Chapter 12

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A beautiful life cannot be forbidden, even though such actions are regularly attempted. The owner of the largest mixture of restaurants, casinos, and entertainment centers in all of Eternity undoubtedly knew this truth, and he was certainly not afraid of having his beautiful life spoiled. Rumor had it that the Owner of the House of a Thousand Spectacles was approaching heroic status and that the guards and mercenaries who kept his business safe from encroachment would be enough to take over a medium-sized county and fast.

This place was characterized not only by its notoriety but also by the very different social status of those who were welcomed here. The huge building, somewhat reminiscent of Earth's high-rises, was an entire complex supported by powerful magic and cunning dwarven engineering. It housed gambling houses, drug-smoking joints, restaurants with the fanciest cuisine, exotic brothels, fighting arenas, and who knows what else. Somehow this place reminded me of the Eternal Library because it was not without spatial distortions, but the difference was very noticeable. Still, it wasn't that complicated in the House.

From the outside, the building did look like a multi-story circular-shaped apartment building, with a large courtyard with a park and playgrounds inside the ring of walls. Only it would have to be multiplied by an indeterminate amount. If the height of the building corresponded to an ordinary five or six-story house (there were houses even higher in the city, at least the same palace), then the volume of the occupied territory was comparable to a large Magical Guild. And what's more! The Adventurers' Guild I had visited occupied more space but not much more.

As I said, almost anyone could get in, as long as he had enough money, decent looks, and a brain that wouldn't allow him to make a fuss for nothing. Of course, it could not do without a division according to the degree of solvency and nobility because there was no way for ordinary visitors to enter many floors or special rooms. On the other hand, no one would be surprised if, in one enormous hall, the dancing circus performers were both ordinary mercenaries with big money and someone of the high aristocracy who occupied a separate place. And that's not even mentioning the banal arrival of the incognito - rumor has it that at one time, the young Emperor also liked to drop in here, blending in with the crowd. I'd wager a sack of alchemical silver that the owner of the establishment is spreading these rumors.

One thing was certain. This place was truly unique and unparalleled in the Empire of the Ages. I was no longer sure there was nothing like it anywhere else in the world, but there probably wasn't in the Empire. It was here, as one might guess, that we went to blow off some steam and relax after being locked up for so long. And we weren't the only ones affected by the wave of searches, scans, and arrests that swept through the city. If the rumors and visions are to be believed, a lot of the powers that be have been rapping each other to a bloody pulp during this time. And that's not even mentioning the heavy and pressing premonition of another war.

The last full-scale conflict with Alishan was over half a century ago. Yes, since then, there had been minor border conflicts and regular sabotage, but now everything threatened to develop into another large-scale fight, and it would be good if only the Empire and Alishan were involved. They had enough allies, both of them. And if they called on all of them to help, the whole continent could go up in flames. And then the overseas countries will come to light. If they don't intervene immediately.

People were all nervous and with bad vibes, and the prices of weapon amulets, alchemy, and military equipment were rising day by day, threatening to hit new highs. Many were eager to cash in, but all realized they might as well lose everything they had gained during the years of relative peace. Guild colleagues, as adventurous mercenaries as our "legend" shared information about the slowly growing demand for mercenaries. And take on long contracts with more than excellent pay but rather vague terms of employment. Merchants, aristocrats, guilds, and moneybags were preparing their small armies, hoping to either wait it out or kill someone while no one was watching.

With this mood in mind, people ran to the House of a Thousand Spectacles as soon as the opportunity presented itself. It was easy for the small and modest of us to get lost in the crowd, and we did so with almost no conscious effort on our part.

Still, the House clearly played with space at a very high level. Only here, it wasn't so much protection as extra square meters into which visitors could be crammed, and they could be monitored and controlled. At the very least, the attendants were sure to use all sorts of amulets that allowed them to go from one door to another in such a way as to be a couple of floors below and at the opposite end of the structure. Not all the servants or all the guards, just the most important ones, but the very fact that such magic was used for such mundane purposes spoke of the place more than any advertisement.

We dropped our bones in an enormous hall shaped like some kind of cross between a parking lot and a theater. There was a spiral staircase from the bottom to the roof, surrounded by cozy little booths for small groups. In the center of the structure was an empty space from the top to the bottom, which here was deeper than the ground level at the expense of the underground floors. There was no floor or ceiling, and its role was played by networks of alchemically reinforced ropes and chains that created a platform for the local entertainers. Each floor had its crowd-entertainment specialists, and all of them, from time to time, switched places using the same local teleportation or mechanical levers that lowered one stage or raised another.

The price for such a regal spectacle was such that Hans almost chewed his collar out of greed, but we were all so fed up with being locked up that I ignored the price of the "ticket" too high for our level group and limited me to checking for sneaks through clairvoyance. It is not difficult to understand that as long as we are sitting here, we have not found anything, and suspicions, if any, are quite insignificant. It's just that these outsiders had a taste of life in the capital and began to squander the squad's coffers with all the proper irresponsibility.

"Strange stuff." Taria looked at the dish served to her, ordered by poking at random, with a kind of interest close in its nature to the scientific. "What is it anyway, and why does it look like someone's brain?"

It really did look like someone had cut the brain into slices, fried them in butter, and served them with lettuce and cheese balls. There were many reasons for the outward resemblance, but the real one was the most obvious.

"Because that is the brain of a Red-headed Tree Monkey." Losius, like the rest of us, was rather taken aback by his surroundings, but the ability to keep a poker face and aristocratic image was, in his case, something of a non-scripted system skill, so he looked like he'd been walking in such places all his life. "I hear this dish is quite popular among the peoples of the jungle, from where the fashion for it was brought to more civilized lands. Despite its appearance, it's quite a delicious manifestation of their cuisine, albeit one that requires proper processing and a high-level chef to bring out all the facets of flavor and remove the possibility of poisoning or catching some kind of contagion. At first, the brain was served directly in the skull of a monkey. Sometimes even alive, but not wanting to shock the public, they changed the serving."

If he had expected a violent reaction from Taria - and he had secretly hoped he would - he was disappointed. When she heard the explanation, the girl nodded calmly and began to wield her knife and fork, proving that the lessons of etiquette through Dream had served her well, despite her love of swagger and demonstrative disregard for manners. She would have eaten with her hands, but the dish was too hot.

"Ah, good." She just answered as she chewed the first bite and dipped it in a small bowl of sauce. "I was afraid it was some kind of mushroom. I can't stand mushrooms, to be honest. Besides, you're wrong, Losius!"

The last phrase was accompanied by an accusatory poke of the fork in the direction of the accused, though, fortunately, with a fork, without a piece of brains on it.

"Where is my wrong? Please tell me?" The poor guy had long ago grown accustomed to ignoring the girl's quips and had developed a thick-skinned sensibility. "I just freeze in anticipation of the truth."

To back up his words, he elegantly sipped his wine from the glass (quite expensive, which, unlike ordinary glassware, you don't want to beat on other people's foreheads), demonstrating how much he couldn't wait for an answer. So much so he might fall asleep right there, in the middle of the slight hum and noise of the crowd.

"This dish just doesn't have a whole brain in it, if I understand anything... and I do!" Immediately the girl spoke up, not stopping to taste the exotic cuisine. "They clearly divided it into several portions, plus fried it as well. And you can eat the brain of a living monkey only in raw form, otherwise, it will quickly cease to be alive. It will, but you know what I mean, don't you?"

I roll my eyes, but I'm not going to break up the argument between the two of them, and frankly, I can't. Seriously! If Hans looks so organic with his simple language that even Losius gave up on the idea of teaching him how to speak loftily. In Taria's case, she's perfectly capable of speaking normally. She just pathologically enjoys making Losius and the rest of them nervous with these kinds of words. And she doesn't like to turn her way of speaking into that of a common slob. She doesn't like to be too flamboyant either, but she speaks clearly and beautifully in her own way. She makes an exception only for Losius and now for Tia.

I ordered some strange steak with herbal spices and several sauces at once. The dish, contrary to my fears, was not a small piece in a huge bowl but a huge piece of tender meat that barely fit in the huge bowl. You can't go hungry here. Rather, you have to make sure that you don't overeat.

"Tin, are you making potions out of food again?" A poke on the shoulder from Hans knocks me out of my thoughts, causing me to frantically draw the barely visible sparks of essence back into the Vessel. "Gah! You're losing control again, Commander!"

I reply with a demeaning look, intended to show the superiority of my superior intellect over his flawed village thinking, but all I get is another wave of laughter, now with the support of the rest of my companions. Even Hestia, the traitor, covers her contented smile with a glass of wine! As if I'm so chuffed and addicted that I would turn the meat in public into a kind of edible vial for three different potions. Two to boost my stomach and one to neutralize the alcohol.

"You're all imagining things." I have steel in my words and an absolute certainty of my rightness on my face. "It seemed, I said! I said it's imagined! You don't fucking believe me! You did! To me!"

Well, maybe I do get a little carried away.

Sometimes.

Almost always.

The groups of performers changed quite frequently, about once every hour or two. We sat here for a long time, planning to spend at least twenty-four hours partying - which is what the whole environment was designed to do. Not just in the restaurant, but to go dancing, to watch fights, maybe even to play dice if we wanted to.

But I admit there was something nice about sitting in comfortable chairs, sipping light drinks and snacking on equally light snacks, and discussing dancers' boobs with Taria. I had to admit that the bitch knew more about tits than all of us put together, though Hans was very indignant when she demanded it of us.

They really knew a lot about entertainment here. All sorts of dances, costumed as they were, were just the tip of the iceberg. I saw a whole ensemble of black ladies dressed in palm leaves and coconut shavings, or whatever they had on their clothes. And their shaking breasts looked not banal, but really interesting - the dance, the smoke, where the smoke was controlled by two magicians, who created all kinds of screens and figures from the smoke, the drumming and even the plot of this very dance! It's that case when in the presence of naked bodies you look not at them, but at the picture itself.

The whole story, without any words telling about the hunt of two huntresses for a wild beast that threatened to either devour them or love them, was gripping from beginning to end. Yes, the plot is primitive but played with excellent skill and seasoned with splendid special effects. And that's despite a light mental field that makes the audience empathize more strongly with the onstage images. Not aggressive or dangerous to the audience, but a kind of artistic class effect, like a bard's song, only not as powerful.

