Chapter 2

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The sausage tract tried very hard to show us all its nasty character, but alas, it was no longer enough character for us. Every single one of Yelny's soldiers acknowledged the beasts that lived here were in many ways unique creatures - they were found neither in the lands of the Empire of Ages nor in the Wilderness, but only in the territory of Sausage and several other similar mountain valleys. The beasties were of a respectable standard, and the monstrous survivability and survival rate made it almost impossible for them to settle here. There were hardly any intelligent beasts, but the average resident of the Vzdyrznevsky tract was still superior to the average beast in intelligence and wit.

As a result of this evolutionary game, leading a normal life here was problematic. The Empire would have colonized the place long ago if only it had been actually needed just for living. But the imperial bosses were solely interested in the accommodation we had left alone, for which the fewer people, the better. Ordinary peasants, though very, very, as for peasants, pumped up, were unable to arrange the local fauna silence of lambs even in their dreams. Well, they could try, but they would not like the result because the losses would be like a full-fledged guerrilla war. Packs of white wolves alone could do no worse than a squad of seasoned raiders, up to and including organized ambushes on small caravans. And there were worse things than that.

Again, they rarely interfered with the simple life, for they remained, for the most part, not monsters and creatures but simple beasts, albeit strong ones. Such beasts have no compulsive desire to slaughter and tear soul-bearing sentient beings and therefore, simply do not stray into human-occupied territory without a serious reason, such as starvation or some natural cataclysm. But they ate those who entered their territory even more enthusiastically than the usual monsters; beasts are generally extremely aggressive in their territoriality, even if they are not predators by nature.

The bad news for them was that my team did not care about their territoriality, and Ygra did not care in triplicate, genuinely enjoying the opportunity to gorge herself on fresh meat. We did not allow her to go on fire in the camp for fear that she would kill all the animals. No, we did not starve the ogre; we simply dragged it to hunt far from the camp. The slowpoke herself was well aware of this position, even without the heightened intelligence, for adult moor ogres did not hunt near the camp either, leaving the most accessible prey to the smallest. To Ygra, goblins and orcs seemed exactly like children - just as green, but stupid (yes, yes, she really thought they were stupid) and quite feeble. She did not think so for her entertainment with the gang.

Anyway, we made it through the tract without delay and adventure, unless you count the torn trousers, which were her favorite garment, as an adventure. What chance did a dancer of her rank and characteristics have of slipping and ripping the fabric on a sharp limb? And yet I offered to reinforce her clothes with essentialism! I even reinforced most of it, but she either didn't want to give me her favorite garment or she'd forgotten all about it. I heard three and a half new swear words, and even Hans nodded respectfully.

The ravine, beyond which the Empire began, was blocked by another outpost but larger than Yelny and not so neglected. The garrison here was even weaker in some ways, and the defensive charms were inferior to those of Yelny. Not to call these charms pathetic or shitty, but they were weaker. More crude, more gaps in the signal nets, and other little things added up to a big difference.

My clairvoyance answered me with a series of images, which led me to the conclusion that where Yelny was a full-fledged outpost designed for combat and deterrence, Cedar Fort was more of a training camp for a new generation of recruits. They did not plan to fight serious enemies here. On the contrary, yesterday's peasants were being prepared to fight for the Empire in the future. That's why the fort was so remote, so close to the wilderness (which the records of the Empire of the Ages regarded the tract as part of as well), so there was no place to desert.

Ahead were sparsely populated lands where no one would welcome deserters, and behind were only tracts where it would be foolish to run. The elite or even normal units were located elsewhere, far more prestigious, but it was not the elite or even the mediocre who were being trained here, it was the real meat. Not necessarily something that would die on the front lines - the Imperials were not fools and would not feed the soldiers of a likely enemy with a free experience. But someone has to take up grassroots positions in guarding backwoods towns, acting as a construction battalion and laborers, and other nonsense.

One could consider these actions a waste of manpower because a couple of hundred heavy infantry, not to mention cavalrymen, could easily overpower three times that number of such 'fighters' without even taking serious casualties. Such is the mechanics of levels that a mob of meat can very rarely defeat a much smaller, but high-level crowd of elites. I would really think so if I didn't know that the rest of the world's armies have pretty much the same picture: a core of veterans, elites, and guards and a whole crowd of low-level recruits.

In some ways, it was even beneficial because if some of the "meat" survived, they could move into the ranks of all those same veterans, or at least just into standard units. It was the first time in all my time on Alurei that I had fully grasped the reason for Hans' burning hatred of his former commanders and officers. As well as the reason why he was so happy to retrain as a guard for archaeological expeditions, which was a job even more dangerous than serving in Melaret's army.

The archaeologists, or rather the commander of their adventurous gang, really needed his men. They needed them to be well-powered, relatively combat-ready, and not eager to run away from his squad, so they were treated differently, more humanely. And if they didn't think you were a bastard, you could stand a few extra skirmishes, and there was nothing for a jaeger to do in a direct fight.

I shake my head, shaking visions away. At the very edge of my consciousness, I pick up a few more amusing facts. It turns out in the Empire, all the border forts are named after trees, and the inland forts within the borders are named after beasts. There are also magical towers, departing under the jurisdiction of the Magic Academy (I'll have to look through this template standard fantasy with my third eye), called all kinds of flowers and castles, and the palaces of the most powerful military aristocracy, not directly subject to the Emperor, but honored to be entered in the registers and passing under the name of all kinds of birds.

If anyone was expecting any trouble sneaking past this embarrassment, I'll have to disappoint you. Even Losius, as the only one of us without a stealth bonus, could at least dance the tap dance past this travesty of sentinels. I'm serious! It was more about making sure no one was leaving the walls than it was about making sure nothing was getting in from the tract. And all the wildlife in the vicinity had been wiped out years ago.

After a couple of weeks, during which we were once again reminded of all the "pleasures" of camping life, which we had become rather unused to in the very comfortable camp, I made the heroic decision to go out to the people. We were a conspicuous bunch but not so conspicuous as to be the cause of gossip and rumors.

Hope so.

Ygra had upgraded her camouflage skills to such a level that I seriously thought it possible to sneak her into the city. I mean, not just to sneak her in, but to let her hide relatively freely in the "stone jungle" without being seen by the townsfolk. The idea seems absurd when you think about its size, but Ygra has always given me that feeling, like a tank sneaking around a corner in the middle of the bare steppe. The frost didn't bother her - her Endurance was still higher than the rest of us - and the dark green of her skin, with the skills mentioned, didn't stand out too much against the snow-covered forest. Even if she were pink and speckled with gold, she had overpumped corresponding stats.

We did not take any risks, largely because Ygra did not want to go into the city - she did not like the smell, the noise, and the fact that the noise sources could not be eaten or at least wrung their necks - so she habitually stayed behind the walls, to reduce the population of bandits, monsters, and other scum. Though I admit, there were only three gangs of outlaws in the Empire of the Ages that we'd seen, the monsters had been slaughtered.

We left the knife and axe workers untouched. Not because we didn't want to get our hands dirty with the blood of innocent murderers, but because we didn't want to leave any trace of our movement towards the center of the Empire. I had to swear to Hans that I would visit them in a dreamlike manner, to make it another "Nightmare on Elm Street". I only wish I hadn't baited another one of such pranksters because he'd just lost my trail.

Before we went into the city, I had to do a little work through a small mirror, straining my clairvoyance. I really, really didn't want to go inside those walls only to find that some cultist or Cthulhu himself was nesting there in all his unawakened glory. In short, I didn't want a second Kraj.

