Chilled exorcist.

Chilled exorcist.

Chilled exorcist.

Александр Алексеенко

Preface One: "What is this book about?"

Dedication: This book is dedicated to my father

Preface One: "What is this book about?"

The action of this book takes place in the third era of Terresia. The protagonist becomes a prisoner of the treaty and is forced to participate in the events of the new development of the Rube Tract. Castle Feanoth has high hopes for a mutually beneficial treaty with Kostegrad, and even Lord Stag is willing to give up his youngest daughter for the Keeper of those lands. The only difficulty is that almost the entirety of the Rube Tract is mired in gray earth, an infestation dangerous to humans, animals and vegetation alike.

At that time, Count Myrtel Feanoth, heir to the castle of the same name and the Barrier Lands, decides to hold a tournament to cull those too weak to participate, to select the most trustworthy warriors who will travel to the Rube Tract to purge it of the hordes of chilled and infected creatures of the Polog of Ignorance. "Anything larger than a perotl must go into the ground," the Count orders.

Finding it insufficient to develop the tract with knights and mercenaries alone, Count Mirtel sent out a call to the Order. He needed specialists who had fought the monsters of the Zagorje - hunters who had spent five years holding back far more fearsome creatures, serving under the control of the Guardian of their fortress. And then the Council of the Fortress of Rukh, having previously assessed the situation, formed a battle group to clear the tract - fourteen fighters, ready to fulfill the Order's commission and bound themselves to it by a treaty.

Separated from kings and edicts, the Hunter holds a very high position in the hierarchy of the Empire. However, he is considered "unclean" by the priests of Hoth. Emperor Retreath Grave Mohawk himself has separated the hunters and given them a special position to allow for trials and investigations of crimes.

Envnir, the book's protagonist, receives not a simple assignment from the Order, but a murderous mission to mop up the tract along with thirteen other hunters of the Chilled. Becoming a participant in the events, he is forced to seek a solution to the problems heaped upon him, and the reaper of the dead has all the means to fulfill the tasks set before him by the Count. Whether he is driven by predestination, or whether his future depends on his will alone, or perhaps both, and whether he will be able to reach the end of the Rubezhny Tract - he will find out on the way.

Preface Two: "A horror tale is..."

Yet the genre of fairy tale horror suggests something like the fairy tales of the Brothers Grimm. In the practice of some parts of Europe, there was a tradition of telling children scary bedtime stories to make them "sleep better." Growing out of these stories that we read to you and me as children, the actual fairy tales are like the system of modern chess (chess used to have different pieces before they were generally standardized). They were trimmed down and presented in a way that would amuse a child, but not scare them. It is only when you read the older, older versions, where the Tsarevich goes deeper into the forest and he comes across the third Baba-Yaga, the Bone Leg, that you begin to wonder what a modern story in the folkloric horror genre should be like?

The fairy tale style involves small stories. Events that the traveler encounters along the way, whether it's a waystone or the next occupant of the house on chicken legs. This is also the style in which the first stories of the witcher are composed. Geralt arrives in a deserted village and is discovered by a monster, welcoming him in. And it's not just any monster, it can grant wishes. Andrzej Sapkowski worked masterfully with speech and even suggested its progressive development, reflecting the movement and trends of the Russian language when writing his work. In doing so, he set the bar high for anyone daring to try their hand at the dark fantasy genre. In the aftermath, these small stories will grow into something more, a child of purpose will appear. And then people will show and tell for a long time that "this man came from the north..."

I've long been driven by the desire to write something like this. The preparation of a whole, dark, special world dusted on the shelf and waited for the hour when I will return to it. And the time came. I saw a new contest from LITNET and immediately realized - I want to participate in this contest. I have a clear idea of what I want to write about.

If you want to learn about Terresia's past and read additional material, check out the appendices of this book. Appendix One: "Memo". This piece of paper was the reason for the contract. Appendix Two: "The Ages of Terresia" will tell you about the bygone times of this world. Appendix Three: "The Expedition of Jodmungheim and Grave Mohawk", or otherwise "The Legend of Sunset and Dawn". Will elaborate on the events of the journey. Appendix Four: "Letter from Inquisitor Flawkins". Highlights the report that the Inquisitor compiled. Appendix Five: "Map of Terresia: Towns and Villages". Tells briefly what places have been developed by people on Terresia. There is also a visual map here (hopefully I remembered to add it). Appendix Six: "The Prophecy of the Mute-Birth and the Forgotten Monolith". This describes the events that took place immediately after the prophecy, and about Liyam the Grave Mohawk, the first to be killed by his own. Appendix Seven: I decided not to add since I posted pictures in the text.