Then there were three women, all of them very frail and thin, making them seem almost childlike in their costumes. They had no curves, and their bodies were covered from head to toe with cloth. No eroticism at all, Comrade Isekai. But they had ribbons, many meters of multicolored ribbons, which they operated with a skill impossible for ordinary people. Levels were all twenty-one, and their stores of magical power were quite decent. A dance that was magical in every sense, combined with magical contact telekinesis, made it possible to create and play an entire movie with these ribbons. Like the smoke of the black women before that, only much more varied.

They would not have been strong enough to show such a thing on every floor of the tower-restaurant through which they were teleported, but they were aided by the very construction of their scene. There, among the ropes and chains, were woven extra ribbons, thickly painted with runes, and in the knots of these ribbons were hidden magical accumulators. Enough to waste almost no reserves of their own. However, there were three of them, that is, three full shifts - while one was dancing, the other two groups were resting.

The sight so delighted everyone that someone from the opposite booth tried to jump onto the stage but found himself caught in a magical barrier. The scarred, bald man's hands glowed with the burgundy light of an activated skill, but his comrades quickly grabbed him, dissuading him from breaking through the devil's barrier and embracing the lovely nymphs, expressing their respect for them. And he really wanted to praise them, not fuck them.

They calmed down the connoisseur of beauty faster than the guards intervened. Before that, they were sitting in their booth and keeping a close eye on the order. They even arranged for one of the dancers to come out from behind the barrier and accept a tinkling "thank you." She was also invited for a drink and a meal, but she only allowed herself a sip of water, lifting her cloth mask. According to what I could hear from the shadow sphere, she couldn't eat while she was working, or she might vomit. By the way, she looked pretty cute, even if not as stunning as the other local girls.

The third group was an entire show, performed by three illusionists who spared neither magic, nor reserve, nor imagination. They even took orders for a fee, showing anything and everything the esteemed customers wanted. Despite the highest level and the biggest impression on the public, this particular company didn't evoke any emotion for all of us - we've seen better. And Taria, if she tries, can show better, although she is not an artist but an adventurer with experience. Our Suicide Squad, by the way, spent most of the show jabbering with each other, which I'm sure offended the illusionists a bit.

One of them, the youngest, was even about to scare us with the illusion of spiders escaping from under the bowls, but before my vision became true, the oldest of the triad silently covered him with an extra layer of illusion and punched him in the face, knocking him down on the ropes that trembled from the fall. Yeah, well, insults are insults, but a local visitor might as well take up arms, even if they weren't allowed in, except for daggers and knives, which are more status items than weapons. Personally, forks would have been enough for us to stuff the whole trio on bare reflexes. However, something tells me that he was much more afraid of the anger of his superiors at the possible complaint than of the unhappy customers.

The last performers were four ladies, of whom only two possessed classes. But they were both level twenty Hypnotists and Seductress, and the other two were their assistants and, as I understood it, a demonstration aid. They did not, however, use the aid, stating with aplomb and pathos that they were willing to let the glorious heroes and mighty warriors test whether the steel of their will could withstand the tenderest silk of pleasure, which binds the mind more securely than the strongest chains. That last one, if anything, is a direct quote!

I, personally, didn't understand what they were even counting on. Even with the security vows and an audience to watch their activities, what kind of moron would allow himself to be victimized in such a performance? As it turned out, I stupidly underestimated these beauties' ability to take a dare. Well-placed hints and several spectators at once decided to show that they would not succumb to any charms. And the ladies only added fire, as if casually adding that everyone who has stood before their temptation will be given a handsome reward. For participation, so to speak.

By the way, one of the men, a Monk by class, managed to stay awake despite the rather masterful attempts to deprive him of consciousness. He did not go into deep meditation, cutting himself off from hearing, seeing, touching, and the world in general. It was forbidden by the rules. He calmly withstood several attempts to bring him out of his equilibrium, after which the ladies quite decently conceded defeat, drank the lightest wine with him, kissed him on each cheek, leaving traces of lipstick, gave him his reward and, already mentally, spoke an unkind word about all the monks and their class stability.

But the rest of us showed the show to the entire audience, as originally planned. They sat in a soft chair, closed their eyes, listened to the voices of the two of them, and that was it. Nothing humiliating was done to them, simply because their friends and comrades were nearby and could have kicked the shit out of them. One was collecting gold coins, visible only to him, falling out of the punctured pockets of his pants. The other confessed his love for the chair, which in his mind was his longtime love... he recited some pretty good poetry, by the way, apparently written by him. The third and third were indoctrinated that their left palm was an erogenous zone. Not theirs, but their partner's - his in hers and hers in his. At the request of the laughing couple, this suggestion was left with them, assuring them that it would dissolve by morning.

At least two of the volunteers deliberately volunteered to give themselves to these foxes. And I'm sure they knew perfectly well who was here out of curiosity, who for money, and who for pleasure, but they didn't show even a hint. Though, they could have embarrassed the poor people in front of an honest audience. For the first time, I see how such a class can be applied without undue meanness, guile, treachery, and nastiness. I have a lot of respect for them, honestly. It's not that they've never done anything they don't like and hurt before, but they were smart enough to get it over with by going under the wing of the Master of the House. Well, conscience crept in there somewhere, though here only in the case of the Hypnotist, as the Seductress would have been content with her life if she hadn't crossed someone else's path.

I can't help but throw a gold coin right into the hands of the lady who is about to leave, as she prepares to be transferred to another tier. Not an ordinary coin, although that is also a good tip, one of the "ancient" ones, as if brought by us from the wilderness, but in fact forged by me with the help of essentialism. I reckon I can get about ten gold pieces for it. If I am lucky enough to find a collector, I might even get as much as fifteen. An ordinary collector would not recognize my forgery.

She managed to catch it, as well as to appreciate the weight and size of the coin, so she smiled quite sincerely and bowed slightly, saying, еhank you, spectator, for appreciating my art. And I raised my glass in response and spoke with my lips alone so that no one would notice my gesture or my words but hers:

"Not the worst of ways." She could read lips, so she understood what I was saying, just as she understood my implication, involuntarily flinching and looking away as if my words had hurt something in her soul.

And I stifled a slight prick of pain as I sent another series of visions into oblivion. These were the words that said goodbye to her, not so much her lover, but her old comrade and friend, dying of a neglected curse. She was already moonlighting as a performer then, though all sorts of personalities beckoned her to get back to a "normal" job and stop counting pennies. However, that person would have refused to accept money for treatment earned by the kind of work Hypnomancers usually did. She might have risked enchanting her friend and forcing him into treatment, even if it meant losing his friendship forever, but he knew how to resist her methods, even though he was not a monk. And by the time the pain and weakness had sapped him enough for her to put him into a trance, it was too late to save him. At most, she could anesthetize him and let him leave without suffering.

These words, about the path, about how it is chosen, and how the paths choose us, that he admonished her before falling asleep for the last time. A week later, she was invited for an interview at the House of a Thousand Spectacles, and a month later, she was performing on the local stage, having taken the necessary oaths and contracts. She managed not to fall into servitude or give up her choices. Choosing to take not the worst path fate had offered her.

The team noticed my pensive look as they did the coin, but I ignored their questioning glances. They didn't really care, and the story I'd inadvertently learned was too personal for me to reveal unnecessarily. Taria had obviously drawn some conclusions, though, and not necessarily the wrong ones. She could be very perceptive when she needed to be. It's in her skill set if anything.

The Great Hall, which I wanted to call "Concert Hall," was not located in the tower but in a separate room. Here the troupes and individual artists who could not or would not work under the conditions of the suspended stages would give their performances. Even the most eminent singers and musicians did not hesitate to show their art here, so the audience was also very large.

Today there was no singing, but dancing, and dancing on a grand scale and with fire. Literally, with fire - of the more than twenty performers on the stage, most of them had classes that allowed them to control fire in one way or another. There were mages, dancers, warriors, and even a couple of priests with fire classes. This troupe can hit harder than a full-fledged army circle if they want to. And that's not an exaggeration but a full-fledged fact. I've even caught echoes of past events in which they've used this trick.

Harmless entertainers, sure!

The ribbons of fire flew along intricate trajectories. Fire beasts emerged from the void and disintegrated into clouds of sparks that formed into figures of warriors and mages fighting each other. Out of the fire appeared wondrous landscapes and gloomy pictures, and streams of flame flowed like rivers and soared like waves of the sea, stopping just inches from the spellbound spectators as if they stumbled upon unyielding rocks. Flames ruled the ball, flames ruled the place, and flames made their breath stop in their throats.

At the center of the fiery extravaganza danced twosome, he and she. A woman, no longer young but still thin and agile, almost painfully thin and sharp in her features. Her short gray hair fluttered following the movements of her dance as the Fire Mage and the thirty-sixth-level Flame Spellcaster led Flame after her like a submissive beast.

And in front of her danced a young boy of about sixteen, dressed in light pants and a shirt with snow-white ribbons on the sleeves. It was only his twentieth level, but the class, his only and very first class, proved that he was in the center of the formation for a reason, for a reason he had been entrusted with this role. Dancer with the Flames is a legendary fucking class that can be an indestructible force in direct combat. Even now, he is only slightly inferior to his partner. Even now, he is monstrously strong and dangerous.

And yet this dancer is not a fighter and does not seem to want to be one. His power, with the right training, could take fortresses, burn cities, and crush armies, but all he wants is a dance, an extravaganza of inspiration. I feel this as clearly as I feel my breath. I don't need clairvoyance to understand this truth. He broadcasts it himself, announcing it to the world.

It's hard for me to imagine the effort it cost his fellow dancers and their patron to keep this talent from falling into the grasping hands of the Eternal Dynasty, who would have found a use for the legendary class and the genius mind of this resource. A legendary class at level ten is a bid for a second legendary at level twenty-five. He can hardly jump high enough to get a mythical class, but there is still that possibility. Honestly, I don't understand how he hasn't already been picked up by all sorts of bad uncles and even less good aunts.

I couldn't help my curiosity, and, waving away from Losius, who was seeing my confusion, I tried to understand. He's pretty well protected, both by some seer, who's obviously managed to make a not-so-shitty deception, and by his power. At a low level, he's uncharacteristically strongly allied to the Flame, leaning on its heat, hiding behind it, hiding his essence from greedy glances and thoughts. It might have been painful to look at, but what is the rage of the Flame to me when I can reflect it in the polished stone of the stage, catch that reflection, and ask it already? Reflections cannot be silent when I ask them.

I see his essence as fiery and unruly as the fire itself, and I am slightly surprised to realize his essence is clean from planar contamination. Well, not exactly, but much cleaner than I would have thought, given the depth of his immersion. For a few seconds, I am frankly stumped, and then I get it, and I start laughing, drawing the attention of my comrades. They stare with mild suspicion, and I don't immediately manage to calm them down.

