Chapter 3
***Daimon***
The setting sun was golden on the trees, giving the woods a rare windless weather. The clearly delineated shadows of the trees lay on the hills and edges of the ravines. The gradients between the still bright light and the dull shade were so sharp that travelers unaccustomed to the terrain always suffered an eye sore.
The Cursed Forests. The triviality of the name caused an awkwardness, and almost everyone who heard it for the first time involuntarily cringed.
And anyone who had the doubtful pleasure of living in these lands for any amount of time is no longer skeptical, but grimly frowning. The name didn't come from the views - on the contrary, they didn't fit the name at all. Dense thickets, mighty crowns, picturesque mosses, and even old deadwood looked quite life-affirming. Here one could find plants so rare that they were considered imaginary. Even fairies, creatures almost completely extinct in times immemorial, were rumored to have been found in these parts at some times.
No, that's not why these thickets were called Cursed.
These woods were shrouded in a great number of macabre legends, the most famous of which was the legend of the penultimate King of Greed.
It was here that, according to the legends, he met his end. When drowning in the madness of greed, the Eight could not divide the world even among themselves, when each betrayed all others for their own ambition. When, in fear for their power, they destroyed the symbol of their own power and their loyal servants finally turned against them, a true hell on earth was unleashed. Hell compared to the nightmare they had plunged the world into by conquering it seemed like child's play.
And the penultimate King of Greed, unable to defeat the onslaught of the rebellious alliance of former slaves, retreated into the deserts that were then these forests. His last battle was fought in these lands. A hellish massacre, lasting many days, in which time, space, and death mingled. The King eventually fell, taking countless legions of his enemies with him to the afterworld. A forest grew on that monstrous battlefield, leaving such fertile fertilizer. Hiding the unsightly picture of the war of gods against mortals, a war of mutual annihilation without compromise. And the ruins of forts and the mass graves of the fallen have found rest beneath its roots. And the curses that had fallen on the land had not gone away.
At least, that's what the legends said.
But even if one does not take the ancient legends seriously, it was a lot of the desperate to adapt to life in these forests. Beneath the tree crowns and picturesque reliefs lurked terrors that witnesses were wary of mentioning out loud. The beasts that lived here were a disaster, and even herbivorous prey was deadly to any hunter. Its blood was poisonous, and the urge to kill exceeded the instinct of self-preservation - what was normally fearful prey here knew no fear. Predators, hunting their prey, did not drive it into exhaustion - they fought a real battle with it. The price for unsuccessful hunting was not hunger, but life.
Although, the sapient adapts to everything. In addition to the danger, there was a great benefit. Ingredients extracted from local plants and animal organs were highly valued throughout the continent. The ruins that occasionally showed up from under the landslides and the rivers that had changed course lurked with incredible rewards. Whoever was willing to take the risk always had a chance.
Like Daimon's group, The Immortal Hope. This was their third quest into the Cursed Forests, one of the hidden dungeons they had found by sheer coincidence. A third quest that risked ending in fatal failure.
Four men were breathing heavily in the narrow corridor, lined with hewn granite. Daimon, the leader of the group, was breathing in and out, resting his palms on his knees. His armor was visibly dull and scarred at the right shoulder and across his chest. Hot, dirty sweat fell from his face to the floor in large drops.
"Daimon, we're in trouble." Looking into the darkness, Bryce said.
"Really?" Daimon turned around with his eyes bulging.
"Seriously. The exit was buried. There are no lights, not because it's night or anything."
Bryce, a short, very bony, and wiry fellow looked much better. His armor was a thick leather jacket, studded with tightly fitting steel plates, and the same cuffs with tucked-in trousers. His shoulders were scarcely protected except by the broad sleeves of a black shirt, baggy at the elbow. He didn't look rested, but he was clearly fresher than Daimon.
"That's not good news, I agree. But there is some good news."
"That's a balm for the soul. You don't mean the approaching footsteps of those monsters, do you?"
"Huh, not without them. The good news is that the corridor is narrow, and if they don't have a change in lineup, I'll close it off. And no one will stop you from digging our way out."
"Are you kidding?"
"I'm gonna tank."
Bryce cursed and looked longingly at the blocked exit. It seemed that the ceiling had failed and sagged, succumbing to the many meters of earth above it. A pile of earth mixed with rubble blocked the way out of the dungeon. Then he turned his gaze to Era, the sorceress.
Her robe had long since become grimy tatters, and the expensive staff remained there in the depths of the dungeon. She grimly ignored her last companion.
Actually, the whole situation was about their overestimation of their skills, but Era blamed it all on him. Now it didn't bother the sorceress that the boy wasn't responsible for their plan. They were in dire need of a healer for this dungeon. And since there were no good spell casters or priests to be found, they had to take the first one that came into their sight. In conversation and training, Lias was quite good, not as good as their previous partner, of course, but not so terrible. They had risked going with him and now regretted it.
Lias appeared to be a coward and a whiner, unprepared for the real business. Only on the spot, it turned out that his reserve of energy was much smaller than it had seemed at the beginning. His reaction speed in combat was worthless. In the main, he was completely unsuitable for adventure, except to sit in the camp and treat the group after they returned from the raid. As it turned out, that was exactly how he imagined the healer's job in the group.
Thus, it was an absolute failure. Lias seemed to realize this himself, and just waited for it to be over.
Daimon didn't like such problems, but as a leader, he had to deal with them as well. And now, unfortunately, there was no good way out. He preferred not to think about the fact that they might all die, too.
Now he, too, could hear slow footsteps from the darkness beyond the corridor. He listened closely. Judging by the number of feet and the creak of rusted metal, it was the same trio who had chased them here. Daimon raised his heavy shield with a sigh and closed his visor.
"Guys, I know you're all very tired, but I don't see any other options. You'll have to dig, and you'd better do it before I get cut up here. Era, lights, please."
The sorceress concentrated, detaching herself from discomfort and emotion. Daimon was right; she could say what she thought about the situation and the reasons for it later. Right now, the important thing was to survive.
[light]
A flickering light source, like a very bright firefly, appeared behind Daimon's right shoulder, and out of the darkness ahead came two skeletons clad in deceptively rusty armor, and the outlines of another a little farther away. Daimon pursed his lips and stiffened, blocking the narrow passage. He'd dealt with the undead before, and at first he hadn't taken any skeletons, even if they were in rusty armor, seriously. It turned out to be a big mistake, almost costing them all their lives.
