* * *

  A scarlet haze floods part of the left wing of the lower level of the inn. It is alchemically altered blood, which has acquired the properties of poison, acid, and a bit of magical negator to weaken the shields of those hit. This is only the first swallow because the prepared something quickly begins to react and is preparing to detonate an aerosol bomb, right with Stepan in the center. Stepan, of course, is categorically against it, and so, hugging his own bag, he commands one of the already prepared spirits and it seems to be squeezed into a point, sucked into a translucent tube. It looks, rather ridiculous and cartoonish, but it effectively takes him outside the inn, to the main street of small Bzdy, while a part of the building literally colpses, rapidly rotting and dissolving like a fizzy pill in water.

  The fizzing, at least, is very simir.

  "Well, rest in peace Baroshn, at the very least you've been cremated for good measure." It fshes through his mind as he releases his spiritual body, tossing aside his bag, and calls out to the precursor, guiding it now not just along his aura, but along the bubble of protection created by the mask, invisible from the outside. "Your killers I will try to cremate as well."

  The young man hears the screams and panicked cries of the humans, realizing that seconds count, and if he doesn't want to fight the Bzdy inhabitants who will be taken under control, he must act quickly. A sonm of spirits manifests in reality, scouts, hounds, and paralyzers flying in circles, depriving of mobility all those they reach, the combat retinue gathers at the very edge of reality, preparing to break into battle, but not showing under the magical vision, the space literally shakes with the will and anger of the Senior Shaman, from which in a few moments flowed no longer supported shroud. They struck at the same time, but the opponent was still hitting the apprentice, even if it was a disguised adept, strengthened by amulets or artifacts but Stepan, Stepan did not hold back at all, generously spent the reserve, not afraid to remain empty.

  Five bloody ribbons-spokes, absolutely straight, thin, almost invisible in the midday sun, but at the same time deadly and prepared against someone strong, sent strictly towards him without any pause or preparation. The charms, which were more properly called not ribbons and not spokes, but devil worms, were also directed at the main auric nodes of the chosen victim. The young man could have hidden himself again with a Shroud, but he did not, it would have required him to lose the tempo of the call, to interrupt his attack for the sake of a defense that did not work. Most likely, these charms, the very essence of the blood magic, could certainly use visual guidance or be directly controlled by the bloodsucker looking through them. All five worms, at the st moment no longer straight, curved, and struck at different angles enter the body of the not-resisting shaman, whose aura beats in a sinister and powerful pulse, calling, summoning, commanding, and indicating the target. All five can't miss, yet they miss, seemingly flowing around this figure and flying in completely different directions. Whether this disoriented the algorithm of the charms, or the bloodsucker himself, who controlled them, but on the second run only three, while one worm went somewhere in the sky, almost piercing the spirit-observer, and the second made its way somewhere deep into the trampled earth, disappearing there without a trace.

  These three are no longer trying for pinpoint shots. They try to wrap themselves around the shaman and detonate another cloud of rapidly settling toxic and explosive-magic-hazardous smoke. They succeeded in the first, but the cloud miraculously failed to hit the man as it spshed, striking outward, upward, downward, anywhere but its victim. There was no detonation at all; it was one of Stepan's bookmarks, an old summoning of the spirit of rotten blood, from the time after Fantrel, but before Lyady. The scarlet haze suddenly darkened, turning first a dirty brown and then almost bck, settling to the ground in hissing puddles. It was still impossible to breathe with this shit, but the young man activated the breathing support right at the beginning of the battle, cutting himself off from the air masses and delivering air directly into his lungs.

  The attack capable of killing another master in an instant, an attack worthy of a master, and a very strong one at that, an attack prepared in advance in case it was necessary to fight, did not work, wasting away. Stepan himself stepped forward, ignoring the puddles in front of him as if clutching the part of the second floor from which he had been struck in his fist. The spirit understood the order without images, but Stepan helped himself, divided into multiplicity and remaining united. The poor inn shook and jerked, and then the enemy's position began to rot rapidly, the boards started to deteriorate, to age, to crumble, the windows became skewed and began to let in the light again, and in general, it was a total disorder. Both sides of the conflict, for Stepan had hoped that an attack on the very foundation of the inn, by the spirits of abandoned houses, would cause all the ritual contours and defenses to colpse along with a piece of the inn.

  As, some of the spirits had been banished, some had been disembodied, and some had simply spent all their energy on overcoming the defenses, so there was no quick destruction of the protected point. This is the first rule of combat against a prepared opponent in his position, especially if he is an adept of high magic. Destroy the ritual circuit, or they will destroy you. Stepan sees the defense around the inn clearly visible, no longer hidden by mental magic and the canopy of energy trace suppression. He sees both the cssical magic that pys off the drawn pattern, the bloody threads that have soaked the old wood, and the individual elements of amulet support that were brought with them rather than made on the spot. And the mental distraction, the basis for its unfolding, was clearly not made here either, it was too complex and demanding to deceive so many different spirits at first.

  Assessing what he saw, he didn't pause attacking again without a gesture causing the summoned strong spirit to concentrate the sun's rays into a rge and wicked lens, pnting directly into the windows opened from the previous strike. This entity gave a concentration of not only pure light and temperature but also the kind that harms bloodsuckers. No, it's not the cssic bck man with a katana trilogy here. A couple seconds of ultraviolet light won't kill even the lowest and freshest vampire, not to mention experienced and tough scum. But it's still not very pleasant. It weakens and blinds, and here it's a concentrated effect. While up there, they came to their senses after the sun bunny. The spirit was not a beastly sphere, but for some reason took the form of a rabbit woven of rays, a mystery, damn. Several sparks flew from the shaman's hand, which he also blew on, directing their flight. The sparks grow in size to full-sized balls, first tennis balls, then soccer balls, and then gymnastic balls, before falling to the roof of the inn one by one.

  The young man directed his strike - the strongest and rgest of the avaible and paid for, designed specifically against the undead, consisting of the summoning of seven strong spirits bound in a pack - on a ballistic trajectory, to allow them to gain more size, to absorb more of the midday sun, because at noon this contract works stronger and more effective than any other time of day. The attack was not dangerous to humans, it would knock them down seven times at most, knocking them hard, but no more. But all sorts of crap afraid of the sun and light, or simply alien to the real world and the world of the spheres at the same time, fell into the bread oven. The impact gave neither impulse nor heat, each of the spark-balls simply spshed out a huge blot of glowing ghostly mass, like liquefied sunlight. The bloodsuckers, he was sure, would rather get hit in the face with a cssic rain of fire than this.

  The enemy's defenses were decent, but they were still there, and that was a good thing. If the prepared contours were not aimed at scorching the sunny slurry and hit Stepan, he would be tired of maneuvering. Except that after such a greeting, the young man was taken very seriously, so seriously that even his pride crept in. First, the bloody scarlet light, like a wave of the sea, washed away all the sunny slurry, dissolving it in itself and demolishing the remains of the roof of the Quiet Ill. Then something ghostly scarlet struck the bunny rabbit, nearly disembodied it and forcing it to stop shining, retreating deeper into the spheres to heal its wounds. And after that another cloud went up, not bloody, but inky-bck and with a grayish tinge, created through an artifact because of a completely different shade of power. It was static and canned, not created right there. The hot afternoon was immediately repced by twilight as the vilge was covered by a strange dome, eating sunlight and its debilitating effects. In an instant, noon, the time of the bloodsucker's greatest weakness, changed to midnight, the time of their greatest strength. From above, the spirits saw this shroud as something very shaky, like a mirage in the air, covering Bzdy with a dome at a height of two hundred meters and within a radius of half a kilometer. And, importantly, from the outside, the spells did not look too noticeable, a couple of hours' journey away they would not be seen. You would think of it as a trick of hot air.

  Inside it was a very unpleasant time for Stepan, because it was one thing to beat Dount Cracu on a clear day, but in the middle of the night it was quite another. Even if the visibility had not fallen, it was only a dark evening. And even if it did, he wouldn't care with his sensitivity and a lot of options for other visions. But his opponent's increased abilities and ck of cssic weaknesses worried him much more. The only thing that made him happy was that it was a one-time effect, and it was unlikely that he would be able to use such an artifact again. As it seemed to Stepan. If he had come across something capable of producing such charms in one fell swoop, he would have run away now, dropping bricks out of his pants and forgetting about his pathos words.

  But he'd hardly run away.

  The next stage was obvious and inevitable, but it still ignited in Stepan's heart some inhuman anger, first of all at his weakness. The bloodsuckers reached for their puppets, and every living soul, that paralyzed by his spirits, that had not yet fallen under their attacks, screamed wildly and sharply. At first, they were different voices - male, female, even a couple of children's voices, but as they went on they became louder and louder, more and more unnatural, more and more simir to each other. Acoustic bst and mental impact, sustaining itself and reinforcing itself through resonance. It was a preparation not against a lone individual, but against visiting rge units. To scare, confuse, and if not disperse, then dey at least a little while the main target of the raid was taking off at a tango pace.

  Naturally, not only the howls will be suppressed and dispersed, but also what the howlers have turned into - primitive, short-lived, and maximally charged for a single battle ghouls. Oh yes, from a couple of basement celrs or just abandoned houses came out ghouls quite full-fledged, much older, dangerous, and not threatening to die in a couple of hours. These creatures, already devoid of most human features, completely hairless, covered with tattooing or protective patterns, consisting, it seemed, of only bundles of muscles, fangs, cws, and malice, were much more unpleasant, each standing five ordinary experienced fighters with good weapons, armor, and some amulets. The recently alive people had their faces contorted as if their skin had been stretched, blood flowing out of every orifice mixed with brains, and their mouths open unnaturally wide, giving off that annoying howl. Thirty-one walking corpses, some of them seemingly unable to rise, though all of the Bzd's inhabitants were dead, nine more full-fledged ghouls, three groups of three. And a vague number of enemies upstairs, which were about to descend.

  It seems if I survive today, I'm going to have to do a very good job of renegotiating contracts because I'll be spent to the bottom. A lonely thought fshed through the shaman's mind as he allocated targets and prepared to fight for his life, avenging the lives of others. Why am I always getting into shit?

  The small spirits struck at specific and marked targets, instantly halving the fresh opponents. It seemed ironic to Stepan, but the undead, especially the fresh and not yet adapted to being undead, had a great vulnerability to energy vampirism. His leeches had shown this in practice, knocking out at least a third of the screamers. Another part of them went down under more exotic blows, like burst bones, sour muscles, or simple cssical exorcism, only it was not a priest who reposed them, but a spirit with special properties. The remnants survived the first wave by a couple of moments because the spirits took a little longer to kill them. There were the elements with lightning and air bdes and blows directly on the energy, and even a spirit that had taken possession, which tore up the same ghoul from the inside.

  The first group of full-grown creatures is met by the Lizard. He immediately tried to blow one of them off its head, but the fshing patterns stopped the spiritual yatagan, weakening the blow to a simple scalping. The creatures, whose cws glowed with scarlet and blood magic, immediately tried to diversify their meals with the spiritual reptiles, but the Lizard was adamantly opposed. The second three were met and began dashing into the ground by the Three Piggies. They were busy knocking the enemy to the ground, trying to break the surprisingly strong bones and keeping the trio from bunching up in every way possible. The st trio of ghouls simply and uncomplicatedly fell into the ground to a depth of at least five meters, as the ground became very liquid and soft before immediately solidifying back to its former state. It didn't kill them, but the one-time contract with the strong spirit of the earth sphere paid for itself, taking this group out of the game for a couple of hours at least, and then it didn't matter. By then the winner would be determined and either kill the creatures or dig up his servants.

  Three bloodsuckers appeared in front of the shaman, jumping out of the windows and fuming a little. Oh, the sunbath did them no good, oh, no good! Dressed in tight and comfortable hunting clothes, equipped with amulets and wands, pale and beautiful, they look like Gothic and Byronic characters. On the right stands a rge and slightly battered man, with a well-groomed beard, dark-haired, the very embodiment of a fiery Arab, if it were not for his pallor and some animal fury in his every movement. He shows some remnants of bandages, and beneath them are burns, not just the ones he had received right now, but older ones that clearly required treatment and regeneration, as well as plenty of nourishment. The aura gives out the average adept in brightness, full of borrowed power. In movements, one can see the experience of not centuries, but decades. All this, aura, and experience can be easily multiplied by two at the expense of "night" time. Complementing this colorful image is his weapon - a rune-covered short cleaver in his right hand. The bde was clearly not made for his hand, the bde is too massive and the hilt is for a rger palm, which, when combined with the dwarven runes, suggests a lucky trophy. Of the three, however, he is the least of Stepan's problems.

  To his left, he lowered himself in a graceful, weightless pirouette - lightening his weight to create a levitation effect, he did that regurly himself - a real, textbook fucking vampire loli. Well, not really. She looked about thirteen or fourteen, at most. A pretty face, doll-like beauty, charming scarlet eyes with long shes, a slightly different style of hunting costume, with feminine and tight-fitting features, and a slim wand in one hand, almost a magic wand, and a thin but very long rapier in the other. A weapon the length of the gothic girl, she holds it with incredible ease as if it were a weightless cane. The small runes covering the weapon make his eyes itch from inside his skull. In active mode, there's hardly any way to keep track of this bde. It will be distracting and out of focus. It's still doing that now, without powering up the runes. This toy's armor-piercing and shield-breaking capabilities are amazing. The picture was complemented by a not-at-all-childish, extremely attentive gaze, evil, cruel, and filled with sadistic fun. The girl was older than the bearded beast, perhaps many times older. And her aura was stronger, giving away that she was no longer an average adept, but rather an advanced one, without taking into account the borrowed blood power.

  In the center stands a leader and a total fucking FUBAR. Tall and finely built, perfectly shaven, and possessing a refined aristocratic face, as well as a view of the world as shit, short-cropped and all completely calm, outwardly about forty years old at the time of his conversion. He might not have been considered handsome when he was human, but years and centuries of being a bloodsucker had honed his looks to the point where he could just take out and eat women's hearts without even literalizing the phrase. He was the only one of the three devoid of cold weapons, unless you counted the graceful and seemingly ritualistic dagger on his belt, not even removed from its sheath. The wand in his hands, however, was certainly not a common craft and was of fine workmanship and intricately woven charms. In terms of aura... Well, the system wouldn't call him a master, and neither would the locals, but the trouble with vampires was that they were vampires, no matter how captainly it sounded.

  They develop slowly and are almost completely deprived of ways to pump reserve and power by training. They get a boost to their development only and only from the blood they absorb. If a vampire has the aura of an adept, there is no doubt that in his field and not weakened by sunlight, he will cause problems even for a master, possibly even fatal ones. The essence of their auric shells is that they are shiftable. It swells when fed heavily, and weakens as they starve or simply fight very actively. When encountering a bloodsucker, the power of the aura should be evaluated not only on the basis of magic and years of practice of this magic, but not even on the monstrous affinity with blood and blood magic, which living users of the gift achieve very rarely, and not at all on survivability with regeneration and the ability to feed the usually not too powerful reserve at the expense of another's life. No, the first thing to keep in mind is speed. Because bloodsuckers are fucking fast, very, very, very, very, very, very, fast!

  From a prepared position, having surrounded their ir with prepared fighters, having taken potions, and having arranged a ritual fire position, it is not difficult to fight them. But in close quarters, like this, face to face. Welcome to the session of fluggeheiming, spread your ass. That's why Stepan, seeing the auras of these freaks, including one of them, which was, of course, not a full-fledged Ancient, against which only with a master to go out, but confidently pulled on the nowhere incipient rva of the highest, immediately realized that he would be beaten. Perhaps even with kicks, in all three pairs of legs. But the young man was going to make sure that those legs would be broken off, perhaps by tearing them off up to the neck.

  All three of them froze beside each other, looking at the shaman, who was equally frozen in a rexed position, staring at the enemy with the empty and bottomless eyes of his mask. The pause would have done honor to Leone's films, took at least a second and a half, before the tense, though hiding that tension - but the spirits saw and sensed it, and Stepan sensed it with them - the leader, staring straight into the emptiness of the eyeholes, gave out one short sentence. The problem for the shaman was that sentence, one single word, he accompanied with a magical message, which was supported by the other two participants.

  "Die." Short, clear, and accompanied by a powerful mental blow, literally paralyzing the will, as well as a mixture of blood magic and curses, making the blood in the body literally boil at someone else's command.

  The result was good. The shaman's figure was torn to shreds, along with his clothes, mask, and auric shells. Well, the figure of a very dense illusion, which was supported by a specific spirit, which Stepan, as part of the experiment fed blood, developing a type of call tied to the offering of life force. That was why in this spirit, which remained under the illusion cocoon supported by another entity, the blood of the gifted man was quite active. No, really! As soon as the three of them began to pose in a pompous pose in front of the lone enemy, all the knowledge of the battle shaman, which the young man had, cried out that the enemy was preparing a strike, counting on the idiocy of the enemy, pretending as if they were ready for a dialog. Oh, and they funted their auras too much, too much of the funting was still and frozen, not even a boost of defense could be felt. Had it not been for this deceptive immobility, the young man might not have believed it, might have thought to believe it, might have lost a fraction of a second, but his opponent, as for him, had outdone their acting.

  The same spirit of the short teleport, codenamed "Drain Tank" in the contracts section of the system notebook, transported the young man for the second time in a short period, working out another part of the reserve donated to him and another part of his obligations. This time the transfer was even more hasty than st time, which made the young man fall out of the spirit world a little bit not where he expected, but the main thing is that he managed to save himself. Blood magic is an insidious thing, and this particur blow did not hit him directly, so the defense of the vestibule might not have worked, forcing him to defend himself. The method of defense was simple, at least the method of basic defense. Strengthen the subtle bodies with one's aura and spirit and prevent someone else's will from penetrating by overriding the blood control. Sounds simple, but against combined and not one-decade trained charms... Stepan didn't bother to test himself.

  But he managed, using the protective bubble of the mask, to pass through the spirit world without even weakening the anteroom, without destroying it, having to transfer his forces to the control of the spiritual space. That's a theoretically useless in direct combat artifact designed for retively peaceful css development. There are no artifacts worthy of a very strong magister level, which could not be used in battle. At the very least, at least by hitting someone's head with it. The thoughts in the shaman's head flew in flocks of birds and swarmed as clouds of Japanese hornets stinging his burning ass as he prepared his response, taking advantage of a moment, even a fraction of a moment of enemy discouragement from his sudden teleport with the deception left behind.