This guy, a lucky bastard, is doing exactly what I do when I'm trying to save my ass from The Shadow's grip or Dream's whisper. Only when I ignite my own feelings, clutching at them and separating them from the inspired abomination, he focus entirely on the dance. The flames can turn him into a solid lump of rage, a desire to destroy and turn to ash, to leave nothing behind and beside himself. It can. You can't argue with that - it's his nature.

But as long as he dances, as long as there is his dance, not even the Flame itself dares take away his passion, his desire, and his inspiration. This protection is as reliable as it is absurdly unfair! The little bugger enjoys his favorite pastime so much that he simply cannot believe it and brazenly refuses to give up his downfall. On the one hand, I am very jealous and want to do something bad, evil, and funny to him. First of all, to me, of course, funny. But I can't help but respect the asshole - that kind of talent, paired with a passion for his talent, would do honor to anyone. With a slight veil of self-pity, I realize that he, inferior to me in power, is much happier to have his power than I am to have mine. This is the first time I've seen such a blatant way to fuck up a realm that wants to devour your soul and stay with the profits.

"Primal talent." A woman's voice, barely audible, on the verge of a whisper, rumbles beneath my ear. "The sight is as rare as it is beautiful in its rarity. I no longer regret coming here on this day."

The voice was unfamiliar, but I knew exactly who it belonged to, even though Tia had distorted it carefully. The elf-woman looked like a normal human girl in her twenties, coming at us casually in the crowd as if she'd come up from the side. Typical Druid amulets around her neck and arms, a few flowers braided into her hair, and patterns covering her clothes. If I put my mind to it, I might even be able to find out which of the Circles of Stones, the equivalent of magical guilds and academies, but only for Druids, she belonged to. And if I asked around, I might find out the entire life story of the girl she made up... Or the real life of the mysteriously disappeared druid, I have no idea.

"I'm jealous," I confess honestly, making Losius goggle, Taria jump with laughter, and Gestia and Hans, who couldn't hear me in the noise of the crowd, look at the first two in surprise. "I can't do like that."

Tia didn't smile or even look at me seriously and then nodded as if acknowledging my rightness, and without taking her eyes off the unimaginable fiery flower boy was creating right now, she said:

"So am I." There is no malice or bitterness in her words. Only a slight shadow of sadness. "I can't and don't understand. Though, you have more to understand as a human being. What he does is quite similar to how you despise the planar poison in your soul."

"Nope." I smile, not taking my eyes off the dance. - For me, every step beyond my own limits is a duel. I must fight myself, defend my essence in battle, and prove my right to command realms, not submit to them. For him... it's different for him. He's just... in his place. He's so focused on loving his art that there's nowhere for the Flame to sprout. Lucky bastard."

"I'm sure it's a fight for him, too." Objects Tia, trying to probe the guy's clairvoyance on his own without showing her presence too much. "It's just that the battle is different for him."

"Maybe so." I don't want to argue. "But I still want to punch him in the face."

The most frustrating thing is that I understand how unfounded my anger is. A man who gets three mythic classes at the first level shouldn't be jealous of the owner of one legendary, but he's so fucking happy that I'm furious. If only he'd been forced to fight with himself, tearing his ass up trying to stay on the blade. Okay if his happiness had been as much of an induced filth as the Shadow hunger I'm already used to. But he really can not only have a cool class and an extremely powerful, and in the long run even roofier, connection to the plane, but also have the nerve to be happy with it!

My classes, while saving my life and allowing me to achieve my goals time after time, gave me no happiness. Only fear, anger, question marks in Status, and a constant fear for the integrity of my brain and ass. He, on the other hand, is happy!

Damn, I'm really jealous.

Damn it.

From the concert hall, where some minstrels, including two pure-blooded elves, were starting their show after the firemen left, we left in very different moods. And if the team was, in general, happy, at the same time "getting acquainted" with the charming druid, and the druid herself was quite calm, then I was burning my ass. The worst part was that I couldn't even get mad at that disco dancer properly!

If he were just another bastard who liked to, I don't know, burn his lovers alive, I'd just give him credit for his jerkiness. But from everything I could find out about the guy, the only thing I could charge him with was an excessive love of spicy food. Yes, many of his friends believed it was a terrible sin and blasphemy to sprinkle meat roasted in the local equivalent of chili pepper with whole handfuls of the same ground pepper, but fresh, but it was no crime to kill him with some creepy nightmare.

Although, no.

He once burned one of his lovers alive right in the middle of the process! At the peak of the process, if you think about it. But you can't blame the asshole here, either. At the time, the 14-year-old, who had just taken his legendary class a month before, had been taken in by a woman who had been sent to seduce him. If I decoded the burned images correctly, she had the same class that Taria had once almost chosen if she hadn't become a Dancer.

Anyway, she fucked the boy, a nasty seta con lover (I wish I had one at his age), and then made sure that after a week, he'd come to the conclusion such a cool fireman didn't belong in the paltry dancers, but in one of the strongest Elemental Mage Guilds in the whole Empire. He had to be true to his word and his promises and accept any contract that wasn't even the most lucrative. Especially if he was to be mentored by the very aunt who had made him very, very happy.

She'd have done just fine. No legend can protect you if you're only a tenth level, and you, with no experience, are being handled by a pumped-up epic class. It would have all worked out if she hadn't foolishly tried to dull his love... not for his friends (she ate a pack of mutant wolves on that), not for his relatives (there would have been a bigger pack), and not even for his first love (there she could have bitten even Bobik's little brother), but for the dancer's career itself. Even that would have gone without a problem, save for a couple more sessions of horseback riding to cement the effect. But she tried to take away his desire to dance.

I would have said she died happy, but no - she was turned to ashes a few seconds before the moment when she would have let herself cum, not just the victim. Then there was a lot of squabbling, from how she got backstage in the first place and why no one stopped her for almost three hours from brainwashing the main talent of the entire troupe to the fact that she was conducted by an old comrade of the very woman who was dancing tonight with her third cousin and personal apprentice. It ended without too many bodies, though the quarrel was very heated, and the friendship of the two old comrades burned forever in the fire.

The boy got off lightly and was not even mentally traumatized - at the moment of the instinctive blow, he was so high that he did not pay any attention to it. True, his first love was jealous, but there was no maiming of any kind. The Guild of Elemental Mages, which had generously hired a brainiac well-known in the right circles, had received a note of displeasure from the Owner of the House of a Thousand Spectacles and sent a guilty envoy with a ransom in the form of a huge kettle full of gold and stones. The Owner of the House did not seem to get the money, but the heads of the initiators of the "recruitment" of the young talent.

It is not to say that the boy, while young and inexperienced, has not been more mentally coerced into cooperation. I even managed to find traces of a rather complex construct in Dream, designed to gradually make him fall in love with some aristocratic-blooded lady working for Alishan intelligence. Some even succeeded - for the same Alishan spy, he was mad for three full days, sometimes letting his imagination run wild. Just every time he dove into his dance, any bookmarks burned the fuck out, leaving his mind in pristine original form.

The subtle and prolonged attacks did not have time to take hold enough to gradually change the personality so that the altered state was already considered normal. He often did not even have time to notice them before they burned out during the next rehearsal. The straight ones not only burned out but also were noticed by others and caused displeasure to the Owner of the House.

The closest he got to a target was the native Eyes, the one who needed it most. The lads had simply arranged for him to have an accidental run-in with drunken mercenaries, who had nicked his leg with a conscientiously enchanted warhammer. They healed him all right, but they had to forbid him to dance for a couple of weeks so as not to strain his bones. In the meantime, a professional high-ranking Malefic began casting a charm on an agent sent as another maid, using a scrap of hair stolen during that skirmish.

It didn't work, and another rehearsal burned out the spell before the agent offered her admirer a "run off into the sunset." And then, the guy and his guardians got fed up with all the dancing and gave him an express course of mental resistance. And, in time, the lad got strong enough not to be afraid of trying again. It's the low-level holder of a class that's inadmissibly cool for a commoner, and you can brainwash him unnoticed (or noticeably, but unceremoniously). But to one whose soul has so much pure fire in it... it's easier just to bribe or find another talent.

The Flame occupied more and more space in the dancer's soul, and at the end, there was either to use legendary artifacts and specialists, quarrel with the Owner of the House even more, or just to leave the poor man alone. All the more so that with the gained level and planar protection to bring permanent changes in the mind without turning a genius into a useless vegetable would require so much effort that it would be easier to moderate greed and pride than to bury oneself in a hole.

If you don't know anything about subtle intrigue and subtle influence, you should ask the chief expert on inhuman cunning in our company. So I pounced on Tia, asking uncomfortable questions and shielding our conversation from casual ears. I couldn't say we were overheard on purpose, but I'd wager a couple of gold pieces that any words spoken within the walls of this magical luna park could be reeled back and overheard on purpose.

I don't understand it completely, especially since I don't want to show my face, nor do I want to turn my vacation into a session of intelligence gathering, but the Owner of the House clearly has a certain control over the territory of his domain. And that control is good enough to cause me a mild form of paranoia. So I had to question Tia while simultaneously creating the subtlest of Dream that substitutes our conversation with fragments of conversations of passing walkers. The walls hear everything, right, but it's up to me to choose what they hear.

Maybe such deception will be noticed - without a mirror, without preparation, and on bare enthusiasm, I will not be able to make the deception truthful enough, but I will still conceal the very subject of the conversation. And for the local boss in charge to start unwinding all our adventures step by step, you have to get him to do it first. He has thousands of guests coming through here every day, and it's not like we've done anything that would warrant a closer look at our activities.

"You're right that it was the purest impudence," Tia confirmed my thoughts, albeit in a slightly different vein. "Moreover, I am not afraid to say that insolence was a notable aspect of other people's deeds on both sides of the conflict. It is no secret that any truly talented individual who does not have patrons and has not had time to gain strength is trying to be tied in one way or another. In the case of this young man, the reason for such a harsh attempt at forced recruitment was not only his potential power but also a demonstrable reluctance to use that strength along with a too-low level."

"Can I decipher that last phrase for idiots?" We walked slowly down a long corridor, entering another room that was a real casino. "I didn't notice that he was unwilling to use his talents."

In response, only a note of amusement came through the channel of understanding that, given the personality of the person having fun and the way she crushes any feelings, it can be regarded as Homeric laughter and banging the head on the floor.