One of the warrior skeletons, pacing like a drunken loader, leaped toward him with barely perceptible speed and swung his two-handed axe sharply. Daimon, already aware of their way of fighting, bounced back down the aisle. Taking such a blow with a half step on his shield would be a costly thing to do; his arm had nearly been broken the last time he'd faced it. The axe's blade jettisoned a spark from where he'd just stood. The second skeleton, a moment later, delivered a powerful straight thrust with his halberd. Daimon brushed it aside with his shield. There was a great temptation to pile on with all his weight and press the weapon against the wall, but the idea was spoiled by a skeleton with an axe. Pinning one opponent's weapon down would rob him of the ability to evade another's attacks. Daimon was well aware that without the ability to maneuver, he would be dead.
By retreating to the back of the corridor, he gained an advantage - there was no room for the axeman to swing, and his blows without a good swing could already be blocked. And most importantly - there was no third skeleton warrior to get through. A more or less regular heavyweight brawl began. The skeletons, helping each other (also, who would have believed it), relentlessly poured simple, but powerful and fast attacks, while Daimon blocked them and led them away with his shield. Some of his attacks gave him a chance to close the distance and push the invading undead back, which he used to get back to his starting position. He didn't even try to attack himself now, only parrying what he could with his sword. There was no visible damage to his attacks anyway. Of course, if he had used an axe or mace, the result might have been different. But the axe and mace wore him out after a few minutes of combat, nullifying his advantage.
Punch, sliding block, return kick. A strong but light foe is thrown back a step. A swift lunge of the halberd, Daimon not having enough time to shield himself, and the tip left another dent in his armor, his ribs aching. Another axe strike, another sliding block, another halberd lunge. It's all predictable, but it's too fast - there's no way to get into a rhythm. Hit - lunge to the body, hit - lunge to the head, hit - lunge to the legs. Taking another attack with an axe, he didn't have the strength to move it fully aside, and the heavy blade snagged his helmet. His head snapped back in a jolt, and Daimon could not react in time to the thrust of the halberd. The piercing tip pierced the visor, sinking into it but leaving a deep cut on his cheekbone. His ears rang with pain.
The bone is caught. Daimon noted in passing. It's very bad.
[shield push]
The muscles crackled with the sudden exertion. The fighting skill, one of Daimon's favorite special moves, threw the axe-maker out of the passageway with a crash. It took the rest of the skeletons with it, giving him pause for a few seconds. Sweat mixed with dirt and blood trickled down the back of his neck and tickled unpleasantly. The exhausted body was beginning to lose its grasp. That was it. There were no aces left for the day.
Through the twisted visor, in the darkness broken unevenly by the flickering faint light, it was hard to see, but it was also clear by hearing. The enemies were up and attacking again.
"Daimon, retreat, retreat, back, there's a way through!"
Hope filled with new strength, and the warrior, almost completely behind his shield, quickly scooted back down the passageway. Retreating that way made the enemy attacks much easier to bear. Keeping his balance wasn't easy, his feet were stuck in the soft dirt, and then his shoulders were barely able to squeeze through. The powerful blows from my opponents even helped a little to move this way. It was a little scary not knowing where you were retreating to, but Daimon had faith in his comrades. And, as always, not in vain.
At some moment there was no support under his feet, and Daimon went tumbling down the thorny grassy slope. A few moments later, his back slammed into the shallow water, crushing the thin reeds. The evening sun glinted merrily through the hole in his helmet.
"Fffuuuuuuh."
Someone came swiftly up to him and with a couple of jerks lifted the jammed visor. His eyes were teary and it was impossible to see who it was, but the voice and tone were unmistakable.
"You're looking kind of creepy, Dai. Have you been beaten?"
"I was shaving drunk. The others are alright, the undead are not chasing?"
"Yeah, it's fine. Looks like the undead are at least somewhat normal, they stay out of the sun. Can you walk?"
Daimon analyzed the feeling.
"Bones seem to be intact, I think I can do it. But I'm going to whine."
"After Lias, you don't impress me at all."
"Okay, I won't. You didn't lose the loot, did you?"
The silhouette, which had almost turned into a dirty, wet Bryce, silently shook the bulky leather sack. Something inside it rang distinctly and melodiously, and several oblong objects were visible as well.
Daimon stretched out his arm, and Bryce, grabbing it, helped him up. His head was dizzy, his face wound burned with throbbing pain, and his eye was rapidly swelling. Era and the healer were shaking off the waterlogged puddle with a hopeless look on their faces. Both squinted funny at the bright light.
"Lias, I know you're tired, but there's work for you."
***Talik***
Talik left the improvised training ground completely exhausted and pleased by himself. All the spells he was used to using, and even the ones he hadn't thought of for a long time because they weren't needed, were working. He would have to get used to the new ways of activation, but his worst fears were not confirmed. He hadn't yet been able to fully test the ways of use, but that could be done a little later. Still, it was a must-do. Applying spells in combat, in Yggdrasil, is a science, after all. Goals, priorities, calculating area of effect, timing, considering external factors, positioning, planning long-lasting casts, timely use of safes, many, many interdependent circumstances. You're a shitty healer if all you know how to do is push the toolbar.
Illadria was very helpful. It was a great practice to test his skills. He thought at first he would just stretch, but she gave him such a thrashing that he seriously feared he would lose. Especially after his buff. Even had to use his aces, without a super-level spell limiting the area and power of AOE damage with a consumable to trigger instantly... Wouldn't have made it. Had it been a real PvP player, Talik wouldn't have had a chance to defend the poor horned pony, or even get out of danger himself. She is, after all, extremely predictable, and that saved his prestige and faith in himself.
He wonders if this new self-awareness will allow them to learn independently. Without the need to manually enter conditions and algorithms.
In general, he really liked the feeling of using spells. He felt something with his whole body when he used his arsenal, and it wasn't just adrenaline.
That's how chunibyo feel in their imagination, isn't it? Only I'm so much cooler, lol. Because it works for me.
Although, if he's actually giggling and drooling blissfully under drugs in a straitjacket right now, it's not so much cooler. But certainly more interesting.
He thought of Illadria, and his mood dropped a little. Her attitude toward him had seemed amusing at first, but now it was beginning to... worrying, maybe? He didn't mind a good relationship at all, but this kind of adoration was too much. After all, imagining him to be something great is a huge delusion. It's unpleasant to feel like a cheater pretending to be someone else. And what would happen if the secret came out, what would he say to the disappointed fanatics? Triple unpleasant was the nasty suspicion that this was all actually an absurdly large-scale performance, where for unknown purposes he was being persuaded to adore, despise, or even hate in fact. It was imperative to make it clear, and preferably without losing face. Well, as much as possible.
