They've seen strangers disappear in the wilderness, and no one wants to deliberately prowl around where an entire tribe has vanished without a trace. Especially if the tribe itself, while remaining invisible, will occasionally make disappearances to searchers.

It was then, as I finished reading the new system message about the class skill upgrade, I realized that I had finished with all this business at just the right time. At first, it was a barely perceptible hum, audible only in the clairvoyance and Dream, but with each passing moment, the hum became clearer and clearer. It was like a huge working hoover, trying to suck in information and knowledge, suck up past events and deeds, learn them, and go for a new portion.

I went into combat mode right there, near the central hub of the disguise net, which was the old mirror camp, and ordered the orcs accompanying me to be ready for battle. And, while the five men, like robots, spread out in a circle and waited for an attack, the two female orcs who had asked to accompany me, as well as Hans, who kept me company (because of whom the orcs had managed to ask for it), were quite wary.

Using the mirror for clairvoyance was not so difficult, but I had the good sense to act cautiously and deliberately, which saved me, if not from death, then from trouble for sure. The peculiar attack was coming from a town I knew well, called Ostmark, but I could bet my own hand that neither the townsfolk nor even the angry for the fall of the Stone Melareths were involved in the attack.

There was a carnival swirling in that section of the Dreamscape that corresponded to Ostmark, and it was such a carnival that it made me sick even after all the fгcking I'd seen. A sign of things to come!

The creatures were subtly reminiscent of those strange searchers who had almost caught me in the Stone but reminiscent only of their ugliness and... the hand of a craftsman, a maker even, perhaps. The creatures were made out of the remains of several souls, and they were like one big ulcer that looked and felt like a heart still beating in perpetual agony, with endless flowing out of the ulcer hearts to form one enormous Net. If my Net concealed and hid, averting attention and stares, this network was the opposite: searching and gathering.

In the center, even though the usual landmarks of space do not apply to Dream, of the swirling "carnival hearts" was another creature, several times more dangerous than the others. Huge jaws, or even just a stomach, sucking in the broth of pure knowledge that was coming through the vessels, digesting it, ridding it of the rubbish visions, and leaving only the truth.

If there ever was or will be a contest for the nastiest and most eerie way to clairvoyance, the creator of the carnival wouldn't even get first place, as he would sit on the jury. That would be all right - as I've said a hundred and fifty times before, there's plenty of shit on Alurei - but this strange ritual was looking for me specifically, using the imprint of my powers in the minds of several of the locals to do so. That was how I smelled its effect, for that matter.

To my deepest surprise, the strange creatures did not even risk approaching the trader Lane nor her assistant, in whose head I had left most of my work, nor any other personality I had ever processed by Dream. Instead, I watched as the dreamlike abomination swarmed around them with lurking jackals, carefully sorting out every, generally every single, fragment of the past that was reflected next to them in the Dream.

It was as if the creatures feared something. As if they expected that if they only touched the souls and essences of these people, there would be retaliation or some other evil thing. The clairvoyance and the mirror helped me to distinguish some of the intentions and knowledge of the creatures that were revealed to me, but only partially. I did not want to look more closely for fear of a surprise in return, which was bound to happen.

Instead, I repeated the trick that had worked with the Shoreless Eye, lurking in the shadows of the creatures' attention. I could have tried to track down their maker, but even the thought of it made me want to cut a mithril crowbar with my asshole. Instead, I followed the town for a bit, realizing that nothing was wrong with the town. The people were perfectly calm and were not about to go mad or mysteriously die. The only one possessing extremely strange and contradictory emotions was a white-haired kid hastily picking a lock on one of the warehouses. Anger, a stubborn unwillingness to die, cold concentration, and deadness.

I wouldn't have paid any attention to it if it weren't for the fact that it was the same warehouse where I'd stored my alchemy supplies after my adventures in the Kraj. If the creatures found those supplies, there would be trouble - there was too much of me on them to give them a chance to fall on my tail. Despite their ugliness, they're not dangerous to me. If I can get a little more aggressive and use my full power on the mirror, I can kill them all at once, expending about half my reserves. If I climb into Dream I could do it even easier. Not because I'm so tough but because those things aren't meant to fight. They're just meant to search. That's what they were made for if you think about it.