"Well, maybe it makes no difference to you." She's got a tangle of emotions that I'd describe as eye-rolling and venomous sarcasm. "But for those same Eyes, Guilds, and Inteligences, the picture is very different. Just imagine you, a circus performer and a dancer, who isn't considered a person by the human elite, have an army of ancient golems. It's a mighty, variable force capable of doing a lot of things, like conquering a province or defeating an army. All the things that humans, and all the rest of the endowed in general, love to do in their spare time. And now, this puppy not only refuses to kneel but refuses to make any contact at all. He tells you, the mighty guildmaster, he is not enticed to take over provinces and smash armies. He just wants to plow turnip beds with ancient golems. Would you leave such a vegetable grower and his pocket army at large?"

The analogy, of course... Really - I asked her to explain it as for idiots, and she explained it as for the idiots. And I can not understand to the end, it is serious or troll me out of spite?

"He's not an army after all, but an individual, albeit a very strong individual potentially." I'm not arguing with her, but I'm trying to get as much understanding as possible. "And, I note, he is clearly patronized by the local boss, and he's a tough guy."

"You make the mistake of applying the role of said mighty guildmaster to yourself." She clearly doesn't mean to be insulting, but she can't avoid calling me a fool, either. "I admit that to you, a derelict genius who spends his energy dancing and performing for lowlifes but hasn't yet matured and isn't mentally strong enough is just a weird spectacle and a person's own choice. For those we are talking about, this kind of thing is not normal. They see an opportunity and see no reason why they should not take what they thought was theirs, for there is no one to protect it from encroachment. The boy has remained true to his passions only because he is truly brilliant and strong, far stronger than any expectations. He has been tried time after time until he became strong enough that further action in his direction is no longer beneficial. Opportunity. Desire. Profit. Those are the three reasons the masters of the senses took him on."

I stammered for a few seconds, thinking about what I'd heard. Not that I wasn't aware of the assholes in power here (and not just on Alurea, come to think of it), but still, sometimes, their logic is rather alien. Apparently, I'm too used to living by the principle "don't go where they do it without you if you don't care."

"And the Owner of the House?" Already understanding almost everything I wanted to understand, I clarified. "Why make him angry? Or, he was not the boy's patron?"

"Why is that?" She understood what I understood, too, and just went on with her peculiar lecture. "It is quite a patron and not of the last. You sent me the image yourself, and in your visions were the heads of those who dared to anger him, sent in carved chests with silk trim. The others, however, acted in circumvention of his will, clearly taking their risks. Whether they hoped to cover their tracks, deceive and frame the other player, or whether they didn't care about the possible problems due to their strength or stupidity, they found the risk acceptable. And the very fact that they patronized the human child as a dancer, allowing it to ignore its full fighting potential, must have been a source of fury to those who knew of its patronage."

The dialogue continued in silence, exchanging vision images again, covering myself with the shards of mirrors in my pockets. I might have decided to just hang back and lose a few gold pieces at the local scam, but suddenly, the information Tia was revealing was quite catching. She actually knew a lot about politics and politicians, even if most of that knowledge was focused on effectively eliminating those politicians from the living.

It cannot be said I did not understand the local people in power well because I did. But at moments like this, when they started to do things, I found it quite difficult to understand the logic of their actions. That is, I saw the actions, their consequences, and results, but the reasons for these or those actions were sometimes not obvious. So that's the kind of sudden practical exercise we had.

Taria, Hestia, and Losius were at a table with a strange game that looked like roulette, chess, and backgammon, or a board game with dice and pieces. They did not place big bets but rather just looked around. I was not worried about this trio, initially hoping for the prudence of Losius and Hestia. The two of them should be enough to keep Taria's enthusiasm at bay.

Hans sat down at a table with a professional cheat to play cards. And it's quite an official game, where you don't even have to hide the fact that your opponent is a cheat. You pay a fixed price, get a set of chips instead of gold coins, and try to beat the cheat. In doing so, the man puts real gold, not fake gold. You can't beat the cheater, you can't accuse him of cheating unless you catch him by the hand or while applying a skill, and you can't use artifacts, potions, and amulets. Everything else is welcome, especially your skills and abilities.

Hans, by the way, was losing, albeit not unscrupulously - this dealer was much cooler than the dilettantes memorable from Arenam. The short man with a slight baldness and a barely discernible beer belly had a level twenty-nine and two purely cheating classes, sharpened for card games. It even made me want to join their table.

Alas, I had to sit next to Tia and continue to listen to a very informative lecture on local politics. She was not shy about making analogies from local history, comparing different approaches, and showing different results, sometimes of the same actions. It's hard to put it into words, but the communication was through the flow of images, and it was just fucking crazy. She was, I'm sure, really practicing a new type of exercise while she had the opportunity, and the clairvoyant covering her was of comparable rank. Well, Kostik, who was covering her, was stupidly biting his bones and didn't want to be the first to break the connection. Especially since things were indeed interesting, in many ways unique, for the same historical examples with the background, the real background of those long ago decisions that for Tia were a lifetime experience, would make historians sell their souls.

What a marvelously unique knowledge I had received for nothing, in a wide and full-flowing stream, simply because I had asked, and she had not found a single reason to deny me a piece of wisdom. I was happy with this chance to know the world and its inhabitants, truly happy. All that would make me happier was to have just one more little bit of understanding about, "Why the fuck should I even know that?"

We left the casino completely robbed of all our money and won two legendary artifacts and the favorite underpants of the local boss... I should get his name, by the way, because I don't know his name, but I talk about him all the time. They took out forty sacks of gold alone and twenty more of stones. We would have taken the rest out too, but there wasn't enough room.

If you really believed that, I'm sorry to disappoint you because the only way to win against professional, high-level assholes whose vocation and profession are focused on different ways of taking clients' money was to rob the goddamn casino. Even given our levels, only Tia and I, as clairvoyants, would be able to cheat and follow the legend unnoticed in such a situation and under such supervision. It wasn't that the casino was dishonest because they wouldn't have been understood for trying to cheat, despite all the patronage. The point is that the casino wins either way, and the only way to really win without arousing suspicion would be to take some of the gold from the same players as us. Difficult, risky, and unnecessary. Well, or we could get lucky, which happened quite often, but not with us and not today.

Even clairvoyance was forbidden. I hadn't seen such plugs and signal nets of understanding in all the magical guilds as I'd seen in this room. The cards, the tables, the croupiers, and even the other players were all covered. The protection wasn't particularly sophisticated, but it was powerful, dense, and varied, created by amulets and ritual circles embedded directly in the walls. Plus, the aura of the room also made me nervous, and not in too much of a hurry to try to see through it. The trick was the same as the rest of the House stuff - partial (hopefully partial) control over reality within the domain.

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Only Tia and I managed to break even, and we didn't risk too much the whole game. Outwardly, though, we sat quietly with cards in our hands, exchanged unimportant phrases, played a couple of big games, and went about our business. Hans lost his chips, although he made the cheater sweat, and Losius and the girls lost the entire "allowed to party" amount, having decided that gambling was not for them. The one who got the most pissed off, by the way, was Hestia. I could feel, through the disguise she was wearing, her desire to turn to the Mist and dissolve this room into the Mist.

Tia and I walked toward the exit with our arms around each other as if we were ready to get to know each other more intimately. It was also, in a way, the observance of a legend, plus the cover of an elven woman who'd been working harder than necessary. Not that she needed my help or could do without it, but it wasn't worth the risk. Strangely enough, we were the only two individuals on the team who weren't happy as elephants - the rest of us were having a great time. It is not for nothing that even one visit to the House is enough to make you talk about it for the rest of your life.

A really memorable place.

We passed through the following halls without fire, or rather with a somewhat dimmed fire. Even the guys and Taria, who'd gone off to one of the brothel sections of the building, were pretty tired. After all, we had been on our feet for about a day and a half, gorging ourselves and drinking alcohol at three throats. While Losius, Hans, and Taria could still have their fun, I was inexorably sleepy. They had their fun, and I had turned my rest into a mess again. I had to maintain my disguise, or to see the fates of others, or to receive a fucking lecture on the political picture of the world and the characters of the inhabitants of this canvas.

I hate to admit it, but I guess I just don't know how to rest outside of my usual monitor screen and keyboard. Congratulations, Kostik, the boards are not letting you go, even in another world. In general, I gave myself a decisive moral kick and went to the massage parlor to relax, and it is a massage, not what you think. Hestia, as a matter of fact, was with me, as was Tia. And also only for a massage and nothing more.

So lying on a couch made of unidentifiable bamboo, clearly blessed by someone. So his touch is soothing and speeds recovery. I sincerely sent beams of diarrhea to the head of someone who thought impregnating the couch with Heaven's planar energy was a great idea. It didn't burn, but the disguise was fraying like a rag in the wind, threatening to burn through it more than I wanted it to.

Tia was lounging in some kind of bathtub with a bunch of restorative compounds and herbal concoctions. In fact, it was a lot closer to a light potion than water, even if it wasn't very effective. A great way to relieve some of the tension and overwork after a lecture. She also picked out her list of herbs, eliciting a respectful look from the spa master assigned to her with the herbalist's class.

Hestia had also chosen a bath, only with bubbles and without extras. Through the web of shadows that enveloped her, I could feel her thanking fate that she was able to restore her body to normal and capable of enjoying that very bath. It's not often you see her so relaxed, which was already paying off this whole circus of going to a hyper-mega-ultra-cabana. Didn't pick the most cabbage-covered joint in the area for nothing!

I was lying covered in some potion-soaked rags that really helped relieve the headache. I deliberately made it seem as if the dumb but moneyed adventurer had poked at the first point in the list and demanded exactly that without listening to any objections. It was a procedure designed for shamans and seers, but it would not have been offered to me. As for my cover, it was useless. I had to play drunk and stupidly pretend to be asleep, but it cleared my mind well, especially after I strengthened the rags with my essence.

Attention, attention, in order to get Konstantin Yuryevich into the beauty salon, the universe had to take him to another world and almost killed him several hundred times. Fucking hell, the guys there went out, and even Taria went out, but I was the only one who had the brains and imagination to go here. Damn, I'm gonna get a fucking manicure!

I, by the way, took very seriously what Losius said about not getting into another story, so I suppressed any impulse to "make fun" very diligently. You might say I behaved in the most exemplary way, like an ideal conspirator and an excellent scout. Stirlitz himself would have been proud of me if we had met him.

T. N. Stirlitz is an iconic character. In a way, he's like Russian James Bond.

Isekai was lying there, even taking a nap. He could not sleep well because of the need to monitor the disguise, which, although it could be maintained independently, still required control. No, seriously! I was really trying, sincerely trying not to make another massacre out of nothing!