Ah, yes, of course... ahem... "In a land far, far away lived three people. A Mother, a Father, and their little tiny son, who was barely four..."

Chapter 1: "The New Hunter"

The autumn thunderstorm had finally raged. It hissed and spat splashes into the glazed windows, rare for those places, having taken its turn at the bright and prolific sister-neighbor in caring for its mother - nature. "Here she is again washing dishes and rattling," complain the villagers of those places. "So she'll break all the dishes," others will shake their heads. "And we'll get it too!" will exclaim, as the rushing gust passes over the roofs. And Yellow-Eyed, glancing fiercely at her green-eyed sister, threatened to evict her from the house. Here and there her yellow outfits showed through. But they too disappeared as the dark and starless night fell. The Great Host of Light did not wish to look at the wayward one and did not appear in the heavens. She sat down at the threshold and howled, offended at herself and the whole world, tearing her golden garments to shreds.

And the house was warm. The fire of the fireplace crackled cozily. It was blazing, warming everyone with its dance. The heat from the fire spilled in waves into all the rooms from the huge stone stove. The orange tongue was busy eating the wood, making noises in an unknown crackling language about its cheerful life, or maybe it was just asking for more food.

Time seemed to stop here, and the inclement weather and the Yellow-Eyed One howling under the door no longer disturbed the mother and child. The woman stroked the head of her firstborn, who would not go to sleep without another story. She placed her hand on the child's back. In that moment, nothing existed for them.

"Tell me a story!" the child demanded, rising from the bed. He was barely four, and he still couldn't pronounce the first sound of "runes". He was a baby. The young mother smiled and smoothed his unruly strands of hair.

"Good. You'll have a fairy tale," she said kindly, oblivious to the weather outside the windows.

"It was a long time ago. Back in the olden days, when the Titan Jodcheim had not yet passed through these parts. To the shores of the largest island in the Deep Gulf, the one named Amberlight by the first humans, came a group of living people who had defeated the distant darkness and the Canopy of Ignorance in their homeland. There, on their distant continent, after defeating the named Light, they pursued evil, and, imitating the celestials of the night sleep, destroyed it completely." The mother placed her hand on the child's back. She felt his cautious breathing. She adjusted the blanket. The hide of a boar covered the timbers of the hut in the headboard, it seemed, and she listened intently to the story.

"They were brave heroes that slew many spawn of the dark cover, and therefore they were not frightened by sea monsters. The men of the expedition sailed on two ships, across the Great Dark Frontier. One of the ships was called 'Dawn' and the other was called 'Sunset'. A vast black expanse of water raged beneath them, and the impenetrable Canopy of Ignorance approached from all sides. But the brave mariners overcame their fear, their ships moving farther and farther from the lands where they were born," mother spoke, and her eyes shone brightly. The firelight danced and reflected in them.

"Is the canopy the village land?" questioned the child. His eyes were wide open, wanting to understand new things about the world. The woman smiled, "How could such a thing even occur to her?" And then she realized that the child could see the connection between this and that. And again she was glad to see how clever he was.

"No, come on, Envnir, they're floating on a vast body of water! The Great Dark Frontier. There's no land there at all. Neither dry nor wet, neither light nor gray," she leaned toward him and, seeing the realization in his eyes, kissed the top of his head.

"You have correctly observed that they are of the same nature. They say the Hollow went into the earth, made it bad," the woman nodded, confirming her words. The small crib, more like a bench, was shaking with the movement. "And he hasn't flown since."

"What if he flies again?" the curious child, in its spontaneity, would not stop.

"It won't. The shroud was defeated long ago. The shroud of Ignorance is a kind of darkness that hangs in the air and wants to swallow up the careless traveler. Neither fire nor water can help against it, only special ancient crystals left by hunters and priests. And the gray earth..." The young mother thought for a moment. "...It came afterward. You saw it yourself, remember?" the storyteller noticed the glint of understanding in the child's eyes, and he nodded readily.

"And so, when the brave heroes landed on the island that is now near the mainland on which we live..... The first to land on it was Dümmal Grave Mohawk, the Emperor's distant great-grandfather and the first king of men. His descendants still rule the entire land of Terresia and the archipelago from this Amber Island," the door creaked open and the child's mother turned around. The father of the family finally entered the house and appeared on the threshold. In his hands he was holding damp wood that smelled of fresh tar. "Had to chop some new ones," the young woman guessed. He kicked the mud from his shoes against the threshold and stood motionless.

