* * *

  It wasn't that he didn't like Fantrell, but he felt a certain antipathy. It was noisy, dirty, foul-smelling, and noticeably expensive, especially if you wanted a little cleanliness and comfort. Oh, yes, comfort was expensive here, a corner in a good inn, food, and washing were eating up his money, causing a new portion of antipathy to Lashka and her mother. If he hadn't already paid them off, he might have been angry, but as it was, he just remembered the tasks set for the spirits, which they couldn't fail to fulfill, and calmed down a little. The reserve he had from the beginning would be enough to winter even in Fantrell, even though the city was expensive. Poor, by the standards of a young man accustomed to earthly comfort, but it would be enough. And if he could find a shelter in one of the rger vilges and stay there for the winter at one of the houses (perhaps even in the company of a pretty widow), paying for the food, he would have more than enough to spare.

  Now, as, Stepan didn't have enough money even for half of the winter. Not to mention the need to shop or visit magic shops. The city had its own mage, an adept sent by the Dantmark City Council with a couple of apprentices, and individual families, guilds, or houses had their own gifted, sometimes quite powerful ones. At least one adept was always under contract with the Adventurer's Guild, its local representative. The very name of the guild made Stepan feel so ridiculous and banal that it was only a miracle that he held his face. Another squad had just returned from a big contract and they also had their mage. The locals had doubts about his diploma, but the Earthman who looked at his aura acknowledged at least his qualifications and power.

  Any magical reagents were extremely expensive. He could try to sell his supplies or even crafts, but there were some pitfalls. Firstly, he needed his stock of herbs, roots, and animal bones for practice, otherwise, why did he come out of the forest? Secondly, you can sell the goods for the same price you used to buy them from a merchant only if you squeeze the merchant's balls in strong pincers, and in other cases, you will inevitably be cheaper. If it comes to already finished products, then ... The young man had no doubt that he would be quickly noticed, asked about documents, patents, and permits, and then start behaving ugly. The same local amulet-maker, who was one of the most prosperous rich men, would definitely try to bury him for the attempt of dumping and getting into the monopolized business (all other magic traders, except for adventurers and the adept sent from Dantmark work with him). Or to ensve him, and if that didn't work, at least to kick him out of town.

  So Stepan was left to wander around, sighing wistfully at the thought of his thin wallet, and thinking about joining the local adventurers. The thought of voluntarily joining those morons who consciously stick their heads where they can lose it just for the sake of money, every time caused a chuckle and a rush of adrenaline, awakened enthusiasm in search of a way out of the situation. And the way out was found, one could say was carried out literally brilliantly! And for this, he had to do about one big nothing, as well as a couple of small nothing.

  Just one afternoon, the third day after arriving in the city and the second day after the familiar caravan left the town, the boy returned from another walk through the local market to find a familiar face at his favorite table. The same one had already come to him to beg for the hand and life of the boy he was about to spare. The man was sitting at that table, sipping beer from a mug and eating small fried fish. When he met the shaman's slightly perplexed gaze, he only nodded in greeting, even stood up a little, saying, with all due respect. Finding no reason to turn around and leave, Stepan came closer and sat down, looking questioningly at the imposing interlocutor.

  "There is a case, honored one, profitable and, I'll crify right away, legal." This time the interlocutor was not as tense as st time, it was felt, but he was not completely rexed either, or he was pretending masterfully. "One of the girls in Slutty Tail, it's a good institution with all the documents and seals, suffered a lot from your colleague, also a magician. It's a recent story, already finished, but a bit dirty. I'm not telling it in confidence, don't think so, but everyone in the walls of the city has already heard it. One girl's got some kind of curse on her, nightmarish dreams. It doesn't sound serious, they all thought the woman was just stressed out or didn't want to take a shift, but she's been really bad the st few weeks. Why don't you check it out? Not for nothing, of course. Madam Tertia's a stingy dy, but generous when she needs to be."

  It was funny, but even the boy's knowledge of the local society was enough for him to notice how this guy carefully avoided bringing up the subject of the fact that the shaman who had almost taken the boy's hand away from him obviously knew about curses. Either there are some rules of politeness here, or the mastery of such topics is not so much approved by the harsh and fair w. Uh, not a dark mage from cssic Chinese novels or a kind of "realistic" series about good dark and deceitful scum of the light, but it still smells of css oppression. However, if to think and take into account the earthling's properties of subtle bodies and the general practice of summoning not the brightest entities, the result of reflections becomes not especially pleasant.

  The story that the visitor told him with all politeness, but still remaining dull to the point of dreariness and devoid of real emotions, was really nasty and unpleasant. One of the apprentices of the Duke of Dantrelle's court mage, Master Mirelt, was passing through the small town of Fantrell and entered the local brothel. The brothel, if anything, was a pce for the richer crowd, where they kept the girls prettier and even checked them with healers regurly, and kept a few especially valuable flowers for the richer clients. But magician, a full-fledged adept and an apprentice of not just anyone, but of a VIP, it was still a bit "uncomfortable" to go there, because he was too much of a high-flying bird. For such birds, there was still the gentleman's club of "Ruada's admirers" where such a person would be admitted with all the respect and bows.

  Ruada wasn't some god or local king of the incubi, as the bandit, who saw the slight bewilderment on his face, expined, no. Ruada was the name of the founder of this club, who lived about a hundred and fifty years ago, an avid gambler, hedonist, and womanizer, who had written himself into history as part of the local cultural heritage. The only thing was that the girls there were really valuable, and all of them were under the patronage of the local aristocracy because noble faces also liked to have fun. No, the mage could afford to rent the whole club, but he had specific tastes. As a result, one of the three whores he had rented died of extensive soft tissue and internal injuries, the second one got burns that mutited her appearance, and then hanged herself when she realized that she was thrown out on the street penniless and could not earn any money. The third one managed to kick the mage in the balls, breaking out of the room covered with a sound barrier and calling for help. The brothel-madam and guards who came to the shouting stopped the outrage, pulled off even the mage who did not deny anything - as they found out ter, he was not welcome in good brothels of Dantmark for a long time - the payment for the lives of the spoiled and killed, and also insulted him terribly by not letting him finish with the third one, who escaped and also hit him.