I woke up because of a persistent premonition of impending disaster, and it was coming not to me but to my comrades-in-arms. I felt that I was not so much awake as I had fallen out of a kind of half-slumber, something reminiscent of deep meditation or something similar. I was able to see that I was in the phase, and I was able to feel my surroundings with the sphere, looking for familiar markings. We'd agreed not to wander too far, but it's easy to lose your sense of distance in these fun mazes. That's if you don't take into account the damn spatial games.

Subconsciously expecting not to find what I was looking for, I still found them all alive and well, and practically within walking distance of my seal rookery. But even without a premonition, it was obvious that something was wrong. The Sphere discerned Losius and the company, and even, standing a little to the side, but still in their ranks, Tia, positioned in battle order directly opposite another, only bigger, company. And, judging by the data transmitted by the sphere, the levels of this company are quite respectable.

With a silent scolding, I snapped up, took off the cloth compresses, and, without waiting for an explanation, threw a couple of coins into the hands of the masseuse waiting for me to wake up. It makes sense that no one would leave a client alone, nor would they wake him, as long as the money he paid was enough to continue the service. I quickly get dressed and, without listening to the standard invitations to come in more (this phrase seems to be universal in all worlds), or light hints to continue the massage is no longer just a massage, I begin to "come to the rescue", hardly holding back the desire to give up on conspiracy and step through the Shadow. The shards of the mirror jingle in my pockets, so I can conceal the use of shadow techniques if I try.

I was just in time, just in time, just in time enough to see Hans, with his hand on the shoulder, keeping the frenzied Losius from rushing into battle right now. No, he's still calm on the face, but as someone who knows the difference between the aristocrat's indifferent-indifferent and indifferent-furious expression, I can see the extent of his anger.

"...as are all the dogs of your family, Asterium." The voice of the one who apparently occupied himself with insulting one poor duelist was well-placed and slightly mocking. "It's funny how fate gave me a chance to get you, the fugitive coward, right here. You've come a long way, my brother's killer, but now..."

The clairvoyance deployed almost without any attempt to pretend to be a simple layman pounces on me with an avalanche of images while the mind extracts from them the most necessary and important. I knew before that our nobleman didn't join the black archaeologists out of the good life but solely out of a desire to save his skin from the vengeance of influential relatives of the dickhead he had carelessly slaughtered. But, as I recall, the lizard's family hadn't had enough clout to get even a mere digger operating on the borders of Melareth before. I won't even mention looking for him in another country.

And so.

They met.

And, as if small trouble were not enough for us, it ceased at once to be small, becoming large and approaching the level of "it flew to the fan unnoticed, and its name is shit." The person, denouncing the increasingly turned-on Losius in his kinship with dogs and harbor wenches (the latter, given the boy's fondness for his sister and late mother, could be considered a personal berserk button), was standing in the middle of a group of very high-level persons. I could distinguish levels from twenty to thirty-nine, but that wasn't even the problem.

Level thirty-nine is unpleasant, but no more than that. You can cheat him, or you can kill him quickly. If he were at least forty-five, with more dangerous classes, and ready to fight, then it would be different. A Warrior and a Knight with two powerful classes was not a serious threat to us. He wasn't the main problem.

This problem was only level thirty-second, possessed classes unknown to me, and was perceived in my heroic vision in a simply delightful way - Chained.

That's it.

Every step I took not only brought me closer to my goal but also served as a specific barrier as I broke the fragments of the images that came to me into normally perceptible pieces. A kind of impromptu, but I didn't have time to polish the technique, nor did I have time to stop and read the situation normally. If I didn't intervene right now, blood would spill. It will spill anyway, but if I don't intervene, the blood of those close to me may be added to it. So...

Step.

This group came here for a reason, for they are a delegation of Melareth sent to the Empire in connection with the incidents in the Stone, as well as recent events. It should come as no surprise that the Imperials have managed to draw parallels between two very strong shadow users, who are very brazen and vicious, but it's unclear where they came from. So similar that they were alike as if they were the same person.

Step.

And they did not come to the House of a Thousand Spectacles to rest, though they were not ashamed to rest, but also because the owner of the place had invited them to talk. The vague images of some unusual set of artifacts, useless to Melareth, for they don't even know how to use, but needed by one of the coolest mass entertainers in the Eternal Empire, were unintelligible. But even with all the interference, it was clear that the delegates were offered comparable compensation.

Step.

The delegates might have been willing to sell things they didn't need too much, but, unfortunately, they no longer had them. In the conflict that grew after our escape into the wilderness, many estates and vaults burned, and many lives and relics of all kinds were lost. This outcome did not grieve the Householder too much, but he parted with the delegation on a relatively lukewarm note. That is, his attitude was no warmer than that of any other solvent client.

Step.

The blood enemy of Losius was from the same family that supplied the Stone with the Unsleeping Undead who worked there. And this family, already powerful enough, had managed, during the temporary turmoil, to crush their rivals, slaughter their enemies, and rise to heights previously unattainable to them. Simply because there were many vacancies in the kingdom, and the guys who proved to be greedy but loyal servants were able to secure a firm foothold at the foot of the throne. Very much at the foot of the throne, but still enough for one of them to get his way as a healer in the entourage of the Summoned.

Step.

Until then, the masters of death and life had not touched Losius or his family for the same reason they had managed to ascend. Mere barons somewhere on the outskirts were not only not dangerous to them, they were not interested. Destroying them would have done nothing but draw back some of their resources and not allow them to make good use of the fruits of the turmoil. Especially since the kinsman killed by Losius was distant, of little use, and suffered for the most part because of his own fall. But when one of the few who valued and respected that distant kinsman, who was already dead, met his murderer, all indifference disappeared.

Step.

The healer's role in this entourage was not very important, but he was listened to. And the whole company, including the Summoned and his Controller, had had a surprisingly shitty week that had ended in a shitty day. And, for the most part, they weren't at all opposed to letting one of them spill someone else's blood. Even with House Asterium, there would be no problem, no matter how small that clan might be, for Losius must die in a foreign land where there are no unnecessary witnesses.

Step.

He's deliberately provoking the haughty, intemperate lad, as he remembered him from that duel a long time ago, to prevent him from using the peaceful zone of the House and driving him to his grave. And if he attacked first, they wouldn't even need to get their blades out; they don't like idiots like that here very much. And the guards in the House are vicious, strong, and experienced - they will twist and take away where the sun does not shine.

Step.

For dinner, the whole entourage ordered a roast boar fed on alchemical herbs that not only satisfied their hunger but also imposed several systemic buffs, including a couple of very long-lasting ones. It was because of these effects, which lasted for months, that the price for the boar was so high. The group had chosen to indulge simply because there were no chefs in Melareth of the caliber to make this dish. The recipe was very simple... No, that's not exactly what I need to know!

Step.

The group consists of eight Melaretans, a Summoned, and an escort from the Empire. The latter is the easiest of all, for he does not intend to interfere until the guests start to make too much trouble. The company of the Third World, by the standards of the Empire of the Ages, did not please him, but the Eye's representative was well-trained. Nor did he want bloodshed, especially within the walls of the House. He was the one who had to answer to his superiors anyway.

Step.

A trio of warriors of the twenty-fifth, twenty-seventh, and as many as thirty-ninth, the highest level in the retinue. Classes range from uncommon and rare to one epic at the leader's side. Typical guards are quite useful, even in very serious battles, and indispensable as a way to give delegates more significance. There are about half a dozen more of these with them, just these, as the strongest and closest, were taken for solidity. They do not make decisions. They will do what they are told by the leaders, to whom they are now very grateful for the opportunity to visit this place, even if it is a business visit and not for entertainment.

Step.

The Controller of the Summoned was a rather beautiful girl, very frail in appearance, resembling something like a beautiful doll. Her twenty-eighth level and her classes of Seductress and King's Envoy were deceptive. I wouldn't even know she was in control of her chain dog if it weren't for the ironclad certainty that her will and the will of the summoned were one. That he would support any of her decisions or orders. Her gaze is bored and irritated, but she will not speak out against the fact that one of the staffers has decided to cause a little scandal. She's very eager to let the staff healer mess up so she can then have leverage on his family or herself. And here it remains to be seen which option is more desirable to her.

Step.

Mage. He is quite old and, at the same time, the highest level after the warrior. Classes are rare but chosen quite well. Barrier magic and beneficiation are good for supporting the group, especially if you count not only those who came to the House but also their entire escort. With his supporting magic, they all become much more dangerous. You even involuntarily think that it would be a good idea to get your own benefic somewhere, otherwise, the only alchemy from the buffs! He will only decide what he is told to do by the Controller, who is also in charge of the mission - even her class says so directly. A serving man, self-absorbed from any decisions because of a few dark spots in his past... but I don't need that knowledge yet, either.

Step.

Poisoner and Malefic, playing the role of the controller's personal errand boy, was not a fighter but came to Eternal to eliminate several personalities unpleasant to her and her patrons at a convenient opportunity. A side quest, so to speak, apart from the actual diplomatic negotiations.

Step.

The Summoned was difficult to read, which was not surprising given his status. Even restrained to his very core, he was still dangerous as hell, despite not being at his highest level. Also, if it weren't for System's signature, I wouldn't even notice anything about him that would indicate an influence on his mind. The cold, careful, somewhat bored look of an experienced swordsman, the strong armor that keeps him agile, and the monstrously dangerous blade, even if it's not legendary. The legendary blade must have been taken away... If he had chosen a blade and not a ring.

Step.

Step.

Step.

By the time I had caught up with the raging healer and the calmer Losius, as well as everyone else involved in this shitty drama, I was quite familiar with the situation, somewhat tired and mad as hell that my already failed attempt to rest had fallen through, along with our disguise.

This asshole knew the name and identity of Losius, which means any attempt to play anymore is pointless. Even if we got out of the mess, they would manage to find us... or, more likely, make waves with their search, drawing so much extra attention to the "ordinary adventurers" that they would no longer be considered ordinary.

The Losius, characteristically, understands this truth, which is why he is, of course, upset, but at the same time, he feels a kind of mean and carefully suppressed joy. After all, now it is not only his wish that the bastard who dared to insult and seriously threaten the very existence of House Asterium be eliminated but also our anonymity.

"Just don't do anything, or we know you!" I made my voice as crinkly and obnoxious as possible, and I entered the conversation by doing an impersonation of poor Losius."I am here, bitch, restraining the impulses of the soul and acting like a goody-goody, and you, bastard, while I was not there, already found old acquaintances! Which one of us is the problem one, then? Аh? Аh?"