To my surprise, I did find an evil and dark cult that had been around for decades. Or rather, not a cult, but five bloodsuckers (a small family nest) with two dozen slave mercenaries-servants bound with blood and Blood. On delving deeper into the subject, I was surprised to learn that all the parties concerned were quite aware of these guys, and there were rumors among the common people as well. The men were not a problem for everyone - the bloodsuckers did not rampage, they drank their servants' blood, and if they killed, they kill not often, and all sorts of scum.

What's more, they also kept some of the criminal elements under their wing. And no, if you're thinking of the Assassins' Guild (which has a presence in the city) or the traffickers (who occasionally drop in for a visit), you're dead wrong. The bloodsuckers traded in antiques, jewelry, and even mid- to high-end contraband amulets, brutally slaughtering anyone who tried to trespass on their market turf.

I confess, looking at the traces and effects of these monsters, I really assumed that one of them was the "kind of dark" isekai, killing "kind of only the bad guys" and generally being a noble and misunderstood Byronic character. Well, the situation was obscenely similar! I was looking in the mirror till the pain in my temples, but no, they were the most usual bloodthirsty monsters who had nothing human in them or had lost them long ago. They are simply very pragmatic and self-disciplined monsters, knowing that if they were to go along with their instincts, they would soon have to give up a fairly quiet and comfortable life and either end with a bare ass in the cold or get a friendly visit from some priests or paladins.

Dangerous and cunning bastards, but, purely on the legal and moral side, they have committed far fewer abominations than one hundred percent of the local underground guild men of a wider profile. That's not a compliment to the bloodthirsty freaks but a kick in the direction of what ordinary people are willing to turn themselves into. And there's not even a realm force pressing on their heads, only money and a thirst for another piece of the pie without letting their rivals have it.

To summarise the above, I can say the following: Arenam is a typical provincial cloister with its passions and dangers, but well suited to be legalized. The influence of crime in this city was much more noticeable than in Ostmark or the Kraj, but for a tightly coordinated and not looking easy prey group of mercenaries (who we claim to be), all roads are open here.

My companions, tired and eager to warm themselves in a warm bath, not by the fire, had had time to howl three thousand times in the snow and the occasional snowstorm and listened to my report silently and with little emotion. Even if I had told them that it was not five of the strongest bloodsuckers and a mob of bandits behind the walls but a whole Nestlayer led by the Blood Lord, it would not have stopped them.

Taria alone looked as if she could slay Count Dracula himself with a heel strike to the eye for a bucket of hot water and a soft cot, despite the difference in levels and the latter's theoretical immortality. I guess my idea of starting the journey during the winter wasn't as awesome as I originally thought it would be. In my defense, if we had stayed in the camp we would have lost time because there was no normal pumping, and winter weather even made the gathering of ingredients for alchemical research difficult.

How to prove it all to Taria?

"Halt, damn it!" The old sergeant of the Imperial Guard, who had the misfortune of commanding the guards at the gate today, sounded surprised and a little frightened. "Who are you? Give me your voice, or I'll shoot!"

The threat was no idle one. The man had already pulled a light and compact but very effective crossbow from his shoulder. Three more of the ten guards had pointed larger crossbows at our dimly discernible figures because of the snowfall. The man's belongings were obviously not official property but had been bought with private funds... or, rather, a gift. The reaction is also understandable - people prefer not to walk in such weather, and all sorts of creatures that might seem human in such a blizzard sometimes wandered up to the walls of the glorious Arenam.

"Easy, troops." Hans, as the chief specialist in negotiating with such soldiers, answers tiredly and jadedly. "Don't make a fuss, but tell us where the five of us can lay our bones. We've been lost in this fucking blizzard for a while."

"I'm not, but you'd better tell me, where did you brave fellows wander off to come here?" The guard did not raise his voice in kindness but clearly calmed down and took his finger off the trigger without, however, lowering his weapon. "I do not remember any kind of people knocking at gates in winter. Are you the thieves?"

I intervene, having been able to see through the clairvoyance to the ideal scenario to answer any questions. There is no need for a dream, just the usual but timely words. Well, I can say words, too, but they usually get me killed in a particularly painful way, but that was just a coincidence.

"Thieves are common on these roads, guardian." Shouting the wind howls is difficult, but I manage, careful not to provoke anyone to step forward and pull the scarf over my face down. "There's a village about six days from here that sells wasted supplies, and the villagers have been overtaken by the night. We have potions for poison, but we lost the horses. They did not help much in this weather. The rest of the way is on foot, straight to your place."

My words were not just spoken but also layered on top of the information and suspicions already present in the guardian's mind, supplementing his thoughts with precisely the details he was willing to see. Also a kind of influence on the mind, but without any external energy, only on bare diplomacy. All the more so as the gang, operating by the same method does exist, and if they start looking for them, they will be found.

"Is that Seromgiye, or what?" He calmed down completely, lowering his crossbow and even stepping closer to me so he could see my face. "I knew they were out there on the road, bitch! You can tell me all about them now, in the tower. You don't have to suffer for your boys. We'll keep them warm, and we won't hurt them, but you have to tell me everything."

I must have been mistaken for the captain of the little squad, for I stepped forward and opened my face. And the man's got a personal grudge against that village... I guess. I can't explain his enthusiasm otherwise, only the loss of someone, though not close, but a good acquaintance for sure. Or a distant relative, perhaps.

"There's nothing left to tell about that gang," I answered calmly, not even moving from my seat. "We're at least level twenty, and it's just a bunch of men with a shiv. Only thing is, they had good poison. It was almost undetectable. The alchemist, I'd wager, was so guilty after her atrocities that she tripped and fell on her knife if you ask me about her."

"Just the alchemist?" A surprised eyebrow raised in response to me. "And no one else?"

That the adventurers who had received the poison for their own money - and who else could we be - would avenge the frame-up, he not only had no doubts but considered such an outcome to be logical. But that the revenge would be so targeted and small in blood, he did not much believe. A company of five heads at the twenty-plus level would have cut a small village to the ground in a frontal attack. And a larger one would be slaughtered, for some would run away at the sight of the massacre anyway.

"Also, headmen in such villages have a tendency to fall on the corner of the table... six times in a row." I smiled understandingly in response to the guard's grin. "And the rest of the men, they're all dead. Adventurers are human beings too, and after a poisoned battle, they are not at their best. They limited themselves to what they had. However, during the days we spent moving across snow and ice without horses, a desire to go back and set fire to that viper pit from four corners may arise in people. The only thing that stopped us was that we would have to go back first and then stomp forward."

That's it. He believes me. We are now firmly in his picture of the world as the strong guys with whom it is better not to get cheeky with bribes but who are not yet strong enough to get cheeky with him. True, I will now have to arrange in said village exactly what I have now voiced. I have not, after all, told a falsehood; there is a village where travelers are poisoned and where thugs die of fits of conscience. We have antidotes, too, and we have lost horses, beasts, and scum, I hate them, even if in different circumstances.

"I see, Adventurer." He nodded respectfully, giving the signal to lower the weapon. "You an independent, or one of Guild? And, uh, don't take this as a threat, but why are you and your boys out in the world at such a bad time?"

"Nah, I'm not from the Imperial Guild, though I plan to get a badge for the whole group," I answered calmly and relaxed, the way a man craving to warm his bones would answer, and not even pretending much. "There is no mystery. An aristocrat of yours has decided to set up a set of levels closer to the Northern Ranges for his sons. Not in the most uncharted, but close enough to the foothills to require guards. Private retinue is not suitable for such cases, so adventurers are hired, especially those accustomed to working in the mountains. Guides, corrals, and, occasionally, teachers."

Again, not a bit of a lie, just a story not about us. But everything is true, and there is undoubtedly such an aristocrat, and he employs adventurers and pumps his sons with beasts. The Northern Ranges, or in other words, the Grey Mountains is a local section of uncharted territory. The only way to the wild lands in this part of the Empire is through Sausage, for those very mountains are in the way. But those mountains are also home to many beasts, and there are interesting ruins. The locals are happy that even if something descends from there, it does not go further than the foothills and quickly returns.