  No, if he had come right away with such a question, and quietly paid an extra fee he would have had these three tied up and delivered. They're normal people, and Madam is a real bitch. But now she just couldn't give in, otherwise, all the girls would run away from her, or, more likely, she would be repced for reasons of extra holes in the body from grateful subordinates. As a result, the offended magician got into a scandal with the local bosses and thanks to the authority of his teacher left without formal payment for damaged goods, but he left without revenge. In a normal situation, a whore, and of those who were not particurly expensive, would have been fucked for a blow to the groin of such a person with a spiky dildo, - this was Stepan's opinion, collected from cuses, - but here the situation was very special.

  The magician left on his magical business, staying in the city for another twenty-four hours, and the whore, strictly a week ter, began to have very painful and terrible nightmares, in which she was cut, raped, and tormented until very reluctantly awakening. A visit to the temple helped only for a while, appealing to the priestesses of Gaia did not help in any way, only restoring her health, and no one would ask for a full-fledged prayer service for a simple wench, it was expensive. And here, look, a visiting magician came to the city, who can do something. You can try your luck if it's not expensive and if it's expensive, then fuck it, it'll be easier to hire a new girl than to endure screaming at night from this one.

  What struck Stepan most of all, who had managed to pnt in himself the spirit of words, allowing him to hear in each word a little more than what was said, was that this thug did not press for pity or appeal to conscience. He really didn't see a problem with the situation itself, only that the magie had treated the shadow world with disrespect and in a boorish manner. Wouldn't they have found him a debtor, a guilty one, or stolen someone? But no, he spoiled normal girls, which brought money. He could at least just ask, even before the fact, so as not to make them lose face. Not all of this was voiced to him, but with the right spirit, and with such a close contact, as direct incorporation into the body, to read the subtexts and understatements could even not Sherlock.

  "I can take a look, why not?" He agreed not because he wanted money or experience, but because he felt sorry for a stranger abandoned by fate and nobody cared about. "If I can do something, I'll tell you at once, I'll set the price at once. And if I can't, I won't."

  With these words, Stepan casually finished the porridge with meat he ordered, wiped his mouth and face with a homemade and regurly washed napkin, and stood up, silently inviting the bandit to show him through. Well, the criminal element himself believed in what he was saying and did not seem to demonstrate aggression, nor did he demonstrate deception in his words. It seemed like he really just wanted to take advantage of the opportunity to solve a problem that couldn't be solved on the cheap otherwise. The road to the brothel was calm. They entered the room, rge and even tastefully done (external facade) through the back door. The guy was expecting an attack, but it didn't happen, and the brothel Madam who met them. Tertia was an aunt (she looked about fifty years old, with one and a half fingers missing, and a scary face) businesslike and immediately led to business. Although, she showed even more politeness, than the criminal guy himself. Not servility yet, but there was something like that.

  "Resa, bitch, get up, Mr. Magician has come to you!" The brothel owner's voice was loud and quite unpleasant, not shrill, rather hoarse, like a smoker's. "Don't disgrace me. I'll strangle you myself! Come here!"

  The young girl only a little older than Stepan was the kind of girl who could be called pretty, with very voluminous breasts and hips, but a little overweight. The same Truda - damn her - had bigger tits, and noticeably so, but she had no folds on her belly and sides, the extra kilos went only to the right pces. Here was clearly expressed fullness, still cute, and fans, obviously, were there, but for Stepan, this top is too massive. In general, Resa was though not a beauty, but attractiveness had earlier, much earlier.

  Her hair clumped into an unkempt greasy clump, bruises under her eyes that would make pandas and raccoons weep with impotent envy, a twitching eye and cheek, a dull stare, and a tremor in her hands. And she spoke, greeting and bowing as if she were a wound-up puppet, automatically but without feeling. She seemed to want more than anything to just go to sleep and not wake up, but she was not allowed into the realm of dreams.

  Stepan, who had lowered the Shroud slightly, intensifying his spiritual vision to the limit and slightly helping himself to feel the problem with a phantom limb, only sighed tiredly. Now, being under his current disguise, there was no way he could help with this one. Hell, there's no way he'd be able to help even at full strength! It wasn't just a curse. It was a spirit sent through dreams, and it was, you know, strong, unusual, and contractually bound. Whether the sadistic magician was a css shaman or whether he just bought or otherwise got some contract anchor-artifact, perhaps, having taken trophies from some orc sorcerer (or traded with him), it was what it was. The entity was dark, evil, and literally enjoying its role, which caused not so much fear - it wasn't even a match for a randomly summoned shit in the forest, not the kind of shit to scare Stepan, he'd seen worse shit - as simple disgust. The creature was not strong, but it was unpleasant and bloodthirsty. If it had tried to suck on his aura, the evil shaman Stepan would have eaten the attacker without salt and pepper, perhaps literally. But the spirit had already eaten into its victim's subtle body and had partially grown into it with its immaterial body, especially in the head area, so if it were to tear sharply and without preparation, it would be a corpse.

  A characteristic marker of the situation was that it was impossible to see the creature with the usual magical vision, only some swirls and shades of bckness, which could be a consequence of the disease and nightmares. If you didn't know where to look, you could miss it. No way! Even the pure shamanic method of spiritual perception was no guarantee of detection, because the spirit merged with the victim's aura, hiding in it and behind it. Stepan would have detected the creature but would have to look closely, dance, call, or even strengthen the eye with a mushroom, which he categorically did not like to do. He practicing so as to do without auxiliary substances that also suppress thinking. It was good that there was a spiritual transformation that had already become quite habitual and, as a consequence, the possibility of turning part of his spirit into a third hand. He could hardly wank with it, though he hadn't tried it to be sure, but he was able to find the spirit hidden in this makeshift cocoon-cavern-deepening almost instantly.

  "Well, I can do it." The young man shrugged with a confidence he didn't really feel, and with a carelessness he didn't even feel in the least, looking indifferently at the woman's eyes that fshed with some animal hope. "I'll have to smoke some herbs, then air the room, and I'll spend time, but it's nothing complicated."