What surprises me more is that my alchemy machine - damn it, and why the fuck I hadn't melted it down in the first place, you ignorant moron - has yet to be found. I couldn't help but appreciate the power and skill of the creatures in the purpose for which they were created. Even the imprints I had carefully eroded and concealed that remained on the merchant and her fucker, were enough to riddle my defenses and search, search, search for my essence! They should have spotted the machine, if not immediately, since my attachments were not directly connected with the handled merchant, then a long time ago.

If this weird kid is an agent of the creator of the creatures, it could be very inconvenient... to him. I'd rather attack quickly, knock out the creature retrievers, and fill the place with enough Dreams to make it hard to find my footprints. I have a feeling it wouldn't do much good, even if it did, but I don't want to stand by and watch someone else's success.

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The kid gave off a rather convoluted tirade that almost made me lose my concentrationю I was almost caught by the net creature's eye, but I did get into the warehouse building. And then, just as I was getting ready to strike, for he was heading straight for my stuff, neatly stacked in one of the far reaches of the room, the unexpected happened. The kid opened a container that was literally right next to my belongings, and in the container was... a coffin. Once again swearing, the boy took out some alarmingly blinking amulet from behind his belt and jumped into the coffin, closing it behind him.

And he disappeared.

I was perplexed, so I stared into the part of existence where the boy had disappeared and found him and the coffin, but with great difficulty. The tree, black as a pathologist's sense of humor, just refused to be seen through the mirror and clairvoyance. I had to first abandon the idea of looking with the same threads as the cluster of creatures, carefully camouflage myself from looking for them, and look already specifically at this particular section of the particular warehouse to overcome the strange block.

I didn't feel a barrier as such, but all my extra senses saw nothing in that place as if a piece of the landscape had been photoshopped out of the photograph and replaced with some standard elements. That is, there was no sense of a hole in perception, but I still couldn't see. It would be difficult to overcome the incomprehensible but tricky obstacle completely, and with a tail of creatures looking for me, it would not be easy at all.

The funny thing was that this strange coffin was covering me too! I mean, not intentionally, but by the very fact of its being there, the wood masked the threads of interconnection that bound me and my old things together. If I'd known about the capabilities of high-class visionaries back then, I wouldn't have left my belongings unattended!

Well, there's always time to clean up our tails, isn't there? Since my disguise is now supported by a weird guy, under the temporary call-sign Bastard Alucardovich, for his love of lying in weird magical (anti-magical?) coffins, why shouldn't I take this chance? That's right because it could be a trap! But while it's still open, one could try to steal the bait and leave the hunter with nothing.

And I doubt that this guy is in league with the creatures, for it is too complicated - if they had noticed the threads I had thrown at them from the start, their eyes would have beaten into the walls that had been built around the camp, with a good chance of pushing through them. For then, he would have known those walls were there. At best, they would have had to abandon both the tribe and most of their accumulated potions and reagents.

So I was lucky, for once, and the creator looking for me happened to be distracted by someone else. I remembered the boy, and I would talk to him again, but that would be later. In the meantime, I have something far more complicated and important than satisfying my curiosity. I'm going to cosplay Sasha the Great and cut my knots. He was a hero too, only much cooler than poor Kostya.

The deeper layers of Dream are very limitedly accessible through the mirror, largely because the mirror, even if prepared in advance, lacks depth. High stats, massive magical reserve, and donkey's stubbornness help, but it would be easier to act from within the Dream itself. If I were any closer to Ostmark, I might try to dive, if not all the way in, at least to shove my hands deeper into the mirror's surface.

Alas, I am too far away to risk approaching the city first, staying in the Dreams as a material body, and only then starting to work. Even setting aside the very likely outcome, in which I would be stupidly spotted and eaten (by the creator of the pack, for example). I would still have to find my way back and crawl out of the very mirror I had crawled into. In theory, I can sense my mirrors anywhere, but I won't test them in practice. Not in such cramped and dangerous conditions. Yes, I have tested the possibility of teleporting through mirrors, but even with not too much distance and mirrors ready in advance, it was difficult and dangerous. Even for me.

So I spend my reserve, clench my teeth and dive in.