By the way, the man had really calmed down, getting ready for battle, and in battle, he could not afford to worry. The duelist assumed, and for good reason, that he would have to kill anyway and saw no reason to hurry. Besides, he could always ask me for a favor and track down the freaks later, when we had left the House and before they started to make trouble for us. A very clever approach, I must say!

"Who are you to stick your nose into other people's conversations?" In the same infuriating manner, the suicidal man turned to me. "I was not going to hide it, though. The company was worthy of each other."

"Sorry." Losius ignores his interlocutor, which only makes him angrier. "I'm really screwed."

"It happens." I nod, not intending to cause a scandal now but sincerely intending to remind him of the situation for the next hundred years.

"That's enough." The dark healer interrupted us, losing all hubris and deliberate insult. "Since you, Lossius Asterium, lack the honor and pride to call me to arms, I will challenge you to a duel myself.

We exchanged glances with the duelist, immediately catching the unspoken, and then almost synchronously began to act out the scene. I'm still a bad influence on him, a bad influence at all.

"Is he a gasbag?" I ask, continuing to ignore the main target. "Isn't he wearing the healer's mantle? Is he seriously going to fight you?

"He'll put up a brether." Losius shrugs it off as if he were talking about a pesky fly. "He's used to it."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa." Taria, who has made a titanic effort to keep her mouth shut, immediately seizes the opportunity to light someone's ass on fire verbally. "Does the one who challenged you to a duel have the right to put up a substitute? You're both noble! Nah, I remember you telling me the high families have these indulgences so they don't all slaughter each other. But this fellow doesn't qualify for high titles."

"How did you..." At this point, when all the regalia he and his family had recently earned the right to wear and that he proudly wore were simply "overlooked," he became seriously furious.

"He doesn't. I agree with what you said." Losius nods gratefully. "But I do not believe the purple cufflinks on his cloak were stolen from anyone. Even for a Lorais, it would be an excessive indignity."

That's when the Controller decided to intervene because she realized it was one thing to frame a hotheaded boy but another to let him and us cast a shadow over her and all of Mélareth. So it was time to put the adventurers in their place, to show power to a member (in every sense of the word) of the Lorais family, and simply to stop this mess, which had been boring her from the very beginning. She decided to intervene, but not in time.

"I suppose you should be taken to the dueling grounds, don't you, young men?" This question belonged to the one person that even I didn't want to anger, being in the territory of this peculiar domain.

The Owner of the House looked in such a way that it was impossible to tell his exact age by eye. He might as well have been in his twenties as in his sixties unless one knew, in fact, it was better to count his age starting at two hundred. It was those very two hundred years ago the House of a Thousand Spectacles was rebuilt into its present form by its present owner and master. And even then, he looked exactly as he does today.

A clap of the hands brought us to the courtyard, where the guards and stewards were already rushing to us. There were also dueling grounds here in case anyone wanted to settle matters in the bloodiest way possible. Apparently, the arrival of a foreign summoned in his fiefdom had caused this walking antiquity to turn his attention to this company. And, at the same time, to point them to their place when they showed astonishing intemperance.

I could have thwarted the transfer, which was, though quick and harmless, easily discernible and quite surmountable if well invested. I think the delegates also had a trump or two but did not risk defying the will of someone whose will was literally becoming law in this place. We also seem to be in trouble.

In a different situation, I would have tried to avoid attracting attention to the last moment by getting away with humiliation and fleeing. I would have risked using Dream to correct the memory of the entire delegation, even the Summoned one. I would have had enough strength, and the pieces of the mirror would have provided the support to overcome the resistance of the incomplete Hero.

But as soon as I realized this guy was watching our argument, I stopped caring. That's why I started clowning around and let Taria and Losius be rude to those whom our "cover" could not allow to be rude if he wanted to live. Now there are only two options - either to declassify ourselves one way or another or die. They won't let us leave without a fight because the owner of the House has no reason to help us, and the delegates won't let us go.

The healer boy could have been shanked if we hadn't snapped, even shanked, most likely. Losius would have tolerated it, even though the very encounter with an old enemy would have endangered the duelist's family, which might have been recalled sharply. Escape, hide, and only then strike, making the death of the delegation look like someone else's intrigue, an accident, or generally putting them under attack by one of the capital's forces.

Except that the darned condom who intervened, the medieval pimp, the fucking showman - he would have checked on all of us anyway, just out of habit. And he'd also heard the name Losius, which didn't sound at all like it was registered in the guild's archives. Anyway, there was still no way to avoid trouble, and the "cover" would have to be drowned in the swamp, and it's good, if not literally.

That's why I decided to let Losius take out his anger on his foe.

Because I wasn't going to let any of them live.

But I'm not the only one who will remember Losius that day.

Even without being a Hero, the Summoned can see the levels and classes of those around them, so the delegates knew our classes and levels... which I decided to show them. Even something as ultimate as the heroic Gaze can be fooled if you know how it works, have a suitable enough class, and have a whole bunch of high-ranking skills. Tia, for example, had ways to fool my "all-seeing" eye, and I had a much deeper vision than someone with weaker classes and not-so-high levels.

Of course, it was the Summoned who acted as a brether on the delegates' side, and he did so voluntarily. He disliked me, Losius, and all of us equally. He disliked it threefold that we had dared to go after his retinue and that we had indirectly insulted his Controller, who was his best friend, his love, and his comrade. So even without the additional influence, which I could trace except by secondary signs, and even that is not a fact, he agreed to step in for the "son of a bitch." Because he, though an asshole, was their asshole, and Losius was an asshole from another country. And his mood was so, you know, murderous.

The summoned one generally resembled a taut string. He was used to snapping and striking at the first sign of irritation, unwilling to compromise or bargain, forcing the world to do his bidding. The geomancer who'd been killed by Tia had a much nicer temper than this bundle of nerves. That's someone I won't feel sorry for when the carnage begins.

The altercation, the exchange of polite and not-so-polite insults, sometimes veiled beyond recognition, sometimes as straight as a blade of a blade, passed my mind while I prepared myself for a decisive attack on any of the possible vectors. Most disturbing, no doubt, was the Master of the House, whom even the delegates did not call by name but simply by the neutral "Honorable." I wonder if anyone even knows his name. Or is he one of those guys who keep it from everyone to hide from both the seers and the specific curses on the name tied? It seems that Cassie Not Too Friendly if memory serves, spoke of a whole school of rituals that infuse the Name of the Endowed (or the Unendowed) with power at the cost of greater vulnerability to those who would recognize it.

In any case - this man, not rushing out of here until the delegates had left his little kingdom, bothered me too much to ignore him. Even without being an enemy, his interest alone poses a tremendous threat, for there are many of his friends, allies, and enemies watching his gaze. And we, by falling within the range of his interests, will unwittingly attract them all to us. They will hardly understand our true nature, but they will know when something is wrong.

I wasn't too afraid of the Chained One, though I knew how strong he was. He reeked of danger, of carefully controlled combat rage and sharpness, as if even looking at him could cut himself, wound himself. I couldn't read his classes, which I admit I've gotten used to, but even without direct confirmation, I can assume, an almost pure warrior. The planar connection somehow wasn't visible, and it's not like there was one at all. Strong classes can be found without a direct feed from the plane. I would say he represents some kind of swordsman working with space - that's how I interpreted the sensations received from my sensors. The other two classes were a mystery, but since they didn't feel clearly, they didn't have much power. He must have developed only one class, swinging the others on a residual basis.

I wasn't too worried about Losius, who would have to fight a quick and ignominious duel, where he would be nailed right away, perhaps, after playing a little. First, I am fairly confident that I will be able to intercept and redirect any lethal damage to my friend. Second, I'm not so sure that I have to do it at all. Yes, Losius has "only" a rare and epic class, but his mastery of them, along with his many extremely powerful titles, didn't go anywhere either. Neither did his superior level, his ability to suddenly attack at full force, or his sparring experience with another Summoned who didn't hesitate to hit hard and hard by hammering reflexes and skills into his subcortex.

The opponents, who (not counting the healer, of course) were tired of all this, were expecting a Duelist of only twenty-third level, not the current Losius, who could have crushed with a stare. Melareth had been unlucky ever since I'd come to his territory. The cults, the fortresses dropped into the Mist, and the unlucky Summoned.

And what's more, it had nothing to do with me, because they've been killing themselves against me... Since I was summoned, they have been killing themselves, as if their foreheads were against an iron wall.

T. N. they've been killing themselves against me.

"Do the parties wish to reconcile?" The wonderfully fluffy and curly mustache of the steward of the dueling circle had suggested such a solution thousands of times before, and it was not often that he had to get consent. "Then the blades to the fight. A duel to the death - steel, magic, and any amulets and artifacts that are the personal property of those fighting. The name and honor of Kravius Lorais is defended by Valer Denais, nicknamed the Dissector. The name and honor of Losius Asterium are defended by himself. Any extraneous blessings, potions, or ritual enhancements are forbidden. For the sake of this rule, the parties to the conflict will be bathed in neutralizing spells. And in the name of the Ages, justice shall prevail!"

With these words, the arena, about a hundred meters in diameter, was encased in a very powerful barrier, not inferior to standard fortifications but sharpened for dueling within its perimeter. At the same moment, a wave of negation swept through the barrier, removing the effects and making me grit my teeth as I held the disguise on Losius. I was just trying to get my head around the fact that I was fighting a bloody Summoned, and his level of power was such that he needed to take such powerful precautions. Apparently, the "venerable owner" doesn't want to have to mend the walls later if any of the attacks fly by. For Losius' sake, I'm sure no one would be so cautious.

The spectacle of the duel, especially the one for which the arena was activated, drew quite a crowd. Since you wanted to resolve your conflict right there, don't complain about the conflict becoming another one of the "thousand spectacles." Neither you cry about the fact that someone might see your secret techniques or something like that. Somebody's even taking bets. I'll bet they're official bookies. That's right, making money out of thin air!

The stakes, by the way, were not in his comrade's favor, for he, in his thoroughly standard, albeit quality, the armor of uncommon grade at most, was simply lost against the enemy. Removing his cloak, Summoned displayed a full set of medium armor, glittering from the enchantments placed on it. The intricate pattern of multiple animal mouths that covered this armor was not just a pattern, either, but another line of defense. And then, of course, there was the huge half-sword. I think they call it a bastard blade, but even after all my battles, I still couldn't tell the difference between those types and subtypes of slashing and cutting things. A sword is a sword on Earth or Alurei, no matter how cool it is.