"All right, man." Decides the guard. "I'm Tomm, a tenth officer of the guard of the glorious city of Arenam. It's a pleasure to welcome you and your boys to these walls. I'd advise you to stay in Ironmonger's Kitchen at old Bally's. He's cheap, and the food's good. If you want to party, there's the Golden Tray, but the guards there may be a problem. They don't let everyone in."

"Nice to meet you, Tomm." I shake his outstretched hand firmly, introducing myself in return. "My friends call me Tin. And I've got not only men here but two ladies as well."

The last phrase clearly confuses the guard, but a second later he regains a slightly cheerful and nonchalant look, glancing around at his companions still standing in the distance (just in case the guards shoot, which would fit the standard of behavior for hardened cutthroats). He scratched his nose, red from frost with a thick glove, and waved.

"I still can't get used to the fact that you have so many women in your units." With mild indignation, this child of patriarchy asserts, trying not to offend said women too much, mindful of my allusion to their levels. "Go through the gate arch - they are already acti... turned on, in short - yes, you may be free to go. If you need a job, go straight to the Magistrate. It's easier to talk to the burgomaster than to the guilders. Otherwise, they'll try to cheat you for gold first, and then we should bury their corpses... when they've tripped and fallen on a table fork six times."

I laugh at the unsophisticated joke, simultaneously shuffling the stolen shadows and changing them around a bit. As practice has shown, if you have time for relatively safe experimentation, you can come up with many new ways to use your skills. For example, the combination of Shadow Creation and Shadow Theft, not only allows you to fool interrogators by slipping them someone else's status information but also to write new ones.

That is, I steal a shadow, put it on myself, and then begin to weave that shadow. Simply stealing feels like trying to pull a thin silk cloth over me or a spider's web, which can also tear from a sudden movement. Whereas at first, when I first pumped the theft, it would fall over from every awkward use of magic or just too sharp a jerk, now I could even cast almost freely from underneath it, if not too powerfully. Well, not too powerful in comparison to my current skills.

Using Creation on a Stolen Shadow was a logical conclusion. If I can work with quite existing Shadows, planting them in the shadows of allies and enemies, then can I create ordinary, inanimate shadows? I can, apparently. The practice felt akin to trying to re-stitch the same thin garment of cobweb or silk without removing it from my body. If you move the shadow needle too sharply, you're already injured, and so on. I had to practice on the male members of the orc tribe, but in my defense, I'd been able to heal all the injuries with potions.

For myself, Taria, Losius, and Hans, I only lowered the levels and showed other, more modest, classes - as if a watcher standing at the gate could tell anything other than level and degree of danger. But was more difficult with Hestia. She had pumped up her mimicry ability and could even fool the watcher and, with reservations, the sensor arch on the gate, but I wasn't willing to risk it. That's why I didn't force the conversation between me and Tomm, so that I could finish the disguise in time to make sure. What if they happened to have an owner of the Interrogator class at the gate?

I won't be surprised.

Arenam was larger than Ostmark but only slightly smaller than Krai and certainly not as busy, especially in winter. Here in the Empire of the Ages, winter was cooler than in Melareth, where there was no winter at all. What was winter there, in my hometown, back on Earth, would have been just a cool, damp autumn. Not even the leaves were coming off all the trees.

And it's not just the climatic zones but also the proximity to the Sorz, who almost always have either summer or spring. That allows them to easily harvest two crops a year. If the class ability of their Solar Kings, which comes not from the class itself but from an inherited title, could operate not only in Sorz territory, it would be an excellent climatic weapon. Much to Melareth's delight, the full effect of the title could at most slightly improve the crops of the hated Sorzs' neighbors as well and provide abnormally warm winters. At least, that was what all the neighbors of the Solar Kingdoom wanted to believe, and the Sorzs themselves were in no hurry to change their minds.

If you ask me, I'll tell you that the use of super long-range climate weapons would be Sorz's final trump card and a message from the other side. It would explain why no one has ever beaten them to it. The Sorz have been kicked in the guts a lot. They do have an army full of elite fighters, but the bulk of their soldiers are not up to the task. And you can't win a war with elites alone - the enemy has its own elite.

The Sorz were given a beating in their home territories as well, albeit with great reluctance. Raiding groups, teleporting dangerous monsters and beasts, and slaughtering distant villages have all been used against them. Sometimes successfully, sometimes not so successfully (the Sorz are terrifyingly resilient on their land), but they were never finished off, as if for fear of cornering the rat. I would have taken the time to look up possible causes through Dream, but I've always had too much to do to waste so much energy on mere interest. We're not likely to cross paths with any of the sorzs. I mean, they'd love to find the mysterious Kickass, but who's going to look for him? That's right, no one!

Back at Arenam, it was very cold, snowy, and windy. The snowfall made the already narrow streets a labyrinth of paths and passages in which the wind sometimes knocked us off our feet. Had it not been for my clairvoyance, we would have been searching for the hotel we had been advised to stay in for hours, if not until morning. Fortunately, I did not have to arouse suspicion with my strange awareness of Arenam's street structure, nor did I have to wander around the snow-covered city for a long time. Tomm had the good sense and conscience to send a guide with us, a silent and unkempt young man with a guard's uniform hanging as a sack and a smile on his face. He had clearly sent the youngest so that he would not be idle.

The old warrior did not fully believe my words. And until he had checked the fate of the village I had named, he wouldn't believe me. This town is not a particularly important place to fill with saboteurs, and there hasn't been any dangerous upheaval in this part of the Empire... in 40 years. But the level, timing, and general strangeness of the situation make our group too suspicious. Despite his low level, Tomm has seen enough abominations to know that he expects the worst out of every situation. One could tell he was a native Alurean.

A tub of hot water is not a private pool with fragrant oils and beautiful maids. Except for our weary company, even such facilities seemed like the luxury of a royal palace. Losius and Taria, the most accustomed to comfort and convenience, were especially pleased. Hestia was already noted for her ability to endure even the most Spartan conditions, and after the change of race, she practically didn't care about her physical body. Even if she got dirty, she would simply re-create her body.

We gathered together only after a few long hours, which had been spent alone and quietly enjoying the human condition of life. We assembled in the back corner of the dining hall, ordering from the innkeeper a whole lot of food. Orcs have hearty and even relatively tasty food (we were fed as chieftains), but it's very monotonous and without extravagance - such is life in the wilderness. And I'm not even speaking about the way through the snow because we had to eat more monotonously and modestly on the way. So we ate human food with great appetite, even if we did not choke on it like hungry Papuans.

We paid with solid gold coins, saying that we were going to celebrate the successful completion of the contract - there was the support of the legend and the opportunity to exchange the gold for more marketable silver and copper. Ironically, we are almost out of silver, as I have ruthlessly plundered it for essence. And to pay with gold coins alone leads to many questions and suspicions. There was a man of royal blood on Earth who was captured in this manner, despite masquerading as a commoner. Richard the Tigerheart, or Richard the Lion's Mane... I don't remember, but it doesn't really matter.

So I exchanged the gold at the earliest opportunity so as not to arouse suspicion. For a whole - not half, but a quarter - of the imperial coin, I could buy the inn, if not the inn itself, then at least rent it for a month and buy out the cellars. Imperial coins, melted by me with essence from conspicuous Melarethian coins, are both of size and price far above the currency of smaller kingdoms. I could pay with trophy coins from the catacombs of Spectre, but that would be even more conspicuous than paying with a foreign country's currency.