Translating what I have done into human language, I have just entered a section of the Ostmarkian Dream from below. Not from below in the physical sense but in the perception of the depth of the dimension itself, that is, from those areas where reality means even less than in the familiar Dream. The creatures were very subtly and cleverly made, but they suffered for it, for they could not descend too deeply without fear of distortion and disembodiment.

The Dream is not like the Shadow, where the deeper, the scarier, because it has no concept of layers, even though there is a concept of depth. Personally, I would compare Dream to the famous Sideways Picnic Zone by Strugatsky. In the sense that there are areas in this place that are even more different from the familiar world than is usually the case in Dream. And the further you get from the material world, the more such plots there are. What is going on in the deepest and most unreal chunks of this dimension? I have no idea, but nothing good for sure.

All that mattered to me was the fact that by guiding the flow of my attention through a dangerous area, I would "dig in" to Ostmark and his guests from an unexpected angle. Here's just a little more wishful thinking, shifting my presence here and manifesting it there to...

...nearly walking into a landmine planted deliberately on me!

Several dozen of the creatures were waiting for me in advance, and only my habitual paranoia prevented me from hitting the finest web of a signal network. It didn't even feel like a web! Just another stream, a mirage, a shivering hot air in the desert, a wisp of purple dream matter - something that looked scarcely familiar in Dream. An embodied concept of insignificance and non-threat, beneath which lurks a crystal clear and incredibly ringing attention stirred by anticipation and readiness.

Almost running into the ambush, I clutched the heated stone mirror even tighter and then began to look in paranoia mode in the cube. This mode paid off, revealing first the suspicious swirls of lilac mist, which turned out to be camouflage cloaks, and then those who were concealed by them.

Even the cloaks themselves were a structure complex enough to be considered quasi-intelligent, but what was hiding underneath... Imagine a lump of thread that wove together the five cut into a soup set of sentient beings, with not only the bodies but the essence itself cut into pieces. Cut up, put together, stitched together, and aimed at one single purpose: to kill. And between the pieces of stitched bodies, you can now and then glimpse the sharp fragments of broken mirrors, which, I grant you, serve as anchors for the use of the special abilities sewn into them. If the bloodhounds from the Stone were dangerous and could bite quite painfully, these creatures were like armored tanks with huge cannons. I could take out one of them, take out two, take out three, take out five easily, but almost three dozen, and at such a short distance, again, Dream and the perception of space, would hurt me.

They would because I'm literally right next to them right now! Just look at me and start the attack! Luckily the creatures were almost blind and in cloak mode, not even almost at all. The cloaks, in addition to cloaking, served as links in the signal web, creating a workable plan of action.

First, I hit the signal strings. Then I get surrounded by "tanks". Then they drop their cloaks. It is possible that these cloaks detonate and hit me with some kind of nastiness, illuminating and restraining me, and then I get hurt first by the ambush regiment, followed by the creator of the damn regiment who comes to the light.

Wow, how messed up it is!

Maybe I should get out of here before I get in trouble. Ostmark is not just covered by a dome, it's a fucking copper bowl, and the only thing missing is me. Whoever gave me such a warm welcome, just as they search through the echoes of events and connections, but they're not fucking inferior to me in skill. Because I can only repeat those critters gathered here in pure theory while he has them ready in practice. He is a good clairvoyant, and, in addition to the pet mastering in which I am so badly beaten, he uses pure dream weaving, only a little short of my level (as far as the trap is concerned).

What kept me from sensibly refusing to take unnecessary risks (to run away shamefully with my tail between my legs) was the realization that I was now practically indistinguishable from my enemy. He can't look at the ambush site unless he wishes to give himself away and damage the web. The alarm is so thin that any attention risks triggering it. Yes, he doesn't monitor the work personally, shifting all the burden to the creatures he's created, but that doesn't change anything now.

So, let's dance.

This is probably the craziest thing I've ever done unless you count the time I went to kill the creature from the Kraj. I'm really unraveling my traces on the alchemical equipment right now, and not just unraveling, but managing to replace the stripped threads (a suspicious emptiness you can spot, if you know how) with trashy and least suspicious visions. In principle, I, or the holder of my qualifications, will be able to realize that this is a hoax, but I, for a start, know where and what to look at, but will the owner of the pile go through the fate of each individual item? Doesn't he have other things to do?