Draga, again. If she's anything like Illadria in her attitude, that's a real problem. Which must be solved in the very near future.
He recalled last night.
Well, if that's true, she shouldn't have been left alone, without clarity, without the right words. What a sheep, he should have taken it more seriously. Though who knew? Maybe he should do it right now. But who knows how long it might take, and it was very desirable not to be distracted by anything else.
Clarify a few things with Wilhelm, and then go to make peace with Draga. Oh, he wishes there wasn't such unhealthy subservience in that big, nordic man. From a woman, it is still at least somewhat tolerable.
[message]
"William, this is Tallarius. I want to talk to you, do you have time?"
"I am flattered, Prophet. Of course... I have 'time' as you call it."
"I'll come to you in about fifteen minutes. You owe me tea."
"The best that exists, Prophet."
"Got you. Wait."
Talik interrupts [message]
***Wilhelm***
Wilhelm enjoyed it. He valued comfort, good company, and a chance to relax, and now all three of these concepts came together.
Yesterday, when he received the Prophet's order, he took the importance of the task and approached it with great responsibility. The clerks of all the warehouses, farms, mills, and markets were running like mad. The archivist spent half the night cross-checking figures in town records. Low-ranking orc chiefs shuffled through tents, counting their green-skinned bands. Only Illadria dodged attempts to involve her in the thankless task of inventory with graceful politeness. At once she voiced the requested figures and suggested that she not be bored with pointless clarifications, for she had her own Orders. Wilhelm liked to emphasize his status powers, but there was nothing to object to.
By morning all the data had been summarized, organized into columns and lines, and presented to the Prophet. Wilhelm wrote the document himself - the idea of entrusting a scribe to write a document for the High Lord seemed to him a total sacrilege. The High Lord appreciated the work of his loyal vassal and honored him with a visit. And now they were chatting and drinking tea at ease. Wilhelm could not recall such a thing in all his years of service to his personal deity.
He listened to the Prophet, catching every word and striving to remember every detail of his image. He wanted to learn how to enjoy simple things like a comfortable chair and good food and drink. Wilhelm endured a lot - terrible wars, betrayals, struggles for leadership, victories more bitter than defeats on his way to the top. Until the moment when, at last, the Prophet demanded that he fulfill his oath, Wilhelm had no idea what a good rest is.
Still, William's entire life was but a mere shadow of the hardships and difficulties that stood in his and the other Lords' paths. But He and His divine companions did not despair a single day, continuing day after day to put super effort into achieving their super goals. Each new difficulty that would break William would only generate excitement and a desire to overcome it.
The temptations that had drawn Wilhelm in headlong when he gained power were powerless to shake His spirit. He passed through what he considered insignificant and did not turn back to what was not really needed. Holding absolute power in his hands, He appreciated the little things. Possessing the greatest power, He did not use it unnecessarily. And now, sitting in a comfortable chair, He simply enjoyed the comfort of it. As He tasted the tea, He simply rejoiced in its taste. Not more, not less, but just enough that it didn't interfere with the work of the mind.
William was passionate about adopting this attitude of existence. Even as king, he was aware of how far behind his true greatness he was in comparing himself to Him. Only the manner of speech... It was confusing. Not suited to a person of such magnitude. Though it was not for him, born a pathetic mortal, to judge the whims of a deity.
They had been talking for quite some time, discussing the current state and condition of Dawn City and the surrounding areas, the work of services such as water and sewage, the economy, the army. And, of course, magic. Today the Prophet willed to reveal some of his powers to the new world, and there was much discussion on the subject throughout the guild.
"Speaking of skills. Wilhelm, I guess you haven't tested your skills yet, right?"
"No. It hadn't occurred to me, actually. Should I start checking immediately?"
"You don't have to drop everything right now and go check it out. But in the near future, be sure to do it. Things that until now have been considered natural may not work the way we are used to, I have already experienced this today."
"I understand you, I will certainly do so in the very near future. Would you share any thoughts on the difference you've already encountered?"
"Hmm. Basically, it's the affected area, it's bigger now. Also, it's much harder to accurately estimate the effect. My skills are very different from yours, so it may be different for you. Anyway, I want to have an idea of your current capabilities."
"Wise, as always. Let me ask you a question." After waiting for a nod, Wilhelm continued. " Do you already have plans for this world?"
The Prophet grinned weirdly and shook his head.
"This is too complicated a question, Wilhelm. I don't... I don't have an easy answer to it, I'm sorry."
"I'm the one who should apologize. I asked more than I could comprehend."
"Just relax. We'll see."
"Wilhelm nodded respectfully. There it is, the attitude of the Great Ones toward mundane matters. Seeing complex things in simple ways."
"Also, I want to have some kind of meeting tonight at eight o'clock, with all the Elite. Do you have any plans for that time?"
"I can't imagine what plans could match your wish."
"That's good. Then I'll be going, thank you for the tea, it was delicious. No, don't escort me, I want to walk alone."
"I wish you well on your way, wherever you may be going." Wilhelm bowed, clasping his palm to his chest.
The Prophet left the chambers, leaving William in the best possible mood
Chapter 4
***Draga***
Draga did not know how long this nightmare lasted. Any pain and suffering for her always had a beginning, a course, and an end, she could adjust to it. She always sensed the passage of time and was able to assess her condition at any particular moment.
But not this time. Despair, guilt for a mistake, fear of an eternity filled solely with emptiness. The unspeakable pain of feeling deprived of the radiant attention of her Creator. Thousands of voices of Darkness, formerly part of her, cursing and reminding as if devouring her alive and giving no hint of peace. Thousands of voices of Darkness, against which she felt neither the strength nor the right. It was more painful than she could have even imagined, more disorienting. Her consciousness could not know WHEN it had bound itself to a certain moment, and only a will freeze in monstrous tension kept her at the edge beyond which her soul would be torn into tiny pieces.
So she could not tell how much time passed when those voices began to fade, and a tiny ray of hope broke through the bottomless blackness of despair. That beam was subtly broadening, multiplying, dispelling the fog of pain, loss, and fear of the future. Little by little, she began to realize again what she sees and where she is.
Afraid to frighten that beam away, Draga froze on the floor in a fetal position, delighted even by the cold coming from the rough stone. The chorus of Darkness supplanted the only whisper that still sounded on the edge of audibility. The whisper called to her, begged her to listen and promised her that all would be well. Draga gave in to it cautiously.