"Gentleman," I looked intensely into the eyes of the tightly built innkeeper, who had personally, as an honored customer, brought change from the coin he had been given. "I'm in a good mood, and our tradition dictates that I don't skimp at an executed contract feast, but you'd better think a lot before you make a mistake, okay? I don't mind overpaying, you've got a good inn and hotel, but I know imperial prices, too. You're not going to screw us all, are you?"

My words were supported only by a gloomy look from Hans, who was used to dealing with sneaky innkeepers, and the rest of the crew paid little attention to my words, listening to another of Taria's reworkings of the occasional anecdote. In a different situation, the man would have just made a poker face, and then might as well have called in the guards. They're in on it. But this was no lonely traveler or group of newcomers, but a seasoned (Tomm's messenger had also whispered something to him) bunch of goons. Which might kill in the heat of the moment and then not care about the trouble we'd get in return.

If we had paid in less valuable coin, I wouldn't have made a fuss - it is a real tradition to generously pay for the gala and buy drinks for everyone in attendance. The only thing was that it was almost nighttime, and it was out of season, so the place was almost empty except for the five drinkers, who were already cheering us on. And the innkeeper had really taken us in his stride, making a fool's test of us.

My words made him flinch because I got right into his head, pinpointing exactly what he wanted to do. You wouldn't be a successful innkeeper, though, if you hadn't been in situations where you'd been willing to be stabbed for dishonesty at least a couple of dozen times. Very quickly coming to his senses and almost not losing his welcoming smile, the man immediately went into a sprint, assuring me that he hadn't even thought of anything like that. And gave back far more silver and copper than he had originally planned.

And his mood falls not too drastically. He had taken his fair "tips". And if I demanded it back, I would no longer be a successful adventurer but a greedy, stingy prick. And Lady Fortune, to whom almost all humans (and a few non-humans) who feed on the sword pray, does not like the stingy.

Satisfied with the result of our conversation, I silently raked up the money and returned to the story of Taria, who had also managed to notice our unhappened conflict but did not take her breath away and interrupt the story. The incident was over, and our legend got one more brick to its credibility. A golden fucking brick, for if I had been a cheapskate I would have strangled myself.

"It's all good, though," Hans said, scratching his full belly and looking at the slightly sleepy but still pretty delivery girl. "The food's good, the heat's good, and the girls are good."

"The important thing is that it's not green," Losius replied tiredly, almost passing out right at the table.

The Soul of Mocker is tempted to ask him what the green girls did to him, but I've been holding back my impulses, not wanting to drive the man to the brink. There are plenty of people who could use a little trolling around here without Losius.

"There's no need to speak ill of the green girls here!" Taria, outraged at the aristocrat's words, immediately stands up to defend her favorite toys. "You just don't get it."

I don't listen to another friendly bickering, and I wonder if I should lie down at the table myself because I'm so sick of the commotion around me. Alas, it's still early - I still have to visit the outlaw village before I can rest. I'm not worried that the men drinking to our success will overhear anything - the subtle, almost absent influence of Dream has turned the most dangerous parts of our conversation into an unintelligible jumble of scraps of words and laughter. All who heard us today will remember tomorrow is that they were celebrating, talking, telling tales, and all that, but no one will be able to remember the orcs we mentioned.

Tomm isn't paranoid enough to have a spy on us, but there are enough rumor-gatherers and listeners among the tavern keepers as it is. Mostly not even for profit or gain, but simply for sport, but why should we leave unnecessary clues for possible spies?

It seems today I will remember the very beginning of my adventures and work directly through sleep rather than through the more comfortable and familiar mirror. Working through sleep leaves fewer traces, and control over subtle influences is a bit better.

Old Gnat - don't laugh, that's his real name - was an experienced grandfather. As a young man, he had gathered a group of fellow villagers, with whom he organized extra income through other people's deaths. And now he is an old and respected head of the whole village, who at the same time has not given up his trade - this is evidence of the individual's intelligence and resourcefulness. In the quiet Seromezhye people lived and killed very carefully, not opening their mouths to really dangerous prey and not taking even the slightest risk.

The levels of the local villagers could also raise suspicion, but almost all of them were hunters by trade and habit, so they had no trouble getting out of the occasional roadblock check. The girls poked around with all the information they could, assessing the equipment and experience of passing travelers, while the witch-herbalist made poisons for all occasions without unnecessary questions.

Never get at anyone who has a chance of fighting back or at least running away.

Never leave unnecessary witnesses or traces, taking even dead bodies with them.

Never make too many disappearances in a short period of time.

Never attack those whose arrival will be awaited or those about whom someone important knows.

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If we were really passing through that village, they would not have laid a finger on us and would have been most polite to us in general. Even if some young lad had extended his paws to that same Taria, she might not have had time to cut him down - the whole village would have kicked him. Truly, this Gnat was a remarkably cautious fellow and a terrific organizer, managing to avoid the chief misfortune of all outlaw gangs that come out of the villagers - the loss of caution and the acquisition of deadly chutzpah.

He even spent the money he received from the sale of other people's goods, not on gala parties and pompous trinkets (he partied often, but in close company and without strangers) but on the development of his native Seromezhye. He had a new smithy, two windmills (one windmill and one watermill powered by the nearest stream), several apiaries, and even blessings on the fields commissioned by wizards and priests. The village not only lived well, it practically lived very well! If it were not for the habit, not so much of Gnat himself, but of the gang he had raised and nurtured, of earning his living by thugs, he would have long ago switched to a perfectly honest existence.

He, and the most intelligent (and therefore influential) of the chiefs, had thoughts of stopping the dirty work for the sake of not too so big profit. So as the rapidly growing village was awaiting an influx of settlers who would not be privy to the secret. Even the most militant ones would have settled down in a couple of years, and Seromezhye would have become a completely safe wealthy village with the prospect of becoming a small town within a couple of generations.

They had a good chance if it were not for the nasty Kostik, who had to lie to the guards convincingly so as not to arouse suspicion. Because of this bastard, there was a real plague among such good and to the best of his fellows of Seromezhye. Because of him death reigned in the village.

I didn't even try very hard except to disguise my actions from any possible pursuers of the Dreams. I just created a scenario in the thugs' heads where they went to attack another "poisoned" unit, only this time it was richer than usual. The "richer" part was why they took all of them, just to be sure.

Instead of fighting an absent band of adventurers, I confused their perception of friend-or-foe and waited for them to kill each other. Very similar to what I'd done with the band of bounty hunters who'd wanted to do mischief at Losius' house, only much more subtle and less obvious. The result was a lot of dead bodies and a little less suspicion of me.

The corpses will be found by spring when most of the traces are already rotten in every possible sense of the word. Of course, a tracker of Hans' level would easily get the situation right and ask a lot of interesting questions, but that's Hans. They'll send in simple guards who've barely got their class, who won't be looking for much. When they get a match with the most obvious version, they'll jump at it.

The herbalist and poison maker in the gang was an old and wicked woman who genuinely hated everyone she knew. There were probably plenty of people and non-humans on Alurei that she didn't hate, but that was only because she didn't know they existed. The lady was very limited and almost feeble-minded, but beastly cunning and able to be of service to whoever was stronger than her. A clairvoyant sense told me that her temperament came from the blood of the Hell-dwellers, which had been in her blood for generations. Her level of viciousness was not even on the low end of the scale of devils, but she could only be called human in a very limited and cautious way.

The herbalist, as I had stipulated, fell on her ingredient-slicing knife. Such accidents happen, bad luck. However, there was even less positive about her than there was about the orcs, which was already an indicator of abomination.

Well, and Gnat banged his head on the table exactly six times, turning his skull into a Lego set - the interception of control over a sleeping body had long ago been honed by me to an automatically executable skill. I would have let him wake up and feel the whole scale of pain. But first, I'm above that, as a shining hero should be. Second, then there might be barely visible but still traces leading to me, and third, I had already given him deathbed nightmares involving victims killed by him or his decree. As befits an abominable anti-hero and a complete terrorist!