It's funny, but the coffin of Bastard Alukardovich that saved me is now as much in my way as it was before. It's hard to correct the threads of interconnectedness if you can hardly distinguish those very threads. The most anecdotal part of my story would be the fact that had I acted intelligently, closer to reality, as originally planned, the creature sensors would have spotted me. Not immediately and without an accurate glimpse, but they would have picked up familiar notes in the Dream I was forming. I realized this rather late, having watched them for a good few hours, and I could have fallen in. I had a very unpleasant opponent, and I didn't know why he was so angry with me.

Or is that the reason why I've never met a dreamer? Is Dream some kind of a Matrix where if you get too fat, Agent Smith will come after you? Is it safe to assume that some ancient and very dangerous creature just extinguishes everyone-anyone who dares to enter its territory? Though the elven specialist had worked somehow, though he was a powerful Seer and had been in the field a lot longer. One might as well put on a Kickass mask and go around asking the Eared Ones who it was that was so brawny and strong around here.

My insolence makes me laugh. I, on the other hand, create my work straight from where I am to be ambushed. Just look here, you insolent bastard, and you'll find me right away! But whoever my adversary was, he was so confident in his abilities that he didn't even assume that I would literally sit on a working mine and decide to set up my position on it. I guess he just doesn't think I'm an idiot... I would even take this attitude as a flattering compliment, but looking at the tormented souls of those who have gone to the creature material in every sense of the nightmare, I am drawn to cite the WaHa Inquisition. And to behave in the same way.

The ambush hung over Ostmark for nearly a month before every last one of them left, leaving behind several hundred beacons of every kind but not touching a single living soul. And they might have, they might very well have! The number of creatures hovering over the city would have been enough to sweep it clean, but they hadn't touched a soul.

Even these alarms... I got the feeling they were afraid of getting trapped themselves, being cautious all the time. And their owner didn't even show his face within sight, working exclusively through the proxies. We'll be able to track down even more suspects with their IPs. But jokes aside, I can't understand the reasons for the bastard's actions.

For a start, what the fuck was he getting at me for? No, I would certainly kick such an abomination at the first opportunity, simply because any attitude towards a creature that makes living creatures like this can only be expressed by the famous "KILL IT WITH FIRE" or "run, fools" but no other. Except I hadn't met him before the Stone mess! And he was not one of the defenders of the Stone, as the colleagues of Hestia who died in that hangar will confirm.

It gets even more fun!

I could not help but get the feeling that the monster did not perceive my footprints not as footprints but as bait left in plain sight and certainly not as an oversight on my part. It was as if this monster (though more likely a creature) was waging a cautious and intense war with me... that I don't know shit about! This is not an attack on me not expecting an attack, otherwise, the events in Ostmark would have looked very different. But when could I get involved in this very war without my own knowledge?! Maybe I've just been confused with an old enemy, and now they think I'm the enemy? Also nonsense... I guess. In any case, I have more questions than answers or even versions.

Thank the admins that I had the good sense to remove all traces of my personal imprint from Laina and her companion. The mere fact that they were being affected by it through Dream was hard to see (but not for this type, alas), and not even the construct of a heart-sores and a giant mouth-gut could see exactly what I was. When I think back, bitch, I get nauseous again.

After a while, I kept a reserve of power in case I needed to counteract the mighty dreamwalker, but after Ostmark, there was silence again. Gradually I was coming out of combat mode, aware of the fact that the enemy had still walked away with nothing. This did not prevent me, in the mode of maximum paranoia, exponentiation no longer a cube but at ten, from going through all the places where I had worked with Dream, or at least stayed long enough, and carefully erasing those traces, leaving extremely convincing deceptions in their place.

Of all the things I saw, the only one I remember was a village I had almost forgotten, where the good villagers had been robbing the road on occasion. There - I mean "in that part of the Dream" - someone had obviously been there, but nothing had been done. It's too late to mop up, and my footprints are very ephemeral. I had used Dream there in large quantities, but I was already able to partially hide my reflection, even if I did it rather intuitively. I felt as if the creatures of the mysterious dreamwalker had been there, but not the dreamwalker himself, for it was too clumsy.