  As, but, as his-not-his experience cimed, vampires are very fast and experienced bastards, whose speed extends, among other things, to mental activity. Stepan also accelerated himself, transferred his thoughts to the spiritual basis, accelerated the necessary parts of the aura, and also began to act in advance, only completing the pointer images to the prepared spirits, but the enemy still reacted with him, first leveling off, and then ahead of him for a short time. The air itself shook, thickening and trying to constrict, to slow down, to deprive him of maneuver. The first rule of fighting with a speedy opponent is to control the space and to impose your own battlefield as much as possible. The ground began to soak up moisture, turning muddy and threatening to become a miniature swamp. Lightning began to fsh in the shimmering air from all sides. These were not direct strikes, which the enemy would have noticed in advance, at the stage of feeding the manifested spirits of their attacks, but a cover of static electricity amplified to the limit, so that each of their movements would cause new lightning striking directly at them, and literally next to them so speed would not help.

  The wind didn't stop the enemies covered in scarlet smoky armor. They simply broke through the blockade with their sheer power, burning their way out, and the spirits who flew too close simply didn't have time to move back, often disembodied rather than simply drifting away. On the ground, the enemy paid no attention at all, banally and boringly lightening their weight to a feather, treading on dirt as easily as on ordinary stone. The canopy of static electricity, it must be admitted, pyed quite well, neither damaging the enemy nor slowing them down, but forcing them to spend some of their strength on leveling the work of the storm spirits with such tricky aspects. And then the distance between Stepan and the enemy ended, and they began to kill him, well, or at least try to.

  The leader attacked with numerous small charms and cssic magical arrows, only in different configurations mixing his own blood into them, increasing the killing power. He searched for the key to the defenses of the anteroom, not realizing, as yet, the ck of that key in the usual sense, trying to strip and overload the defenses. The beastly asshole Arab and the militant loli acted close, attacking at point-bnk range, wanting to spit a blood arrow, whip a scarlet whip, or wrap a red cloud around his head, but they did most of their damage with their cold weapons. The cleaver was so strong that it could probably cut a stone wall into slices, the ominous rapier easily escaped his gaze, falling out of focus and stabbing at vulnerable points from the most unexpected pces. From the outside, despite the danger of the situation, it looked very funny, and Stepan, who was watching the fight from many angles, was definitely struck with humor because it looked really absurd.

  The blows simply passed by the only living person left in the Bzdy, as if they were bending around him. In those moments when it was physically impossible to avoid the damage, he bent himself. Like a character in a cartoon. Like a Photoshop image. Like bringing a magnet to a tube TV. Even though his reserve shouldn't have been sagging, it was still dropping, because the frequency of enemy attacks was so active that he had to spend energy to support the barrier. The constant flickering of bdes, bloody spells, and the gnces of scarlet eyes trying to get deep into his brain were confusing and provoked mistakes. Stepan involuntarily moved a meter or two in random directions, when the anteroom itself led him away from the damage. And also continuously calls, controlling his spirits and trying to lead counterattacks. Catching the enemy with the bodies of spirits, whether leeches or whatever, was something he stopped doing almost immediately. Red-eyed suckers saw them and immediately destroyed them with scarlet cws or simply by hitting them with their armor or simply banishing them. Attacks with elemental effects, fire arrows, lightning, stone spikes, and air fists, also showed not-too-good results. The spirits were also not very good at targeting, the area attacks would hurt him more than the enemy, and the spirits themselves were constantly being set up. To attack, they would appear as close to reality as possible, ready to spit out a couple or three lower spells paid for in advance, but they would also become more vulnerable.

  The cleaver didn't hit very deep. The bearded man's bloody cws were even more dangerous to the spirits, but the loli's rapier quickly thinned out the retinue, knocking out the elementals and, even more frustratingly, preventing them from spending their strength to fulfill their contract. The exotics fared a bit better, their attacks were uncharacteristic, so they often had time to strike and get back. Sometimes they even hit and knocked some power out of the scarlet cocoons that protected the bloodsuckers. Stepan didn't hesitate to spend the already dangerously low reserve, calling and directing new spirits, giving the enemy a taste of victory, a taste that they were about to exhaust him. And yet it was one of the exotics that gave the first real chance for a full attack, rather than the annoying and tense jabs: the effect that broke through the bloody defense covered all three of them at once, the strong spirit attacking, changing the sensations of the right and left sides for a split second.

  The leader didn't even flinch, immediately breaking the impact and, without faltering in his stride, sent another series of bloody droplets and dots, once again slicing through his veins with his cw. The little brat, who could probably still call his great-grandmother a лkid, ignored the change at all, instantly regrouping and continuing to attack, simply not paying attention to the changed perception utilizing centuries of experience. But the youngest, the most tired, the most unrestrained, as well as the bearded man who had been wounded earlier, lost momentum, took a step in the wrong direction, into the wall of one of the houses, and for a few moments he was off the ground in an involuntary leap. He lost the ability to react and dodge at his usual speed. Stepan, thinking in passing about the reasons for this massacre, concluded that someone had burned their asses and forced them to flee, forcing them to hide in the middle of nowhere, so they were sitting here, nursing their wounds and thinking about further actions. Otherwise, there were no other options. Such a small vilge and almost abandoned road wouldn't feed three bloodsuckers, let alone nine angry ghouls.

  All these thoughts did not prevent Stepan from activating another of the stronger summons, the volcanic heat spirit, the same one he had not risked calling underwater during the battle with Eel, using a slower and weaker counterpart in the form of a fire rooster. The volcanic spirit had no animal form, or any form at all, but it fred almost instantly, heating the area around the bearded man to an obscenely high temperature. He, of course, stepped up his defenses, realizing that he was caught, and even survived the first second of baking. Only his beard melted, and he got more burns, but that was nothing because the wooden hut he had hit in the fall had dried and burst into fmes in no time at all. As, he did not have to live through the second moment, the leader saved his ward by hitting him with a deep cloud of scarlet smoke, saving the poor man and forcing the volcanic essence to fall back in order not to die.

  Stepan didn't like what he saw, because it was a specially sharpened bloody effect against spirit entities. If this man could do that without being a moron, and he wasn't, he should have used something simir against the shaman long ago. So why had he been hitting all this time with just variously configured arrows, drops, and whips? It was a million questions, but it was only necessary to look closely, as Stepan easily noticed the scarlet drops that were hitherto hidden behind the fever of battle and light compulsion, which fell to the ground from the dissected veins of the main vampire. They were soaking into the ground, almost soaking it, and providing the perfect anchor for the attack on the anteroom from below.

  Oh, fuck... Stepan thought, finishing his combination right at that moment, realizing he had missed someone else's. He still tried to finish it in spite of it, realizing that he wouldn't have time to defend himself, but bloodsuckers, as it was already said, are very fast and they think fast too. Fast enough to stop the show and use the preparation he'd made during the brief fight, which hadn't even taken twenty seconds. Squidward's summoning had not been completed, nor had he had time to summon a couple of sun and fire spirits that had not yet fired, nor had he had time to do much of anything. It was only out of a sense of contradiction and unwillingness to drain that he concentrated all his energies on killing the beastly man: a homing lightning bolt struck from the sky, ignoring the blood dupes that rushed in with the bloodsucker's aura. In that lightning, the unclothed maiden could even be seen imprinted on his retina, as if woven from that lightning, the pointing part of that lightning, its striking fist.

  The enemy was shattered, not helped neither by the spent defense of scarlet haze, nor by the attempt to put up the same scarlet barrier, nor by the protective amulets that worked, nor by the cleaver's blow towards a very old and powerful sylph who realized herself as a female wind spirit. Stepan was a little ashamed of it, but the reason for the ease of contracting six blows, but not more often than once every nine days, with this dy was that she was responding to the mark of passions by easing her call. On the other hand, there was nothing erotic, except the unclothed image of a body woven with lightning, in this there was nothing erotic about this entity, quite the opposite. It was a cruel and very pyful essence, accustomed to making its games extremely traumatizing, like a small and naive child who enjoys tearing off the legs of insects. As it is now, so that one foot here, the other there, and the balls are carried away almost to Dantmark. Add to this the fact that the spirits of mobile elemental spheres, such as fire, wind, or water, were not too fond of the undead as such, often supplementing the attack not only in the account spent by the shaman for payment, but also from himself, and you get the effect of a high-explosive shell in the face.

  Yes, the young man had settled the score. Judging by the sudden rage and anger, the remaining pair valued their companion, even loved him, perhaps with a simple familial feeling. Bloodsucker nests are almost always like that within the same branch, for they are bound together by blood, and therefore bound together tightly. Not without exceptions, not without intrigue and murder within particurly rge nests, and they treat the lower forms of their undead species as "lower," but still. And now, their old friend, comrade, and brother, ready to share the st breath of blood, the st sve to give for food, able for the sake of his kin, suddenly ended forever.

  The leader showed emotion on his face for the first time, baring his fangs and no longer resembling a mannered forty-year-old aristocrat of the Byronic-Gothic type, showing his nature. He grinned, staring straight into the hollow eyes of the mask's eye sockets, smming his bloody palms into the ground so that in the same instant the anteroom just slithered the fuck away, leaving Stepan defenseless. The shaman understood the mechanics of the technique and even instantly understood how to rebuild defenses against it, albeit with an extra waste of reserve, but it was of little use. No, he tried to stop the sinister Lolita, far from Nabokov's work, with direct barriers. He intercepted her point-bnk bloody arrows with a couple of spirits and his ghostly cw, condensed the air around her and himself. He barely managed to deflect the bloody explosion thrown by the leader, which blew the wall behind his back into a pile of splinters, barely managing to condense the air again before the splinters turned his back and ass into hedgehogs. He activated time acceleration, trying to break the distance with another spatial jump, clearly surprising his opponents when he suddenly began to keep up with them.

  But the enemy was too good, and Stepan made a wrong move. He forgot that the smallness of his opponent is not only lightweight but also maneuverability, the ability to get into small gaps. For example, jumping up, running up the wall of the barely standing inn that their attack had pinned him against, coming in from the side where the air mass seal supported by the spirits was weaker. One swing of her rapier, which, like every time before, had fallen out of focus, followed by a telekinesis-enhanced kick. He still reacted, pying not just a risky game but almost Russian roulette with a handgun, pushing himself up and saving himself from decapitation. Instead of blowing his not-too-clever, if one teacher's comments were to be believed, head off, or, given the shape of the bde and the little girl's fencing technique, sticking the bde in his eye, the girl, a couple hundred years old at least, easily and gracefully redirected the blow, cleaving his chest deeper than halfway through. She cut through the heart, the spinal column, the lungs, and a bunch of vessels. Then kicked the young man into flight.

  He instinctively used a spiritual grip on himself, keeping himself from bleeding out in a matter of moments, keeping himself alive for at least a couple more seconds. In a cloud of splinters that had not yet fallen from the reflection of the bloody rupture, he flew through the wall that had been knocked out by the rupture and into one of the first-floor rooms of the inn, hitting the edge of the breach and watching with uncomfortable surprise as his body, almost split in two, sliced in two, twisted bizarrely, giving him a glimpse of his inner world. The impact, first on the edge of the breach, then on the floor, and then, sliding across it, and against the far wall, knocked away any vestiges of concentration, and a fountain of scarlet blood spurted in all directions, flooding the old floorboards and shutting down his brain.

  The brain, not the spirit, because the remnants of the reserve invested in thin bodies allowed him to buy another five to ten seconds of self-awareness, but he won't get even that. His perception, still overclocked by the system clock, sees his opponents rushing towards him, rushing to kill him or to prevent him from destroying his own body. Experienced infestations. They know that many hunters of their brethren prefer to spoil their guts, just to avoid becoming a ghoul, or to avoid feeding those ghouls themselves. Of course, no one told the young man about it directly, but in the knowledge base of the combat shaman were several types of reinsurance for such a case, so as not to get the enemy for dinner if you can not avoid death. It was a shame he didn't know what to prepare for and therefore didn't use a single call from that list. It was a common practice to kill wounded gifted, though. Mortally wounded mages, witches, spellcasters, shamans, or whatever else, liked to try to set off fireworks before they died, to say goodbye, so to speak.

  They say that at the moment of the greatest danger, in general, just before death, the whole life lived, its mistakes and achievements, fshes before the eyes, forcing one to look into the eyes of one's sins and virtues. Apparently, they lied, because nothing passed before Stepan's eyes, except the darkness of unconsciousness, which gradually rolled on. Nor did the angel behind his right shoulder and the demon behind his left shoulder come to him, nor did they tell him any terrible truths that would make the blood in his veins cold, if it had not already flowed out in great quantities. If there was something mystically incomprehensible, it was the flickering image of Rodisv Gastotoldovich Yanin, who probably decided to kick Satan off Stepan's shoulder by his trademark tone: "Retake the exam, you ignoramus!", which would have made his heart stop with horror if it hadn't been cut in two by a blow from a vampire's rapier. Instead of the angel, who had probably kicked him away too, he saw the image of his tipsy grandfather, smiling into his mustache and as if he was not going anywhere, squinting his eyes, asking: "Well, grandson, did your spirits help you?".

  Fuck you both, I'm not dead yet! Stepan, who had finally lost contact with his physical body, but still retained control over his spirituality and self-consciousness, said to them both in his mind.

  He mumbled, and then activated "reserve renewal" at the same time, returning up to a hundred percent of the almost spent strength, which was not enough even to walk without stumbling, as well as "life replenishment", instantly disappearing from his body all-all-all purely physical injuries, as well as weak damage to the aura and subtle bodies. And the murderous loli's rapier, despite its fierce piercing power and annoying mental effect, cut primarily through magical shields and physical barriers. If small spirits could be torn apart with it without any problems, then on the aura of a strong mage it left quite tolerable marks, but usually, a decapitated person or a person who received a bde in the brain with a retively intact aura doesn't give a damn from his grave, unless he is a magister.

  The contracted spirits still observing the carnage were scrupulously transmitting all the images they saw to him, so he could almost live-stream the way the nearly cut body blinked as if reality itself had been distorted, abruptly becoming perfectly healthy and normal, even the injuries to the aura was fixed. The blood was restored to its full volume inside the body, but the outer parts of the blood remained. The vampiress, who ran in after him, was probably surprised to see Stepan bloody, stained in the blood as if he had washed his face with it, with a cut leather jacket and shirt at the pce of the blow, but whole, healthy, angry and with full reserve.

  Surprised, yes. But when twenty-nine air-bde fists struck, literally all the avaible contracts among the already summoned and yet-to-be-fired members of the wind sphere, she still had time to react. She jumped back, took cover under the thickened scarlet armor, put up a frankly weak barrier of bloody screen, and also zeroed her weight so the push into the barrier would carry her away. The young man would have involuntarily respected her, if he hadn't realized that for so many decades even Stepan himself would have become a deadly fighter, without a System and only on his efficiency.

  The leader, behind which the little thing was hiding, hastily raised a bloody dome, and under it another one, but already purely magical and multisegmented, without blood additives. Not bad, especially considering that the lion's share of the magic potential of the bloodsucker's aura was due to corporeality and control, but not power with source. At least they survived another blow, now with fire erupting around the barrier, though the first barrier was shattered, in some pces puncturing it all together. In the meantime, the earthman, who had hardly spent his new and full reserve, and who had simply given orders to the spirits already summoned before he was wounded, stepped forward out of the breach, unhurriedly outwardly and sweating profusely inside. He came out, having already covered himself with the barrier of the anteroom, only now with modifications, with fixing, so that it was impossible to transfer the power to a piece of the higher spheres, attacking from the inside due to the bloody connection with the piece of reality soaked in blood. Now, anyone wishing to repeat such a trick would be met with a tough and aggressive defense, a kind of barbed wire.

  Somehow they were not accustomed to the fact that after such a blow, a shaman who had spent his strength to the very bottom - they had seen it, they had seen how he spent his strength, gradually getting weaker! - the shaman silently stands up and rushes into battle like a newcomer. This is where anyone would be surprised. It took them less than a second to regain their senses, strengthening their defenses and preparing new attacks, redistributing their power reserves, and figuring out how to spend their blood-paid reserves now. It didn't take them long, and they rushed back into the battle, but now the shaman was taking the initiative, completing the calls that he hadn't had time to do in the st round of their battle. And not only the calls, oh, not only.

  The loli assassin lunged forward again, blurring, averting his eyes from both herself and her long rapier, swinging the pendulum and stalking across the ground taking advantage of her low stature. She was ready to kill spirits, to repel elemental or energy attacks, even something of the exotic variety wouldn't surprise her either. Stepan remembered how she hadn't even scratched when she was switched right-left, instantly adjusting herself. She's no mage. She'd studied not the magic all those centuries, though she'd pulled up this side too. Her bloody arrows and barriers are weak. Her mental pressure is incomparable to that of a leader or even a dead thug. The little abomination had spent her years and centuries on mastering only a few techniques, but she could perform them just fine. Bloody armor, not inferior to that of her leader, avert of eyes, fast and designed for use in battle, and manipution of her weight, telekinesis-levitation.

  That's it.

  And nothing else matters.

  The rest of her time was spent practicing the use of her bde and the species-specific properties of the bloodsucking undead. It made her an outstanding swordswoman and, most likely, an elimination killer as well. Stepan was tempted to ugh, just ugh at how conceptual it was. This was the same gothic loli vampire from an anime, maybe even a hentai one, who could sughter a crowd of armor-cd men in one fell swoop. Just because she's faster, pierces their armor, doesn't get hit, and averts their eyes. Truly, magic makes some things possible, even if it would be better if it made something else possible, but not the work of Japanese animators and mangaka tortured by deadlines. There must be something good represented in Earth's cultural heritage that can be created with magic, right?

  All these thoughts didn't stop Stepan from concentrating on overcoming the eye averted, and then, having focused the target, with a sharp movement, even to the border of painfulness, when further on you risked tearing auric lines and deforming nodes, pouring half of the reserve, no less. Pouring reserve into the most deadly of the point attack skills he had in his arsenal. He wouldn't have risked hitting a girl fresh and not yet in combat, but now she had used up her blood reserve, partially discharged her amulets, and soiled herself in his blood, having spilled too much of it, forming an ephemeral but tangible bond. And Stepan, evil, unkind and completely disrespecting the canons of cssics, formalized this connection, bound it tightly, making sure that he was not the first to get a bloody curse on it, and then struck it.

  locking

  path

  of her unlive

  The sprinting loli stumbled and went flying, not having time to react or even to realize that she was already, in fact, done. The leader, who had already begun to cover his st ward, not with arrows of blood, but with those very blows on the deeper yers of reality, which he had previously hidden, did not realize what had happened at first. It was only when her movement stopped, when she froze, immovable, like a doll, lying on her back and spreading her arms, next to the dropped rapier, that he realized the extent of the disaster. Her face was mangled beyond recognition. Her mouth, nostrils, and even her eye sockets had been fused, leaving only ft lines reminiscent of a long-ago scar, but that was only half the trouble, as was her fused ass and the nearby orifice. The blood that constantly bubbled and burned in the fmes of the magical gift stopped as the vessels shuttered. The spinal cord and neurons are disconnected and simply stop conducting signals. Even the aura, the very aura that allowed Stepan, being physically already a corpse, to keep active thinking, and that completely went out, became as it was supposed to become many years ago - dead.