Hans and Losius were amusing themselves by trying to strip naked a trio of card cheats who had decided to cash in on naive but wealthy strangers. I was not sure how much they thought about it at first, but they quickly changed their minds - an ordinary tracker could do nothing against cheaters, but someone like Hans, with his Walker class, could be a sharpie for a living himself.

And when Losius, without reaching for his sword, laid the cheaters' support group face down on the floor, they became very sad. They soon forgot the danger, however, and were playing cards. Hans put them on terms - you can cheat as long as you don't get caught. If you manage not to lose with a bang, you will leave here alive and on your own feet. And if you don't... Gods be your judges.

Actually, just because Hans can easily identify what cards his opponents are holding, without even looking at those cards with his eyes, does not automatically make him a winner. Sharpies have plenty of class abilities and specific skills. If they were more skilled, they'd have to be taken down straight away without trying to get some fun. It's hard to win if that bastard can locally distort reality by changing his cards to cards from the deck, for example. But such a pro doesn't work in taverns in the backwoods provinces.

To be honest, the sharpies themselves are really having a good time, and they are also getting pumped up. It is clear that even if they win, no one will let them go with our gold, but now they have enough adrenaline spilling out of all the crevices. Well, at least two of the three who are young, for the only holder of a full-fledged Sharpie class (level twelve, almost all stats in the perception), too beaten by life and dissatisfied players to believe in a positive outcome.

Taria doesn't play, as she can't cheat, and Hestia looks at such games as Lenin looks at the capitalists. This doesn't stop them both from enjoying the spectacle, trying to learn how to do the same thing (Taria), or recognizing similar tactics in the future (Hestia). It's a lot of fun, but after the relentless and merciless grind of everything living, dead, undead, and never living that has gone on for months, any change of activity will seem like paradise.

I decided to walk around the city, breathing in the fresh air, as I realized they could do without me. I would not say I got enough, but something got me in a lyrical mood.

I decided to walk on the rooftops, like a superhero from Earth comics - there was no deep snow on the rooftops. My Leaf to the Wind perk allowed me a lot of freedom with my weight, so I could either not fall through the snow or not leave any footprints at all. However, I wanted to walk on the rooftops, and, as an adult and independent person, I could well afford to wander on the rooftops at any time of the day.

And I don't care!

I walked in a long arc around the few buildings that had magical protection. Not out of fear of that protection but because I didn't want to get caught up in a situation where I didn't have to. I had enough of those situations as it was. Life had taught me nothing because if it had, I would have learned that situation could find me anywhere, anytime, no matter what I wanted.

If I were a normal hero (or Hero) in a classic isekai novel, I would have met a beautiful princess who was being chased by bloodsuckers and would have been grateful for my salvation. Or a vampire chased by a band of evil, drunken inquisitors, all innocent and misunderstood. And she, too, miraculously, would be grateful to me for saving her without trying to eat the degenerate who had saved her at the first opportunity.

Alas, it was not the beauties that had to be rescued from the bloodsuckers, but a small and overweight young man, running through the snow and blizzard in a direction only he (un)knows. The pursuing bloodsucker could have caught up with him fairly quickly but preferred to either play with their prey or guide him deeper into the slums so they wouldn't have to hide the body himself.

I sighed and promised that next time, I would just go to sleep instead of wandering around the back alleys. I jumped away from the fat man running, intending either to play Vanya from Helsinki or just to scare the hungry abomination away. The kid didn't notice me, but the bloodsucker did - night vision, plus the fact that I wasn't even hiding.

And then I realized two things.

First, a very important one: if you stick your nose into a possible trap, don't hesitate to use clairvoyance, even if your head is already aching from overload. There's a good chance you'll save yourself a lot of nerves and time. Or at least be prepared for unexpected scenarios.

The second, slightly less important: the bloodsucker won't listen to me. Not because he despises all those blood bottles, though not without that, but because he's almost insane with the hunger that Thirst has, and even articulate speech is very limited. The appearance of an extra blood bottle on the scene confused him a little, as did the realization that the second one was far more dangerous than the first, but it did not diminish his resolve.

The fat man who saw me only squeaked quietly and sped off. He not even thinking to say thank you or to warn me that he was being chased by a blood-sucking machine and it wasn't a deputy. And I am pretty sure that in the back of his mind, he has flashed the thought that he might run away while I am already being eaten. Exactly flashed because he could not think normally and coherently from fatigue and horror. After that, save the ungrateful animals (c), it's called!

The fat man sprinted forward, and the hungry creature ran silently and stealthily across the rooftops, jumping up behind me, where its fangs could so conveniently dig into my veins. It seems to me that the idea of staying in a town where, almost officially, such thirsty citizens live was a bit of a rash decision.

I was thinking about it, so I dodged the first blow and struck back on my own, punching my opponent in the ribs without too much restraint. Bloodsuckers are hardy, and I don't intend to spare this particular individual or let him go after the beating. I would rather give my victim a good kicking and take some of the frustration out on the "innocent" creature.

Exactly creature, yes.

Actually, there are a lot of bloodsuckers of all sorts. From relatively humanoid, to those freaks that look like Count Orlock at best. There are even some rather creepy individuals, not even human-like, but just humanoid in appearance not much left, and the bloodsuckers resemble giant mosquitoes, bats, clumps of blood vessels, who-knows-what. All of them, according to the Losius Library, share a few common details that make them one subspecies of the creatures known as vampires in Earth mythology.

Point one: the need to feed on the blood of creatures still alive and breathing. Preferably sentient, endowed doubly so. Some types of bloodsuckers can survive without blood for a long time, some for days or weeks, but those that can give up a liquid diet completely do not seem to exist.

Point two: the ability, with enough experience, for a short period of time, to put on some really insane boosts or use extremely effective racial talents. A fed bloodsucker can hit a good dozen levels above... at the very least. The really skilled and ancient creatures are capable of giving trouble even to the most powerful hunters for their eternal (un)life. For a very short period of time, mere seconds and at the cost of wasted blood, but given their speed, strength, and armor-piercing power, that's pretty much all they have left. Add in the classic creature or monster stats bonuses and Blade fans will be sad.

It's quite sad for them when you remember that bloodsuckers are one of the microscopic handful of creatures that can gain (or retain at rebirth) full-fledged classes. Only one (very rarely two), with noticeable limitations, but still they can. For example, some of the inhabitants of Hells are considered to be such class-wielding creatures, which automatically hints at the nature and danger of these guys.

Point three: just as fiends, demons, and some kinds of realm creatures can gain free stats or even some of the skills of their victims, vampires can drink something more along with the blood. These buffs are usually temporary, but occasionally a permanent boost can be obtained. The older the creature, the more experienced and 'better' its prey, and the more likely the reward is, as well as the quality of the reward. And old creatures drink up a lot, a lot of life over their centuries.

Fourth and final point: bloodsuckers, like the same fiends, get titles and perks for the number of years they've lived. Even a bloodsucker who eats regular peasants and therefore doesn't have high levels or drunk particles of the essence can be a real fire-breather if he's been on his empty diet for many, many centuries, or millennia.

In general, this breed is disliked almost anywhere and completely for a reason. If it were not for their innate pragmatism, their ability to restrain their instincts, and their adaptability, which makes it relatively easy (perhaps easier than any other creature) for them to infiltrate human society and become quite useful to the inconsiderate and unscrupulous power brokers. Here, on the other hand, they are not touched, as they do more good than harm to the local bosses. How long will the bloodsuckers play by the rules, and when will they gather enough strength to no longer obey the rules but set them? Only time will tell, and time, alas, does not roll back.