For a moment she felt dizzy, and there was a strange sensation of split consciousness. It felt as if there were actually two of her, and the one that was the second was skillfully, quickly going over the memory of the first. The fake was getting to know the memory of the original.
Draga sprang to her feet, gathering her will, rejecting the intruder with the use of her skills.
[Washing by Darkness] Instantly applicable skill, with long recovery time, eliminating all current negative effects.
[One Man Army] Instantly applied skill, with long recovery time, for a short time giving total immunity to damage and negative effects. When the time expired, the skill returned 100% of the damage and effects received.
At the same moment, Draga activated what the Prophet called an 'equip macro'. Armor, jewelry, and weapons disappeared in an instant into [inventory] and appeared clothed on her body.
"Show yourself!" She shouted, swinging her two-handed sword around and searching for the unknown enemy.
"Oh, such a magnificent gratitude for the relief of pain." There was a low, velvet-soft female voice behind her.
Draga instantly turned around and put the point of her sword on the shoulder of the source of the voice.
A medium-sized woman with gray-purple skin, dressed in a shabby rag tied at the waist with a rough rope. It was strange to think of, but it looked good on her. Her silver-white hair was pulled back in a high ponytail, and a rag was tied over half of her face, along with her eyes. Demonstrating defenselessness, the guest spread her arms to her sides, tilted her head toward the sword, and continued.
"Is that in trend right now, or is that your personal style?"
Draga, who had regained her icy stillness, replied.
"Who are you, how did you get here, and why are you here? Answer quickly and briefly."
"Take away your dangerous sword, Draga. I have helped you, and I expect for other thanks."
Draga, hearing the wrong answer, jerked the sword down sharply, across the collarbone and chest of the intruder. But the blade met no resistance, passing through her as through smoke.
"I am not here." The guest stepped smoothly toward her, letting further swings of her sword pass through her. "What you see is only the image you have in mind. With my help. And you need me, don't insult me. Or do you prefer the loneliness from which I pulled you?"
"I'll say it again - who are you, how did you get here, and why are you here?"
"How stubborn, almost like Wilhelm." The guest smiled. "I am the one who is branded a traitor. I'm here because I wanted to ease your suffering, and you gave me the opportunity to do so. And in return, I need a small favor from you that you cannot refuse."
Draga's mind was struck by conjecture, and she muttered, barely able to contain her anger.
"Malicriss."
She wanted to shred the traitor, to cut her into a thousand little pieces, but she knew that was impossible. The only way to destroy what is only in your head is to kill yourself. [Washing by Darkness] was useless because there were no negative effects from the connection, and closing one's mind to the speeches of such monsters... Only Lords can do that. And Malikriss herself.
"Whatever you want from me, you will receive only contempt and hatred." Draga, though she gave up trying to kill the image, remained in a fighting stance.
"Oh, believe me, I won't be impressed with that." For a moment, a cold, tense expression ran across the beautiful part of her face that was visible from beneath the bandage, and then the ironic smile returned. "Your misery a few minutes ago is not even a shadow of how I've lived all these years."
"Just leave me alone and go back to your dungeon to rot for the rest of eternity, bitch."
"I am beginning to tire of your bravado, you foolish child. My freedom is only a matter of a very short time. Now I want to know if we will be friends or enemies by the time I get it."
Draga's body began to fill with renewed fatigue - the effect of [One Man Army] was over. At the same time, it felt especially light. It seemed that the feelings I'd recently experienced weren't going to come back. All that was left was an eerie hazy memory of them, but that, too, was slowly fading into nothing. Desperate hatred was replaced by dislike.
"So why did you think your imprisonment would soon come to an end?"
"Haven't you sensed this strange change? The world has changed. It is only the appearance of a small wave that portends a mighty storm. A storm of destiny that will overturn the existing order of things. And this storm is the key to my freedom."
"So what do you want from me?"
"Hmm..." Malicriss raised her face to the high ceiling. "Tell Him about our conversation. Help Him remember me."
Draga only inhaled to speak out angrily, but an unpleasant insight came over her again. 'A favor you can no longer refuse me.' Could such an encounter be hidden from Him?
"You sneaky, lying bitch, you think that's going to be enough?"
"You'll see. And remember this - you can call me mean, you can call me a traitor, and it will be the truth. The truth for someone who doesn't know how to see things through." She grinned with a piercing sadness. "But among all my sins there are no lies. Well, my bet is made. I'll see you around."
The image of Malikriss was gone, and her voice was no longer there. She was alone again, and she felt the Darkness behind her, greedy for her suffering, attentive but indifferent. It was a sickening thing to realize, but it was worth thanking the Betrayer for.
"Fuck you..."
But no time before Draga gathered her thoughts, she heard a melodious ringing [message] and felt a new presence - one that was impossible to confuse with anyone else. Prophet. The light, the reason, and the way, the one whose attention she craved with all her being and whose disapproval was worse than all the torture of the world.
"Draga, this is Tallarius. Aren't you busy right now?"
"I..." Draga knelt at the sound of His voice. "I..."
"I can contact you later if it's inconvenient for you."
Draga cursed her own unaccountable clumsiness. Thoughts, until recently relatively orderly and predictable, scattered like moths.
"Yes! I mean, no! I mean, I'm all yours!"
"I'm glad to hear you're feeling better." The Prophet's warm voice echoed in her heart in a singing, enthusiastic voice. "There's a meeting tonight at eight o'clock in the Prayer Hall. I want to see the whole Elite there, including you."
The Hall of Prayer... The very heart of Dawn City, the sanctum sanctorum. The most beautiful place in all the worlds. The first place Draga saw when she was born. The passage between the world of gods and mortals.
"I have no words to express my gratitude for such an honor, Prophet..."
"I'll take that as consent. I'll see you there."
The seer interrupted the communication spell, and Draga still stood there, remembering the words and the voice with admiration. Was He glad she was all right? So He knew she was having a hard time and cared? Did He care? He had personally called her to the holiest place in the world, and would share His wisdom and plans! And how did Malicriss figure it out, how did she know, because she didn't pick this particular moment by accident?
Malicriss
It was as if a worm was stirring in the heart. A name that symbolized betrayal and meanness. In collusion with one of the Lords who plotted rebellion, she turned against the guild at the decisive moment. In that decisive battle for the future of the guild, her stabbing in the back caused the death of the Prophet. Yes, death is far from over for the Lords, and he was later able to rise again. But without his support, the other Lords also fell, unable to withstand the furious onslaught of the enemies. The city was destroyed, looted. All the treasures, artifacts of unimaginable power, all the wealth, inevitably fell into the clutches of outsiders. All the vassals of the guild met their tragic end that day.