  It wasn't that they didn't believe him, but they didn't seem to care, and they were going to pay after work anyway, not before. There was still a risk of being cheated, but in this world, as Stepan realized little by little, bullying mages, robbing them, or cheating them out of payment, was usually fraught with various and truly fabulous consequences, the more terrible the tale, the stronger the mage and the more offensive the cheating.

  "So let's go in and talk about payment, shall we?" With a deceptively kind, but in fact greedy and ready-to-bargain smile, offers the first after the pimp in this establishment, and Stepan once somehow realizes that Tertia wants to get him away from Resa so that then be able to put absolutely any debt amount and keep almost as sves for the rest of his life. "Why bother a sick woman for nothing?"

  "I don't see the point in messing around for such money." After roughly estimating the local whore's earnings and his own needs, Stepan feels like a moron in the cube, stepping on the throat of greed. "Five in silver, not copper, more to pay off the herbs. Don't give me that look, you mistrustful individuals. I know it's cheap, but I'm a shaman, it's my specialty. I don't know what the people you checked it out were looking at, but it doesn't look like anything. If I take such crap off a living person for more than I said, my grandfather will personally come back from the kingdom of ancestors to sp me on the ass for dishonoring his memory and study."

  It seemed that he would get nothing from this stupid adventure, but to see the eyes of the whore who had almost ended up in lifelong svery, even though she had been rescued, fshed with happiness, and the almost material disappointment and pity for the freebies that had fshed by in the eyes of the greedy bitch, so immediately the mood improved a little bit. Then everything went much easier: kick everyone out of the room, a couple of bundles of grass to set on fire, look around in all avaible spectra, take off the Shroud, and a sharp jerk, under the measured chest singing on one note, to stick a hand-no-hand into the spiritual cocoon-pocket, piercing this shelter and the dark spirit sitting in it, all the will pressing on him, ordering and not allowing to act. Order it not to force the draining-drinking of the victim's aura, not to tear her energy body to shreds, forcing almost manually controlling the spirit so that it would gently pull those offshoots out of her sheaths without damaging or causing unnecessary torment. Resa promptly shut down, so she couldn't notice the sweat running down her face and the brutal strain on her aura and body.

  It was a funny thing, he thought: spirits often inhabit the bodies of mortals and try to control them. Now Stepan, in fact, had partially inhabited the spirit and was trying to control it! The trick is not really difficult or unknown to any good shaman, or even a magician who has studied unconventional disciplines, but to perform it in such conditions and at such a low level of development would be unrealistic. Without the transformation and the shroud that concealed his actions until the st moment, the spirit would have been prepared for a csh of wills and it would not have been possible to take him so easily.

  The creature finally parted with its prey, unable to provide it with a migraine, and then there was no need to hold back, and Stepan showed the enemy the strength of an isekai. The spirit was dangerous and unusual, such a clearly so easy to call, very exotic entity, but in itself was not too strong, much weaker than the level of its danger or value to the one who knows how to call him. In general, when the hand that had taken possession of him stopped controlling his actions, as if it were a hand in a glove, and began to tear and torment.... everything ended quickly to Stepan's great pleasure.

  He didn't get to the eleventh level. However, the bar was so close to the border that he would take it himself in a couple of days, just by doing morning calls or by completing one of the tasks - if he came across something that could be done in the town because he had to refuse it while traveling with the caravan. But from the generosity of the System, he got another talent-knowledge, which could not be called free because he honestly suffered for it! And risked life... albeit someone else's, but he risked it!

  Received: "basic practice of spiritual operation"; increased affinity with spheres of dark aspects; increased likelihood of gaining knowledge and properties of the branch of spiritual metamorphosis.

  The acquired talent is added to the overall Pyer status.

  The knowledge, though basic, was very, very massive, almost making him lose his bance in the process of assimition. Stepan would still need to lie in bed and understand what had been infused into him, but it was not an ordinary talent, not ordinary at all, and a simple adept without a very good heredity or a very generous teacher would not be able to master such a thing, because it required the very transformation of the spirit. In fact, it was a continuation of his recently acquired property, the ability to work with his own spirit, to use the third hand and the spirit, in general, more effectively, to strengthen and focus certain parts of it. What exactly could be created in this way, especially when intertwined with the mutual amplification of all the other knowledge, it was easy to get tired of enumerating.

  As a result, Stepan was incredibly satisfied with his act and his foray into the brothel, even though he had really worked himself to death in the process. The prostitute, who had woken up from her induced sleep, looked around perplexedly, but intuitively she should have felt as if an invisible weight had been removed from her head. When he met her with his tired gaze and thus made her shudder and bow her head hastily, he only shook his head and ordered in a tone that did not tolerate any objection:

  "Lie down and get a good night's sleep, it hurts to watch." He would follow his own advice, too, and he didn't care that it wasn't even evening yet. "Once you've slept it off, report back to those guys who hired me. Why did they take so long? Even an idiot could have done it..."

  He was grumbling mentally, but he didn't forget to add that it was only because he had gotten involved in this adventure like an idiot. Nodding to the waiting brothel madam and the bandit who had not even had time to go somewhere for a quick shag the young man in a confident tone ordered to bring the payment tomorrow, as soon as they were sure of his competence. At the same time, he told them to call a shaman next time or to hint magicians to look through the world of spirits, if they can (and many often can, the skill is not exclusive), and just a good magical vision to look closely. All this in order not to show himself too competent, sincerely hoping that locals will not realize how much this is above the level demonstrated in the aura.

  The money was brought to Stepan the next morning, not by a familiar acquaintance, but by someone he had seen for the first time. This one was much more subservient, left the wallet, and left, spoiling his appetite with the smell of epic, even legendary perfume from his unwashed body. And another six hours ter, another training session in the use of spiritual sight, even without the use of call, allowed him to make a breakthrough and take the eleventh level. It would have been faster, but I had to miss a lot of training sessions with assignments.

  The Autogoddess once again pleased him with her gift, which turned out to be the knowledge of "developed techniques of casting shamanic love charms", after acquiring which the isekai was simply knocked out for a long couple of hours, so massive were the changes in the existing data arrays. It pissed him off to realize that, despite all his training and efforts, it was his skills within the framework and limits of love magic that remained his most important and most developed side. He wanted to howl, or swear, or ugh, or go eat something spicy. And something spicy, in the fantasy medieval world it is still too damn expensive, it's easier to talk to the walls.