  Stepan would have used the new trick at once if his opponents were human or simply alive, but against the undead shutting them in was not the kind of trick that could be called ultimatum, because the movement of energies is not absolute for the undead, even for such specific ones. They know a thing or two about stasis and immobility. Hell knows, maybe the head vampire could have pumped the little girl out, drenched her in blood, and used his own will to take control of her body and bring her back to activity after an hour or two. If his enemies were not bloodsuckers but lichs or ghosts, he wouldn't even try, they were too different, for them this blow was unpleasant and deadly, but not so deadly. The vampiress was ruined by the fact that she, like the rest of her tribe, was still too alive, too full of life, standing on the border between the living and the undead. Only the guy still didn't bother to check if she could be saved or not. The freshly paid air fists and earth millstones that struck the motionless body ground the poor thing to a pulp in a second, and a separate water bde with a thin whip blew off the head even before the body was pulverized.

  "Duz." It was all the bloodsucker gave out, whispered almost, clearly a shortened and weaseled form of her name, and there was a flicker of unspoken pain in the scarlet eyes before his face became completely calm before he equally calmly and quietly uttered a hate-filled voice. "Die."

  Somehow I'm already in the frightening habit of killing not the main bastard first, but his lover, apprentice, or sweetheart, you can do it all together. A zy conclusion fshed through the earthling's mind as he recalled the previous simir episodes. But actually, if she really is his lover, the asshole certainly knows a thing or two about perversion.

  SpoilerT.N. Once, a Soviet tourist in Paris got hungry and started looking for a restaurant. And accidentally walked into a brothel. "Monsignor wants a girl?""No.""Monsignor wants a boy?""No.""What does Monsieur want?""The Monsignor would like some chicken.""The Monsignor knows a thing or two about perversion."

  [colpse]A new series of blows. The opponent wastes blood and magical energy, seemingly without thinking at all. He constantly tries to attack under the anteroom, but now Stepan makes no mistakes and is already waiting for a familiar trick. New tricks are also in the arsenal of the enemy, but more was a variation of the already demonstrated: more force, a different angle of flow, different depth. One cannot surprise a Senior Shaman with such a trick, not for the second time in a row, otherwise he is not a shaman but a retard. The mental pressure of his Scarlet Gaze was no longer so frightening, even though it only intensified with the attack of hatred. Without two helpers pressing synchronously, it was not a trick that could penetrate a shaman who was blurred into multiplicity. A shaman who was now acutely regretting the wasted clock charge, because he could use the acceleration. The switch to partially spiritual thinking leveled things out, the battle spirit impnted directly into his body to disperse his physical abilities leveled it out even more qualitatively, but the enemy was still too cool, dangerously close to opening the anteroom once more. In such a tight battle, the enemy had a good chance, especially considering Stepan's thinned retinue and contracts, but he didn't show all his trump cards either.

  The Three Little Pigs were still finishing off the two remaining ghouls, breaking their bones and tearing their undead aura. The Lizard had had to retreat, wasting his strength dismembering two of them and cutting off the legs of the third, but there were other contracts. The most important of which had finally arrived. As, Squidward had to be summoned beforehand; he was too strong for reality and therefore came to it slowly. Stepan had called him correctly, so that he would incarnate at once, ready for battle, and not slowly and sadly, being exposed to the enemy's attacks. And he did, first of all turning the twilight shroud into full and absolute night, and the enemy's night vision abruptly failed, forcing him to frantically pour even more power into his eyes, which were crying scarlet tears. What surprised Stepan much more, he still achieved partial success, seeing the enemy and his ghostly tentacles, trying to fight back and trying to escape from the cloud of darkness. It was an awkward opponent, covering a lot of Stepan's trump cards, and the ones he couldn't cover, he could at least counter them!

  The young man's resentment at the leisurely feeding of his osprey grew even more intense when his opponent tried to banish Squidward Plus, so successfully that the shaman's teeth chattered. Another artifact, looking like a small stone statue of a lizard-like shape, flew upwards toward the dome of gloom, soaking into it, removing that dome, and causing it to fall to the cloud of night. It was a mixture of cssical necromancy with something else that resembled not shamanism, but rather barrier magic, yes. A barrier that changed properties and began to throw out an octopus. back into the spirit world along with its darkness. Judging by the fact that the barrier of gloom simply changed the constant of day to night, it had originally worked on the principle of interacting with the other side - now the nature of the barrier had simply changed. And as Stepan suddenly realized, this trick with the sudden night in the middle of the day would be useless at dawn and dusk. Changing one for the other would be of no use to the vampires. And he was pretty sure the dome was a disposable amulet, not a full-fledged artifact with multiple uses!

  Well, yeah, relying on the concept of the opposites of night and day as such, is tricky. It's literally the performance of a complex, multi-component ritual by the method of cssical high magic. He realized, wishing he could get a closer look at the artifact, because the relic, which seemed to have served faithfully for tens and hundreds of years, had given up on him. Time to recall Squidward and get this shit over with.

  He sent the spirit away himself, not fighting for control because it was a waste of reserve. The enemy had spent enough to try to kill him without the killer octopus. First, he wasted blood and reserve, and he doesn't have a system-style meta-skill, thankfully. Second, he deactivated the barrier and now the darkness created by the spiritual entity is pying to the enemy's advantage, preventing the sunbath from pying its part. Third, while the poor guy who had forgotten about the shaman was running away from the tentacles, trying to cut them with his ritual dagger and hit them with something killing from the rod, the shaman changed his position so that he wouldn't get fucked over from memory, and then started to call again.

  As the sun shone brighter, the spirits of light began to attack the faltering and even slowed enemy, but he still did not give up, trying to escape. However, when the shaman did not chase after him, but the intensity of the attacks only increased, as they were joined by new ones, both pulled out by contracts and hastily summoned entities of different spheres, he somehow immediately changed his mind. He changed his mind and tried to get the shaman in one final attack, as decisive and dangerous as the throw of a wolf driven by dogs. The first blow sent an almost exclusively magical energy nce filled with a light drop of bloody power, which made the air rumble in his ears. Stepan, who was waiting for something simir, used for the first time a trick that existed earlier only in his system experience and knowledge - redirecting the attack through the anteroom.

  It came out, but it didn't. He easily caught the spear in the trap of spiritual space, and it seemed to fly into his sternum, only to fly out from the same point, only in the direction of the enemy. He grinned viciously and unhumanly, and took back his own blood with a wave of his hand, breaking the spell and continuing his attempt to rid the world of the stranger. A dozen vials, obviously with something alchemical and poisonous, he tossed into the air and vaporized, mixed with a bloody cloud in a pathos gesture, sincerely hoping Stepan missed the fact he had quietly opened a couple of such poisonous vials much earlier, pushing them together with an almost invisible and barely present haze closer to the young man. The Earthman did not check whether it was necessary to inhale these poisons or whether they were contact, and also whether his defense against them would work, calling another strong spirit, which instantly sucked in all the poisoned air and any unnecessary impurities, even dust, leaving only the purest breeze and the smell of ozone.

  The vampire's face is no longer aristocratic. It looked more and more like the face of a beast, blunt and hungry, full of hate, hungry to kill and drunk on blood, blood, blood, blood, how little blood he had left. Another spear, also peppered with drops of scarlet liquid for lethality and directional control, more out of desperation. It is redirected back by the young man just like the st one. In the eyes of the beast, which tries very hard to pretend to be much more stupid and mad than it really is, there is smugness and a new facet of hatred as he intercepts the spear again, only now intending to direct it again at Stepan, but considering the perceived defense, from which the anteroom can fail to repel such a pitch. He intercepts the spear, letting it freeze at his fingertips, and then howls, animal-like, in savage pain as his arm is charred sharply to the elbow, revealing bone and pale, rancid flesh. Well, what did he want? Inside the spear, was a spirit with aspects of burn and stealth. A rather exotic combination, very useful in bundles like this. One of the tricks from the synergy of martial call practice and a fighter's mastery is very situational and just as effective if the situation is right for its use.

  I tried to escape again, only now not directly, but through the houses, hiding behind them from the gaze of the spirits. Initially, it was useless, but there was already as much reason left as a loaf of bread. Stepan only directed the necessary spirits, as a small ball of sunlight flew out of one house, pure light with a touch of something divine, warm, but at the same time uncompromising, not tolerating neither darkness, undead, or halftones. It did not kill the enemy, only burned his side, but made him rush at the unknown priest literally on all fours, well, on three limbs, for one arm had already failed. The man of Chinese appearance, who staggered in the doorway, obviously pale from the pumping of blood and very, very seriously beaten, would not have defeated such an opponent, it seems, having spent all his strength on the attack, but another fighter stood in front of him. This one was grayish from ck of blood and vitality, a little less beaten, and also bck-skinned.

  No, this is some kind of Netflix! Stepan's mind raced as he stopped the bloodsucker's spurt with a swift blow on his thin body, another stream of light, and then, when he fell to the ground, not letting him get up, making the ground grab him with stone hands and cws, and start grinding him as if in a millstone, taking his head off his shoulders beforehand, just in case, and then pushing that head farther away. Earth to you with silver nails, motherfucker.

  The shaman shook himself and walked slowly toward the looking men, who seemed to have either slept through most of the battle or very wisely stayed out of it, only watching. Only towards the very end showing their side. When the door opened, the hut converted into a dungeon opened its camoufge contour no longer concealing the two prisoners and a third, not visible to the eye, but clearly visible to the spectator spirits swarming in much rger numbers than the minimum required. The young man walked springily, angrily, without fatigue, and he restored the reserve for the second time at the very end, having spent the second charge. Judging by the tense stares, they either evaluated the aura - which the priest could do for sure, and the Negro, in the absence of the source of the gift, has a very high Spirit and Sensitivity, if the shaman understood everything correctly - or they were simply impressed by what they had already seen, as well as by the reproachful look of his bottomless, while masked, eye sockets.

  "Who are you, what are you doing here, and what's your connection to these?" By 'these' the shaman meant the undead, pointing at the bloodsucker still twisting in the stone meat grinder, of which there were no fragments rger than half a finger unless you count the severed head. "And what of the third? I can sense life, but it's flickering."

  "My name is Taam Araa. Oh mighty one who spells the loyal loa. I am nicknamed, among these nds, the Dashing Bde, and I have dedicated my life and will to bring back to the nds of the dead those who pay for their eternity with the lives of others." Floridly but with very sincere reverence, as well as an abyss of fatigue, apprehension, fear, and a bunch of other emotions is given out by this individual. "Next to me is Wang Xi Khal, my companion, and comrade in my journey, a brother to me not by womb but by spirit and blood, which we have long since mingled by fraternizing. The third of us is also a comrade and sister to us, Victoria de Cers, who has likewise dedicated her life to the same goal. And may have given it too. I humbly ask the honorable spellcaster for help with her wounds and curse. Devoured by your wrath, Edward de Harnbray, may his soul forever know no rest, lost some of his retinue in the flight of his ird, and he sought to repce those who were gone. And he saw my sister as a match. He drank her with his cursed blood, spellbound, though not for long, the cursed yashmalhut is too strong, I fear the irreparable. She knows how to fight back, but...."

  Then he was bent over with a wild cough, also with bloody foam and the Asian sat down against the wall, dripping down it like a jelly man. Stepan wanted to wipe his face, but instead, he summoned a couple of healing spirits, a couple more of the ones that worked with curses, and the most recent reserve combat retinue in case those two tried to attack him or if something else creepy came out of the basement. At the same time, he ordered another group of earth spirits to start twisting the ghouls that were still underground, closing that problem, because such an abomination might hibernate until it was accidentally dug up. Well, or it will just spoil the crops of the vilgers with its aura of hunger..... no they wouldn't because there aren't any vilgers left. He suddenly wanted to master resurrection and kill all three of them a couple more times.

  "Bring her here." That's all he says, turning off the meat grinder he's put his energy into, letting go of the spirits who are faithfully following orders to spin the stone millstones, and pointing to the cleaner ground a little farther away. "While I am healing, you talk about how you ended up here. Quickly. Clearly. Concise. Uncluttered."

  It's nice to be seen and judged by your aura. It's even nicer when they don't try to kill you for what they see, but show you respect: they ran right away, and even the Asian got up and went to drag his companion. She was of medium height, with the athletic physique of an active person, breasts between the C and D-size, rather dry but firm buttocks, dirty-blond hair a little shorter than her shoulders, blue eyes, and a bit angur face. Well, as half of Stepan's fellow students would say, "I'll fuck her." Stepan, who considered himself a polite person, would not have said that out loud, but he probably would have thought the same thing. And now he thought, first of all, that he should definitely visit a brothel when visiting the city, though taking care of protection and contraception. Because somehow very characteristically his thoughts drifted away at the sight of tits, the long loneliness was affecting him, and he couldn't fuck with only pumping indefinitely.ебатся

  It didn't take long to drain the dead blood that had already filled her veins. The healing skills, the spiritual transformation, the appropriate invocations, and the retively early stage, which had not yet killed the body, but only corrupted the blood, made it possible not to fear for her health. After about half an hour, the pale and barely conscious maiden squinted her eyes against the sun, coming to her senses. In another ten minutes, she was drinking the water that Stepan had summoned through the summoned spirit, using the method of the barrel left in Lyady. A direct transfer from somewhere where clean and untainted by blood water had been. Because the bloodsuckers, of which there were originally four, but one was literally the lowest and very young, almost an accidental expendable even bothered to drop their blood into the wells to keep the vilgers under control.

  After drinking several sips of water, the noble fifth daughter of a not particurly wealthy house, who had long ago embarked on her thorny path and had almost abandoned communication with her family - not because of a quarrel, just because they rarely saw each other - began to vomit. She vomited bck and vile sludge, draining her body of what she'd been force-fed, waiting for the Thirst to finally transform her. Then she'd finish it herself. There was a reason she'd been kept with her beaten and disarmed companions for the st two days. When she would turn, mad and unthinking, her instincts would take over, giving that first sip of her impending bloody diet. Next, the will of the master who turned her, the abrupt fracture of personality from the realization of what had been done to her faithful comrades, and behold, Bloody Submission fell into pce. You can't use such a servant forever, and in time there is a high risk that she will rebel, that's why vampires prefer to turn their closest chicks, literally heirs and most loyal companions, voluntarily and by agreement.

  But that's not even the rule, too many exceptions to it.

  Maybe that's what she would have been - perhaps the rule, perhaps the exception.

  "That's it. More often sunbathe in the sun, you can go without clothes at all, to absorb more of its rays." By the way, Stepan is not lying now, it really helps after an attempted forced conversion. "Do not eat anything badly fried for another six months, and at least three weeks of no meat. No visiting necropolises or dead cities for the same period. That's pretty much it. With you two, it's even simpler. The wounds are only physical, plus blood pumping. You won't be given any water so as not to spoil the future servant's lunch."

  By this time Stepan already knew their story, having checked it for truthfulness and even dug a little into his memories with the help of the summoned suggestor, and even if the priest noticed something, he didn't show it and certainly didn't resent it.

  So, after the Big Search started all over Dantra and the world in search of an unknown, but very severe international criminal, here the shaman not interested in such a distant preamble asked to get closer to the topic, it seems that the criminal was not found. But all sorts of smaller shit was collected in the assortment and they began to do something about it. Poor Edward's nest, for God's sake, Stepan hadn't known that he'd guess his name with his impromptu, had fallen under the millstones of history. Especially since he'd been losing his way for the st decade. So, they'd taken him seriously, instead of just forcing him to flee, looking for a new pce to live. He escaped anyway, but without almost all his inferiors, and losing part of his retinue while another part simply scattered.

  The three of them were hunting for the scattered servants, and one of them was even hunted. But they came upon a trail that led to these uninhabited pces. A couple of bodies were found, a peasant who saw a blurry figure in the night, a couple of rituals to a spirit bound to his grandfather's blood (Taam could, with the help of mushrooms and long training, fall into a trance even without a gift, and his family spirit-seeker was quite strong), and they found their problems. Because instead of one of the scattered lower ghouls, well, a couple, even three of them, they found old Edward himself, the rest of his retinue, including Ducirel Tenderness, who was feared even more than her blood parent. The sinister loli has a great record of bloodsucker hunters because she turned their murder into her favorite hobby. The little thing was also characterized by an outstandingly morbid imagination, a love of torture and hentai in the guro genre, and an artistic streak. The remains of her victims were art, very sick, but clearly high art. It was about the height to which the cuckoo of the juvenile lover of living and agonizing instaltions, as well as very young, not older than her, boys flew away. By the way, these very young boys were the few who had a chance to survive the meeting with her, at the same time having parted with their innocence and having received a lot of psychological traumas for the future.

  It was their footprints Stepan had sensed on the road. Their horses were standing in the stables and did not even seem to have died of terror. All the te bloodsucking brotherhood either wiped up the spiritual traces or quietly arrived through the forest, without visible horses, using the same tactics of stealthy movement as Stepan. But then the same thing happened to the hunters as to old Eel, when he decided to take the wrong ship by the balls: the visiting bloodsucking fighters were rolled in shit. They, by the way, had noticed something wrong a little earlier, simply because of the specifics of their work, but they didn't have time to escape. They'd realized the extent of the problem after the fact, during the interrogation, looking at the satisfied faces of Edward and his sinister loli. The fight had been short, furious, and hopeless. They'd only managed to wound the lowly servant, and not to death. That weakling must have been dissolved by a bst of sor slime before the main fight began. The bearded brute, if anything, had been wounded by someone else earlier, probably while escaping from the nest. And yes, the nest was not in Dantmark itself, but in one of the rge aristocratic estates a couple weeks away. The baronet who had sheltered the vampire, himself a dreamer of eternal non-life, had been accidentally killed in the assault, so accidentally that he had about a dozen through wounds and a spear in his ass.