The Lords, having risen from the dead, were able to restore everything. To bring back to life those who were possible. To fill the treasury again with treasures and wonders. It is impossible to imagine the effort it took.
The traitor was destroyed. His continued existence was reduced to endless deaths, and in the end, he repented and decided to end his existence in Yggdrasil. Whether such punishment is appropriate to his action is not for us to judge - it is the Lords who decide matters of such magnitude.
But Malikriss, the root of evil, the main weapon with which the fatal blow was delivered. Instead of eternal hell, instead of the most horrible punishment, she received only imprisonment and oblivion. A cell in the depths of the palace dungeons. Such magnanimity Draga simply could not understand, though she accepted it like everyone else. If the Prophet decided so, then it must be so.
And now THAT wants freedom...?
At the thought of assisting Malikriss, Draga felt sick. But somehow it turns out she has no choice.
Well, in any case, the Prophet will figure it out. And she will do her job, like a true loyal vassal. Report in every detail, and let it be.
***Marius***
To see the walls of the Dawn City, visitors who did not have an invitation from its Lords had to pass through the city's cemetery. By the Lords' powerful creation magic, it was created in such a way that one could not see the city walls. From its entrance, one could see nothing but endless rows of tombs and crypts. The simpler tombs were closer to the edge, the richer ones closer to the center. Crypts and graves formed a real necropolis divided into streets and alleys. The sun never shone there, and the grass never grew taller than ankles.
The eternal peace of this place was guarded by a multitude of creatures. Legions of skeletons and knights of death, clans of vampires, wights, and lichs, hidden from view, kept a watchful eye, waiting in graves and shrines. The deadly seals were ready to open the gates to the underside of life, where monsters so powerful languished in eternal thirst that their continued presence in this bastion of peace was unwelcome.
Having come uninvited, it was necessary to destroy the necropolis in order to open the way to the city itself. That in itself was not easy, but the main problem was the Archlich Marius. Dwelling in a crypt as solemn as any temple, adorned with columns and unspeakably beautiful statues, the lord of the undead. His curses were so terrible that not even death itself could deliver him from them. His fighting style, which some fools called cowardly, included the use of portal magic, at which he was also flawless. Elusive and deadly, he wreaked pain and terror on the battlefield, while hordes of his less dangerous servants kept their footsteps down, engaging in battle in the narrow, uncomfortable streets of the necropolis.
But the vilest surprise, which was recalled with hatred by the participants of the three raids that managed to overcome him, was something else.
Marius did not stand to the death. His job was only to wear down and curse his enemies, forcing them to expend supplies. When he sustained near-fatal damage, he would flee the battlefield - that was his order. Once he'd escaped, he'd receive a limited recovery, and then, in the words of the local Lords, 'entertained guests with petty nastiness'. Outside his domain, he was deprived of a significant portion of his powers, but there was still something he could do. He could only be avenged for the suffering at the very end.
Marius was now seated in his chambers. In one of the cellars of his crypt, unquenchable torches cast an uneven light on rows of decorated marble sarcophagi. The walls and floor were covered in rune ligature, black as if carved into space itself, with occasional green flashes.
Archilich walked around in circles and pondered. And there was a lot to think about.
He knew that he had had the habit of walking in circles while reflecting, but he did not know where it came from, and he had never done so before. That is, the habit, a phenomenon seemingly commonplace, was being realized for the first time. Illogical.
He knew that he had always felt certain boredom, from which there were two things that were a good escape. The first was reading. Reading, creating in his mind a picture of the idea enclosed in the text. Absolute memory allowed him to model in detail everything that was embedded in the text, and after reading, to calculate the possibilities of how the complete picture might look if one of its elements were changed. Spells, history, manuals, fiction - it didn't matter to him what subject the book belonged to. Marius knew he had read thousands of books, but - he could only remember what related to his spells. Absolute memory, referring to the image of the book he had read, yielded only a general thesis of what it was about. Attempts to recall the text, the structure, or at least the number of pages, gave absolutely nothing.
Did he forget? It doesn't make sense.
The second thing that served as entertainment was conversations with subordinate vampires. Endowed with intelligence and personal opinion, unlike wordless wights of all kinds, they could sustain or even direct a conversation. Marius knew there were many such conversations, and each time they ended up frustrating the intellectual abilities of his minions. But in detail, it was just like with the books. Trying to recall the dialogues, he got only blurry images. Not a single detail - a word, a topic, or at least the exact date when the conversation took place.
Forgotten, too? This is close to absurd. Marius completely denied the possibility that his personality was capable of losing its memory, leaving its mental acuity and ability to analyze. These are interrelated concepts, one cannot exist without the other. Without absolute memory, the ability to analyze, without quick access to accurate data, would degenerate. The expenditure of time in trying to remember, the expenditure of mental resources in constructing parallel logical constructs that take into account possible unknown factors, the expenditure of both time and mental resources in analyzing and calculating the nature of unknown factors, and the resulting ambiguous results all shattered the final efficiency of the mind.
And one thing is the actual absence of data. It is static and can only progress in one direction - missing data can only cease to be such and accumulate. But if memory fails, everything collapses. The bastion of logic, haphazardly losing bricks and columns of known facts, will anyway turn into ruins.
But Marius was absolutely sure of himself and his ability to think. His mind was extremely clear, transparent, and capable of multi-layered abstract analysis. That is, either he forgot everything step by step and did not pay attention, which is impossible, or he forgot everything at once, in one moment, and it was not preceded by any extraordinary events. Also highly unlikely. So it had to do with something else. What it was, Marius could not yet come to a final conclusion - there was no data.
The only thing he was certain of was that he had noticed the first discrepancy between the usual and the real state of affairs seventeen hours ago. According to what he knew, the world should have ceased to exist at that moment, and it did not. Marius was quite sure of this, and quite reasonably believed himself to exist, and this fact contradicted the idea of his ceasing to exist as part of the world.
So, instead of ending his existence, something else happened. Something that affected, among other things, his memory and the usual order of things. Something global and at the same time elusive. Such changes occurred only at the will of his Lords. Beings beyond his idea of what was possible, beyond the narrow and ridiculous limits of binary logic.
All that was left was the waiting. The fact that it existed showed that it had a place in the Lords' plans. One, to be fair. The Prophet Tallarius, head of a conglomerate of poorly predictable Lords in recent years, was the only one who never got bored of this game of being. It was a game in its purest sense - Marius could not otherwise appreciate the actions of omnipotent beings who had created for themselves certain limitations and rules of interaction.