  As for choosing a talent that could be spent freely, it was even more difficult to come up with a fully satisfying option than getting chili peppers. In principle, after the increase in characteristics, he could already take the next step of the basic pair of css talents: call and spiritual dialog. He could, no doubt about it, but the talent he'd recently received beckoned him to develop it, so much so that it was, well, unusual and far more valuable than the usual shamanism. In the sense that no one would expect a shaman, especially a weak one, to be able to manipute his own or other people's spirits (there's a lot of synergy between this and the love charms, as well as curses, healing, and even combat effects). Well, if it is not a hereditary shaman in the generations and with such a pedigree that the spirits even in the cradle voluntarily such a baby rattles brought.

  The greed in Stepan's soul fought with even more greed. With such intensity, it was impossible to determine the winner, but in the end, he still upgraded the new talent to "advanced basic practice of spiritual operation", and then spent the rest of the day and the next morning mastering new tricks and abilities. Spirit did become more malleable, hand-not-hand stronger, he could even add another small 'hand' to it if he wanted to, or start to grow a phantom spiritual wing from behind his shoulder. No kidding, he had such a method and tactic of development in his knowledge base, albeit only in its initial form. The new knowledge was very dependent on the property taken at the tenth level but enhanced its overall effectiveness so much that the main problem became an underdeveloped aura. No matter how you looked at it, it was pure power with a reserve for most of the coolest of the new tricks, was enough for one, a maximum of two uses, and then rest. On the other hand, he'd have those uses, and if necessary, could save a life... or cut it.

  The Earthman finally realized that he had been in this town for a while, exactly when he noticed the surveilnce assigned to the tavern and him personally. It wasn't of the "under the radar and surrounded" level, but rather "watch and see". Pre-arranged contracts with spirits, most of which had been used up very quickly and would now need to be renewed, specializing in tracking and searching, allowed him to track where the spy assigned to him went to report. He went to the centurion of the local guard and to the local magic monopolist, the brother of the head of the trade guild that held the whole town. It was not a full-fledged trading house, but a nouveau riche that had taken root in the local town.

  A cautious attempt to look into the dreams of these individuals did not bring much success, because one had quite serious amulets (and weak, and therefore avaible to Stepan, spirits can be driven away even the simplest protection like analogs of the "dream catcher") on the body and residence. The second was a very strong gifted. However, a couple of times to look into their dreams managed to learn, for example, that this boss is not only on girls, but also on boys, but the use of such information was not much. Stepan was a bad bckmailer even on Earth. In the new world, the situation was not better. The images of the young shaman did not appear in their dreams, probably because he was not interesting enough for them to be imprinted even in the dream sphere. An attempt to turn the dream in the right direction and formute a specific understanding ended in waking up with an almost empty reserve and very vague answers, which could have been an error of interpretation. Judging by these interpretations, theн simply saw an ownerless gifted person who had not done anything illegal yet, but he was not looking for patrons with work either. The criminals were not in a hurry to give up an almost free individual for illegal practice, whom they could hope to get for almost free work again. Why not come up with an interesting offer? It would be great if there was a less pleasant alternative to that offer.

  He didn't want to wait for the aggressive recruitment, so one day he just had breakfast, bought the necessary things for the campaign and, without even trying to join the caravan, which was still waiting for three days, more likely a week, just went out of the gate and set off. As they say, there is no need to look problems in the face, if you can show these problems the ass. So he showed it, masterfully running away from the problems and not going to fight for his pce under the sun against local bosses and other bad personalities. It's a big world out there. and he hasn't even explored it yet! However, the young man did not forget to be cautious and paranoid. He walked very fast on the road covering a considerable distance. He leaves the road and rests in the depths of the forest only after having traveled a considerable distance through that forest. The forest was cold and yellowing nowadays, it was cold autumn, and regur rains were cold showers, but with his abilities, the guy could keep himself warm and dry, almost without distractions.

  Quickly setting up the camp, and then preparing the overnight stay, rearranging things in the backpack in a more comfortable order - that's where the experience of pying Tetris came in handy - as well as working with his aura and practicing certain types of influence and dialog with spirits, all this was once a boring routine, but now it seemed much more attractive than communicating with the local society. To be serious, the guy was happy with his entrance into people and thought that such an alternation of diligent pumping and a little less diligent attempts to ingratiate himself into the new world would allow him neither to lose the rhythm of development nor his ability to speak.

  System assignment (small): to use your charisma, third-party means, charms, or any other gifts from Liarat si Merrinal, Lady of Gifts and Giver of Gifts, loyal servant of Innes Inney, to engage in anal passion with at least two persons of the opposite sex within the next two days.

  Reward: some increase in the skills of love charms calls; two-thirds of the experience scale to the next level; three protective amulets of master rank with different specifications of protective fields in the form of vibrating anal plugs; for the amulets to work, they will have to be pced in the appropriate auric node.

  Stepan didn't even sigh or get annoyed, because he was simply bored and had no strength left, he just silently pressed the refusal of the assignment, decisively, though not aloud, saying that such a defense was too exotic for him and it was better not to overdo it. The spiritual limb methodically dragged small stones and twigs, sometimes carrying them into the spiritual world and pulling them back out. Sometimes, however, he was not able to pull them out completely, especially if he was in a hurry, but the task of training is in training, strange as it may seem. Again, many materials, having been in the spirit world, are infused with special energy and become very valuable, but you can not get them so quickly and easily. This only served to reaffirm how extraordinary an ability he had gotten in the first pce.

  It was this training that had allowed him to notice something wrong when he'd accidentally swiped a phantom limb through his backpack, sensing something magical. It was a common thing. He had herbs in his backpack, and his attempts at amulets, so there was plenty of magic in there, even if it wasn't anything unusual. Except this particur magic was alien and, well, magical, not shamanic. The young man stood up sharply from the cloak under his ass and carefully pulled out a small pale gray clip from the bottom of his backpack, a bone clip, which appeared to be there. It could have been pnted while he was eating in the common room, for example, the summoned spirit defender wouldn't let him steal anything from his possessions, paralyzing his limbs, but to pnt it... that was another matter. that's another matter.