  Well, and then everything is clear. Captivity, a girl who was attracted to the new chicks, not gifted, but trained, able to use amulets, a fine swordswoman and simply beautiful, the idea of her conversion, and then Stepan who came to buy bread and groats. He bought bread and grits. He embodied the trope of "going for bread" in the maximum approximation to reality.

  SpoilerT.N. In Russian "going for bread" with proper intonation means "One went to make the most mundane purchase and ended up in deep shit."

  [colpse]Among other things, he found out it was not fate that left this Netflix Squad, gathering personalities from different parts of the world. Taam was born and raised in Westmark, a family of traders who migrated from the Southern jungle, escaping creditors and competitors for a better life and then settling in the nds of the pale-skinned. In his nearly six decades, the ungifted adept of some spiritual practice - a Spirit no lower than a four, systematically speaking - who'd had a brother drunk by an invading creature of unspecified gender, had wandered through much of the Confederacy, spending the st fifteen years in Dantmark County. Vampires were always plentiful here, due to its proximity to the wilderness and the difficulty of finding them, and he had plenty of work to do. Wang, too, was the child of immigrants, only these had fled from the Eastern Empire to the embrace of the eternally sunny Iyastar, the capital of the Northern Theocracy of the Sun-Face. And even though the second sun never really sets over this city, warming no worse than the first, giving the opportunity to take off several crops a year, but they live there according to the biblical precepts of the Sun-face, which with varying success builds communism on its territory with vilges that look more like collective farms and supplying faith in the Sun-face abroad as one of the main export goods.

  Wang, according to him, respected his god, and the very fact that he had access to a part of the priestly miracles cimed that it was mutual. But he never really accepted the basic doctrine of the faith, deciding that he knew better where to shine and where not to shine, where to walk, where to kill, and where to die. He made no attempt to preach, especially since it was forbidden in most of the cities of the Confederacy. Controlling the very supplies of religion. Dukes and city governors don't need fanatical mobs of low-css pogromists and all that. Formally, no one excommunicated him from dignity, as formally he was considered one of the "bearers of the light word", a kind of illegal spy. But in reality, he devoted himself to the extermination of bloodsucking or simply inanimate uncleanness, several times categorically making it clear to his peers, where he had seen their requests and offers of complicity in all sorts of unreted to vampire bullshit.

  However, from their point of view, the man was doing a godly deed, and they did not anathematize him, nor did they send temple killers after him, as Taam added. Wang only rolled his eyes and said that all of this was mostly rumor, which the theocrats themselves had stirred up. If there were schools in Iyastar that trained seductive and murderous spy-assassin-liquidators, he wouldn't have left, he'd have gotten a job at the school, even as a janitor. Or better yet, a training manual for seduction! But here Stepan caught not even falsity, Wang believed in what he said, but some inconsistency. As if he once knew something, but then for some reason forgot, but could, on occasion, remember. Suspecting some kind of mental bullshit in the style of a sleeping agent, the shaman did not give any sign and continued to listen, not even trying to correct the story. They took his words seriously and tried to speak strictly to the point.

  By this time, the pretty vampire hunter - the shaman had discarded the average assignment from the Autogoddess without any emotion at all, too burned out during the battle - had vomited out the rest of the crap in her stomach and body, regained consciousness, washed and freshened up. She also joined in the thanks, and all of them, in chorus, somehow wondered what would happen next. It didn't take telepathy to wonder why such generosity, such as the quality healing of the entire trio and help in removing the vampire transformation. What would they have to repay it with? No, they were willing, of course, but it would be nice to know in advance, and the de Cers cn might well pay for it. Not too much, she's just the fifth daughter of the family, but still.

  "Okay. Quiet." With a single motion of his palm to silence everyone, the young man beneath the mask looked around at everyone, causing them to turn strangely pale, making the Earthman question the quality of his healing. "Your nags only seemed to be stunned in there. Not badly. Your things are probably around here somewhere, too. They're lying around. Take your stuff. You take the bloodsuckers' heads. Make it quick. Get out of my sight. I don't want to see you. You do it in an hour, you owe me nothing. If you mess with me too long, I'll get angry. Is that clear? Then the time is ticking."

  Apparently, the old army joke about getting up and dressed in forty-five seconds was something that these guys and girls would have realized with ease. They did it in thirty-one minutes, and in all that time the young man watching them closely, standing in the middle of the street and pretending to look at the ruined inn, saw nothing prejudicial. Like trying to scan the remnants of a magical battle or grab a drop of the shaman's blood that had been spilled too much here. After bowing once more and assuring the honorable master of their immense gratitude, they tried to stutter on the subject of who and in whose name to give the reward for the heads of the undead, to which the young man honestly, really honestly, answered that he did not care about this question and they could drink the money, or spend it in brothels, or drown it in the river.

  They didn't dare to argue with him, and it would have been strange to argue.

  The young man sat down on the ground with his back against the inn and began to calm down. The tense string in his soul was receding a little, and his systemic fortitude prevented him from becoming hysterical. But the withdrawal after the battle was still coming, because this time he almost died. He would have if it hadn't been for the property for healing Tahira. If the bloodsucker's rapier had been a little more painful to hit the aura. If he hadn't had time to transte the jab to the brain into a blow to the sternum... A lot of these ifs that could have ruined him. And the worst thing for Stepan was the fact that here he had no right option, no chance to do the right thing. In the battle with the Eel, he could escape at any moment, both before the contact and after. Here... except for initially refusing to enter the vilge, but that wasn't a justified action, because his checks didn't see anything dangerous. And the moment they did, it would be too te to flee, too te.

  If he'd tried to break through without taking the time to call out beforehand, he'd be just as likely to be killed, if not more so, than in the current scenario. And even if he did escape, he would have experienced and skillful bloodsuckers on his tail, including an ancient loli who was literally the region's champion in aggressive headhunting. Would he have been able to get away from her while she was pying on a familiar field and he was unaware of her notoriety? And the hell he knows, because agent knowledge should not be underestimated, as well as the banal magic power. Still, the lover of guro hunted first of all for those who were weaker, but she had a couple of very serious persons, who were no easier to kill than the masters of magic. And that was just the ones the captives and unlucky hunters knew about!

  Stepan tried to rethink his actions, looking for a mistake, a failed decision, but he couldn't find it. Well, or his decision to leave Lyady, rather than stay there, would have to be considered as such. Or, if you take an even earlier decision, when he abandoned his small house in the forest, deciding to look for a way to people. And to be extremely critical, his main mistake was being the first to get off that ill-fated elevator. Because the longer he lives here, in the new world, the more often it seems to him that this pce deserves Stepan Fatty, blessed by Her Milfness, with her mega-css and all his quirks in his head.

  Only the faces and names of other people, normal ones, like Kirik, Meld, the merchant who had given him a ride to Fantrel in his caravan... that was the only thing that prevented him from agreeing with such an obsessive opinion.

  * * *

  The System did not leave his suffering without reward, raising him to the twenty-fourth level, and, thank the admins, this time there was no gift from the Autogoddess. But there was a completed "deed", which did not even surprise the young man. This adventure turned out to be even more dangerous than that fight with the spirits in his clearing. Actually, there was no doubt he had completed the deed after just looking at the current level. Only one, already four-fifths of a level for such a massacre was a mockery. But in combination with this deed... It was worth it, especially if the reward would be no weaker than saving Angry Tits. In addition to the deed, which the young man was not in a hurry to reveal, he was rewarded with another increased skill, self-increased, almost by his own efforts, albeit with the help of the system. Again, one should be careful with such expressions, because for this "by his own efforts" the real mages would eat him alive, and they would be right.

  Received: "mastery of the elite combat shaman"; greatly increased intuitive understanding of combat behavior; greatly increased likelihood of acquiring the knowledge and properties of the combat use branch of the gift.

  The acquired talent is added to the overall Pyer Status.

  Rank three, the current maximum. You couldn't take a more advanced version until you took the next level of spirit dialog. Only instead of twenty-one points, it was in the spirit characteristic that one had to have a strict sum of characteristics, which you couldn't take quickly even if you cracks. The knowledge was massive and significant, and the usefulness of lower variants of the same talent Stepan had already had the opportunity to evaluate. If the first rank of martial grasp made him a veteran mage who had fought a lot of enemies and survived them all. If the second made this veteran analogous to a special unit fighter, then the third rank turned him, if not into James Bond, then into someone from those who are put as instructors to those specialists, as he was one rank of talent lower. Understanding of the tactics of battle, tricks refined-duel and sneakily dishonorable, a great connection with the agent work ... It seemed that nothing special had changed, no new magical knowledge, only the ability to use the tricks already in his memory, but such an effect!

  The main difference from the previous improvements was the same intuitive understanding of the course of battle and the most effective behavior in combat conditions. If at the first stage Stepan was a skillful user of long-learned combinations, applying what was necessary at the right moment, not getting lost in case of a sudden change of situation. If at the mastery level, he could flexibly adjust these tactics, he had experience in confronting even the most exotic opponents and quickly adjusted to those with whom he had no experience. But now, having received the prefix of elite, he could shuffle these tactics on the fly, adjusting them on the fly to the situation and the specific enemy, he could determine the methods and tactics of the enemy on bare experience, select the optimal countermeasures. Most importantly, he could catch inexperienced opponents on their mistakes, and experienced ones on the fact that they were used to acting according to temptes - true, correct, maximally effective, but predictable at the same time.

  Duel or stab in the back, singles or groups, in a group on one or one against the group, chasing and catching up, or fighting back and running away, quickly or stretching the time, to take alive or kill on the spot, or even pretend to take alive, but to kill or wound and curse so that he died in other people's arms. How to correctly lose a duel to someone who should not win it, or bring the fight to a draw, how to kill suddenly in the middle of a crowd or negotiations, and then break through with a fight away from the angry betrayal of personalities. How to cover a group of newbies in the first fight if they are mages or ungifted - by the way, a lot of synergy with mentor knowledge, directly very significant - how to act in conjunction with the same pros. Cunning attacks, which can be used to end the fight in an instant, counteracting them from their side, so as not to end with a single blow. Attacks with full ying out and calling literally everything that is only in the lists of contracts or battle with a minimum retinue and with maximum economy of forces. Quick battles in which you need to give your best, and long battles where you need to conserve your reserves for hours and not spend more than necessary.

  By the time the young man, who had dozed off in the process, opened his eyes, the sun was approaching evening, but night was still far away, and the escaped hunters were long gone. Not feeling like a very good individual, he started to call out to the right spirits to follow them, find them, and then use suggestors to make them lose a couple of days on a long rest or something like that. He wasn't ready to run off into the woods yet, he needed to replenish his retinue at least a little, and that would take at least three or four days, even if he took the bare minimum, especially without a ready-made call circle. Nor was he ready to erase their memories, especially for a fully functioning priest skilled in Praise the Sun. To his sincere surprise, there was no need to interfere with the boys; they were doing just fine with wasting time themselves.

  They had almost overrun the horses and rubbed their asses a little in the case of Wang, who had not had time to change his clothes properly, but they were camping, and it seemed to be a long one. And now they were releasing the tension in the most ancient and logical way, making the young man shake his head. She looked like a noble maiden! Although, well, putting aside sanctimonious morality - she destroyed creatures that ate people instead of food on a regur basis, so she had a right to privacy of almost any kind unless you counted some nasty ырше. A threesome with her co-commanders is not something Stepan would condemn her for.

  He was a little caught up in the sight of Lady Cers being fucked in two holes at once. She was pinned between the bodies of both of her fighting brothers. He took advantage of their rexation to read superficial thoughts. They were already going to rest for at least a couple of days, so the young man decided not to add to their extra desires just yet. By the time he finished reading it, without finding any suspicions or bad thoughts in his address, the guys had managed to change poses twice. But the specutions about who he was and who old de Harnbray had managed to cross the road, that this masked wonder had sent for him, were countless. Stepan was tired of transferring the versions into his notebook, though it was a shame that Wang thought he was some kind of orc who liked to sughter the dead, just under an illusion. The end of the reading coincided with the moment when the kneeling woman let go of both aggregates directed at her satisfied face, and then, having wiped herself and having an opportunity to open her eyelids, went into her bag and took out from there... a nicely enchanted strapon.

  While the young man was in a stupor, Wang and Taam silently tossed the coin. The smiling adept of spiritual practice went to take a piss, and the slightly frustrated Asian began to get on all fours, while Victoria put on and lubricated the heated, self-locking device with vibro-mode, and began to develop an innovative method of fsh connection with obvious experience. Hastily cutting off the connection and giving the suggestors permission to leave reality, leaving only the tracking spirits, so as not to miss the marked individuals, the shaman began to shake his head and blink in an attempt to unseen what he had seen. But what he saw, as they say, could not be unseen, and it was a little depressing.

  "Such an interesting group, though." After a long silence, he couldn't hold back the questions that kept coming up. "I wonder if this is their personal initiative or a common practice among hunters. And, if so, how is this kind of pastime in purely male squads and teams? No, Shera told me an anecdote about sun padins, but it was an anecdote, right? But if it wasn't a joke, then at least I could see why Wang Xi Hal didn't want to go back to the Theocracy. He's already picked up some bad habits."

  He distracted himself with a brief funeral. The bodies of the vilgers were still lying around the vilge, where the transformation and subsequent death had caught up with them. He dragged the bodies - simply ordering the spirits that had inhabited them to drag the host to the point, picking up the fragments that could not crawl themselves - to the far end, where the cemetery was located, and buried them all in a mass grave. He wasn't a priest, but he knew some of the rituals gave the dead peace and he spared no reserve for them. He finished quickly, standing for several minutes over the grave, where the earth had compacted into a dense monolith, thinking about what to say. He hadn't come up with one. He'd known these people for less than two hours, and of all of them, he'd only spoken normally with Baroshn, and even then, not really listening, and now they were gone. No one's fucking there, just another ghost vilge, left in the middle of nowhere and forgotten by everyone. That only made it harder, though it was hard to spoil his mood even more. The young man, unable to find anything to say, ordered the spirit of the earth to inscribe on the common tombstone an inscription in clear and concise Confederate.

  The inhabitants of Small Bzdy were id to rest here.

  Despite the ridiculous name of their vilge, they did not deserve to perish at the hands and thoughts of creatures who did not deserve to live.

  SpoilerT.N. Bzdy in Russian in some way it's like a fart.

  [colpse]Perhaps the murderers will sleep easier knowing that their killers did not survive the day of their deaths.

  He stood there for a moment, gloomy and frowning, and found nothing to keep him here, just as he found no reason to clean up the remains of the vampires or their hand ghouls, collect the trophies, or even pick up that damn sword. Wiping the remnants of his blood and aura off it would definitely be necessary, but that would come ter, as the deed would review. If there is too much there, he would accept gifts after he leaves the vilge and renew his retinue because he feels worse than just naked.

  A significant deed has been done!

  For ending the journey after the life and beyond the death of Baron Edward de Harnbray, for the battle against him and the remnants of his retinue, for the victory in that battle, and for the determination to fight beyond one's own death, there is a reward befitting a worthy deed!

  Received: six free talent points, which must be spent within twelve hours of receiving the reward; all six talents must be invested in either knowledge or meta-skills.

  Additional reward from Liarat si Merrinal, Lady of Gifts and Giver of Gifts, loyal servant of Innes Inney: one point to the Power attribute; three random meta-effect reward tokens.

  There was nothing to think about with the first part of the reward - twelve hours to choose from, or all points burned. This means that all the talents must be invested in knowledge at once. After that, of course, he won't die. He doubts that system pumping can kill him at all. But he will fall out for a long time and completely lose control over this fallout. During the time that he will be lying in a bckout, literally anything can happen. And if he could still draw a protective circle from the wolf pack that had accidentally devoured his defenseless body, he would have no protection from the more serious guests.

  The meta-skills can't be considered useless, just as we can't forget that in the recent battle he was saved by the Life Replenishment developed by only one unit, without which he would have died in a stupid and ungmorous way. At the very least, the replenishment should be developed to the maximum, because it is indispensable in such dangerous situations. Yes, the Earthman does not seek danger. It's true. But as practice has shown they tend to find him. Either he's doing something wrong again, or it's the world, but just fuck it. And the meta-skills themselves can't be considered useless, just as we can't forget that in the recent battle he was saved by the life replenishment developed by only one unit, without which he would have died in a stupid and ungmorous way. At the very least, the replenishment should be developed to the maximum, because it is really indispensable in such dangerous situations. Yes, the Earthman does not seek danger, it's true, but, as practice has shown problems tend to find him. Either he's doing something wrong again, or it's the world like this, but just fuck it. From the meta skills are useful not only the healing. There are pces to invest points - the same Store, for example.

  Not wanting to waste time thinking, and realizing that he doesn't have that time, not even the specified twelve hours, he proceeds to spend the six meta-talents without touching the two points saved for the twenty-fifth level. The first thing he does, as he promised himself - realizing he was acting a bit on emotion, he invests three points in "replenishing life IV". The second rank added one charge. The rollback was reduced to five days. That said, unlike the reserve games, the charges worked to their full potential every time. The third level gave a third charge, reduced the rollback to three days, and allowed to heal even serious injuries to the aura, but still not help against curses, poisons, or non-direct damage effects. The ability to use the skill on someone else appeared only at the fourth level, including the correction of powerful aura deformations, and healing of old scars and injuries, and also the patient healed in this way will gradually, for a month, improve the appearance. It's nothing extraordinary like changing the face into a completely foreign one. Just fws will be blurred, and advantages, on the contrary, will become more vivid. There was no mass use, but if you do something naughty with a woman, a beautiful woman, not necessarily cssical sex, then, for a month afterward, she can be healed without spending a charge.

  The fourth point went to "access to system purchases IV", improving it to the max. At the new rank, there was an even stronger increase in the inflow of currency for any experience gain, quests, deeds, and other shit, even more, rare items on the regur shopping list, and some not-so-substantial increase in currency just over time. By the way, taking into account the already received for this battle, he not only recouped what he spent on the mask but also remained in the plus. The main bonus was a board of five positions, where he could pce special items that he could not buy at the time of their appearance. There they stay indefinitely until you decide to buy them or drop them, repcing them with something else. This was something he really missed, very much missed, otherwise, he would have bought some of his favorite items from the past right now. Another thing to note was the higher, on average, quality of the specialty lots, especially not reted to Her Milfness.