I decided to take my chances, and, in infinite paranoia mode, I cleared all traces of the Dreams and even the memory of those present, and I realized why I could not see another ambush in this place - the trail was even better than the one in Ostmark. All the outlaws I'd sent nightmares to had already died of those nightmares, and the lucky bastard merchant had left the strange place out of harm's way. Yes, he liked the overly amorous "flute-playing" ladies, but the regular dying and wailing of the villagers told him to get the hell out of there.

It was the man's decision to give up free blowjobs that saved me from another bout of trouble - without the fundamental cornerstone mechanism that closed the network of dreams I had created, the network quickly disintegrated. The bandits didn't even survive the first few months, and the women, without the object of their fixation, quickly got rid of the bookmarks. The only thing the creatures found at the time were the remains of my structure, which was hanging in the attic of some house. Luck?

Maybe my "fan" had a fiancée living in that village and was offended that I treated her badly? Or was he the "fiancée"? If so, I'll have to ask him when I meet him - and I'll meet the bitch.

* * *

The Empire of the Ages was not chosen for our immigration by chance. Even though I like to make random decisions and do random things. The choice was mine alone, even though I consulted with anyone and everyone who could advise me, even Ygra. There were enough reasons for such a voyage, even apart from the desire for civilization. We did not want civilization too much, come to think of it, for we were well-fed here.

The Empire was one of the oldest states in this part of the continent and probably one of the five oldest human states in general. There were worse hegemons, both territorially and in terms of military power, but it was antiquity and preserved archives that I was after. The Eternal Library was a relic of an era even older than the Empire itself which had arisen on the ruins of former states. Or rather, one of the former states, in the course of rebellion and other upheavals, became an Empire. The point is that the Imperials can trace history back very far, truly far, indescribably far in the background of the same Melareth. And if there is anywhere one can look for the very best information about Yoke and related topics, it is there.

Options more suitable existed, but either was in the heart of the settled kingdoms, which from the wild lands is not easy to get, or penetration there was associated with serious difficulties, or, in their time, the same archives were simply ruined (burned, sold, taken as a trophy and exported, something else). In the same elven states, we can all only infiltrate as saboteurs, but not infiltrators, but the human and very loyal (in comparison to the elves) to immigrants Empire of the Ages suited perfectly.

The orcs had told me about the Yelny Fort, for there were still legends of a raid to this fort about a hundred years ago. However, the raid was not a success. But it brought back information that complemented my clairvoyant skills - the perfect place to infiltrate and, if need be, drag the tribe along with you.

The plan of infiltrating Mtran and using her skills to take the beachhead was born amidst the still-present paranoia associated with Dream. I could have brainwashed the entire fort in a couple of days at most if I wanted to - it would probably have taken me less than a day - but I was afraid of getting my ass handed to me by an unknown enemy who wanted my ass for no reason at all.

I wasn't happy about the suggestion myself at the end, and the level of paranoia had dropped a little, but the green-skinned scout had such a satisfied face from realizing that "mighty me" had given her a personal mission that it would be worse than taking candy away from a child to say that I had canceled it. The more so that a test of the altered's abilities had to be arranged, and there were almost hothouse conditions here, for I was ready to intervene at any moment.

Mtran did seventy out of a hundred - Taria would have been able to make sure that even if someone came in to check on the interrogators, they would not have suspected a thing. Mtran was too much in her voice, which automatically failed her infiltration exam, but she did sabotage on time and successfully. The hardest thing for her to do was not to kill anyone when she was "taken prisoner": she couldn't beat a full five even with Hestia's boosts, but she had every chance to kill someone.

I did not have to intervene, even though the human jaegers planned to finish her off on the spot (after she had only stopped the fatal blow twice because of my orders). She was just in time to suggest to the commander to take her prisoner. It's even before she was exposed to the stun arrow. Her sense of danger was good, and she had no trouble figuring out which arrow was not dangerous.

She had even managed to work the other guards enough to almost make them her sort of mates - at least half of them weren't too opposed to a chat of life with a beautiful (sic!) orc, but only if firmly tied up. Alas, one of the jaegers sensed something and gagged her, as a precaution, without realizing why. Good intuition, that's for sure.