I didn't kill my opponent at once, largely because I wanted to see what he was really capable of. Camouflage is camouflage, but there were no witnesses, and this was the first time I'd ever met a bloodsucker. His thirst, I would point out separately, was clogging my perception quite nicely, preventing me from perceiving his blows with clairvoyance. I wouldn't say it interfered much, but I can see why these things make good killers. Not unexistence, no, but not bad, either.

The first few blows of the long arms with too-thin fingers I either deflected carefully aside with the blades of my daggers or simply dodged. I didn't even break out of my disguise, limiting myself to an extremely modest fraction of my true speed. He was faster now, of course, but I was reacting normally, not feigned, having time to build up my tactics. And the bloodsucker didn't bother with tactics or technique at all, fighting like a beast or a creature, which was true, though.

He couldn't show me his trademark racial tricks, even if he wanted to, for he was starving. I could see that it was no different from the abominations I'd killed before, and I was ready to put it to rest. If I'd exerted myself a little, my clairvoyance would have shown me the story of its life and how it became a creature or anything else interesting, but I didn't care. I just physically refused to show any respect or understanding for it. Maybe other bloodsuckers would be more dangerous, but this creature, unable to even control itself out of thirst, evoked only disgust, like a poisonous scolopendra.

And just as I was getting ready to make lots and lots of extra holes in it, two things happened at once. First, the bastard just froze and collapsed, apparently picking off all available resources altogether. Well, yes, it tried to retreat, but each time I made it go on the defensive with a kick to the ribs. The creature seemed intent on catching up with the ungrateful fatling rather than fiddling with its dangerous prey. The instincts in the creature's head were enough to do that.

The second incident was the appearance of two more bloodsuckers within the shadow sphere, but more dangerous. If the exhausted specimen was only tired and thirsty, these guys smelled not even of blood but of carnage. The shadows couldn't help but feel or taste the invisible plume of other people's lives behind them, merged and concentrated into an irresistible power. Somehow it seemed to me that this drinking of them was somehow similar to my essentialism - in fact, the concentration of fragments of human souls through drunken blood.

They weren't undead, which I had something to compare them to, but they weren't considered alive, either. They were something in between, with a great deal of otherworldly creepiness added to the creature's essence. Personally, I sensed something akin to a couple of the Epics we destroyed... the ones that had the nature of all sorts of insects. Yeah, bloodsuckers. Could these guys be considered a mixture of necromancy, blood magic, alchemy, and mosquitoes? If so, then Alurei has taken the new fucking bar right now.

While I was pondering the nature and essence of the bloodsuckers, the buggers managed to come to their brother's rescue, using the same route as I did. The rooftops of snow-covered buildings. Well, it is logical because I also did so because of the convenience of this method of travel. The only thing was that things did not go according to my plan. I waited for them to attack and try to either take their kinsman away from me or simply kill him as a witness. More the latter, for this, a tortured and emaciated creature even felt different from the fattening and vigorous local mosquitoes.

Most likely a guest who had run in on the scent of the city and was about to lose his mind from the Thirst. Or just a mindless one to begin with. Either way, a strange man and a man from out of town were superfluous in the equation. A late supper was not. Instead of attacking quickly and abruptly, the two bloodsuckers jumped off the roof a little away from me, deliberately making a little noise as they began their leisurely approach.

A strange illusion covered their appearance, obscuring their non-human appearance and partially obscuring my sensory perception. It was as if an essence of foreign blood had covered their figures in a thin foil, exposing their human essence and hiding their true appearance. Not a bad thing, somewhere on the level of what Hestia can do in terms of countering sensors. But it didn't change their true appearance, thankfully.

If the one I'd fought didn't look human at all - the long arms and irregular build, not to mention the oddly shaped skull - these seemed almost human. My shadow Gase and clairvoyance, working in tandem, showed them as too pale humanoids with non-human eyes. I mean, they were too weird, like they were glassy and completely black. Their teeth were all pointy and needle-like in shape, and there were more of them than most humans. Not the vampire smile I knew from Earth cinema - each tooth was a little syringe for sucking blood and essence out of people's bodies.

Heroic Identification called both of them Nocturnal Bloodsuckers, not Vampires. Come to think of it, I hadn't heard the word "vampire" out of my companions' mouths before. What the translator built into me interpreted as the word "vampire" was an insipidly local word that could best be translated somewhat differently.

It's not the smartest thing to do in this kind of situation to think about a lexical problem, but when have I ever done the smart thing? As I pondered the twists and turns of Alurea's common vernacular, the two creatures came up beside me, stopping five paces away before staring at me with their eyes wide open.

Both were of medium height and slim, almost feminine build, though there was only one woman among them, the one on the left. The clothes were plain but of good quality - sturdy leather armor, without a single drop of steel, was clearly not made of the simplest leather. It would not repel a powerful blow, but a glancing blow would most likely do the trick. There were no visible weapons, but the sphere, inquiring eyes, and general experience easily found a whole arsenal of throwing iron and poison on their bodies. Nothing could be used as a primary weapon unless you count the most common knife behind the belt. Even so, it was more of a status object than a martial weapon - they could slice a sausage or a piece of rope, but not other people's throats. I suppose their main weapon would be themselves.

"You're obviously not from around here, lad." Pronounced the male figure who played the leading role in this twosome. "I know all the strong fighters within these walls personally. And yes, not to be rude, I am Kaal."

For a second, I wondered why he was playing this show in front of me in the first place. The facial expressions, the gestures, and the timbre of his voice all gave him away as a human being. It was only after that second (a very long time, in fact) that I realized that he just didn't know that I had understood his nature. Their disguise is quite powerful, and a simple assassin has all the chances to fall for it. And they'd only seen the end of my fight when the creature had practically stopped pouncing, which prevented them from appreciating my "level".

"You can call me Tin," I answered, contemplating whether to kill them now or later and how I wouldn't let them know I knew too much. "You won't hurt me for your brother?"

Kostik and diplomacy are two sides of the same coin! As long as you see one, you won't meet the other.

My words did not frighten them, but clearly prepared them for battle. They were wary, not because of the battle itself, but because I had so easily imputed to them their non-human nature. Either I'm an idiot, or I'm confident I can fight the two of them off with reasonably high odds. A simple adventurer, even at the level of twenty-something, would kill me without even making a fuss. They weren't going to kill me, but rather... yeah, I see. So far, the silent lady was clearly capable of playing with my mind and memory, which they were planning to do with my person. Still, I had seen too much, even though I might not have understood it all.

"Well... Tin." Now he sounds exactly like a creature, not a human voice. "We've come for the rubbish lying at our feet, and we don't seem to be feuding with you."

He was talking, but it was like he was flicking his chews. No, the affinity between bloodsuckers and insects clearly exists - they were really some kind of bedbugs, not bats. The voice wasn't full of realm power, but it still gave me an instinctive aversion, disgust, and a desire to get away from the source of such speech.

"Well, take it if you want," I answered.

If they attacked, it would be now when I was "unprepared" for that attack, relaxed by their words. Strangely enough, though, they weren't going to attack, even though they had no fear or apprehension of me. Just the usual note of appraising attention, the way a well-fed predator looks at a passing antelope.

I was expecting the victim to be gently carried away. I was wrong. The man was moving at a very high speed, though not quite as fast as my own. A little faster than Losius, without the realm power pumping, perhaps. The jerk, palm bloodied and instantly stabbed in the hand, then stalked off, and there was the dead thing's head in a little sack. The body, by the way, does not bleed at all, as if it did not have a drop of blood in its veins.