  The penultimate point went into "Temporal Awareness IV", reducing the rollback of time dition to twenty-four hours, giving him a second charge, and increasing the duration of acceleration to ten seconds, and the power and multiplicity of acceleration to fifteen times. Of course, he wouldn't be able to move faster, but he would be able to command the spirits more effectively. The only thing that was frustrating was the fact that the real killing power of this skill would be in the hands of a cssic magician, who can weave complex spells in the time usually spent on simple spells. Even one blow with a fire tornado instead of the same fire arrow will easily become the cause of a quick and sure victory over the enemy. If the magician is able to weave something more complicated than a retively simple in its essence fire whirlwind .... Stepan's mind conjured up an image of some vaguely familiar half-breed wizard with pointed ears, shouting "Absolute power!!!" and unleashing the Supreme Parade of Thunderstorms on the enemy army.

  Chasing away bad thoughts and vague visions forgetting about them faster than the next weather forecast, he invests the st point. It would seem that the easiest thing to do would be to increase the system assignments, bringing them up to a four, but it would be better not to run into trouble - after the st increase to a three, he lost the ability to gain experience from tiny assignments. It was favorable at that moment because tiny assignments brought him almost nothing. However the small assignments have not exhausted their usefulness yet, and the medium ones are still a great challenge. As if it did not turn out that the next rank of assignments for him will be impossible at all, if not to risk properly or not to agree to assignments from the Autogoddess. No, he would then fly through the levels, but at the same rate, he could just start doing these assignments from the very first assignment.

  Well, I refused to accept the assignment for... So, what was it, the notebook saved it all, right? Looking at the logs of the assignment discarded in passing, the young man could barely keep from chuckling. To ensure Victoria de Cest has sex with her two partners for the next twelve hours. Either Milf System is trolling me, or one of the two.

  He obviously wouldn't have chosen to agree to this assignment even if he had read it properly, but, who knew that he, for the perfect reward, just needed to not cancel the mocking quest for twenty-four hours and do nothing in the process? Frowning a bit, looking at his system logs, the young man only chuckled and decided to call it a day. There was no reason to be angry, his greed was satisfied, and he was even a little grateful for such a discharge of humor because it slightly improved his truly grave mood. The thought of the Autogoddess, specifically She and not the system utilities, watching over him made him feel bad for a moment, though. It was a kind of way to overcome a depressive mood, but not the kind recommended for people with weak nerves and hearts.

  The st point Stepan invests in the "Creation of Group I", as the most elite and high in requirements skill. At the first level, it is avaible only to the inhabitants of the material world with a full-fledged mind. No more than three members of the group, in addition to the creator of the group and the carrier of the System. After the exclusion of someone from the group slot is renewed fifteen days before becoming free again. At the same time, the already excluded individual can be included in the group again only after exactly one year, the local one being six days longer than the earthly one. For a shaman, who all the time acts in a group consisting of "Stepan, Pann, and again Stepan" the benefit is about zero. But the young man had hope that with further pumping he would be able to take a group of spirits, bound by maximum contracts and from this extremely loyal, and then bring them from the rank of small to the highest literally in a matter of years. That's when it will be possible to enter the local society quietly, even with a flying kick, until he starts to be frankly outrageous above any limits, with his eccentricities will be tolerated, and not on the spot to kill the insolent brat.

  He finished with the meta-skills rather quickly, not even five minutes, most of it spent on reading the help and eyeballing the "system's tease", but the Power increase took much more time and effort. Fortunately, he didn't need to do anything special, there was still time, and the sun was sinking lower and lower, so he admired the sunset, mented the state of his favorite shirt and slightly less favorite jacket, and figured out if he could buy them at the System Store and how much it would cost him. Growing power of the magical lines and nodes was accompanied by a peculiar list of sensations, as if inside the aura crawling electrified steel needles with the habits of hedgehogs. Not painful, but distracting and generally unpleasant. In fact, his Power is already very good for a shaman, excellent, which is why he would prefer to get this point in a more favorable Control, but you don't look a gift horse in the hoof. He wasn't going to test the increased characteristic in action until he'd familiarized himself with the st part of the Autogoddess's gift. If she had given him something really useful - a stat point - then the other gifts would definitely pay for this usefulness.

  Well, the reward tokens.

  First of all, that thing opened another additional line in the Status, called "Reward Tokens", which made Stepan expect something simir to "Deals", but he guessed only partially. Suffice it to say, the first token had meta-effects, that is, effects that were above the ws of the world and the gods, on the same level as healing with meta-skills or maniputing fate... This token was called "Small One-Time Renewal of the Shaman's Contract Book" and allowed one moment to renew all, every single one, up to the most recent contract spent in the st three weeks. One-time, multiple, eternal, even unique, with those spirits that do not contract with the same shaman repeatedly at all That is, the same summoning of a Lizard or Squidward that had one of its "charges" missing would be "full" again. Just like any other contract.

  Moreover, in case some of the contracts, including up to powerful spirits, were killed in battle or excessively damaged, the system will either heal them to the optimum or repce the fallen spirit with a simir and as close as possible in properties, aspects, and spheres. The knowledge and images of these new spirits would be added in the same way as normal knowledge, the only difference being that the array of knowledge is tiny compared to full-blown knowledge, and not yet dispyed in Status. It was such a valuable something that it made one want to spit and not waste it, saving it now, saving it for ter, and after this Bzdy battle, restoring the retinue naturally. I overcame myself, not wanting to tempt fate, and immediately activated the disposable token, having internalized the knowledge in a couple of minutes literally. There really are exactly the same contracts as before, exactly the same types of spirits, just slightly different, but with an almost identical skill set.

  But the other two tokens "did not disappoint", being fully Autodivine in every facet of their use. There was no strength to be angry, as always, but only now also because for the previous gift, Stepan was ready to forgive his patroness this very trick. One. Only this one. Not completely. And he would not say it out loud, even under torture, even if the torture would be listening to K-pop music and watching Santa Barbara. If they change pop music to chanson, he'll probably give in after all.

  The first token had exactly one hundred uses and was called "Awesome Watermelons". When activated, you must choose a target, necessarily a beautiful woman, and then she will show Stepan her breasts. This will seem to her a completely natural desire, literally the level of simple truths, no doubts and suspicions. It works through absolutely any defense, even if you apply it to the incarnation of Gaia in the real world, it will still work. Moreover, if there are witnesses to this action, they will not pay any attention to what is happening, neither at the moment of activation nor ter, if, for example, they view the event in the record of the illusory crystal. The impropriety of what happened will only become apparent if the shaman himself wants to point it out, literally pointing his finger. Oh yes, one more detail. The effect sts the longer the rger the chest of the victim of the meta-effect. For example, someone completely ft, like Tahira, will at most pull up her shirt and let you admire it for a couple of seconds. And someone with Truda's size would shake her tits for about ten minutes as if nothing had happened, maybe even offering to fondle and stroke them.

  It won't work in a combat situation on a particurly dangerous opponent, it won't work if the victim of the token urgently needs to go somewhere, and it won't help if used in a controversial and unnatural situation. That is, if you accidentally meet a pretty guard in a pce that is not quite accessible to the public, she will, of course, shake watermelons or oranges - it depends on the size - but then not very politely ask you to get lost, or she'll even guide you. But if you meet her in a clearly forbidden-to-visit territory, then that's it, there is no effect until you are not put in a cozy dungeon, and then, then yes, she shakes tits in front of the prisoner. Stepan honestly tried to look for ways to use this token otherwise than for fun or for the sake of petty satisfaction but failed. Well, it would be another useless thing in his Ыtatus, as if for the first time.

  The second of the remaining tokens was called "Indifferent Doll", which was already of limited utility, but with only three charges. It activates, as well as everything reted to the Autogoddess, only on a beautiful woman, instantly making her aware of everything, but indifferent to her surroundings and motionless, or rather, seeing no reason to move. In such a state she does not freeze completely, she can be bent over, taken by the hand to a new pce, she will help to undress herself by shifting an arm or leg, that sort of thing. Doesn't work in combat like the st token, but it can be used for something useful. To deactivate an important dy in her own office, to go through the desks in search of dirt, to take a sample of hair and blood, or even just run away from the pce where you should not be. True, let the impact still hit through any shields, but only on one target, not its guards, for example. So there should be no witnesses, or you will have to take care of them with traditional methods.

  Okay, he got his contracts renewed and got a free stat point.

  He also survived, against all odds and one slippery little bugger.

  He decided not to get depressed, so Stepan began to clean up the area, especially the bloody footprints. Several spirits - of the kind that die and are born at the end of a contract - literally licked the murderous little girl's rapier, also picking up a bunch of small droplets that fell here and there. In its deactivated state, the rapier did not vaporize immaterial bodies by the very fact of touching them. However, then something incomprehensible happened. Abruptly merging into one lump, the spirits burned in a dark blue fme, completing the contract and going away. Stepan, who was just about to prepare the call of the wool ball to erase the traces of the battle, froze for a couple of seconds, naturally freezing.

  "I don't get it, who's going to clean up the fucking blood in the inn?" It was all he could say in response to such insolence, putting the seemingly reliable and contractually bound spirits on the bcklist and in the firing notebook. He hastily walked over to where the three blood-eaters had disappeared, trying to figure out how they'd tricked him since everything was tied up and sealed. He made his deals extremely strong, but for those that involved cleaning up auric traces or body particles, he turned on triple paranoia mode. It was like they'd missed most of the blood for some reason.

  Stepan stopped for a second and silently walked into the ruins of the inn, into the very room where his body, once opened like a tin can, had nded and where a real pool of scarlet liquid poured out of it. As soon as he stepped inside, illuminated in the setting sun by a special firefly spirit, which with its radiance improved ordinary and magical vision, his eyes went to his forehead, and he mentally crossed the spirits out of the firing notebook. There was no blood in the room. Not a single drop, not even a brown stain, as if it had mysteriously disappeared. Scratching the back of his head, the young man looked suspiciously at the cracks in the boarded floor that should have led to the celr. A quick scan showed nothing but it didn't show anything upstairs, where the vampire's nest was, either. He'd found the remains of that mangled fourth, a regur and "fresh" lower bloodsucker; he'd actually died in Stepan's first series of attacks, burned in the sun's sludge.

  Then, attention, a question.

  Who the fuck is in the bck box?

  SpoilerT.N. Once there was a show where the participants answered questions. Sometimes the question had the following form. A bck box was brought in. The presenter gave some characteristics of the contents. And asked the question "What's in the bck box?" This is a memetic phrase.

  [colpse]More advanced spirits, as well as guidance from the shaman, who knew exactly what to look at and what to look for, found another yer of disguise, no weaker than the one up there. Without protection and combat enhancements, but in terms of concealment no less, if not more reliable due to the absence of unnecessary nodes in this construction. And this barrier did not allow not only to sense the hidden from search impulse but also to send a signal for help from inside. Apparently, the te Baron was also a good ritualist by specialization, including understanding of camoufge fields. Of course, he hadn't searched much since the battle had started, and when he was sure that all four of them were dead, he didn't even bother, but still - minus a point for him. Or, as Rodisv Gastoldovich Yanin would say, not to mention him at night, - a slip. He didn't want to climb down but didn't want to leave his blood and the unkilled creatures behind. The renewed retinue allowed one of the already spent contracts to be summoned. A few airy hands, translucent and strong, grasped the pnks and pulled them up, but not before the body was once again covered by the anteroom, and part of the battle group was re-summoned and put on alert.

  As soon as the integrity of the floor was compromised, the cloak flickered, revealing another bloodsucker lurking down there. He was emaciated, but strong, with an aura no weaker than the Baron with fangs, which made the young man extremely serious, but at the same time, he was surprised. Another fighter of the level of the deceased and resting freak would have buried him there. He wouldn't be able to block the attacks of a second such individual, not under his existing load. Shrinking back, releasing his ghostly limbs and preparing to strike, he realized at the st moment that he had forgotten to take his mask, simply not being used to it, but by then the spirits had already carried out the order to finish off the floorboards, abruptly tearing the entire structure apart and revealing the creature lurking in the sub-floor. Punch stopped involuntarily when he saw the state and position of the creature.

  The bloodsucker was crucified on a special bed, also wooden and homemade, but reinforced with several amulets hammered into key points, as well as ritual lines. Shackling, blocking, immobilizing, reserve depletion, and there was also a torture block. A trivial infusion of rge amounts of pain directly into the aura and brains, bypassing the natural endurance of the undead body. However, there would probably be traces of ordinary tortures on the body, too, if not for the vampire's natural regeneration, as well as the unpromising nature of ordinary tortures, as they cause anger and aggression in them. No, if there were special tools and skills, everything was possible, but then it would be easier to inspire pain with the ritual.

  Stepan blinks for a few seconds, trying to figure out what he should do with the alien prisoner and what reasons there are not to kill this creature right now just for the fact of choosing a diet. The creature looks at him with attentive and collected dark brown eyes with a scarlet glint in their depths, trying to smile a casual and even sweet smile. It does not work, because the young man knows exactly what this smile can be, and because the position is very uncomfortable. However, the extremely poor state of her clothes adds a lot to the seductiveness, perfectly pale, almost abaster skin, on the very edge of naturalness, on which the owner of such coloring can still be taken for just a pale and despising tan, but a living person, as well as rge breasts of at least DD size, with pale pink nipples, or rather only one of them, which fell out of the torn fabric of a shabby hunting suit together with her breasts. She looked to be about twenty-nine, but that wasn't about age per se, but about a sense of maturity and authority, perfect skin and appearance not spoiled even by her current position, and anyone without magical and spiritual perception would have been ready at a gnce. But the Earthman's perception was perfectly fine, and he couldn't have mistaken this creature for an innocent victim even if he was drunk.

  Bloodsucker looks at Stepan.

  Stepan, in turn, is looking at her.

  The pause was dragging on, and the only reason he hadn't killed her yet was that it wasn't exactly easy to kill something in the guise of a beautiful and utterly defenseless woman, one who apparently had nothing to do with the demise of the Bzd popution simply because she was in a worse situation. What was doubly amusing was the complete silence from the vampire hunters. They weren't even suggesting the presence of any more of the undead fraternity here, well, sisterhood. And the aura of this creature, was quite beautiful, even through the understanding of its dangerous and inhuman nature, was, to put it mildly, different from that of the main group. The aura of this creature was, to put it mildly, different from that of the main group.

  The bck-haired woman with long, waist-length bck hair, now dirty and tangled, epic breasts, full lips, and perfect figure resembled not only Lady Demetrescu, but also the less memetic, just past her glory, movie heroine Elvira, the Lady of Darkness, but only remotely in both versions. The face is still a little different, and it is difficult to assess the appearance of the captive, given her condition and being in a very deplorable situation. She understood her situation, even better than the shaman who had found her, so she spoke first, breaking the pause. Her voice was melodic, with slight hoarseness, for which the actresses pying rock dies in the style of, ha-ha, vamp would sell silicone impnts and their favorite lipstick. And also the voice was visibly tired and hard to keep in a normal state, so as not to seem pathetic and whiny or, conversely, inhumanly growling and hungry. This, by the way, won her a few points in the shaman's eyes, because if she started trying to make him feel sorry for her, he would only ugh back.

  "Well, I guess since I can see you, Edward has met his st dawn after all? And, since I'm not yet being burned in fire and sunshine, will you agree to at least listen to a woman in a very difficult situation?" In these words, there was not only an accentuated attempt to show some control over the situation but also an abyss of anxiety and tension, fear for her eternal life, whose eternity now seemed ridiculously short. "First of all, I want to assure you of my, at the very least, gratitude, whatever the outcome. Even if you, young man, doom me, I will be pleased to know this bastard, who finally lost touch with the real world in his madness, died a little bit before me. At the same time, I should note that, unlike Edward, I can buy my life and freedom back, I'm not being hunted down, and my assets, despite this ridiculously shameful captivity, are still with me. Gold, knowledge, favors, or information, I am willing to show a very wide measure of my gratitude."

  Wearily rubbing his face and still keeping his spirits in line, Stepan marveled at the stamina of this lovely creature, who had begun to bargain even in such a desperate situation. And also her insolence, as if she did not even doubt that there would be a bargain. On the other hand, the tter was understandable. Why would she think of another option if it meant her death and rest?

  "First of all, why did you call me a young man?" Stepan, who didn't hide his aura, had somehow expected to be judged by it, as he had been st time, as a youthful old man, not a young man. "Secondly, of course, I share your opinion of the deceased in every possible way, but I see no reason to cssify you as any other kind of person. Well, simply because I take killing other people's living creatures for granted, as a matter of course. Third, I'm still procrastinating because I can't figure out exactly how you got here."

  His words elicited a slight smile, even a slightly patronizing one, causing a fsh of willful irritation. When she began to answer, however, she looked the most polite and, let us say, diplomatic, not obsequious or fttering, but enveloping and direct, with a dignity that she did not lose even now, in such an unpleasant position. And she saw no less than a dozen spirits of words, meanings, truths, and lies, which assessed her truthfulness and frankness. He wouldn't hesitate to get into her head, but she was a very old and dangerous vampire, and they knew how to protect their thoughts, and it wouldn't take long to summon a powerful enough reader suggestor, except to spend one of the strong contracts. But none of these strong contracts were designed to interrogate vampires of any kind.

  "The answer to the first question is very simple. Despite your talent in working with the gift, which, I admit, amazes me and seems impossible for your age, I was attracted to the blood spilled in battle, and, believe me, I couldn't fail to understand the age of it, pouring straight from the heart vein, full of life and so sweet power." Stepan only twitched an eyebrow both at his own fail and at the way she had unapologetically switched to "you" as soon as he had addressed her as "you" himself, and now he couldn't even say anything, he had started it himself. "On the matter of preserving my integrity. Aside from trivial gain, I note my affiliation with the teachings of Liranmil and Kreismard. Of course, I do not belong to the bloody ones families, especially considering the fact that the tter are almost completely exterminated. However, I share their approach to survival and, if you will, ingrowth into society. I despise with all my soul the teachings of Seishmaschastass, of which Edward was a devoted supporter, not out of kindness or humanity, but out of banal aestheticism and a desire for a normal and non-conflicted existence. In many ways, the answer to your third question is precisely because of our disagreement. No, it's not only the reason, we have marked the intersection of our paths with blood in many pces, but still, you could say, the cornerstone..."