And as an undoubted element of this game, Marius must have had some part to play. He was eager to know what it was, but he could not clearly understand it. And the only one who could bring clarity to what was happening, the artist of all destinies, the almighty Prophet, had not yet done so.
Waiting... It was both irritating and pleasantly intriguing. Remnants of emotion tickled his dead soul with forgotten sensations, and Marius savored every nuance of those feelings.
"Something great is coming."
"Behold, Master, what grandiose can be in an ordinary game of chess?"
Marius glanced at the vampire sitting on one of the sarcophagi at the chessboard. In an attempt to dispel boredom, diversify the flow of his thoughts, and test a hunch or two, he summoned one of the minions to his side. He was predictably silly, predictable, and quickly bored the lich, but there was still a long way to go before the game was over. And the vampire did not interfere, sometimes even entertaining for a brief moment with his ridiculous comments.
Archilich looked at the situation on the chessboard and moved one of the pieces with an act of will. Trying to understand the changed circumstances would definitely occupy the vampire for quite a long time. It would be great if he could think of some clever and extraordinary moves. Of course, the probability of such an event tended to zero, but there was still one.
And so it happened. Lich felt the touch of communication magic on his mind. He readily acknowledged the connection.
[message]
"Marius, this is Tallarius."
"I'm glad you finally took the time for your servant."
"Do you have plans for tonight?"
"If you find no use for me, I will find something to occupy myself with, Prophet. But I hope to hear and do your will."
"Then here's a show of my will - be in the Hall of Prayer at eight o'clock in the evening. I want to set up a meeting with the Elites."
"It will be done."
The Prophet interrupted the connection, and Marius wished he could smile. Yes. Soon there will be clarity, there will be tasks and goals. There will be a purpose.
He looked at the chessboard and the concentrated frown of the vampire. All the minion's attention was absorbed by the game that had already obviously failed for him. Marius decided to leave it as it was for now, but to expand the entertainment for the future. Why should he limit himself to just one game? The crypt would hold quite a lot of creatures...
***Talik***
Talik had expected the worst from his contact with the lich or even feared it. He did not remember his backstory exactly, according to the inner lore of the guild. But he remembered very well his impression of what he had read at the time. Marius was an impassive, utterly rational intellectual who had no clear-cut reasons for serving the guild. Assuming such a creature gained self-awareness, trying to control him directly would be like saddling the devil. If it does, it's worse for you.
He probably cannot be fooled and cannot be ignored. He is not Wilhelm.
With Wilhelm, everything was clear enough. The 'King' turned out to be an understandable person and obviously motivated to serve the guild. Of course, he kept the conversation to himself, giving more of assent and asking very little, but it was nice to see that there was no fanatical adoration in his eyes. There was a deep respect and a general attitude that Talik did not deserve, but there was clearly no unhealthy depth of feeling. He replied intelligently and reasonably, bringing him up to date on the current state of the city and the surrounding area. It was enough for Talik to ask a general leading question.
Talik learned quite a few new details about the place he now 'owned'. Most of what he heard coincided with what he had already guessed. What had once been merely configured services had indeed become quite existing farms, workshops, and stores. Houses that had been mere scenery became real and fully inhabited. What is more, Wilhelm was firmly convinced that this had always been the case. Oh, and what a sweet voice he used to sing when it came to the army. It was obvious that he was proud of them, but everything he said was definitely worth seeing.
Warboss, too, pleased him with his extremely simple attitude to everything - there is a command, he follows it. And he had his own, quite obvious motivation to serve - glory, valor, and honor.
Draga returned to normal mood, the problem had dissipated, and that was a good thing.
In general, everything seems to be fine so far and no one plans to make problems. Although, everything will be clear after the general meeting.
Talik sighed heavily as he sat on the carved bench by the fountain in the palace's inner park. He would have been happy to leave things as they were; in fact, he was quite happy with the situation. Health, strength, and wealth that hardly anyone could ever dream of - there they were. But he wasn't sure it would stay that way forever. Former NPCs, dolls, pieces of code, and fragments of rendering libraries, had become living full-fledged personalities. With their own preferences and points of view. And even though most of their characters came from the description invested by him and his friends, there were some moments in which they behaved in their own way. For example, there was no guide to conversation behavior for Illadria. And she somehow determined her attitude and line of behavior on her own.
What thoughts, decisions, and actions can they come to as they develop as individuals? How they currently feel about Talik is more or less clear. But what are the reasons for this? Where does the attitude come from, and won't it change at some point? How will they react to his words and actions if they don't meet their expectations?
All these thoughts were already giving him a headache. It was necessary to clarify relations, to find out his real position. Everyone had agreed to come to this meeting, and now Talik was thinking hard about what to say.
He should have thought of that beforehand, an idiot.
He really wanted to let things go on their own. Just do nothing, and let it be. And yet it was clear that it wouldn't work that way. Everyone expected him to do something. Wise orders, plans, great deeds, and wonderful revelations. Something he couldn't give. If it were a game, no problem, Talik was well aware of the intricacies of game mechanics, politics, and everything else. But this wasn't a game at all. It's a new world, and by all appearances, an inhabited one.
This afternoon he decided to walk through the city. He didn't think he would be noticed at all; he just wanted to walk around and look. But everyone he met, humans, elves, draconians, and other creatures he met, literally parted from him. He walked through the streets, and he always saw the same thing - the inhabitants lined up at the edges and bent down in a deep bow. When he tried to talk to someone, it turned out no better than with Illadria. He was not seen as what Talik really felt he was. They saw him as a descended deity.
This grandiose misunderstanding was, in some ways, pleasant, but it could not go on like this. It is UNNORMAL. Talik is not a god. Talik is a third-degree nanohydraulic systems design engineer. His most significant personal professional achievement is the development of an automatic clamp for fixing mechanical console light bulbs on industrial hydroponic equipment. A part that never went into production, because the equipment itself was already scheduled to be removed from production as obsolete at the time of the tender.
He is not a man to be looked upon as a god. And the sooner he brings clarity, the less the payoff of such a long deception will be.
Talik glanced at the phantom square above his wrist. It was time to go.
He got up from the bench, glanced around at the bushes and flowers, and walked toward the Temple. Two hundred steps down the cobblestone path, and there they were the gateway to the Temple. A tall, gilded archway that reeked of peace and coolness. He ducked into it and walked through the long, high hall that led to the Hall of Prayer.