Without taking her eyes off me, the creature in female form retreats after her boss. He looked at me intently, and I could see the gears turning in his head, working the situation. On the one hand, everyone in this town already knows about their presence. For another, someone two ranks higher than the local magistrate might order a punitive raid - bloodsuckers, as already said, are not liked. On the other hand, who am I to be listened to by the big bosses? And a simple denunciation does not frighten them. Otherwise, the creatures would have been driven out of their place much sooner because, as has already been said, there are not a few people who know about them.

A second, and the bloodsuckers were running at full speed into the darkness, disappearing into the night like shadows. Well, that's what they thought, and I didn't want to upset them. In fact, the story was not over yet, for they might pay me and my team another visit. However, I assess this probability as very low, and for good reason. For starters, what do they think I saw at all?

It would appear that any normal investigator, properly paid, would assume in his report that two vampires had chased one fugitive who had done something wrong, then finished him off and left. They thought it unnecessary to mess with overly dangerous prey, clearly suspecting a trap, so they left the man untouched. Not a word about such creatures living in the city permanently. Let's say information comes to the city that they've got beasts nesting here... so what? How long would it take to convert five homeless people and give the mayor their heads?

No, there is always the possibility that things will go down the worst way for the creatures, and they will decide to destroy them, regardless of the accumulated dirt and purchased patronage. But apparently, they considered such an option unlikely enough not to force a fight. I'm not sure why they didn't try to bite me, though, but once I get to the mirror I'll find out. Not because of a desire to obey the laws, is it?

I walked back in shadowy steps, so as not to waste time. Besides, my lyrical mood had been spoiled for a long time. The sight of bloodsuckers is not conducive to the lofty mood at all. Hans and Losius managed to strip the cheaters down to their bare feet, and then with insulting kicks, they pushed them out into the street. There the cover-up unit was already waiting, giving them new clothes to keep them warm and dragging the poor souls to the showdown. The theme of the showdown would be to find out: why the fuck did you bring blows for both yourself and the cover group instead of money?

Thus, nothing prevented our company from going up to our rooms and discussing what had happened. My words about a possible visit from the bloodsuckers caused quite a tolerable level of surprise. I had originally spoken of the presence of this tribe in Arenam. Knowing me, they were not the least bit surprised by the outcome of my walk. That last one, if anything, is a direct quote from Taria.

"Shall we visit, or we wait for them to visit?" Losius asked lazily, but not unenthusiastically, for, being of the right class, he could put such creatures out for all eternity. "You did say there were only five of them, didn't you?"

"I think we can wait," I answer after a little deliberation. "I don't want to leave such obvious a mark as burning out an entire nest of creatures firmly tied to the Magistrate and Shadow Guilds. If they negotiate, we'll leave, and if they don't, we'll leave too, and I'll strike through the mirrors a little later. If they attack at the rendezvous point... that's their problem."

My answer satisfied everyone, so we moved on from discussing what had happened to plan the likely battle. What potions to drink, what tactics to use, how hard to hit with realm attacks and other trivialities of life. During our time pumping in the wildlands, we hadn't really encountered such humanoid creatures very often, but the level, the training, and my backing instilled a cautious optimism. There was no overconfidence or underestimation of a possible enemy, but the boys reasonably considered themselves prepared enough to defeat such an enemy.

We didn't go to bed until a few hours later, and Taria growled almost beastly when she found out that I had too many places to "check out" that night. Alas, we were no longer at the camp, where I could occasionally spare a day or two of rest in her company. Fuck knows when I'll ever get proper rest, whether by myself or in the company of my friend.

I had to carry the mirror with me from the camp, though it was the smallest, only about an elbow's length. I could only sigh and shake my head as I stared into the reflection, which was looking back at me from the surface of the transmuted stone. My body looked more and more like shit than a Homo Officus Planctonicus

My skin was getting paler and paler, gradually moving beyond the "pale as death" description and closer to the coveted "it's not a human anymore". The pallor was strange, ugly, and unnaturally frightening as if I had become the embodiment of an ominous valley phenomenon. Not a bloodsucker, but not a normal Kostenka guy either. My eyes had changed, too, from just brown to very, very dark brown. Not the total and impenetrable blackness that happens when you activate Aegis or the same bloodsuckers I met, but combined with the aforementioned pallor... It would come. It would come.

At least I'm not growing fangs.

The mirror had begun to change, as usual, into something else, more dangerous but, for now, obedient to my will. There was a lot to do and a lot to look through before I went to bed. And the times when I could have spat on everything and engaged in procrastination were almost forgotten in the office. Now I am, like in that joke, working for myself. The boss is me, the manager is me, the accountant is me, the loader who got drunk, didn't show up for work, and set everyone up is also me.

How lovely it is.

Ygra wasn't bored, though she can't be bored at all, reducing the number of local animals. I was a little worried about that; the cold makes you hungrier, especially if you walk around naked. It's not a wilderness here. The number of animals is much lower, and in the winter, it's even lower. Ygra, as a great master hunter, doesn't care about such conventions. Right now, she was gutting a young bear's den, and chewing on the same bear, picking her teeth with a torn claw from its front paw.

Before, communicating with the ogre, I had to either wait for her to fall asleep or put her to sleep. Now that I'd unlocked the power of mirrors, I didn't need such props anymore. To influence any other monster of her level and characteristics would be not just difficult but archaic, exhausting, and in some ways even risky. But Ygra is another matter entirely. For me, there's not even a path paved into her dull brain, but a multi-lane highway, which makes it almost effortless for me. If I wanted to, I could rewrite her mind from scratch in less than a couple of hours. I don't want to, though, because I've already experimented with her brain, so now I don't know what to do.

Our communication is short and curt - just relaying her approval and repeating past orders. Hide, stay out of sight, hunt, and wait for us. Ygra was already doing that in those moments when she wasn't sleeping or wanking. Her skill has almost reached the rank of legend, and I'm just racking my brains trying to imagine how that's even possible.

Leaving Ygra in the company of an under-eaten bear and her fingers, I move on to the next point of today's video conference.

The tribe we have left behind is in the midst of another turf war that could be the stuff of porn thrillers with terrifyingly convoluted plots. Nothing serious has happened apart from a couple of brainless, humped-up green ladies, but it is certainly interesting to watch. Grtlashra seemed to be able to hold on to her leadership position at the very last moment and solely through luck and backup.

It all started when she tried to be seduced by a lone goblin with the highest level of oral skills in the entire tribe. She was still a great master when I left, but now her skill was still past the line of legendary. Unlike that goblin girl who was a blowjob legend, this babe could please both sexes equally effectively.

In fact, the attempted seduction, a trivial hypnotic induction from which Grtlasha's ability had automatically saved her, had not stood a chance. Once the goblin had been brainwashed and played with her tongue, the fun began. In fact, the orc was hooked on a sort of pure pleasure needle with the minimum of hypnosis. After a few weeks of daily exercise in bed with Yntan and the chief of the tribe (in my absence the chief) was ready to comply with any requests of her slave toy.

The only thing that saved the situation was that Yntan was absolutely loyal and obedient to her mistress and had no intention of doing her any harm. Even the leash she had was long enough to make almost all of the orcess the playthings of the "rebel against tyranny" goblins. She had planned it that way originally - to become a toy and then just ask her mistress for good treatment. As a result, she almost started a revolution. However, since the attacks and planar breakthroughs never happened there, let them have fun without me.

For fuck, such Game of Thrones.

The valley belonging to Asterium House I checked, as I always do, with the utmost care. Fortunately, there was too little to link me and this valley for my personal fan-dreamwalker to find the place. All in all, Losius's folks got away with it, which I was only too happy about. I'm sure the lad wouldn't have blamed me for the accident, but I'd had enough of my own accusations.

Without leaving any trace, I cautiously and paranoidly checked the minds and souls of those around me and so left them alone. No influence, no impact. I am not there at all, never was, and never will be. Full stop. Because any move I make right now could be monitored by "Agent Smith" and until I figure out who he is, I don't want to mess with him.