  From further expnations, which the young man listened to in silence, only asking crifying questions, and listening to the spirits, which showed truthfulness close to complete, it became clear a lot of things that the young man did not know or even suspected. For example, the doctrine that the vampiress called it was not a school of magic, but rather a philosophical trend about how vampires should live in this cruel and somewhat fucked-up world. The doctrine that the captive adhered to relied on gentle integration into society, hiring loyal servants, minimizing the amount of free hunting and killing for sustenance, creating extensive networks of agents, and finding partners bound by blood and profit. Why catch vagrants in alleys when a clean and well-groomed debt servant on a blood oath will come to you for a Scarlet Kiss once a month? And he will be gd, because it is not only extra money, written off from his debts but also time for rest, which he will be provided for the period of weakness. However, properly bred servants, not debt servants, but servants serving their Scarlet Masters for generations, were happy to give a vein because they had been brought up and trained for it, not to mention how pleasant a scarlet kiss could be if a vampire really set out to make it pleasant. And how tasty blood can be if a living person diligently prepares himself for this role.

  A beautiful maiden is eaten by you in the middle of the night, especially if you break into her house, there will be screaming, panic, and a search for a ghoul, and with servants, there are no such problems. No servants? You can simply charm, seduce, confuse the mind of a random victim, hide the bite during a night of passion, real or only suggestive, flying away before dawn, leaving the victim only pleasant memories, almost invisible wounds,s and a few days of drowsy weakness. A network of informants would help find and deliver the right goods, and get the dirt to not just ensure that you would not be hunted, but become profitable in your existence. Somewhere bending to the authority and mages, somewhere giving in, somewhere pressing, somewhere avoiding conflict with the priests and now, half of the upper Dantmark knows of your existence, even downstairs rumors so and so, but there are no victims, no corpses, no compints, and therefore no hunting. Only lucrative contracts, trading in specific alchemy - by the way, Edward himself was not an alchemist, and the potions he tried to use in battle or pour into Stepan's soup were taken from his prisoner, - created with the help of species magic, taking orders for espionage, obtaining dirt and, very rarely, elimination. Eliminations are too easy for the Children of the Night, so easy that even without conflict with the Night Guild, you will gather such a trail of resentment to blood that you will be eliminated sooner or ter, or try to subdue you permanently, put you on a chain and keep you that way. Even for her own purposes, why not, it's in the order of things, but even for herself personally the prisoner preferred to solve the issue without bloodshed, turning to killing the opponent only in the absence of alternatives.

  In contrast to this approach was the doctrine of Seishmashastass, espoused by Edward and his nest, which designates mortals as cattle, hordes, and prey, which provides for strict subjugation, intimidation, elimination of all dissent and punishment for attempts to seek help. It is hard for such individuals to seek refuge in rge cities, where they are quickly found and dealt with accordingly. Their way is the outskirts, isoted valleys, and settlements, where they can seize power by subjugating or buying the local rulers with the promise of eternal life, shackling them with bloody fetters, and suppressing their reason and will to resist. This approach is also effective. It allows years and decades to exist in one pce, ruled by fear, bribery, and terror. When the tension reaches an upper level, when that level is torn down completely, when rumors leak out, that can no longer be ignored, when hunters or an army with magicians come, which can not be driven away by the will of the recruited or subordinate local top, you can always leave and find a new pce to live, rule, hunt and pour scarlet drops.

  Only in case of force majeure, circumstances of absolutely insurmountable force, like the Great Search of one very interesting person, which has risen literally all over the world, there is a risk of being unprepared for the visit of evil people, non-humans, and, what is even worse, priests, mages and hunters used to see bloodsuckers as prey. And in such a situation someone, like the captive who smiled with a satisfied grin, is simply asked to leave the city for a couple of months, in advance, letting the servants and retinue wait out the storm. And some run away, losing their chicks and their kicked-out fangs. They run to the edge of their homends and hide in all sorts of Bzdy. Had it not been for a completely idiotic mishap, a chain of random events in the course of which the prisoner had been caught by the remnants of Edward de Harnbray's retinue and himself all alone, going to check on one of the sleeping contact agents, she would have quietly returned to Dantmark, taken up her mansion, belonging de jure to a small aristocratic family whose representatives had not set foot in that mansion for a hundred years, and continued her life. Maneuvering as a night petal in the current of human passions and the blood, shed in the name of those passions.

  These are not the only two approaches-philosophies. There are others, more sparing people, up to direct service to the rulers under oaths and blood, and in general complete lovers of organizing pgue, massacre, sughter, and all that. But it is between these two philosophies the most fierce enmity, simply on the principle of csh of interests, and that's why they conflict more often than others. Hunters are better at fighting and direct damage, while Petals are better at connections, support, and socialization. That is why they fight on equal footing, rarely even getting into a fight. In the sense that if it does come to a fight Petals usually have problems, though not always, and not with everyone. If the conflict was not alone against the patriarch and entourage, but one-on-one or entourage against entourage, it's not clear who would win. The prisoner had far more chicks and servants than de Harnbray's thinning nest.

  That's about the way it is, young man. That's roughly my answer, and it's up to you to decide whether you like it or not." She would have shrugged, but in her position, she can only move her facial muscles and eyes, but that's all she needs to convey a picture of her emotions. "I will not lie in the arms of so many spirits. I've killed and spilled the scarlet drop, drunk my vessels to the bottom when the need demanded it. No argument, all this is true, but, rightly, and how am I different from any gifted or high-born? Do you think there is less blood on Duke Herbert de Dantrelle's hands than on mine? He does not drink it, but by his will and ambition, so many lives have fallen that I certainly have not slew. I do not kill for the scarlet sip, only as a st resort, if my eternity already depends on it. But can you think of a single powerful mage, or even an ordinary man, who wouldn't kill in such a situation? And therefore, if you want to burn me to the ground, at least do not pretend that for my dark deeds, and not only for a sharp-toothed smile, because otherwise every first ruler, mage, priest, or merchant deserves the same death."

  There was nothing to answer, to be honest. She was understating things in some pces, hiding things in others, pying with words, twisting facts, and using the argument of what about that, but most of her story consisted of the sincere truth, which the prisoner herself believed. Further questioning, which the woman answered with the same slightly smug and dignified manner, only strengthened her story. She was indeed something close to another human aristocrat, only illegal and formally criminal, but too useful and profitable to be disposed of. Her services were needed by mages, as she supplied reagents extracted from creatures deadly to the living and easily eliminated by vampires, or some of Dantmark's best potions for developing auric nodes made with purified and distilled blood. The Duke's men could not do without her, for she was ready to provide information on many things the Night Guild, due to the specifics of their work, did not always know about. She was regurly approached by Trading Houses for goods or delicate services, as well as by smaller merchants for loans, the interest on which would be much lower and could be reduced even further by the Scarlet Fee. Even the priests and vampire hunters turned to her, sometimes through gritted teeth, in case of an intruder in the vicinity of Dantmark.

  There was no risk of mayhem in the city itself. And if they did, it rarely came to more than a couple of corpses before the bloodsucker's head was on the desk of the nest's mistress, and then on the desk of the Deputy of the Secret Chancellery, de Dantrel. Judging by the reviews, she was a very talented girl, since even this bloodsucking and ageless thing sincerely respected and even sympathized with her. According to her, Allizira de Fell, a distant retive of the ducal family, was not only a strong mage, who definitely achieved mastery in the next ten years, but also a very clever organizer, administrator, and a person without unnecessary prejudices in her head. She was even more difficult and risky to work with than the Head of the Secret Chancery himself.

  "Now, I have answered your questions so I will ask my own, it is not hard to guess which one. Will you release me or not, young man?" Despite the nature of the question, she was much calmer now than she had been at the beginning of their conversation as if she didn't have too much doubt about what decision the boy would make. "I am tired of staying in my current position and am in no mood to humiliate myself further. If you wish to cut my path short, would you kindly do so without further dey and without degrading the rest of my dignity? If your decision is to the contrary, I beg you all the more not to deprive me of my dignity and to let me at least get out of this cursed bed."

  Stepan was impressed by such restraint and ability to read the speaker: the young man decided not to kill the bloodsucker, who had already demonstrated a level of competence and peacefulness far greater than that of Rumorias Krellb, somewhere in the second half of their dialog. And, at about the same time, the creature itself stopped waiting for death at any moment, not otherwise, reading, if not the aura, which the young man carefully made immobile, then the emotional sphere, or even simply, on the face, cssic cold reading seeing the decision made. Of course, he could be wrong, he could be deceived, and there were more problems from a free creature than from a restrained one, but still, he wouldn't be able to kill it now. Well, not the hand, he would just give orders to the spirits, the point is clear enough.

  "Okay, today seems to be your lucky day, uh, evening, even night already." Squinting and also slightly dimming his spirit ntern, Stepan looked out into the breach and realized that it was already nightfall, the st rays of the setting sun were still coloring the horizon scarlet, but otherwise, it was already time for darkness to fall. "Yep, I'm releasing a strong bloodsucker from its shackles just as darkness falls. What could go wrong? Okay, then, I'm going to ask some maximally substantive questions, if you'll excuse me."

  "And I will answer them before you even ask them, Shaman, summon your servants." It was not a matter of complying with such a request, very soon she was surrounded by several more powerful reciters, summoned by one-time contracts that bound powerful spirits. "I do not intend to attack you upon your release, have no intention of harming your life or health, harbor no hatred or thirst for revenge against you, and am sincerely willing to repay my release as offered: gold, resources, favor, or information. Anything else? Or would you wish to make a rather powerful contract? I warn you if you don't have a relic of Daromar with you, then a simple contract will do little more than calm your nerves, for my tribe is famous for breaking cheap contracts meant for living beings without much harm to themselves."

  Once again, convinced that she was telling the truth, even if she had answered in a slightly different way than he would have phrased his questions, Stepan sighed tiredly and rubbed his face again. Actually, he had access to specific contractual entities, which would be able to securely bind this cutie. Not to mention that he could use the Autogoddess's gifts, which also had enough specific approaches and invocations that would easily turn the captive's species resistance against her so in a week or even a couple of days, he could turn her into an obedient sucker in the most vulgar sense of the word. If he wouldn't do the second one, even if she turned out to be an Elizabeth Báthory-style sadist, he would just kill her, but the first one... There was some monstrous tired ziness, just thinking about drawing a circle again, buying offerings in the System Store, calling very fanciful strong spirits, negotiating their services beforehand, knocking down the price to an adequate one, and a lot of other things. She seemed honest enough, and, he made sure, she wasn't going to attack him at the first opportunity.

  "Okay, wait, I'll be right there." With those words he stood still, his eyes closed, and then he gave orders to several spirits, which ate away at the very essence of the magic in her shackles, making them mere chains, still a little enchanted but no longer monolithic and unbreakable, and then the new spirits became part of those chains, unlocking and sliding off the limbs and torso of the bloodsucker, dressed, as he now saw, in a very dirty, torn and tattered hunting suit. "Are you even able to walk?"

  "Quite, though I'd rather lie still for a while, getting used to the absence of those chains." She answered, closing her eyes and kneading her arms with obvious pleasure, though it seemed physically impossible for her limbs to swell. "I could only orient myself by hearing, so I can only assume the course of your battle with the rest of Edward's brood, but since this building hasn't colpsed yet, I'm sure there are vials of rich blood here. I somewhat quenched my thirst by taking what was spilled during the battle, forgive me for my weakness. I'm in control now and won't throw myself at a beating vein, but hopefully not all of the bastard's supplies were burned up in the battle."

  Stepan hoped with her at that moment. He didn't want to stay close to a hungry creature in the middle of the night. Of course, she was no match for the recently deceased freak no matter what she said about herself but you couldn't fool the aura. Her power isn't designed for direct combat, it's more about mentalism, alchemy, blood magic, and curses, but it's still enough for Stepan. Standing up on her feet and not spitting on the remains of the captivating bed, the woman stretched her entire body in a smooth and slightly mesmerizing movement and gave a graceful and very well-calibrated bow to him, not too low, but not just a nod.

  "Well, my gratitude still remains unpaid, and my reluctance to have a stupid battle hasn't changed. Also, I suppose we can introduce ourselves to each other by name." She smiled charmingly, despite her grimy and wrinkled appearance, and, not waiting for him to respond with anything other than an absent-minded nod, she frowned slightly, more pyfully than seriously. "I suppose I can compromise ceremonial under these circumstances, so I'll introduce myself first. My name is Sylvia Malter, my birth name, but I do not deserve the title, though I have been the humble mistress of the Dantmar Nest of the Children of the Night for centuries.

  "My name is Pann, a simple shaman, generally from the back corner. You've never heard of this shithole." With a completely serious face, the young man speaks out without saying a word of untruth, continuing to burn with verbosity and on and on. "In general, a Senior Shaman, but, as my grandfather would say, I'm still some nonsense. Well, when I was left alone in this world, I went from my far corners to look at the world. But I always run into brigands, necromancers, evil bloodsuckers, or not-so-evil."

  She blinks perplexedly, obviously confused, and Stepan is now sure that she has ways to make sure his words are true. And, apparently, she was very impressed with the story about her grandfather, who even the senior shaman considers a juvenile jackass and a degenerate suffering from bullshit in general. Since there is no chance to pretend to be just a talented shaman's apprentice, the only thing left is to bury the incredible truth behind a slightly less incredible lie, which, however, does not contain a word but the truth. Stepan sincerely believed that his grandfather deserved his reputation, so he would immortalize him in the history of the other world as an outstanding teacher, educator, sage, and expert in folk swearing.

  "Amazing things, but I really don't seem to have heard of your honorable grandfather, though a man who raised and trained a master shamanist by your age certainly deserves to be noticed and honored." Shaking her head she covered her eyes, trying to catch something, her aura swirled, but not in attacking techniques, which the young man was watching closely, but in sensory influence based on species magic. "Well, there's something there, but it's clearly sealed in vials. I don't want to impose and increase my debt even more, but, I'm very eager to drink something. If you have a suitable servant, could you..."

  Stepan only rolled his eyes at such impudence and politeness at the same time, summoning and sending a couple of spirits that could see blood and feel it even beyond the barriers. They found blood in Stepan and Sylvia but in several pces at once The bloodsucker by the way had much less blood in her body, though she was almost a head taller. With another sigh, he pointed his finger in the right direction, toward the closest and rgest container, directing the firefly spirit there at the same time. With a galnt nod, the femme fatale with special dietary preferences stepped leisurely and gracefully into the skewed doorway, and then, out of sight, covered herself with a silent veil and rushed forward with the speed of an attacking cobra. The young man even thought that she decided to run away. She chose the wrong direction for the attack. But no, she simply ran to one of the rooms, almost not colpsed, and took out a small bottle, which resembled a half-liter gss of Coca-Co, except that its bottom was cone-shaped, so that the container could only be put on the side, not stand.

  She opened the container with a sharp movement, letting herself enjoy the aroma for a second, checking the condition of the liquid and the absence of dangerous impurities in it, and then spat it out in a single movement. Moreover, the blood itself reached her mouth without leaving a drop on the walls. She followed it with a second one, but not so hastily, and the third, the st one, except for the one that had survived Stepan's blow and was upstairs, she didn't touch at all. Sylvia came back slowly, elegantly, and gracefully, not at all like the fury that had rushed into the light of the fire with a hungry grin.

  "Thank you, it was much needed by me. I have now recovered sufficiently to answer any questions, as well as to ask my own. Concerning the form of payment you, Pann, wish me to make." Now he finally believed that she was used to talking, not fighting, and the tension and readiness for battle was released even more, for she was not going to give him a night of the living undead tonight. "I believe there are still a couple surviving rooms to be found in this pce, and so I suggest we settle in, talk, and allow me a change of clothes. This suit, as, can now be used only as a reminder of a ridiculous and dangerous adventure, but not for its intended purpose. Yes, I suppose I will keep it in that role, just to remember the risk of chance and the unpredictability of fate."

  "I agree with you, Sylvia, on the matter of coincidence." Stepan chuckled, involuntarily catching a fit of unhealthy mirth. "I came here, you won't believe it, just to buy bread and to go on my way. What were the chances of meeting your enemies and yourself in a random vilge?"

  They chuckled at the events that had happened and looked around the remains of the inn, choosing a more decent room, as well as the pce where the bloodsuckers had lived, or rather what was left of it. It was good Stepan's blows were strictly sharpened against the undead. If a standard elemental attacking spirit had struck with such power, and there were no less of them in the young man's arsenal the inn would have colpsed. The enemy would have received much less, but the surroundings would have gotten the full brunt of it. Sylvia took some of her captors' belongings, very, very surprised when Stepan simply said to take whatever she wanted, for he had no cim on that junk. She really caught the stupor and even tried to expin that at least the surviving parts of the amulet circuit, de Harnbray's spare battle staff, his set of ritual tools, and a few other things were worth a very considerable sum, far more than the fugitives had in gold. The young man only added she could have the gold too, if she needed it so badly.

  She had a completely unreadable look but thanked him sincerely, though she shook her head in response to such carelessness. Stepan didn't expin that he could easily buy the things he needed through the System. He didn't really need gold. He squished to use the dead bastard's ritual tool, and he was afraid to sell such loot anyway, or he wouldn't be able to, or he would end up in another adventure like the ones he had seen in coffins. Eventually, they settled into the intact room, bringing in two massive rough wooden chairs, stiff but comfortable enough to sit in. Sylvia, still in her costume, put some of her clothes that had survived the battle in the far corner, sat across from him, and prepared to bargain.

  Stepan decided to just use a competent source of information, not looking for special benefits, himself telling her his favorite tale about his grandfather, his inherited contracts in the style of "I haven't even lived a year under this sky, as this spirit was called", and at the same time not saying a word of a lie. He didn't want to lie to her directly. Not even to her. Apparently, she was quite surprised, even shocked, but she didn't refuse to tell him more about herself and the world around Especially since he didn't ask anything secret, telling her frankly that he was practically ignorant of the world around him, except for the depth of his knowledge of magic, including not only shamanism but also superficial erudition in other directions. She obviously didn't believe him right away but showed less and less skepticism with each new question to her or his answer. Still as honest, both because it was fun and because lying to a dy who had never lied to him just didn't feel like it.

  "I was transformed not merely by my consent, but by my sincere desire, for I came from a family of servants who lived under the wings of Night and the Scarlet Oath. From childhood I have shown a brightness and a willingness to learn, to work, to improve. Ser Erkazrd noticed me, brought me closer, and matched me with more competent mentors." She recounted these old stories as if they had happened yesterday, which made one shudder to realize the abyss of years had passed for her. "He was the one who transformed me. Personally. Personally raised me in the first years after her awakening. The weak and undeveloped gift that my human body had pyed a rge part in his choice. And appearance, what to hide, is also important. The Sire loved female and male beauty, however, never forced anyone. Then, when the next war came, he wanted more than he could drink, and that was the end of his eternity. I wasn't the youngest of his fledglings by then, but I didn't even try to take over the nest. We managed to part peacefully, without descending into fratricide, and so I became a free bird, gradually finding my pce in the world."