The next thing was easier: the interrogation, the imposition of control, and the activation of the mirror grain, the mad work of the mirror-maker and the essentialist in my person over the wreckage of another mirror. I'd checked the portals well in advance, so I wasn't too afraid of Kostya getting smeared all over Dream when I stepped through the opening of the mirror frame. Well, no more than usual.

I have learned from bitter experience that I have made every effort to ensure that my work with the dreams and minds of the fortress garrison is as invisible as possible and that the results of this work are not determined in any way at all. I have no idea whether that is possible, but I have done my best.

Nothing really serious for a Dreamwalker of my rank. It's just that at the right moment, if necessary, the garrison would ignore not just lone infiltrators but even an evil army marching past. In the other case, on the contrary, they will consider everyone who is pointed out to them as an enemy and destroy them, even if it is their immediate superiors who have come for an inspection. The final tab was the royal battle mode, where each member of the garrison saw the surrounding area as enemies and monsters, killing everyone they saw. No trying to run away or even think about where in the heart of the fort the monsters came from. Just kill everyone and try to hold out longer. Much more elaborate scenarios could have been implanted, but my main purpose was to hide such mass bookmarks from all sorts of sighters, seers, and other intuitive, while at the same time hiding all manifestations of the Dream.

In fact, there are simply no effects on them now or in the future, none at all. There is only a barely discernible hook, like a black thread sewn into a black carpet, to which my design is hooked. And if that hook is pulled, my behavioral bombs will unfold, activate and force them to execute the program. The only thing that keeps me from thinking that I'm doing the shittiest thing is that I'm not going to apply this safety net. But situations are different, and one bookmark per unmarked or three made almost no difference.

Think of it as reassurance.

I just hope I don't have to use it.

Or at least the moment I do use it, I'll still care.

I had not expected to find anything that would interest me at all, let alone surprise me to any degree, as I rummaged through the brains of the few more or less knowledgeable inhabitants of Yelny. Indeed, I wasn't at all surprised but simply f*cked to discover that we all had the equivalent of a uranium mine and a diamond deposit in the same guise.

Hm...

And if I hadn't shown wonders of caution in handling the garrison, would I have been noticed all that well by those sighted men who keep the security of the mine under control? Probably not, but I wouldn't deny the possibility of a not just mighty and talented but also a fucked up and not too lazy Seer. With my luck with unexpected problems, why expect to get away with it? My luck's already been exhausted for a dozen years. Or rather not, for I admit that I am very lucky if it comes to saving my ass from the next fire I foolishly or accidentally sit in. Except, in terms of not getting my arse into that fire, I'm a complete loser!

I went back through the mirror and even took Mtran, who was happily groping me. I only shrugged off the questioning of my teammates and the pestering of a bounty-hungry orc, then tried to look at the very vein that promises so many pleasant and not-so-adventurous adventures. I was able to report back quickly on the work I had done and what I had learned while giving kicks and orders.

A long observation of the mine showed... there was one. The protection against seers here was not too inferior to that of the Stone. The Empire of the Ages had more resources than poor, hapless Melareth. Unlike Stone, the Nameless Mine had little communication with the outside world, making it difficult to determine the connections and consequences of other people's decisions.

Presumably, the basic defense of the mine is still inferior to that of Stone, focusing on stealth and the quick evacuation of personnel and material. There may be more, but I just can't discern such preparations without a long and diligent preparation, roughly the same as was done in the storming of the Stone, be damned.

But the opportunity to get my paws on a stock of legendary and mythical reagents. The mere thought of what such a treasure can be made into, my inner alchemist demands a hamster raid and even get a real inner hamster. And a toad too. For without a toad, a hamster is not a hamster!

Toad and Hamster it's avatars of greediness.

And I already know what decision I will make in this situation.

"So we have another stronghold, for which we will be sentenced to a hundred years of uninterrupted execution, hidden from everyone and everything, but with incredible values inside?" Losius doesn't even try to look surprised, already planning how to use the power of Heaven in the confined spaces and cramped dungeons.