They were already waiting for him. Five figures knelt in a semicircle, bowing before the altar a few paces away. Talik involuntarily admired the symmetry as he walked past them. Walking up to the altar, he touched it in known places. Now, no matter what happened, he would have a head start on time.
Talik made the appointment here for a reason. Each of the former NPCs had his own area of responsibility in which he was much stronger than usual. The Cemeteries for Marius, the Groves for Illadria, the Orcish Camp for Warboss, the Palace for Wilhelm, and the Palace Cellars for Draga. Here, in the Hall of Prayers, none of them had a definite advantage, but Talik did. This was his 'area of responsibility'. His 'floor' as a player. If the former NPCs rebelled after his words, this was the easiest place to take the fight. He exhaled slowly, chasing away the treacherous shiver, and began to speak.
"I see we're all here. Let's begin." He pursed his lips, gathering his thoughts. "The world around us is not Yggdrasil, as is obvious from many indications. And, contrary to what you've told me, I assert that I have nothing to do with its existence. We are just here, and that is a given. Now I want to make it abundantly clear who "We" are in this situation. My question is who am I to you, and why do you... Serve me? I don't want a vague answer. I want to know a clear motive for your service."
There was silence, diluted only by the ghostly chorus of voices that were always there. Talik struggled to keep his composure, preparing for the worst.
Finally, Wilhelm raised his hand without raising from his knee.
"I'm listening to you, Wilhelm."
"Prophet, this is a task worthy to be set by you. Demand to put into words all the obvious things we hold in our hearts. As always, I admire your ability to make the complex simple. In my eyes, you are the measure of being. Though I will never reach the heights from which you view the world, I aspire to do so with all my soul. At your whim, I went from being a condemned rebel to being a king. Your will has given me a power and authority that no other mortal could ever dream of. And with this power and authority, I am proud to serve the will of the one who gave it to me. Proud to serve, knowing that I am fulfilling a higher will. Deprive me of these privileges, if you see fit. I believe in your justice and that my destiny and my highest good is to follow the path you have shown me, wherever it may lead. This is my answer, Prophet."
"I heard you. Does anyone else have something to say?"
The head of the orcs raised his hand.
"Speak, Warboss."
"Wilhelm said it all very well. I could not have done so. I know one basic truth-the orcs did not exist until You wanted them to. With your hand, you brought us out of nothingness, made us what we are. Neither I nor any other orc can imagine a life not filled with service to the designs of its creator."
The Warboss stopped, apparently believing that enough had been said. Illadria raised her hand next.
They're still waiting for permission to speak, aren't they? Oh, where, when, and at what point did a good idea of figuring things out turn into a pathos-soaked farce? After all, it's just a more detailed replay of what happened yesterday on the balcony. Why doesn't that make them angry?
"Speak too, Illadria."
"To answer the question of who you are to me, I would say God. The one who is able to create the mind. One who commands the flow of totally incomprehensible forces. You are in control of life itself in all its manifestations. Why do I serve you? By serving your will, I serve the Universe of which I am a part. There is no greater joy for me than to fulfill your desires. I am proud to be your instrument and witness of your deeds, and I want no other fate."
The sorceress became silent and respectfully stared at the floor.
"Draga, it's good to see you smiling again. I'm listening to you."
"Prophet, I...can't say anything you haven't heard from Warboss." Oh, there's that murderously deep voice again. I must try to persuade her to try one more. "To me, you are the parent and ruler, I see you as the hand sees the head. My soul and body are your creation. I have no other dream, no other motive to live than to be of service to you. I am unable to tell it as thoroughly as Wilhelm or Illadria. But this does not make my feelings any weaker. I humbly beg you to accept them, and to remember your faithful servant."
"I get your point."
Talik could hardly keep from facepalm. This theater of the absurd wasn't just going on, it was growing. Coming here, he was determined to be tough, trying to prove that he was not who they saw him be. To give unsightly examples, to ask provocative questions, to call for common sense. But that determination melted away like smoke under their serious stares.
They were quite serious when they said all that, and their feelings were real. He felt it in a strange way. It really was their way of life, and the way he had thought to behave at first seemed ridiculous, silly, wrong. He was going to convince, provoke, give examples, like 'well, what if I... what do you say then?' There were plenty of 'if' options, all kinds, mostly unsightly. Now he knew that it would literally be an outrage on their attitude, and he would still be forgiven. Or even accepted as a reward, they would do. The whole 're-education' plan, now obviously childish, went to hell.
No, I can't get used to it, guys. Still, I'm going to have to change some things. At least in appearance.
Then the lich raised his hand. Talik, to his shame, realized that he had almost forgotten about him.
"I'm listening to you, Marius."
The soft, husky baritone, which sounded as if several people were speaking at once, suited him very well. It was the kind of voice one would expect from a figure in armor over an expensive robe. His head was hooded, with two blue lights flickering underneath, and it was not immediately obvious that there was a bare skull underneath. The fabric of the robe rippled in the air, slowly and smoothly, as if it were in the water at great depths.
Everyone here has made a good point, but I'm not sure that's what you were expecting. I will try to make my own way of expressing what I understood to be the essence of the question you asked. Why are we all loyal to you, and can you be sure that nothing will change? My unquestionable answer is yes, you can count on me, under any circumstances. I've always admired the games of the Lords, I've always been a little envious of you... Creatures are so powerful that they have to confine themselves to the cramped confines of reality in order not to be bored. Those who have created even themselves for the sake of entertainment are an unthinkable, delightful outrage on the primitive worldview available to us creatures of inferior origin. We are all just part of your game with what we understand to be existence. And no matter what your circumstances, no matter what way of thinking and acting you choose, we will remain what we were created to be, and we will do what we were created to do. To serve you. For us to betray you, you will need to change us yourself.
It was creepy. Marius understood the nature of Yggdrassil very subtly, albeit in his own way. And very well, he seemed to be quite happy with that state of affairs. Talik took a closer look at the lich's 'face'. Strange that the creature's appearance did not frighten him. In a world where Yggdrassil was just a game, it would have broken his heart to see such a beast. Here, though, he's at peace with it. If you look at the situation soberly, it's not very normal.
Maybe it's because I still don't fully believe it's all real?
Your point is very clear, Marius. You have simplified things considerably.
Actually, you've made it pretty fucking complicated, my friend. It turns out that all these creatures, and the Elite and everyone else, see the world the way NPCs would see the game? The only difference is that they now think and feel, not just react according to their algorithms.