Life in the valley ran its course, and the gold we had brought was almost entirely used for business. The Asteriums were not the coolest businessmen around, but they made up for that with diligence, caution, and a reluctance to chase freebies, preferring reliability and trusted partners.

A few major new workshops and contracts to trade their wares with established merchants who are promised a percentage of the bargains have transformed a still and useless pile of coins into a thin but steady stream of finances, with every prospect of gradual growth. Nor is it without raiding tactics in all their glory, multiplied by the medieval ways of Alurei. However, after my last intervention, Holan didn't wait for another pitch, hitting proactively through the evidence found in the camp of the outlawed outlaws. They, those brigands, were not the first to work with a rival of the Asteriums, and they were not the only ones to arrange an attack by persons unknown in advance, fleeing to an unknown destination.

So a certain Guignore Lastingar, the highly respected owner of a whole chain of manufactories at once, got some very angry rivals on his head, with evidence of his involvement in a couple of bad-smelling cases. I interfered only the faintest bit, lighter than a feather, but still helped to bring down the local hegemon of capitalism.

A trifle, but dangerous enough in expert (who will praise me if not myself?) hands - a kind of a clairvoyant dream, through which I dumped the information collected by clairvoyance and mirrors to those who could do something with it. Nothing really strange, just fragments, fuzzy and unformed, but now 'intuition' will make men and women 'guess' the enemy's next move. It will give them something to be proud of, saying how cool and intuitive they are.

And I was already on my way.

I had little to do with what was happening in the capital, though there was still that grey-haired woman I had put my mark on. I would have to brainwash her, but there was no point in doing so at the moment. If I could find a place to put this trump card, then I'd start making some moves. In fact, going through everything that had ever been related to the Stone was torture. The cover-up from such third-eye peepers as myself is of the highest level here since clairvoyance is one of Melaret's specialties. And they are very good at it, even in comparison to much more powerful nations.

Yes, I can get through those barriers, but I can't make sure I don't get my back to a fucking dreamwalker somewhere in the distance. The only thing left for me to do is to use my old mark and control the mind of the Knower and then work through her as if she were a proxy. A kind of Kickass adventure, but without the fatal consequences for the Seer. Let's see, if we have the time and inclination, we can work in that direction as well.

For now, I confine myself to being aware of the lack of interest in us on the part of the authorities of the shattered kingdom and the King. They are still looking for saboteurs, but without hope and fire - there are enough new problems, rising and rising like mushrooms after the rain. Their rivals and neighbors are not sleeping, and tensions within the kingdom itself are still rising.

I'll be back here again, but not today.

I felt Ostmark with the already familiar degree of endless paranoia, though no new traps had been added since my last visit. I visited a couple of the merchant and her eternal helper, who was right now porking her on her desk while she was reading another report. The lady herself, after my last intervention, when I saved her from an assassination attempt, was well aware that there was some kind of a bookmark in her head but could not even think too insistently about the subject unless she wanted hot sex with her assistant or, if she tried thinking in public, an equally public (but discreet!) orgasm.

I checked it out and left it, trying to find the more interesting Bastard Alukardovich and his coffin on wheels. The coffin, by the way, had disappeared from the warehouse, as had the boy himself. I spend a few more minutes making sure I've hidden all the connections between me and my old tools, and only when I'm sure everything's OK, I start looking.

He would have had a chance of escaping if he had been in a bloody coffin all the time, but that was impossible for obvious reasons. I had a good enough image of him to be able to find both the guy himself and the traces of his interaction with the world around him. Mirror Pathfinder, a beginner's guide by Konstantin Yuryevich, buy it at all Dream shops today only, and you get a zero percent discount!

He was on his way to the Kraj as part of a caravan - belonging to the same merchant, by the way - and, judging by the amount of luggage, he was planning to stay there for a long time. Not a fool's choice if you want to hide from the eye of the bad guys. In fact, I knew from the start that this man was no ordinary man at all, but now, the longer and more closely I looked, the more I was convinced of that.

For starters, he was too badass for his eighth level: I could feel his power - his stats, that is - at a solid twenty minimum, though more likely closer to thirty. Secondly, he reeked of the cold stench of the grave and the weightless rustle of ashes settling on the ground. Necromancer, and not a weak one at that, but without class. Also, I only now realized. He didn't feel young, no. The creature, very much like a human, was old, much older than I was.

Either this kid found a coffin with a dead necromancer somewhere, after which the dead necromancer got a new body, or I witnessed another transportation. He's not a Hero, despite the strength and power quite appropriate for one (as for such a low level), but this body is not native to him at all. I can't see this body's past - as if it was born a few months ago. It may be that the recipient's past was fed to the Death Realm, but I'm still inclined to think that this body, before reincarnation, had no soul at all. And the soul came just those few months ago, having left the old body.

Funny.

I've heard that powerful necromancers, when they feel their doom approaching, often turn themselves into the undead. In fact, that's why the Orders, like the one where Losius's brother serves, like to kill them before they become powerful. But this is the first I've ever heard of the mighty - and I'll eat my boots if this one wasn't mighty enough - moving into a weaker but still living body to live again. It didn't seem necromantic to me.

I was also interested in the locket around the guy's neck, the same one that was glowing the day I first met him. It wasn't just a firefly, obviously, but a pretty good sensor for dealing with the subtle realms. More with the Astral, but Dream, as the practice had shown, could pick up on it too if stirred carelessly. I mean, at the level of "about five dozen actively sorcerous creatures in a small area" carelessly.

It is not easy to penetrate the dreams of such an individual - they are too dead, but I do not want to let him go without a conversation. I have a lot of questions about him, from what his coffin was doing in that warehouse, propping up my alchemy machine, and to infinity.

The lilac haze and purple clouds were diluted this time with a certain amount of grey ash, which seemed to turn part of the dream into something dead. It couldn't serve as a defense, and certainly not against me, but it would buy him a few seconds if I started the dialogue with a fight.

The man standing in the middle of dead Dreams did not look like a boy. Rather, he was a forty-year-old college professor in the prime of his career. His gaze was also expressionless as if he were looking at a reanimated corpse. That must have been what he thought he was. For so close, I could see the ugly wounds on his soul, the traces of a touch scorched with ashes and the cold of the grave. The touch of the very creature that had recently been craving my blood. And I had just been mistaken for the bad guy.

Either I was wrong, and it wasn't me that the dream walker was looking for, or the man and I have the same ill-wisher. I was not thinking of the possibility that it was a cunning trap for me, as it would be overly complicated. And I have had time to appreciate the potential of my enemy, and it is not in his power to hide his presence so well by disguising his soul as a necromancer and sending one of his creatures under his guise.

A moment's effort and, even more expressionless, the necromancer appeared in a cozy room with a fireplace and two armchairs. After another moment, I created my own body, albeit without any identifiable features, and sat down in the chair closest to me. I create a cup of tea in the doll's hands, sip from it and say kindly.

"It seems you and I share the same enemy unless, of course, the wounds on your soul were left by someone else and not the same snob who's pissed off at my person." My voice was calm, without any attempt at pressure or influence, but without ingratiation either.

"As I am still alive, I will take that fact into account as a partial confirmation of your words." He replied in the same indifferent but much more relaxed tone while sitting down in his chair and picking up the cup he had created. However, he was in no hurry to drink from it.

"Konstantine." I introduce myself, promising to kill him if I suspect foul play so as not to leave my name with anyone who might, even if only slightly, help those who would look for me to find me. "Tin, for short. Kostik, for friends."

"Caspian." He answered me in the same manner, still on full alert. "Cass, in shortened form. Cassie. For friends. Only I don't have any."

Well, the beginning of cooperation and information exchange was not the worst when one thinks about it.

* * *