  Mistake. Stepan knew about these stories with Earth w enforcers, who could (and did!) pnt some forbidden goods and then use them. Why shouldn't such practice flourish here, eh, earthling? It's still good that they pnted some incomprehensible crap, and not three children's skulls and a virgin's heart extract to stop and inspect at the gate. The other thing is that when one looks closely at this pte, the main purpose of this thing, its sole property of targeting, becomes apparent. This pte, a properly processed piece of the tibia, was the so-called "little brother", while the base of the bone, was the "older". And the older bone could always point at the younger one, point and barely illuminate the target through the masking barriers.

  Stepan felt a little uncomfortable, and to be honest, a little scared, and to add to the fear was a crazy amount of anger, almost rabid. Why the hell wherever he went they were trying to kill him, steal from him, or slip him a beacon for a purpose that was definitely not good? Is he the most beautiful to be always the st one? The habitual way of character from normal life said that now it was necessary to throw away this pte and go into the night, having pnted a spirit in himself to walk a greater distance, and let them look for the dropped beacon. The old and carefully controlled, and sometimes fed, inner meanness told him to prepare a trap and let them fall into some magic mine. He has that ball with half a hundred hungry leeches. It was so shielded, that on the same gate, also enchanted to scan, nothing gave away this toy. Surprise for the pursuers! And another part, belonging not to Stepan, but to Pann, the shaman, full of righteous anger, suggested to create a trap, of course, but also not to go far away, to nail the probable pursuer and to bury him immediately, on this very clearing.

  Somehow resisting this part of him was especially difficult.

  It was because he didn't want to resist in any way.

  * * *

  They caught up with him just before nightfall. Or maybe they just stopped somewhere five or six kilometers away, waiting for that night, but it was unlikely. There were five guests again, but this time they were more impressive than the degenerates who had attacked him. Dark and discreet clothes, leather armor, and short bdes of the same type on their belts as weapons, and one could simply feel in their movements and manners the habit of successful fighting and winning. They came to the occupied clearing three kilometers from the road not from the side of the road, obviously having deliberately made a detour, trying to catch a sleeping man by surprise if he was asleep, and just by surprise if he was awake.

  They noticed the gde. The light of a crackling fire, small and not too bright, but easily recognizable in the darkness of the night, gave it away. No one attacked at once. The five whispered quietly about something, supplementing the whispers with brief professional gesticutions, and surrounded the clearing in a very professional circle. The cloaked figure of a sleeping boy was visible in the firelight, but they were still careful not to let the situation go to waste. One turned out to be a gifted man who found two spirits watching the clearing and then neutralized them with an amulet. The two watchmen were covered in gray and dead dust, not destroying them, but paralyzing them and preventing them from acting or signaling.

  It was an unpleasant trick and unpleasant professionalism, but why should one be surprised if the local personalities had to be able to resist the spiritual-shamanic threat if they were accustomed to the green threat. Even Stepan, who had no reliable contact with his surroundings, had heard about several successful raids on the green-skinned and about equally successful raids by orcs and goblins. The spirits were put to sleep professionally, clean and without a hitch, only then, after waiting for a signal from the gifted one armed with bdes and amulets, they moved into the clearing, surrounding the sleeping man.

  The gifted assassin or kidnapper stopped five paces from the sleeping man, and though his face was not visible, he seemed to be squinting suspiciously, so Stepan drew the face of Philip Fry over the cloth mask that concealed his face. He raised a hand to stop his companions, but after a moment he waved, gave the command, and the whole five rushed forward. Two of the amulets struck with some sort of paralyzing magic, a swift kick to the head should have made consciousness swim if the magic didn't work, and another one was already holding heavy shackles and a colr that was particurly unpleasant even in spiritual sight. A moment and all this power fell on the sleeping young man, who had entered the wrong neighborhood and the wrong gym so now he only had to learn the depths of this dark and deep dungeon.

  Yeah.

  If he had been in this clearing at all: at the st second, the gifted one, who had managed to see through the aura cast on the dummy, tried to warn his companions, but it was too te. The magic harmlessly pierced the sleeping mannequin bait made of withered leaves, weeds, and clods of soil, and the blow scattered the leaves all over the clearing, clearly showing that it wasn't Stepan who had entered the wrong gym. The problem was that neither the young earthling nor the spirits he had released, who had gotten off the chain like hungry dogs, were going to give them time to leave.

  The toy the System had given him as a gift for completing the assignment was, in theory, something he could do himself. Although it might not be possible to ensure invisibility for surface scanning, he could catch spirits, chain them up, bind them with a chain of will, and make them angry so that when they attacked, they would start eating everything they saw. After tonight he'd have to get those reagents and spend time, and without such a trump card it would be a little uncomfortable to wander the fields as a lone ranger.

  The spirits burst out in a swift cloud, visible even without any magic, and one of the five squealed desperately in an unexpectedly thin voice, a female voice. It was the one who had kicked his dummy in the head, but Stepan had no time to consider this information and try to hold back the blow. A wave of spirits swept over the dark-cd figure in a bnket, quickly eating through the amulet defenses that fred around the body, burrowing into the slender body and flesh of the fighting maiden. The scream choked, repced by a wet wheeze and silenced, one of the five of them shouted something insulting with a desperate and ineffable hatred, and then the four remaining men raised their wands and bdes and began to cut down and disembodied the ghostly murderers who were concentrating on one target. Their bdes, too, had been thoughtfully lubricated with something nasty that could make mere iron lethal to an intangible. But iron could already torture most of the lower entities, as in the Earth legends, only for real, but it was much more effective here.

  Fshes of wands, shouts, curses, yells, and something about "come out for a fair fight you rotten bastard" broke the silence of the night, but the evil spirits were unimpressed. Here fell the second as his amulet discharged, followed by the third, who tried to cover him with a cry of "Brother!" to lie down beside him, rapidly dimming his devoured aura. The remaining pair, the gifted one and the other stood back to back. Then the gifted one pulled out a special toy from under his cloak, and all the remaining spirits, including the guards who had never regained consciousness, seemed to be twisted in a bone grinder, destroying and exorcising them. Stepan, who got a kickback from the destruction of connection with both guards and one of the three observers hiding in the deeper yers - the only one who had not managed to rise higher into the sky - experienced a whole range of very different sensations, among which somehow there were no pleasant ones. Something between "Boy, you've been kicked by a horse, how many fingers do you see?" and "Boy, why did you put your fingers in that socket?", a very intense sensation and if he didn't have such a high index of Spirit, as well as a whole set of properties and knowledge, he might not have had time to break contact and get a full-fledged rollback. Nothing serious, but he'd be nauseous and dizzy for a couple of hours with no combat effectiveness.