My team, even Ygra, listened attentively to my speeches and were not at all surprised. It is a great thing to travel in the company of a Hero, for the word "impossible" simply disappears from the lexicon and thoughts, as if by magic. They are not just doomed to follow me into another meat grinder but are also justifiably confident they will get out of the same meat grinder with a profit.

"You make such crap out of epics' guts, Tin. I don't know what to think of you making it out of mythic" Hans scratches the back of his head thoughtfully as if he were giving someone the finger behind his back. "But I've never fought underground, so I can't give you any advice."

"Ygra want hunt!" She gives her opinion too. She's been a bit stagnant lately, probably due to the fact that we've beaten all the really strong critters out of the area. "The game is good here, almost like a swamp, but not a swamp. "The small green are good, yes! But Ygra wants hunt, beat the strong animals, be stronger! Ygra ready."

The little green ones really love Ygra, and Ygra gets high in return - that's who has no complexes and enjoys it. She used to wonk herself, but there's a whole tribe for the job. And the fact that her mind is being affected is the last thing the ogre cares about. She gets off just as much from her fingers as she does from being a couch for Grtlasha and her friends and from the hypnotic dances of the goblins, so she didn't care about anything else.

But the very fact that she understood what we were talking about, and responded almost on-topic, makes me proud of my pedagogical talents and, along with the first point, wish I could punch my skull in with a facepalm. With her wanting to fuck me off, well, or being fucked off by me, whatever, she's going to have to do something, one way or another. Taria only laughs at my efforts to resolve the issue while the guys at least try to mask their laughter with a cough. Only Hestia, thank you very much, can keep the laughter to herself without showing it outwardly. Although I'm sure - clairvoyantly - that she, too, is laughing deep down inside.

"I want to try myself out," Taria replies seriously, without the usual jokes, slowly turning the Valerium she'd been carrying around all this time. "The beasts are no match for us, especially since we've already slaughtered all the strong ones."

The Valerium in her hands no longer looked like an incongruous object, becoming a full-fledged weapon wielded by a true master. Regular training and use against truly dangerous and high-level creatures multiplied by the bonus of the Hero's Companion title. As a result, she took level thirty-second in the profiled skill for using Valerium and wasn't about to stop there. A couple more upgrades and a new skill for the legendary artifact would open up, something the dancer herself is looking forward to.

She still didn't truly love her weapon, but she appreciated and was impressed by the power of a legendary artifact that could be a great way to initiate any battle. The second class, however, she did not want to choose as a Marksman, considering the revolver a powerful weapon, but not so powerful as to build all the pumping around it.

Hestia was silent, but that silence was as clear as her words - she would follow me into Hell. She had told me this truth a long time ago, and she was not going to repeat it, not even trying to add her voice to our conversation.

I glance around my group, admiring the coordinated effort and the willingness to rush into battle without a second thought, denying the very possibility that we might lose. Smiling at them as predatory as their own, I calmly announce:

"You, gentlemen, are absolutely right. It really is an opportunity to test your strength, take awesome trophies and gain new levels. Your only mistake is that we won't even go there." I enjoy their faces for a second, then explain the obvious truth. "We are going to infiltrate the Empire to gather information about Yoke, secretly and discreetly. The words "secret" and "inconspicuous" don't go well with the idea of enraging and alarming this entire Empire with audacious theft right out of the pocket of the ruling dynasty. And we have so many reagents and ready-made potions that if we sell them, we won't be able to carry even a fraction of the gold. So why do we need the bloody lode, then?"

A few days later, a group of one isekai, three humans, one ogre, and one misty monster quietly crossed the Fort Yelny-controlled territories, heading deep into the Vzdryzhnevsky tract to leave it in the Empire of Ages territory. The orcs and goblins they'd left unattended started fighting for leadership once more. It's resulting in much humiliation and a few brains burned to a vegetable state by their continued orgasms.

The latter, however, was of no concern to the travelers, for they were more concerned with the deep snow and the gradually approaching blizzard. On the one hand, it would cover the tracks of their steps, but on the other hand, it was not so pleasant in such weather. Personally, isekai, however, would not mind if the most ordinary and not magical frosty weather - recalling the endurance scores of the group - became the worst test of their journey.

Better still, a single one at all.

* * *