There were almost no bets on Losius and no big bets at all. I could hardly resist the urge to bet a hundred or two gold pieces on his victory - I would probably not be able to take the winnings anyway.

You know, I'm sick of all this mess, too." Instead of attacking, Summoned decided to flex his tongue, either out of a desire to show off or boredom. "If you hadn't been so cocky in response to Kravij's venomous spit, you might have lived a little. But insolence is no good for anyone, and you've cast a shadow over us all with your words. So take the consequences."

Losius didn't react, just took the sword in one hand and the dagger in the other. Then calmly wrapped his cloak around the other, hiding the short blade under the cloth. From the outside, it must have looked like an attempt by a sure loser to die with honor after the hostile side had fielded an exorbitantly strong brether. These Lorays, having jumped up the titular ladder, can now duel simple barons and put brethers. If Losius had been of Count's blood, he wouldn't have been so blatantly nailed.

If we were in Melareth, the Dark Healer would not have used his position so brazenly - although he could insult, summon, and brether himself, it was still considered somewhat inappropriate. Very indecent, even if far from illegal. And the recent upstarts who had just risen to the top were bound to be reminded of such baseness (which, from time to time, everyone did). But if Losius himself had started the quarrel, then yes, the insolent can and should be punished.

But Melaret is far away now, so the news of such a disregard for the rules of etiquette, which could cast a shadow over the image of the Lorais family, would not reach others' ears soon enough, if at all. There are plenty of witnesses, of course, but they don't know the background or the reasons for the duel, and no one would deliberately report it in the wilderness. No, Lorais will get exclusively from the King's Envoy, who will use this situation to the best of her ability. I mean, she would.

"Do you know what they call a man without a left ear, left eye, left arm, and left leg?" Suddenly, Summoned asks, causing the slightest shadow of surprise in the emotion of the stiffly calm Duelist.

I lost my cool, too, because I could barely keep myself from facepalming at this guy. Holy Admin and I thought my Grzegorz joke was a chestnut. That joke is older than I am! It was retold in ancient times, and even then, it was stale! It is also, thanks to the universal language every living creature understands, untranslatable to Alurei realities.

That's it, Losius, now I definitely don't feel sorry for him - kill the bastard.

The enemy strike was fearsome, fast, and virtually unstoppable. It's hard to underestimate the power of the natural advantage of Summoned in the form of fifty attribute points in each of the stats. And when you add the bonuses from three classes at once and polish off a fairly high level, a simple Duelist had virtually no chance. Too fast to dodge, too powerful to parry, and the magic blade itself, albeit without the use of class skills, could cut through normal steel with almost no effort on the part of the owner.

Summoned was aiming straight for his left hand, about to cut off both the cloak and the wrist. Apparently, he didn't like the fact that Losius didn't appreciate the sparkling joke. Whatever he had in mind, his plan went clearly not where it was supposed to go but where it was sent on occasion. Losius's dexterity was his primary stat, so he was even faster than his opponent. And his skill was certainly superior - his skills were as good as a hero's, if not better.

Loiuus missed the attack by a few centimeters, letting the blade slice through his cloak, and then counterattacked right into the exposed face of Summoned, who had neglected his helmet, nearly losing his eye. Alas, he narrowly missed, only managing to react with a clean cut on his forehead, just above the bridge of his nose, before Summoned stopped playing games and decided to kill his adversary in earnest. No stupid jokes or showy chopping off of limbs.

He decided, but how to do it?

The next blow was struck at the same instant that Losius had just launched his attack, but now the Chained One had clearly applied his class skills. He was just beginning to swing, but his blow had already been executed - as if the cut he had made had happened beforehand, having already hit the target from the start, defying logic, common sense, and cause-and-effect connection.

I'd have to yank Losius out while picking up his wounds, but he's been doing well for himself for a long time now. His journey through the wilderness had added much to him, including the new but useful skill of the intuitive branch, which he had already developed to a more than acceptable level. Understanding the Position, despite the name, was not a diplomatic skill but a martial one, even dueling skill - the perfect weapon for any duelist. Ordinary duelists simply don't get this skill or almost never do. But Losius had time, my potions, unquenchable enthusiasm, and a wild desire not to die on another hunt for a nasty monster.

The skill, obviously, gave a heightened, ideal even, understanding and feeling of his position, stance, and interaction of this position with his surroundings. Losius felt a perfect circle around him, the center of which was himself and the edge of which was the maximum distance of his sword strike. And within that line, he could anticipate almost any attack. Yes, the trick of the blow rushing in time is practically impossible without good defense and knowledge of the attack being used, but bad is the duelist who prefers to take blows directly.

The phantom image of the blade and the hand holding it flashed in my vision, but it didn't hit my comrade-in-arms, only sliced in two the cloak he'd thrown after Losius had used his favorite blink before Dissector could finish the blow. The cloak fell slowly and sadly to the floor, and the calm and still equanimous gaze of Losius met the enraged eyes of Summoned, whose face was slowly drenched with blood from a harmless but painful and hurtful wound.

Summoned clearly wanted to say something, maybe even a pompous speech, but I've accustomed my comrades to the fact that pompous statements should be made over the corpse of the enemy. Better yet, twenty-four hours later, in a safe shelter, after you have lost the chase. That's why Losius did not listen, nor did he give his enemy time to come to his senses, rushing straight into the attack.

He was wary of using the blink, where he was guaranteed to be caught by someone with such unpleasant skills. He put his hand with the dagger behind his back, took a very low stance, literally scribbled the sand of the arena with the tip of his sword, and then dashed straight toward his opponent, blurring. One of the strongest trumps of any Duelist, available only at the third rank of class, allowed him to stay in a kind of blink all the time, remaining both material and not-so-material at the same time. Somehow this was reminiscent of the phantom form skill branch, available to many classes in one form or another, but only reminiscent.

Such a state allowed him to use, at a very short distance, an almost unlimited number of "flickers," shifting away from any blows and striking his own without worrying about defense more than necessary. If a phantom form can be wounded with enough powerful and saturated magic to overcome the immateriality, it is useless to saturate the blows here. Each hit will only result in the duelist ending up in the wrong place, as he is now in a bunch of places at once

You can hit with something conceptual because the very nature of the technique is quite simple. Losius doesn't split into many doubles, of which all are real. No. He simply works the spatial technique at an extremely deep level. In its nature, this trick is much simpler and less costly than what Summoned One demonstrated. But even simple tricks can work if practiced under the kicks of a constantly jumping through Shadow isekai. I worked hard to kick in Losius the reflexes he needed, using my movement methods, and managed to get him to do several full blinks in one fell swoop of a pounding furiously heart. He could leap through space like a ball without the Absolute Presence but with it...

If Summoned had mass attacks, covering all space at once, leaving no room for maneuvering.

If he had time to think and assess the situation, get rid of the mild shock at the sight of a twenty-level underdog demonstrating such a thing.

If he had a higher level, when the depth and general power of the legendary class could overcome the mastery of the relatively simple and straightforward techniques of Losius.

Then things could have gone differently, and I would have had to give a damn and intervene, saving the life of one of the few whose life I truly value and do not wish to cut short.

The longer I look at what's happening in the arena, the clearer I realize Summoned had a very uncomfortable opponent for him in particular. His entire class was a death knell for huge opponents with monstrous stamina, armor, and strength but poor mobility. Giants and trolls, unimaginable caterpillars the size of three monster trucks -he could eat them for breakfast. His slashes have near-absolute penetration! I would have had to either use Aegis or activate the Form and then regenerate to defend myself, dodging aside. Only a very powerful planar pump would protect me from his attacks, and not completely.

He was also good against a few relatively weak opponents or even a crowd of trifles. Swung his blade, and the spatial cut at once a hundred infantrymen and split into two halves, just continuing the blade strike for hundreds and hundreds of meters. A very good trick if you need to pit someone against an entire army, in many ways even more useful than the ability to take down giants with a single kick.

But now the Chained One was confronted by one, a very fast, agile, and quick as mercury Duelist, who gave not a moment's respite, constantly changing the distance of the battle and his position in space. Also, this Duelist has long been accustomed to fighting stronger opponents since entering the Wildlands through an unstable portal. He is accustomed to the fact that his position is sure to lose. He does not have to cheerfully and cheerfully cut scattered weaklings but urgently think up something that will change the balance of power. And this Dissector was not ready to fight such an enemy.

Summoned was trying to surround himself with an invisible and nonexistent wall of pre-planned but not yet happened blows. On all sides, I could feel the peculiar billets, the cuts, with which he was trying to surround himself, as if in a cocoon. At the same time, he continued to press his opponent, trying to crush him, taking advantage of his superiority in armor, strength, and endurance, as well as the quality of his equipment. He didn't even have room in his head to try to think about what the hell was going on now because waiting could have been fatal.

Losius, of course, could not avoid hitting these peculiar mines, but all the same, Understanding of Position helped him to know when he was hitting it. The skill he used, in turn, gave him a chance to disappear from under the impact arising there but a little later. The invisible blade, or rather, the area of dissection moved quickly, but it was narrow enough that by shifting slightly forward, he could let it pass him by. And to hit, trying not to kill, so to wound, not to wound, so to make opponent retreat, not to make him retreat, at least to interrupt another attack.

From the outside, it might have looked like Losius was winning, keeping his opponent under constant pressure, and about to crush him. That wasn't entirely an erroneous judgment, but I could see how tense my companion was and how much it cost him to maintain that pace. If it weren't for his titles, which raised his concentration reserve as well, he would have either collapsed with exhaustion or been crippled by his jumps.

Chained One, on the other hand, received no new wounds except for a scratch or two on his armor. He was clearly on the defensive. He was unable to attack properly and retreated under a hail of weak but deadly precision swings of the steel serpent, but he was in control enough to not consider his position doomed. Chained One still had many trumps, but Losius was doing his best to keep most of them out of his reach. And the ones that could be used even now, Summoned didn't want to use them, keeping them up his sleeve until a more appropriate moment.

Summoned's retinue, or rather his Controller, was panicking for both himself and her ward while the rest of the delegation supported her in every way. Particularly pale was the hapless Kravius, simultaneously trying to put together in his head the Losius kicking off the actual Summoned and the epic size of the unsanded log in his ass that he would receive at the end of this situation. Whatever the outcome.

All I had to do was remain silent in half-trance, holding the disguise, or at least partially holding it. At certain moments, the twenty-third-level cover slid off Losius and Summoned clearly saw with his Gaze. But only he, and only the fact of the disguise. In those moments when the cloak was gone, his Gaze saw nothing at all, only the emptiness in the duelist's place.