  The remaining couple was just deciding what to do, apparently having no doubts about who was to bme for what had happened. The gifted one was ready to skin alive for the wasted amulet and for Retta killed by the sneaky and dishonorable peasant's trap. The surviving aide tried to reason and argued it was necessary to retreat while the shaman was rolling back from the servants burned in the necrotic, because it could take a long time to catch a very competent shaman in the woods, especially without the dead Rick, who was a troop tracker. Not to mention the fact that in such conditions one could easily become prey, as had almost happened.

  Youthful maximalism - and the magician was visibly younger than his interlocutor, hardly five to seven years older than Stepan - struggled with life experience, but still won. He won because the bearer of experience suddenly wheezed, turning blue in the face, from which he had pulled off the mask at the beginning of the battle, and also letting bloody foam on his lips. And how could it not? All his lungs were sliced in an instant, despite the still working amulet did not activate. His hands involuntarily reached for his uninjured chest, trying to banish the ck of breath, but a real stream of blood came from his throat, and the experienced warrior simply y down and died.

  "Diiiiiiiilr, nooooooooo!!!!" With the tone of the cry, which would be envied by Luke, who found out who his father really was, the gifted one grabbed a wand from his belt, from which gss grayish-blue whip, trying to reach the biting spirit already going into the depths of the pne with this weapon, gathering in his hand a second quite cssic fireball. "Damn peasant!!! You ..."

  He couldn't say anything. Nor could he catch the fleeing spirit. It's hard to talk when you have in your thin body a foreign phantom shaman's hand, which unclenched its fist and released five leech spirits sworn to complete obedience, right inside the aura, under its outer yers and the still active protection. If the mage on the edge of apprentice-adept had been perfectly equipped, still full of power and not having spent his reserve, he could have suppressed the creatures inside the aura and crushed them with his own will. Not only shamans could do that. It was the essence of basic magical operation for any gifted person. Especially since the hand-not-hand, already stretched into a thin tentacle-thread to reach the enemy, immediately retreated and disappeared, not wanting to check what would happen if it was whipped with that whip. But the reserve was almost empty, the aura was already a little torn during the heavy battle, and therefore the proud mage only had time to bewildered squeak, and fell down, feeling how quickly the rest of the reserve emptied, the body went numb and the mind falls asleep.

  Only when the enemy's body had fallen into something close to a state of medical coma, and there was not even a crumb of strength left in his reserve, Stepan ordered the leeches to stop siphoning magic and life from the victim. And then he rose to his feet climbing out of hiding a hundred meters from the clearing. The thin yer of grasses and foliage covering his ir burst, letting a somewhat dirty, visibly frightened, and very angry shaman out. All the while he, once again filling his aura with power and reconfiguring his Shroud, limped on numb legs towards his captive, a very unpleasant smile pying on his lips. He had already released the spirits that hid his warmth and scent, and he paid off the remaining watchers, writhing with a renewed migraine.

  But the migraine fred up and passed, while the system message that had caught him at the end of the battle stayed with him, making him feel positive. Still, it was something he cked every time he fought. Battle calling was a very powerful thing, but it was of little use if you didn't have the proper combat experience.

  Received: "the knack of a martial shaman"; increased intuitive understanding of combat behavior; increased likelihood of acquiring the knowledge and properties of the martial use branch of the gift.

  The acquired talent is added to the Pyer's overall status.

  The new talent didn't give exactly magical knowledge or techniques, it only allowed him to react and think like a real battle mage, or rather a shaman, who didn't get his powers during six months of unstressed scratching in a remote forest hut but earned them in the continuous hell of fighting in a magical way. A method of understanding how to fight an elemental mage, a fellow shaman from the steppe peoples, or the same colleague, but from among the green-skinned, how to resist a militia crowd or a competent squad of fighters equipped with amulets - that's the kind of knowledge. Nothing really outstanding, rather it was the "experience" of a hardy adept, who was not a master even in approximation, but at the same time, he had fought a lot and still survived, which was the most important thing.

  Stepan staggered back a step, trying to digest the system gift, then looked at his actions through the prism of his experience, and then wrinkled his face into a chicken's ass, as if a world leader in lemon processing had opened in his mouth. It was easier to say he'd done the right thing by leaving a decoy in his pce, but the rest of it was a mess. If he had activated the trap differently, not in this pce and not at that moment, if he had directed the outburst at the gifted one instead of the one closer, everything would have been over at once, and there would have been no risk. But he's a talent after all! A carrier of the System! The (un)chosen one of the Great Milf! He managed to turn even a rudimentary trap into a tense battle where there was quite a risk of getting knocked back by the amulet. That's how he is - Stepan, harsh and ruthless to his health.

  Shaking his head, he walked over to the paralyzed gifted one, who could only stare at him. Stepan pulled him closer to the scattered and extinguished fire. If the weather had not been so wet, it might have started a fire, so many embers were scattered. The earthling, accustomed to careful behavior in nature, was angry at the mess. Leaning the prisoner against the tree with his back, he put on the shackles, which felt like a solid closed and unpleasantly pulsating ring of magical flow - actually destructor of any attempts to directly control the aura and weave spells, at the same time washing out the reserve from that aura and not allowing it to accumute. This device is much less effective against a shaman because even without a reserve and the ability to actively use it, the shaman can try to get to his contracts and the most loyal retinue, which will be ready to help for free, just out of respect. And this "try" can be quite successful.

  He wonders if this thing could block his third arm. Most likely not, because there is a completely different principle, the essence of the actual continuation of his spirit, but to weaken, yes.