Talik once read a manga about robots who gained consciousness and tried to be robots first and then became frustrated with their masters. So it's a similar situation here, isn't it?
Talik really wanted to leave everything as it was and run away from this place. But he knew that, in addition to his conscience, he would be followed by these guys. They would find him and ask - why did you leave us, what did we do wrong? He could think of no good answer to such a question. To stay here and meet their, to put it mildly, inflated expectations? They're reasonable now, and surely they can learn. It's only a matter of time before they realize the depth of their delusions. And then the third-degree nano engineer, nerd, and beggar, will answer to the King, the Undead Lord, the Orc Chieftain, the Elf Witch, and the Demon of the Shadow.
Talik felt as if he were reading a beautiful fairy tale, knowing about the tragedy at the end. On the other hand, how far that ending is, and what prevents him from at least trying to prevent it. And at the same time just live and enjoy it. For in fact, comparing the 'real world' and what's around him now... Here he has MAGIC, his own, you might say, fan club, here he doesn't have to work a third of his life to get a chance to make noodles in the morning. 'Reality' is much worse, and it doesn't matter how this adventure ends for him.
So, you want an omnipotent, omniscient prophet. I'll try to be one. I can't promise much, but I'll try. Keep that in mind when you judge me.
The elites were still like frozen statues, seemingly waiting to hear what he had to say next. The light diffused by the stained-glass windows gave the whole picture a kind of mystical accent, and Talik couldn't help but admire it. But he had to say something, so he gathered his thoughts and continued.
"In gathering you here, I had originally planned a rather long debate. Now I realize that would be a waste of time, so let's skip that part and get to the main point. It's a different world. A new world about which we know little, except that it is possible to live in it and that other sentient beings are present. Our first tasks are to understand exactly where we are, and what surrounds us beyond the mountains. To assess the powers and abilities of the local inhabitants, to investigate ours, and to compare them. To understand what dangers and benefits await us here, and what we can eventually become for this world. I'm sure it will take a lot of effort, and I believe we can do it."
It was a hastily reworked quote from my firm's director's speech at the firm's big-market launch party. Oh, good thing you don't know me, my 'vassals'.
"I want to ask each of you if you have encountered anything unusual since yesterday? Something out of the ordinary. Every new detail is important now, so if you have something to share, I'm listening carefully."
Lich immediately raised his hand.
"Yes, Marius?"
"My memory has changed in some incomprehensible way, Prophet. It's still perfect, but I can't remember the contents of any book I've read, only blurred images. There are other minor problems, but it would take too long to list them, and there are no important ones among them."
"I heard you. We will get to the bottom of this very shortly. Please put the whole list of these 'minor problems' in writing when you have time."
"It will be done."
Draga was next. She was obviously hesitant, but finally raised her hand.
"I'm listening to you."
" I... I talked to Malikriss. She was able to get inside my head when I was... Meditating in my chambers."
If the word 'silence' could be applied to the word 'burst', then that's exactly what happened. Surprise and anger spread out in waves from everyone present.
Talik froze, too.
Yeah, what did I expect? Everyone has 'woken up,' including the skeletons in the forgotten closets. Malicriss could be a real problem. A bigger problem than, say, an out-of-control Archilich.
There was a rather murky and unpleasant story with Malicris. It was an experimental character, originally designed exclusively for PvP, as a weapon against hard-charging Elites. A mind mage, or mentalist. They didn't bring her up to level 100, because that would have been too expensive an experiment. At 80 she was good enough to unlock all the passives and spells she needed. The level invulnerability threshold was 40, so even 60 would have been enough, but perfectionism was a factor here.
LadyLilim, who was in charge of setting up Malicriss, turned out to be an 'insider'.
Infiltration and sabotage in Yggdrasil were not considered something improper, on the contrary, it was an art. Create a new account, a character, and develop from scratch into a target guild. Such a character could only be used for its intended purpose once, and the blow had to be perfectly calibrated. And so it turned out.
It was the only time their guild had ever received a World-Class item, the 'All-Seeing Eye'. Not a combat item, but from the list of the most valuable, because first, its use was limited only by the daily cooldown, and second, because of its property. When used, it displayed system information for the owning group about everything in its field of action. Levels, equipment, equipment properties, buffs, items, traps, maze schemes, and the positions of all creatures. Any invisible object became briefly visible to the group unless hidden by the effects of another World Item.
Dawn Mist knew perfectly well that it was beyond their power to possess this object. The All-Seeing Eye came to them quite by accident; there was no way they could have protected such a valuable object. They planned to sell the Eye. But the buyer, during the bidding process, seems to have decided that it would be cheaper to use the 'can' and raid them.
LadyLilim, with full access to Malicriss' settings and combat algorithms, perfectly sabotaged the guild's defenses. At the most crucial moment, Malikriss began to control Talik with a combination of spells and took him out of the game, after which the invaders had no problem breaking through the guild defense and took the Eye from the treasury by force. The Eye, and all they found. They completely ruined Dawn Mist.
Oh yes, then they tried to get revenge on Lady Lilim, they hunted her down, and quite a few friends got involved. But it was of no real use because Lady Lilith was only a one-time character. No one would dare take revenge on a player in the real world anyway.
Worst of all, Talik had dated Lady Lilim in real life for some time, and they had even slept together a couple of times. She had abused his feelings, both in game and in life, leaving a deep wound in his soul.
Well, the NPC Malicriss... It's just a dummy that couldn't be held responsible for its customizer. There was WAY too much real money invested in it to just remove it. After things settled down, during the rebuilding of guild territory, Malicriss' settings were fixed, closed off access to guildmaster level, and just left in deep reserve in case it came in handy. The archive of the logs of that battle was also left, for analysis and comparison for the future. In a burst of emotion, Talik wrote her a story of great love, betrayal, and remorse and ended up just forgetting about her.
And by all things, it appears that Malicriss has come to life, too. And according to Draga, a 'mentalist' is no longer just a user of a number of specific spells. And given what's written in her lore...
"Fuuck..." Talik swore. "It's good of you to tell me, Draga. I appreciate it very much."
He was quiet for a while.
"Well, the instructions I gave you earlier still stand. When we have enough information, I'll reconvene and we'll work out a plan of action. Draga, as I recall, you don't have any personal tasks at the moment?"
Instead of answering, the beautiful girl seemed to sink to the floor.
"Then... I need an assistant, a sort of adjutant and perhaps a guide. Would you be willing to take on this role?"
"YES"
"Then we're done. Everyone is dismissed."
Talik stepped off the podium with a neat step and went to his office. Draga followed silently behind him.