  According to her story, she'd worked under her second parent doing much the same thing she was doing now, only on a smaller scale, gathering rumors, recruiting agents, and, of course, selecting servants for herself and the rest of her kin, both fodder and more personal. In many ways, that was why she'd managed to get away with it so easily. She already had all the necessary skills, as well as a personal network of loyal people, informants, debtors, and just good acquaintances. It had been a bit of a struggle, sometimes even a war, and she had fled from Normgrave in a panic, having also tried to drink too much, but in time she had found her pce.

  "I don't quite understand if you'll excuse me, but did you say that it's the unformed and undeveloped magical gift that's important for transformation?" He asks cautiously and, more often than not, just this vague so that his interlocutor doesn't have to either deny or lie if he gets into something she wouldn't want to answer. "I know the basic theory of how conversion works, of course, but if there's a chance ask an expert."

  "Well, it's never been a special secret. Mages, especially powerful ones, rarely go in for a bloody kiss, because it cripples their gift, and pushes it back to the very beginning, which is a very important disadvantage, you'll agree." Stepan knew that, and he also knew that vampires develop incredibly slowly, primarily from the blood they drink, not from training or rituals with alchemy, which, however, were not useless either. "Nevertheless, it is the gifted one who gains quite a few advantages in rebirth, in fact, saving at least fifty years of early development. Less vulnerability to the sun and silver, greater initial strength and volume of stored scarlet drop, body regeneration, reaction, and bone strength. Like being reborn, already having half a century of development at once. After a couple of centuries, the gap between the converted gifted and the ungifted narrows, workarounds appear, and even full-fledged magic is mastered by many, but the initial impetus is of course important. Those Nest Lords who don't want to spend a lot of time on bringing a chick to some kind of independence are happy to convert the gifted. And a dormant gift, which was not intentionally developed from birth, gives even more when reborn, much more than when an ordinary adept is converted, for example."

  From what Sylvia had said, it seemed that the gifted were not always the ones who were converted. There were some worthy exceptions, but they still tried to find better material. Approaches to transformation also differ. Some do everything in good conscience, having agreed in advance so the victim would almost dream of joining the Brotherhood of Blood, while others, like Edward, completely break the chick's personality, forging and creating anew, making sure to feed the first sip from retives, friends, or loved ones. It would seem that such a convert would be hated, but the Bloody Patronage, the power of the parent over the chick gradually washes away the excess, making it almost more fanatically loyal than the volunteer. There are exceptions, but they require very outstanding willpower, great vindictiveness, legendary endurance, as well as the obligatory serious miscalcutions of the parent, which will lose control over the chick and will not notice it, miss the opportunity to restore this control. At the same time, a willing fledgling can betray, gradually weaken the parental bond, and stab you in the back. One of Sylvia's brothers dies just like that, although he chooses his chick with intelligence and goodwill.

  "That's a funny philosophy of personnel selection you have, well, you certainly do, Sylvia, you've got decades or even centuries of calcutions in mind," Stepan said sincerely, finally rexing in her presence and reassured that he had spared her for a reason. "To be honest, I expected this creep's approach to be far more popur."

  "Yes it is popur as it is, don't be deceived Pann, the teachings of Seishmaschastass will never lose their appeal, but there are also many who share my approach, especially, as I said before, in the rger cities where such a method is won by trivial and boring profit." She got the only surviving gss of enchanted crystal, the personal toy of her tormentor, poured the st bottle of blood into it and now savored it like a good wine, not even disgusted by it, remaining elegantly refined. "There are risks, too. You can always cross the path of one of the region's major forces, fail to react to a change of scenery, or simply believe the wrong thing. Nests of followers of the teachings of Liranmil and Kreismard burn as well but still not that often. And to the question about the selection of servants, don't ugh, but I studied, as well as many of my fellows, by elven textbooks. Yes, yes, that's right, don't be surprised. They have elevated the selection of short-lived servants and trusted agents from among the "lesser races," as they loosely refer to those their dark brethren call "inferiors," to the form of art. Our approaches differ, primarily due to a predilection for the Scarlet Drop, but also due to the theoretical possibility of becoming a fledgling and equal to the masters themselves, something the servants of the elves are initially denied, but yes, the source of knowledge is absolutely identical."

  The conversation that turned to the elves did answer the young man's question and a number of unasked ones. The vampires and the firstborn had some simirities, especially in the case of Sylvia's philosophy, rather than lovers of free hunting and savage sughter. Elves, by the way, tended to get their butts burned, even at the hint of such things, though they didn't show it. Sylvia gave a few specific examples, she'd been in contact with firstborns, though not always to her advantage. She had once brought back an ensved elf when a squad led by one of her parent's fledglings had looted the caravan of a rival of a friendly trader. Sylvia was put in charge of the first stage of diplomacy to bring this individual back home, as she had access to the right people, already at the final stage giving the reins to her Sire.

  "We took a lot from them then. We could have gotten more, Pann, as it were, but it was dangerous to demand more, we might not get what we were looking for." The bloodsucker sighs nostalgically, finishing his drink and setting his gss on the floor and a little to the side. "Elves are very sensitive individuals. They fundamentally don't like to pay ransom to the very people who stole their blood, no. They will spend four times as much, ten times as much, but they will take the prisoner or captive by their forces. At the very least, they'll just hire someone else if they can't do it themselves. What helped us was that we could swear under Oath that we had nothing to do with the kidnapping and the kidnappers, so they paid the money."

  "I don't suppose you asked for gold?" Already having a rough understanding of how bloodsuckers think, he allows himself to make assumptions, even bold ones. "More like knowledge and rare reagents, right?"

  "Yes, though my parent took the gold as well. The elves just have an unfairly huge amount of knowledge settled down, including those devoted to blood magic." She smiled, fangless and very pretty, downright enchantingly sweet, especially in the light of the fireflies that rose under the ceiling. "They must be the only ones who have masters of this school, surpassing, if not in power, then in erudition even the ancient patriarchs of the night, next to whom I am a day old. I was never able to read some of those volumes, but I did taste a little bit of elven blood, filtered and purified, without an auric trace, of course, but extremely saturated with magic. One of the best days of my eternity, I'll be honest. And another thing, Pann, don't you get bored?"

  The st question made Stepan blink, but Sylvia pointed her finger at the spirits circling at the edge of the manifestation, still waiting for his command to attack or defend. He had calmed down and stopped waiting for an attack, but he couldn't ignore the possibility of an attack. The woman had also rexed and had been rexed for a long time, but now and then she looked with a deeper scarlet gaze at the world of spirits, noting the entities frozen in readiness, which were still watching and waiting for a strike. He understood her question because she didn't use any defenses or even keep her aura at rest, but he wasn't a vampire, he was a shaman. She only needed to raise a bloodstorm inside her aura to attack, but he took much longer to go into battle mode.

  "I understand your apprehension, Pann, but, truth be told, I have no intention of harming you." She expins, moving a little closer and leaning in closer, simply pulling up a chair. "It's not like I'm calling for you to put your throat on the line, just to show a little trust in return for my own. Let go of your spirits and let yourself rest. Staying tense for so long, afraid to close your eyes, and fearing betrayal will only make you nervous. Let them go and rest, stop fearing me, please."

  The shaman's multiplicity of awareness allowed him to maintain such a mode for much longer than a normal senior shaman of comparable strength. It did, but such combat mode was really not pleasant, just the idea of staying one-on-one with an experienced and old vampire without any protection... wasn't inspiring. When he met her calm and even somewhat affectionate gaze of dark eyes, which occasionally fshed with scarlet sparks, he realized for the first time how tired he was of this constant readiness, the constant expectation of meanness and a stab in the back. He'd checked her out, and she'd confirmed several times with different words that she wasn't going to attack or kill him. With a sigh, he closed his eyes and let go of most of the combat contracts, feeling as if he were throwing a mountain off his shoulders.

  "Well done, young shaman, well done." Sylvia smiled charmingly and returned to her previous position, and rexed even more than before, as she too was tensed by his tireless servants. "Alright, from the looks of it, there's plenty more to talk about, and since the night isn't over yet, I'd combine asking around with trying to clean myself up. I'm embarrassed to ask this, but could you help me with the avaibility of water for washing? My body is covered in too much dirt for changing clothes to bring comfort. There is a barrel for ablutions in the next room, but it is empty. I don't necessarily need a hot bath with oils and alchemical additives, just cold water will suffice. Well, right now it's enough."

  Shrugging, Stepan gave orders to the spirits and began to fill the barrel with water while Sylvia continued to enlighten him about the interaction of vampires with various races. Not only Elves but also Halflings, Dwarves, or Lizards, though, as Sylvia had said, these scaly ones were not frequent guests near the upper reaches of Dantra. What he hadn't expected was that she, when they entered the room with the barrel, the floor of which crackled dangerously and sagged slightly under the weight of the heated container filled with water, would simply taste the water with the palm of her hand, thank him with a smile on her full lips, and then.... start undressing right in front of him. His eyes, obviously, went to his forehead at once, involuntarily fixated on a body that was too pale, especially in the light of the firefly spirits, but very beautiful, perfectly shaped, lush breasts and buttocks.

  "Oh, don't make such a face and don't look away, I have never been ashamed of my body and nakedness, and I certainly won't be ashamed in front of someone who has seen me in a much more intimate and indecent position." In response to the st phrase, the young man who hastily looked away involuntarily choked on air and with surprise and even indignation turned his eyes back to the naked beauty, even forgetting about shame. "I mean shackled, powerless and immobile. Believe me, I'm more ashamed of that than I am of the opportunity to please a young boy with my shapes, especially if he's cute."

  "Uh, I mean, thanks, I guess. I mean, for the cute one, not the shapes. Not for getting naked, I mean. I mean, you're very pretty, too, but that's not what I mean...." Stepan involuntarily stumbled out of speech and caught himself that he was writhing as if at an exam, not having learned even the name of the teacher. Then he noticed the sly squint of the scarlet eyes and somehow pulled himself together. "You're mocking me, aren't you? Are you ughing at your savior? No shame, no conscience, that's it."

  "If only a little, you're ridiculously embarrassing, it was beyond me. It's just a very funny sight to see someone with such a strong spirit and aura yet so inexperienced." His angry and not the least bit offended, and if anyone tried to say he wasn't, he'd get Squidward on him, the look only made it even more hirious. "Most of the mages, even those with less power, were used to the fact that they could have it all. They were satiated and sometimes over-satiated with the pleasures. They could not be embarrassed by the dispy of naked breasts and ass, the delicate flower of a woman, and the nguid gaze. Your reaction confirms your truthfulness better than any words, Pann. But, believe me, such inexperience, not only in reacting to women's bodies can be a problem."

  The young man only nodded, even forgetting to look away from the pale pink nipples on her breasts, involuntarily agreeing with her. Not only in the matter of tits and naked, beautiful, incredibly desirable women but in everything else. It was on his ignorance of realities, on his unwillingness to put himself on the standard of his mastery, but with a complete inability to conduct himself on the level of someone who was not a master, that he had been painfully burned several times. Yes, and all sorts of things were thought about satiety, too. He remembered about one master's apprentice, who loved whores exclusively with whips and hot iron. He wasn't even a master, he was just an adept, but he was a personal apprentice of an entire master of magic, even if he was only one of them. And he had so much sadism and malice that Stepan was only stopped from sending a spirit after him by the ck of sufficient strength and skills at the moment of healing the prostitute, and the absence of auric traces and blood samples after their acquisition.

  "So, will you help me wash my snow-white body?" Sylvia's question came to him, to which he nodded absent-mindedly, already realizing where their conversation and dialogue were going. He didn't even know if he was ready to make love to a bloodsucker, even one so seductive and alluring. "I'll tell you a little secret, trusting you won't tell it to anyone else. Before my conversion, I spent quite a bit on getting myself looking as attractive as possible, a small fortune left with the beauty masters. Cosmetic alchemy does not work well on those who have accepted a bloody eternity, with very rare and expensive exceptions. So I helped myself still human, improved the condition of my hair, made its color deeper, corrected facial defects, slightly swollen lips, well, and, of course, enrged breasts, how without it. Don't be shy, wash them. Feel and fondle them, but don't squeeze them too hard. It's unpleasant, even though the hardness of the body strengthened by the Scarlet Drop."

  As if in some dreamlike trance, he began to help her wash, wiping away dirt and dust, cleansing the water in passing and with her nod of approval, and running his fingers over her skin again, slightly cool, even noticeably cool, but not at all icy, not seemingly dead. At her behest, he pulls out one of the vials of retained alchemy, the kind Sylvia says is meant to lessen the effects of the sun's rays tomorrow. He coats her with this strange oil with a faint cherry-sandalwood scent, running it over her still damp skin, over her back, buttocks, neck, legs, arms, and of course, her breasts, soft, delicate, perfectly supple but still firm, rubbing the skin inside the hollow and around her nipples.

  "You've been fondling them for a few minutes now, Pann, the potion has long since been absorbed." He was brought out of his stupor by her voice and the soft touch she used to redirect his face from her gorgeous vampire tits to her equally beautiful face. "And you got pretty wet yourself when you helped me bathe. Next time, try taking your clothes off first, okay?"

  He stepped back, feeling the dick in his pants, which was obviously bulging through the fabric, and gave himself a mental smack. And why the hell was he even questioning whether he wanted her or not? Yes, he would! Yes, she is colder than usual women. Yes, her essence is somewhat different, unusual, and wrong, which is obviously noticeable with his Sensitivity, but in no way to compare with the full-fledged undead, not even with the aura of the creatures he killed. It was quite different, softer, smoother, and as if to beckon him with the promise of itself and what it could give.

  "That's it, come on, take it all off, don't be shy, I'm not dressed, Pann, I'm naked too, that's it..." He lets her undress himself. He lets her embrace him, seals his lips with a kiss, barely biting his lip, and then pulls away. "Sit down my dear, sit down my savior, and at the same time call the spirits to insute this pce, I don't want you to freeze. Now, where were we in our conversation?"

  Stepan couldn't understand for a while how it was that he was in such a state, but Sylvia's soothing and naked presence brought back his confidence. He did not hesitate to examine her rge breasts, her long, perfectly straight legs thrown over each other, revealing her pale pink pussy. He wasn't shy about his nakedness, his obvious arousal, certainly not after such a sight, even if he hadn't touched his cock, which was throbbing with blood. Of course, he wasn't going to satisfy himself in front of her, it would be a show of weakness and disrespect. It was okay, he might have pyed with her breasts, but he certainly wouldn't miss a second chance to enter her, to take her and let her take him.

  And the conversation went on and on, even if Stepan lost its thread, not understanding how it had come to the point where she began to enlighten him about the sexual traditions of different nations of the world, different races, and species. The tribal customs of the Orcs, where the subordinate position of women, although very often, but not necessarily, because there were regurly militant green-skinned strongwomen, which directly proved that they were not women, but their opponents. About the already known to him the manner of isnd mermaids to use their breasts for Kuordemar's blowjob. About the kinds of love of the inhabitants of the far South, sultry jungles and great rivers, whose skin varies from the color of milk chocote to ebony, about the fact that their women know how to use the backdoor and do not even consider this kind of sex as full-blown, treating it with surprising ease. About distant and exotic lizardmen, living under the dictatorship of dragons, and the fact that quite a few of the males have a couple of organs at once. About elves and their seductive maidens that could drive mad only with words, looks, and touching feet.... For some reason, something in the tter seemed familiar to him, like an image of a half-forgotten dream.

  "I have read a very incomplete copy of their Handbook of Worshipful Homage. Otherwise known as Treading on the Young Grass by Gradiana... I can't remember her House now, White Grove, I think. no, I can't remember." She told him, funting and changing her pose every now and then, literally enjoying the way he was eating her up with his eyes, dreaming of the moment when their conversation would come to an end and he would get a chance to touch her lips. "Their love magic and seduction techniques as applied to the 'lesser races', as much as I love that phrase for its delightful hypocrisy, relies heavily on the use of legs and feet as a basis for submission, for breaking wills. She is the firstborn and you are merely grass at her feet, she treads on you in great favor and you only gratefully accept the right to touch her feet, to kiss them to full enlightenment, willingly doing generally whatever she just says. This is a lot of their, ears, frozen and typical contempt for everyone, but because of this, their maidens have a common stereotype that they can not live without having their feet pleasured in every possible way. Can you imagine?"

  Stepan, at this moment watching her wiggle her foot almost in front of his face, was very much imagining it. He had no desire to lick that graceful and delightful, pale and cool foot, its perfectly clean skin. He didn't mind, as much as he would have if she had chosen to fondle it now, but it wasn't the foot that caught his attention, it was her pussy, shaved almost completely smooth, except for a small vertical arrow on her pubis. She beckoned much more, literally catching his eye, and he wanted to get on his knees and bring her pleasure, simply because she was beautiful, desirable, intelligent, erudite, graceful, powerful...

  "I imagine you make it very clear, so much so that it made me want to be seduced by you." He joked awkwardly, pretending to be joking, though he could barely contain the urge to pounce on her, or to pound her, or to lick her pussy clean. "Do you have your fetishes and seduction techniques?"

  "Oh, of course, they are, Pann. How could they not be? Everyone has them, especially those who walk long under the sky, just not everyone admits that they have them." She answers with a ugh, spreading her legs wide, opening her flower to his gaze and caressing it with her fingers, stroking and pressing it lightly. "Personally, I have always liked to put my lovers on their knees, forcing them to lick my slit, pardon the vulgarity, until I was tired of experiencing ecstasy. And my body, believe me, doesn't get tired for very long. Even more, I like only to incline them to this desire, not to force them, but to slowly induce the right thought, so that they ask my permission, and I, in my grace, let them. It never bores me, Pann, never-never."

  Stepan only raised his eyebrows in surprise and even shifted his gaze from her pussy to her face, his eyes into her ughing eyes, experiencing some vague surprise and disbelief. It was hard for the Earthman to imagine a reason why she could even force or convince anyone when he, knowing her for less than a day was already ready to lick her after just a couple of gnces at that juicy and sweet slit. Somehow he did not doubt that she would seem sweeter than any nectar, but to ask her directly, or even to kneel and lick her without asking seemed wrong, as if some thought was trying to catch up with him in the background.

  "And you subdue them with magic or something?" He can't hide his skepticism, and he's not trying to. "I just don't see how someone can say no to you when you're, well, like this. Desirable."