  Under the hateful and not at all frightened gaze of his captive he gathered a new batch of wood, swept the burning embers to the fire, and then with a single willful command made the spirits of the fme instantly light the fire, drying the wood and embracing it in a fme that seemed scarlet in the darkness. He pushed aside his bag, which by some miracle had not been scattered during the fight. He was also gd he hid everything at least a little bit magical in his hiding pce, covering it with his aura and a Shroud brought to the maximum. Then he sat on the same cloak with which his dummy was covered. Now with a hole in the pce where the heart of the sleeper should have been. Yawning and compining that he would be up all night again, he began to quietly pulse his aura, humming a catchy tune under his breath, forcing the leeches under his control to loosen their grip, to regain the ability to speak, even if only softly and hoarsely.

  "You're dead, peasant, you're already dead, you degenerate, you don't even realize what they'll do to you for this, you're not even im...." The young man, about twenty-eight years old, well-groomed and even handsome, blue-eyed and russet-haired, did not have time to finish his threats, because Stepan's open palm stabbed him in the forehead, and from that palm came a ghostly extension of it, only clutching another spirit, the older brother of the one who had once drunk a failed not-road-robber."AAAAAAH!!

  The mage, even extremely weakened and equally extremely pissed off, did not give up right away; the young man had enough time to examine all four corpses, including the woman's, now looking both aged and still young. Aura had been eaten away by hungry spirits, as had two others. The third, choking on bck blood from his sshed lungs, was the only one whose hair had grayed simply because he had, well, grayed. Sighing tiredly and quietly, like a student who needs to do dull, unpleasant, but necessary work - like sitting down for a thesis project - he returned to his previous position, sitting in the same spot. All the while, his ghostly limb never left the mage's aura and spirit, suppressing and thwarting even the smallest attempts to interfere with the spirit-questioner's work. Crunching the joints in his stiff fingers, he smiled his friendly smile that made even this fearless moron's eyes twitch and then repeated the question he'd already asked.

  "Come on, tell me why you attacked me in the first pce and what pns you had for me." Somehow, he felt even less pity now than he had with the previous interrogator, many times less than when he looked at the dying hooker he had seen for the first and st time in his life. "Answer me."

  And when he sensed the spirit drinking life and blood from him, his aura drying up and his magical gift crippled, the strange mage finally panicked, tried to keep the spirit from eating him, and then opened his mouth and began to speak, speak, speak, with the same expression of horror and rejection on his face as that anonymous and bck-toothed half-robber. Some part of him, stung by the appeltion "peasant," even found irony in how simir the two were in their moment of panic, though so different in every way.

  The story turned out to be quite clear and simple: the chief local master (not by rank, though he was very close to that skill) who made magic things was one of those who practiced necromancy at leisure. In practice, of course, the thing is frowned upon, in some countries or free cities it is forbidden at all, but they turn a blind eye to small viotions. They don't turn a blind eye to trying to dey old age by very dark methods, and they certainly don't turn a blind eye to the fact that artisans who combine necromancy and artifacts make their best work out of the passerby gifted ones. If that's without official practice, permits and certified documents of buying sves or captives to use as material.

  And here was some savage, literally from a deep vilge, and a boy with no connections, who, nevertheless, had a gift that was not rudimentary, but quite developed. And this boy, having come to the town, does not seek patronage, does not go to Adventurers, and does not even go to the town magician to get at least a formal permission to practice. Even when he was almost explicitly offered a job by the local shady ones, he didn't get any hints. He did the "tied" job, that is the task he was hired for, for a formal reason to continue his cooperation. The Guards and the Burgomaster would have tried to nail him since he was a real savage upstart, but the tter decided to leave in time. Whether he sensed something, or whether it was just his whimsy. It's not the first time a bribed maid has put a tracker in things, and a group consisting of the honorable Rumorias' apprentice and youngest son, his (apprentice's) mistress and fencing instructor, and the head of security for their entire family trading enterprise, set off on the trail to grab the asset they'd treat as theirs. Even if not cut, there's a lot of money to be made for a young and already trained gifted if you know who to sell to. Rumorias Krellb, who had not yet earned himself the title of high aristocracy, obviously knew.

  The group that had followed the signal was not surprised to see the boy shaman go off the path and spend the night in the forest, nor were they surprised by the signaling spirits. Necromancy generally works well against shamans, and the tricks against spirits, thanks to the orcs, are really quite well-known to cssical mages. And here a dishonorable and rotten to the core peasant ambushed and brutally murdered the beloved of an honorable mage and aristocrat (yes, the Krellbs were a new aristocracy, albeit a very small but honorable one), and kills him. Of course, he would be missed, especially in the morning, when those who had gone off on a leisurely hunt would not return. Especially the honorable Rumorias' apprentice, because the contractual amulet of the apprenticeship agreement will burst at his death. And then the teacher will avenge the apprentice! Yes, a terrible revenge! It's like this.

  Turning off the interrogator, whose gift was already very badly mutited, but still flickered with an unstable spark, Stepan raised his eyes to the starry sky hidden by crowns and clouds, where a gap appeared right now. Seeing the distant and so clear - you bet, if there was no smog in this world and the megacities hidden in the exhaust - stars as if they were the eyes of some ancient and chthonic god, who created all this anti-scientific bullshit with magic, spirits, and trapped people, the young man wanted to yell something profane. Instead, he just repeated for the second time a quote about guys who didn't take care of themselves and came to kill themselves in the fresh air and started pulling the bodies down. Still working amulets and wands, he, suppressing greed, left them on the bodies. First of all, they were too conspicuous. Secondly, he could make a little worse, and he had already made some samples, and they were really good.

  Having dragged all the bodies to the center of the clearing and extinguished the fire by an effort of will, he began to draw the already well-studied figures of the call offering, setting up the familiar fencing contours and preparing the once-used treatment. Yes, he felt himself a serial suicide, but there was no better way to quickly, reliably, and with at least some guarantee of safety to hide the pce of a vicious murder of an aristocrat by a "peasant" (in fact, to equate a trained gifted man with a mere peasant was an insult, even if the gifted man was a savage crawler from distant shithole), to remove auric imprints, and to prevent a necromancer from summoning a dead man's shadow. Though yes, he seemed a complete idiot to himself, from the first moment when the throaty melody of the summoning sounded to the moment when the forest became different again.