Losius was aware, couldn't help but understand, that the decision had to be made quickly and there was no time for systematic exhaustion of the enemy. With each passing second, the number of dissections throughout the arena multiplied, and Summond increasingly used knightly techniques of armor strengthening to force Losius to fail in his attack. He sets up a glowing pale white handcuff or another element of armor, and he strikes in the opposite direction. So far, Losius's maneuvers had been enough, and he had plenty of experience against knights, for that was his brother's and his father's class. But time was playing against Asterium, and he couldn't help but realize it.

And yet we all underestimated the Summoned.

Both Losius, who had time to adjust to the enemy's fighting style, and myself, even though I acted only as an observer.

He did not wait for his enemy to lay his trump cards on the table but began to flip the board himself. The blood-soaked, grinning face took on a particularly malevolent expression, and then a sphere of spatial distortion formed around Summoned. It was not his usual dissection, which he could only use at the most basic level, requiring no filigree control or concentration because of the unrelenting Losius. Rather, I would call it the result of the third and last class of Chained.

The first is a legend that allows him to dissect space itself and even, just a little bit, causality and Time.

The second is some kind of epic but the almost undeveloped modification of the standard knight with the ability to impose enhancing charms.

The third is something related to space magic, also undeveloped, but synergistic with the main class and, more importantly, applicable to the continuous onslaught of Losius.

Every single sharp trap left in the arena merged with the shaken fabric of reality and then exploded in a spherical wave of distortion that simultaneously sought to repel, tear, crush, and twist all matter within its area of effect. And Losius was very close to that wave, and his Absolute Presence is no help against this type of attack - you can't change your location if there isn't a place where it's safe.

A long, on-limit blink would only have delayed death if Losius had relied only on breaking the distance. Even the walls of the barrier surrounding the arena shook, and a mere human would have been smeared faster than he blinked. I have to admit that this insolent and self-righteous dandy (the one that is ours, not the enemy's) has now played very, very nicely.

Another skill, albeit almost undeveloped in contrast to the Absolute, of the ability of the third rank of class, was used exactly where it was needed and only when it could be saved. Missed Touch is such a tricky and very difficult barrier to create, especially for Duelists. A second's invulnerability against a single blow - that touch that would be death but would turn out to be only a touch.

It's a long way from my Aegis, and it doesn't cover the whole body, especially at the initial skill levels, but only a small area of the body, about the size of a palm. Losius has been able to develop the Touch, but not nearly to the point where he'd be able to cover himself completely to protect himself from an area attack. What do you want? That's the main weakness of any Duelist, or any other dodger - the lack of a place to run away from a hit.

The aristocrat jumped upward, it seemed, even before he came out of the blink, curled up in the air, and tucked his legs and arms under him. By the time the distortion wave caught up with him, he had turned on his feet and, excuse me, his ass and covered as much ground as possible with the barrier of Touch. How powerful that wave was, so thin it was. And, smashing into the disposable barrier, it ended, sparing the man who had broken through it.

Losius, damn!

Punch through a legendary attack with your own noble ass?

I'm a really bad influence on you, my friend!

The main problem of Losius was not the wave, which he was barely able to repel through cleverness, speed of tactical thinking, and fantastic impudence, but the unfortunate fact that the intended wave was only a distraction designed to buy time. And that goal was one hundred percent fulfilled, with a little more on top. Forced to retreat away from the enemy, the Duelist no longer had time to get close again and grab his opponent's throat. And he could not show his most serious tricks before because Losius was in the way.

He couldn't before.

It was only my ass-kicking clairvoyance, and the title helped me understand the principles of magical and conceptual mechanisms that allowed me to understand exactly what it was. A blow that surpassed the previously demonstrated skills just as the Aegis surpassed a simple shadow barrier. The tip of the blade held like a reed in one hand, bound itself and Losius's heart, guaranteed to pierce inevitably and imminently. There was no use in trying to dodge, escape, or block. Losius's heart was already pierced. He just didn't know it yet.

In fact, I had already prepared myself to transfer this wound, which was supposed to put a hole in his chest the size of a fist, to one of the diplomats, looking at us and our satisfied faces. Or rather, at the satisfied faces of Hans and Taria, who obviously had put some money on Losius, just for the love of art after all. I was ready to save him, and I had every chance of doing so. Even if I hadn't been able to move, to swap the shadows of two people's hearts, I could have just pumped the dying or even fresh corpse with essences, bringing him back from the other side of the world before it was too late.

Losius thought it best not to bring about such a rescue.

And the disguise could not be maintained.

The whole culmination of the fight, which lasted less than three minutes, took a very tiny amount of time, during which both opponents managed to understand and do incredibly much. Here Chained is still calm, celebrating his victory and even allowing himself to think about who had set him up so badly, setting a trap prepared in advance and whether they would all have to flee from the Eternal, dropping their slippers on the way.

And here, it all came to an end.

Heaven is a realm that provides not only pristine purity, for which it is disliked by all kinds of undead, demons, and other creatures, even if that is its calling card, for which it is respected by all kinds of evil hunters, support mages, or healers. Apart from purity, Heaven embodies many other shades, lost in the infinite blue.

Serenity.

Resilience.

Peace.

Heaven gives shelter to any, even the blackest, most vile, and evil soul, takes away hatred, and quenches pain. Planar breakthroughs of this power almost never lead to victims, and its users, even if they receive irreparable contamination of the soul with the purest blue, very rarely become maniacal annihilators. Much more often, they just silently and quietly go away, disappear, ascend, and merge with the blue of Heaven forever. Occasionally such people are reborn as creatures of Heaven, but such entities rarely appear in the real world, even if they are summoned intentionally. To me, any death of a soul in any plane is equally ugly and scary, but even my skepticism is strong enough to admit that it is better to dissolve into Heaven than into Flame, Shadow, or Darkness.

The point of this whole speech is that if you understand Heaven deeply enough, fully enough, you can learn to do all sorts of things, interesting and not so interesting. Just as I can do many things with my shadows that ordinary wizards cannot do, so Losius, who has been using his powers to the fullest and a little beyond that fullness for months, has learned some unusual tricks.

In another situation, he would not have risked, simply would not have risked the highest possible stakes. But he felt the chill of the blade that had already pierced his heart, felt the imminent touch of death approaching, knew how close he was to lie bloodied, pierced through his body on the dead sand of the dueling arena. And under such pressure, he, who had survived all my training, who had learned to trust himself, his essence, and his willpower, had managed to make himself leap upward, into the heavens as high as he had never done before.

The glow that enveloped his body, washing away all my disguise and leaving no shreds of it, was not armor, and armor couldn't help him. It was no barrier, for no barrier, no matter how saturated and strong it was, could protect him. Nor was this light an attack, for there was no point in attacking, in trying to parry a blade that was gone, that had already done its work and gone back into its sheath. Losius Asterium put almost all of his reserve into a single wish.

Calm down.

And the concept of piercing that had already taken his heart and life, a concept as strong as the steel of a blade and as cold and merciless... trembled. It trembled, flickered, and dissolved into a boundless blueness in which there is neither end nor beginning. In which there was no room for heart-piercing blades.

If with the start of their duel, when Losius gave an equal, deadly fight, the Summoned was confused, now that his best attack, which he was used to considering irreversible, was not even parried, not tricked or survived by regeneration, but simply disappeared, he was in real shock. It was as if you came home, got a beer, scratch your belly, and decided to sit on the couch, and the couch sat on top of you - somewhat disconcerting.

He was Summoned.

Strong.

He had already tasted blood.

He has been in many bloody battles.

He would have come to his senses, would have come to his senses very quickly, and regained his confidence, his firmness in his hands. But he was only level thirty-two, having already seen blood but never having met an equal opponent. On the other hand, Losius had long since forgotten how to be surprised, just as he had long ago forgotten how to doubt, fear, and hesitate.

An instant blink from the edge of the arena almost to the opposite edge, leaving behind a fuzzy residual image that wins a few more fractions of an instant. It's Taria's favorite trick, one that she, over the many months of training together, has helped her main trolling victim partially master. Not even an illusion, but just a flash of light, pure energy like the one he used to imbue the blade with. A flash in the shape of a human silhouette, forcing a little hesitation, just a little, for the enemy is no novice.

Instant activation of the Absolute Presence, again allowing him to glide and strike at a speed that was impossible even with his advanced dexterity. And the activation happened as soon as he came out of the blink, next to the Summoned.

A perfectly timed feint with the duelist's skill-activated sword, drawing aside the carelessly lowered blade. A blade he was sure he would never have to raise again.

And the dagger, thin and narrow, resembling a too-long stiletto, right under the chin of the Chained, who had no time to use the knight's dash. A blow that pierced the jaw and the brains and came out of the nape of the neck. A blow that instantly severs another's life as the energy that fills the blade is released and splatters brains inside his skull. The latter is quite an uncharacteristic move for duelists, but Losius has fought too long with all sorts of monstrous shit that can ignore a hole in the brain and regenerate afterward as well.

One who, by another's will, did not and will never become a Hero did not know how to regenerate, whether it was just a small hole in the brain or a completely destroyed gray substance.

A second of absolute silence as those around me, who had already realized that they were witnessing a duel that was far from an ordinary one, looked at the corpse of the duel's favorite and the duelist standing over him, whose class had changed before my eyes to the legendary Great Duelist. The delegates had already begun to open their mouths in accusations and demands for detention, explanation, and compensation. The Owner of the House of a Thousand Spectacles, who had been trying to figure out with a tense face what kind of disguise Losius was wearing and whether we were wearing one, began to probe our entire company with his will of the domain master quite unceremoniously. The guards, who had been watching the fairness and impartiality of the duel, slowly drew closer to the point of conflict.

And then, from above, from under the stained-glass windows, looking with their faceted eyes straight into the courtyard of the colossal entertainment center, came the quiet, barely discernible rustling and chiming of mirror shards. And I toss up the pieces of the mirrors I brought with me, linking them to these stained glass windows, turning them into mirrors.

The spectators and guards are just beginning to fall unconscious, submitting to the induced sleep, and I am already pacing close to the panicked attempt to call for help from his House "venerable owner. There are problems ahead, fatigue, the need to mop up all traces, to hide the effects of the Dreams from the omnipresent Weaver, and a bunch of other things that will ruin my and our lives. There are many things ahead, pleasant and not-so-pleasant, but there is only one thought strikes a chime in my head.

That's how we went for a relax.

* * *