  "Thank you for your compliment, it's a little offhand, but all the more pleasing in its sincerity." She ughed again, seductively with a slight huskiness, still fondling herself under his gaze. "But yes, I have my tricks, including some foul ones, including love magic. I've always found it easy to work with minds, but I'm far from the cssical schools, relying more on my species' abilities as a dedicated blood-drop. The charming gaze, the influence through the voice, and other little things any chick learns. These are almost the main tools of the hunt for the young. But the best I could do was the blood drip, which is more difficult, and it is very difficult to achieve mastery in it, and I have achieved it, believe me. Are you familiar with this trick, Pann?"

  "Very vaguely, and in theory, I know that bloodsuckers can control the mind through blood, and I've even seen it when I came to those damned Bzdy's, but no more." He answered, a little darkly, even a little distracted by Sylvia's pussy, but his companion immediately began to work her fingers harder, bringing his attention back to her. "The basic idea is to get the victim's blood first, isn't it? Not just a little, but a lot?"

  Something in his words armed him, but then Sylvia spread her legs even wider - what magnificent legs and figure she had in general - and sank in the chair, drawing his eyes and thoughts back to her cunt. The thought that had appeared, a shadow of it, immediately went with the blood into his tense and eager cock. It was impossible and even painful to stay in such a state of arousal for long, but he still felt quite good and no discomfort.

  "A drop is fine, especially if with someone who is not gifted, but yes, the more the better. With someone who does not neglect protection, or even has a gift.... Oh, with them, that one drop would have to be held in resonance for a very long time, taking months, even years at times, before it made its way into the heart and mind.".There was a sense of anticipatory mockery in her tone that was incomprehensible to him, but also a genuine pride in herself, pride in something she had excelled at, something she had managed to make her forte. "But then, oh-oh-oh, then there is room for action. The first, most basic thing to do is to set up a kind of blind bag in the victim's mind, it is poetically called "a bloody ribbon tightened in a double loop", but I never liked that name. The essence of the technique is extremely simple. From the one whose blood you resonate with, you need to hide the very fact of impropriety, convince that everything is normal, and then just broadcast through resonance. Is that clear so far?"

  Stepan nodded, turning to listen, listening to her lecture, at the same time not taking his eyes off her accelerating fingers, because Sylvia's retelling of her favorite subject seemed to turn her on.

  "At first, everything goes with the utmost caution, you must select arguments, persuade, gently lead to the right thoughts, and suggest what your target already fully or at least partially agrees with. To reduce hostility, to stop the thirst for battle, to bring everything to a peaceful dialog, sometimes making concessions at all, just to rex the resonator, to convince him of his harmlessness." She no longer strokes herself, but masturbates with all her might, entering the slit with two fingers, rubbing the clitoris with the third, caressing the nipples of the left and right breasts alternately with the second hand, but she does not lose herself and even her voice does not tremble. "Next, you have to stall, talk, tell, ask yourself, listening to the answers with interest, reaching some steady equilibrium. The key stage, the turning point, I have always considered the removal of defenses. It is already an uncharacteristic and foolish decision to remove amulets and lower shields anywhere but one's own stronghold and in the circle of loyal servants. If this stage is successful, then further it is much easier, it is not difficult to arouse passion, you can even nude yourself, the good thing is that wise heartbreakers and impossibly talented boys equally fall for my snow-white body, for my, forgive vulgarity, juicy tits, for my ass and my slit, so fallen, that they don't notice how they find themselves naked before me, they don't see anything suspicious even if you almost tell them directly that they are bewitched, they just look at my body, they sit with infinitely tense masculinity, dreaming only of getting on their knees and licking my slit. Kneel, Pann, kneel, boy, kneel and kiss me, lick me, come on, you want it so bad!"

  He did not notice how he was at her feet, pressing his face against what was probably the most desirable thing in the world, kissing her pussy, and surrendering himself completely to her will. She patiently expined, prompted, directed, and crified exactly how to do things, how best to bring her pleasure, and, of course, cum, especially when Stepan, with her express permission, began to apply basic tantric influences. It was better than any sex, he realized with slight surprise, he didn't need anything more, only to pleasure her, to enjoy her divine taste, the touch of her skin, the stroking of her hand that burrowed into the long uncut hair on the top of her head, the approving moans and, he was just now noticing, the way his heart and the blood in his veins seemed to pulse in time with her, with her aura, beat for beat, beat for beat, in resonance with each other.

  The young man did not lose consciousness in the flow of passion, perfectly aware of every moment, enjoying it to the fullest, because this state of complete concentration and closeness to her, to her pleasure, was many times better than almost anything else, better than sex, better than his own orgasm, which seemed to him absolutely unnecessary, even superfluous. He didn't have to cum now, because his orgasm would destroy that peace, because now he was and existed only for her and her pleasure, only for Sylvia to keep moaning, to keep pressing his face into her crotch, squeezing his head with her snow-white thighs. And when she did release him from her embrace, breaking the contact between his tongue and her bud, to his great disappointment, he took a quiet breath, sat back in the chair, still as aroused and satisfied, wanting to just sit there for a while without doing anything at all.

  "You liked it, Pann, it was the best moment of your life, wasn't it?" She asked, to which he only nodded tiredly, agreeing with her judgment. "I let you savor me, didn't I? Then you too, please give me a few sips of yourself. I will be very careful, believe me, I will not take more than it will be safe for you to give without jeopardizing your life and gift. Will you open yourself to my scarlet kiss, Pann?"

  "Gdly, maybe not just a few sips." To deny her such a small thing, after she'd let him lick nonstop, all the way down to the pain in his overstrained tongue.... no, he couldn't even imagine such a thing. "Don't give me that look, I'm a tough shaman from the middle of nowhere! I just have a way of instantly replenishing blood after a physical wound, and, strangely, you didn't realize it in the first pce. I was cut open by that little thing right above your prison. You saw all that blood dripping down there. Well, you didn't see it, but you collected blood."

  And that interested her, which made Stepan feel genuinely happy, he really wanted to make her feel good, repaying her kindness for the way she had let him enjoy her pussy. He had, of course, saved her from, if not death, then a very unpleasant pastime and falling under servitude to a dead freak. But he still wanted to be useful and make her smile, to snuggle against her pussy once more afterward and make her moan, cum, moan, and cum.

  "I confess that I thought I was a little mistaken in my clouded state of mind, but now..." She gave him a thoughtful and slightly predatory look and asked the expected question. "How much can I take without hurting you?"

  "I'll reserve some of the reserve in my own spiritual body so I don't pass out from blood loss, and you stop when the aura starts to fade." After weighing the pros and cons, and finding no reason why losing the blood and magic in that blood could be any less dangerous than almost being cut in two, he voices the basic pn. "Okay, let's get started. Do you want me to put my neck up or what?"

  "A bite to the neck is considered vulgar and even dangerous, especially against someone one does not intend to drink to the bottom. Fangs, on the other hand, are used in decent society only when there is no other way out, such as in battle or if there is an urgent need to recover, saving one's life at the expense of the scarlet drop of a random victim." Sylvia only shook her head in response to what seemed to be a racial-species stereotype concerning the whole bloodsucking fraternity. "No, under normal circumstances, if one wished to sip from a loyal and useful servant, comrade, or temporary ally, it was customary to open a vein on the forearm and put one's lips to the wound. Like this, for example."

  She inflicted the wound with one fleeting movement of the cw on her finger, immediately removing it and sucking on the wound. Stepan subconsciously expected pain or pleasure, but all that came was numbness and a gradual weakness. Sylvia politely and prudently did not want to induce pleasure, almost narcotic pleasure from the bite, not wanting to put Stepan into a trance in which he might not have time to activate the "replenishment of life". So he waited until the consciousness in his brain had faded until the reserve had been emptied almost to the bottom, until he hovered on the very edge of life and death. Sylvia was very careful, drawing out little by little and in a steady stream, trying not to do any more damage, so it was hard to miss the moment. Yes, it was a risk, but a minimal one, despite the severity and lethality of its effects. As soon as she let go of the shaman's hand, which was even paler than the vampire's, and from which not a drop of blood had dripped, he immediately activated two meta-skills simultaneously, returning both reserve and life. And he had the st of his reserve renewal charge left.

  Consciousness returned in a leap, under Sylvia's very intense gaze, as if ready for battle, and for a moment he thought she was afraid of something, but no, it was just imagined. The wound on her arm was gone, blood filled her empty veins again, his heart was beating smoothly and calmly, and his vitality bar had reached a hundred percent and was not going to drop. It was a pleasure to see the shocked surprise on her beautiful face, just as it was a pleasure to see how powerful her aura was. To drink to the bottom, almost literally, of a full-fledged Senior Shaman or Master of Magic was not something she had managed more than once or twice in her life. And with Stepan, this experience could be carried out literally regurly, which, given the connection between the development of bloodsuckers and the reserve, was a cheat.

  "Was this a contract with a Higher or even a Great Inhabitant of the immaterial?" She asked, even a little frightened, apparently realizing the power of the effect, and one that she hadn't even seen, only the result because meta-skills didn't show any energy traces. "I'm, ahem, I'm fairly erudite within the confines of shamanic terminology, but this is just... it's just outrageous. I didn't get to see anything, it's just, here you are lying there, practically dead, and I'm already thinking about how I'm going to get your heart going and inject some of that life back into you, and then.... you're healthy and strong again! I am, I confess, agitated, overwhelmed with emotion. Answer me, Pann - is this the result of a deal with a Higher Spirit?"

  He thought for a moment about lying, but where before he didn't want to lie, now he didn't want to lie at all, and he would rather chew off his arm than lie to Sylvia, looking her in the eye. Or her tits, he's looking at them too, and she's showing them off, almost inviting him to look at them. No, he won't lie to her, he doesn't want to, he can't, and there's no reason to. If she asked him about the System and isekai, he would tell her even that, he would not hold anything back, he would not be able to keep silent in response to a request for honesty from someone with such a sweet pussy, such a desirable body.

  "Yes, it's the highest, and yes, it can be considered a contract of sorts, though quite different from the typical calls." He's telling the truth, and he hasn't lied a word, because he really has a contract with the System, described by the state of his Status and the talents he's taken. "You won't be able to do it often, but you can do it again in five days, I can see you're glowing. You know, the aura."

  Sylvia nodded thoughtfully, stroking his head, making him pamper himself, closing his eyes, and rexing against her cool body, which seemed only more appealing in the hot, aromatic room. They begin kissing leisurely and affectionately, him drowning in her cold lips, in the caress of her hand, as she began to stroke his cock, pressing his whole body against hers, bringing him to the edge and holding him there, just a step away from coming down on her thigh. Somehow this being on the edge is not the least bit agonizing, even pleasurable, he likes the way she controls his pleasure, owns his release, keeps him from finishing, and shows her power. His consciousness only becomes sharper, and a surprising crity of thought comes instead of lustful mindlessness.

  "Tell me, Pann, answer my question honestly, for my sake, for my snow-white breasts, my sweet flower, for the movement of my hand." He looks into her eyes, so deep and now almost entirely scarlet, without even a shadow of dark tint, looks and nods, silently, not even thinking of anything but doing her will. "Aren't you the one who used to call yourself Master?"

  "No, I'm a Senior Shaman, a title equated with mastery, but there are slightly different connections and connotations there." He said without even thinking about what he was saying, barely restraining the urge to gasp in pleasure at the quickened movements of her gentle and commanding palm. "And so I'm generally used to pretending to be just a strong student, but not even an adept. It's less trouble and less attention."

  "That's it, well done Pann, now one more question, answer it honestly and release your semen, pour it right on me." Again he is overwhelmed with even greater admiration and submission, his thoughts become as sharp as gss, transparent, and extremely clear, the picture of the world fits perfectly with itself and so he feels something close to nirvana. "Do you have the Tablet of the Soul?"

  "Just a notebook." He smiles, trying to expin, but at the same time not to cum before time. "This book is also in my spirit and soul, I can make notes or descriptions of rituals in it and I don't have to carry around a whole library, very handy actually, it's from the same contract that allows me to recover from wouuuuuuuuuunds!"

  He releases all his tension under Sylvia's simultaneously satisfied, calm, commanding, and somehow slightly disappointed gaze. The seed pours out in a hot stream, right onto her cold body and him, touching her thigh with the free-moving, throbbing cock that her hand no longer holds. This contrast makes it feel so good that he wants to stop this moment and freeze in it for the rest of eternity. But nothing is eternal, and the brief period of indescribable happiness ended when Sylvia got up off him, leaving him sitting in his chair all alone. He stares at her motionless and adoringly as she wipes away his seed, tasting a single drop, bringing it to her lips on the tip of her finger. Her eyes widened a little, and she sucked on the finger with pleasure, then turned to him and answered his slightly surprised questioning look.

  "Yes, it's not a rumor. Bloodthirsty ones can indeed feed on semen as well. Yes, it is true, some young fledglings have survived in this way. Yes, I've had a chance to do that too, not from good times, I won't hide this in front of you because I can still order you to forget." The st part seemed a little incomprehensible, but on second thought, he would gdly forget anything she asked, there was no need to even erase his memory, one look into her beautiful eyes, at her snow-white tits, at the pussy that opened to him would be enough to not remember at all, to forget how to remember. "It is considered very shameful among the initiates of the Blood Drops, and calling me or another of my sisters, and indeed my brother, a semenesucker is only acceptable if you are about to start a mortal combat and eternal feud as it is. But, uh. okay, what's to hide, your semen is incredibly rich, and I'm out of control. Don't expect me to ever grace you with my lips for an intimate, not scarlet, kiss. Well, or you won't remember it anyway, which means it won't happen."

  She shook her head as if chasing away not so much drowsiness as a kind of intoxication she only muttered to herself that she was talking under her breath because of the scarlet power, and carried the motionless Stepan in her arms, sitting him on a bed of very shitty quality - what else would you want from a nearly abandoned inn in the middle of the wildest wilderness. Then she thought about it and ordered to banish all wildlife from the room. This wing, unlike the one occupied by vampires, had an assortment of it. Apparently, in the settled part of Quiet Ill, the bastards he'd killed had taken care of the sanitation themselves. Only when the room was clean enough did she sit behind him, putting her cool hands on his shoulders and pressing the back of his head against her chest.

  "How do you feel, describe how you feel," Sylvia orders him calmly and yet dryly, but with a touch of pyfulness, like a femme fatale seductress whispering in his ear. "Go on, say it."

  "It's like my arms and legs are starting to tingle strangely." He rolled his eyes in pleasure, barely holding back a moan and feeling the tension in his groin again. "It feels good, really good. And it goes higher. Up to my chest, up my neck, and right up to my hea-a-a-a-a-a..."

  It was as if he paused, seeing nothing, hearing nothing, knowing nothing, thinking nothing because he wasn't there at that moment. And a moment or an eternity ter he reappeared, himself again, only feeling a little strange. Turning his head, he realized Sylvia had sat back in the chair, leaving him to come to his senses on the bed. There was a pleasant heaviness in his groin as if after good sex, and the dried remnants of his seed were visible on the sheets. Or rather, they were visible, because by the time he awoke from his strange stupor, the fire spirits had used up their supply and left, and had to be summoned again. Somehow he thought there should have been more seed on the sheets, but he didn't bother to ask that question, putting it out of his mind.

  Instead of stupid thoughts, he got out of bed and silently, on all fours, crawled to Sylvia's chair. Without a word began to kiss her legs, lick them, and cover them with kisses, rising higher and higher until he came up against her divinely tender pussy. Having frozen literally a couple of centimeters from her, he stuck out his tongue and began to touch the mound with the very tip of his tongue, trying to stick it out as far as possible without changing the distance, without getting closer himself. And he was able to make her cum, looking with delight at how the tender flesh pulsates, contracting in orgasm. Having run his tongue over her lips for the st time, enjoying the taste, he stands in front of Sylvia looking at him from under half-closed eyeshes, stands on one leg and begins to jump, jump in a circle, until he gets a little tired. Just at that moment, she stretched out her hand so that he could direct his instantly erect member onto her palm, releasing his semen in that same second, immediately forgetting about the orgasm and how she licked his semen, even touching the head of his member with her lips.

  "Lie down on the bed." He immediately y down, gd to hear her voice. "Don't think about anything. I am your Mistress. That's right. That's correct. You lie there thinking about licking. My flower, my legs, my buttocks, my breasts. You just lick. Licking and caressing yourself. Barely, barely, just stroking, not even squeezing, keeping on the edge, not coming. You don't do anything without orders. You don't use a gift without an order. You don't think of anything without an order, except to lick. As soon as a thought comes into the nakedness without command - think of licking. Think and caress yourself. Now sleep."

  He fell asleep.

  In his dream he licked - pussy, tits, ass, feet.

  The mistress didn't order anything.

  He did nothing.

  There was no order.

  He didn't think.

  He dreamed and licked.

  Sometimes he almost cum.

  Pussy, tits, ass, feet.

  Lick, wish, don't think, lick.

  Received system assignment ( average): come to sufficient cognitive ability to complete the assignment; apply mastery of mind and passion influence to Sylvia Malter by distorting her personality in a depraved manner within the specified specification [UNFOLD].

  For satisfactory fulfillment, you need to rewrite major aspects of her personality, change life paradigms and priorities, fulfilling at least one-third of the specification points.

  For complete fulfillment, the nested specifications regarding the distortion of Sylvia Malter's personality must be fully followed, putting in the specified changes and performing additional actions.

  For perfect execution it is necessary to fulfill all the additional and optional effects specified in the specification, imposing them on the original personality of Sylvia Malter, allowing her to leave the ruins of the vilge ofSmall Bzdy considers everything that happened as normal and hides all the effects, events, changes, and the very fact of acquaintance with the pyer in the depths of her subconscious.

  It is acceptable to use the gifts of Liarat si Merrinal, Lady of Gifts and Giver of Gifts, loyal servant of Innes Inney.

  Reward: a significant increase in the effectiveness of charms, a significant increase in the likelihood of the talents of the svemancy branch, freedom of will and personality, and complete cleansing of the mind from Sylvia Malter's compulsions.

  At full execution: three random reward tokens; a slight increase in the probability of gaining new reward tokens when completing assignments of average rank or higher.

  With perfect execution: two new avaible Deals in the appropriate line, the ability to activate two Deals simultaneously, a new set of clothes for Sylvia Malter, and a drop of blood from an ancient Blooddy with perfect properties for Sylvia Malter.

  Note: All consumables and materials for completing the assignment according to the specification will be provided automatically without payment from the pyer.

  * * *