  It came. It came unhurried and indifferent as ever bringing with it the smell of decaying leaves and rotting tree trunks, the stench of swamp and decay, covered by the maddening sweet smell of wildflowers and ripe berries. Life and death, united and linked, beginning and end, alpha and omega, the common happiness of birth and the common destruction. It came, looked around, and met Stepan's spiritual perception with the same indifferent gaze-no-gaze as in the st contact. The young man was only able to transmit a message-thought almost simir to the previous one, to send a line in the spiritual dialog.

  ...for you...

  ...accept it...

  Moss and lichen rose on the trunks of trees, grasses clung to the motionless bodies of the dead and to the wizard, who twitched in terror. He suddenly realized that now he was really in the shit, and the leeches that had paralyzed him fled in terror at the will of such a powerful entity. The ground became a swamp, absorbing the already dead and the still living, who let out a terrible and truly full of horror scream, which almost awakened pity in Stepan's heart. Maybe it would have, if he hadn't been so frightened now, if he hadn't listened for two and a half hours about how many random passers-by, vagrants, and competitors this family contractor had let go for spare parts, obligingly bringing knives, bowls, and bone saws to his father.

  It seemed like an eternity, but, in fact, the whole process took less than a minute, leaving behind a wild and lushly overgrown meadow, where there were no shades of the energy of the dead, their belongings, their traces, or even the memory of them. Stepan realized with some disappointment he was a fool because he had never taken off the shackles. He didn't need them but wanted to see how the phantom limb would react to such a restriction. Well, now he didn't feel like it at all, thank you, it would be fine, it was better not to.

  Once again, as in the st time, he did not ask for anything in return, once again it was met with indifference, but now, when his aura was decorated with the mark of fallen leaves, when the new property a priori said that he was much closer to this fierce shit than a simple shaman, even not a simple shaman, the offering was perceived differently. The spirit "listened" to his "answer", but still returned the gift - in the hands of the shaman trembling from the pressure on the body, aura, spirit and, it seemed, the soul itself, flew a withered and dried oak leaf, and then the essence finally left.

  It looks like a completely ordinary leaf. But, firstly, there were no oaks nearby in this part of the forest, even if you looked for them. Secondly... Secondly, this leaf was not so much a leaf as pure magic, and it was completely invisible at first gnce, even at contact. Only by touching it with a naked spiritual body, and in the transformation of the hand-not-hand and with a bias towards maximum sensitivity, was it possible to recognize the properties of this leaf, which was actually quite strong and capable of surviving a considerable load, so that it would not crumble accidentally if it was squeezed too hard.

  ...call...

  ...I appear...

  Laconically, one can go straight to the honorable Spartans. But here is the meaning of such a gift. It's ready, even if not an anchor of summoning, which will do all the work itself, but a beacon, which will facilitate the process of call... it's a creature of the level of at least a High Shaman, aka magister of magic. In the forest, and prepared, such a creature, since it came to reality and the power to stay in it has not spared, can eat a couple of such magisters and transform on humus. Yes, it is a one-time call, yes, it still has to be done in time, but such an argument is an argument to all arguments. At that moment Stepan wanted to throw the leaflet away, but it would be stupid. As, but let the entity promise to appear, but she did not specify whether this shit would listen to the shaman's requests, and also would not eat the summoner if he did not like something.

  All the knowledge embedded by the system, and not only the intuition of the admirer and reader of fantasy of various sorts, literally said: "Ha-ha-ha, no, no, no, fuck you!" - because to call for this something on such vague terms, and in a situation other than "to die, at least going to hell riding on the bastards surrounding you", you can only be a clinical moron with bread in his head. Well, or a fan of that literature, where darkness is actually good, just it was sndered by evil and hypocritical forces of light, but in the world where spirits of dark spheres quite exist, even if they are not completely real, such individuals are eliminated almost genetically, receiving local analogs of the Darwin Award.

  Honestly, Stepan would have preferred to summon another entity, weaker and not so chthonic and frightening, but there was no certainty if this other entity did come, the summoned thing would be peaceful, fulfill its task, and that it would appear at all. But this king of the forest, lord of the rotten snags, had clearly shown his "sympathy," so no options left. Nodding to these thoughts, the boy began to pack his things, chasing away the remnants of trembling and weakness after such communication and preparing to pnt in the body of the spirit in an owl's feather. It would be necessary to move all night in the forests and go deeper and deeper, at the same time hiding their physical traces, there were suitable spirits for such a case. I didn't want to check what the underground necromancer from the province, who had lost his son and heir, would do, but something told me that in the best case, he would just sic the guards on the murderer and get him hanged.

  Once again, Stepan was nearly killed because he got confused with the local realities. All the gods, including even Milf Mistress, were witnesses to him now, but he would be gd to spend the free talent from the next level (more than six-sevenths of the scale was already filled due to the battle and the subsequent ritual with sacrifice) on basic knowledge about the world, manners, environment, and traditions. He was poking like a blind kitten and everything was out of pce. No, really, it will be necessary next time to scrutinize the proposed options, in case there is something suitable. Or among the meta-skills to look for?

  His feet were hastily pacing the forest ground. His night vision allowed him not to light a fire or be afraid of crashing into a tree or gouging himself with a limb, and a couple of scouting spirits were flying around him and forward along the route, looking for dangerous beasts, bandit ambushes, or just pits. Yes, to break a leg now would have been an utterly idiotic end to this adventure, quite in the spirit of a very lucky Earthman, so the footing was exceptional. with extreme caution. The young man wanted to return to the abandoned town, to challenge the enemy, to expose him to the truth, also with pathos, and then to defeat him in a magical duel. Pompously, of course. But, well, there was nothing to lie about - in fact, he didn't want to do anything like that, he knew how to do a very important thing for a man who tried to live a long and peaceful life, namely don't bother about all sorts of assholes. At the same time Stepan tried not to forget the lesson he had learned on Earth - if you don't bother about all kinds of assholes, douchebags, creeps, and dicks, it did not mean that they would do the same and peacefully forget about you.

  That's why, come on, isekai, step faster and increase the distance between you and the grieving retive, and there, having pumped up, look and go back, and get even for the next portion of disappointment in humanity, not at all pathos and preferably disguising everything under an accident.

  * * *