"The landing near the mainland was the first milestone in the development of new lands that were still hidden by the Hollow of Ignorance." The woman looked up at the man. Their gazes met. He called out to her with a nod to the side and walked into the other room.

"Darling, let me tell you the sequel tomorrow?" she asked, and a traitorous tear ran down her cheek.

"Are you crying?" his question sounded somehow particularly piercing.

"No! I'm just very hot from the fire - my eyes glistened. Please, I've told you a story. Go to bed and tomorrow you'll hear the rest. Okay?" She pulled up the blanket and covered him, got up and walked from the room to the door.

"It's a deal," the child agreed, and the woman went out.

The boy lay and looked at the fire, listening to his calm breathing. The flames played with him, caressing his face and closing his eyes.

"Did you recognize it?" came a muffled voice.

"They will come for him tomorrow," he sighed and answered sadly.

"Didn't you try to challenge the decision?" the first voice persisted.

"How could I..." there was a pause in the speech. "I tried, it didn't help."

"Why don't we just run away?" a tinge of slight madness and hope came into the voice.

The answer was silence.

The silence went on and on. The flames swirled, and the child was distracted by them. He fell asleep without realizing what his parents were saying.

Only then did he hear a muffled sob. Another and another. The hail pounded the roof and swept like a broom under the doorstep. The storm was right over the house. The storm pounded harder and harder at the windows and shutters on all sides, and soon the sobs were inaudible. Yellow-Eyed howled again; she did not regard the grief of others as more important than her own.

Chapter 2: "The Forgotten Village"

The waters of memory flushed as abruptly as they came up to his eyelashes.

Standing at the triple crossroads was a man in black robes. Clothes worn in the Order by the messengers of the night. A tattered cloak flapped in the wind, and a long-brimmed hat pulled upward more like a hood. The wanderer's mouth was safely hidden behind a milchemist's mask to filter the air, but believe me, he crinkled at the taste of memories. Like a cat squeamishly jerking its paw at water, the gloomy traveler tried to forget it as soon as possible. The unpleasant past, it seemed to make him weaker, more vulnerable. He no longer recognized himself in it. There was someone else, naive, with eyes open to the world, ready to believe anything. And here stood a completely different person. A huge block of granite stood in front of him, pointing the way. It was just like him. Like that cold, guiding piece of rock from his memories.

The horse snorted behind him, digging its hoof into the ground, leaving another pothole. The animal demanded to move on again. The man was uneasy, too. A chill ran down his back. Here the hornet had penetrated far to the south. All around, as far as the eye could see, was poisoned gray earth, and only the forest ahead burned with the green fire of life. The traveler lowered his head. His long and black Order cloak whipped around his leather boots with protective metal inserts.

He intercepted his crossbow. On the handle of his weapon, a sling swung up. And on it jingled a token for shooting the chilled. The grim reaper of the restless dead looked forward. His thick, clinging goggles gleamed two scarlet lightning bolts in the reddened strands that hung over the forest of Titan Jodcheim. The lights of the blue vaulted. The cover of night was closing in.

You want to know about the past of this world? I'm not the best storyteller. Look ahead, friend. The titan of the sky, Jodcheim, always walks his usual path, soon to disappear into the distant mountains. There, according to legends, he will fight all the evils of this world and win the battle against Tlekorz the Apprentice. Remembering this name, the exorcist, and judging by his crossbow, it was exactly the killer of uncleanness, spat on the ground, revealing his protective mask.

You want to know why he's called the Apprentice? I have to disappoint you. I don't know. I was taken from my family too soon by the Order's minions, and they don't care about legends. All they care about is that we're good at killing the restless dead. So we don't die every time we meet a cold one in our path. But this isn't about the Order, it's about the legend. Where was I? Oh yes... But in that ancient battle, Jodkheim himself would die, only to be reborn across the sea and follow his own path, returning to the continent from the west of the Light Continent, where the first ships came from. Only he will walk along the blue vault instead of sailing through the Great Dark Frontier to light up the ancient island and the capital city of the same name - Amberesvet the Great - with his mane of hair from afar. The Chill Killer examined his gauntlet.

The first fork road led to the castle of a rebel lord who had decided to no longer serve the Crown of Grave Mohawk. And so his domain lay desolate, and his servants were cold and wandering among the ruins of the castle on a lonely cliff. Many small lords have sought to gain more autonomy, or even independence. Now that the gray earth is spreading so rapidly that I do not recognize even the blooming places where I once was, all has been devoured by the ruinous wasp. And so Fortress Rukh kills anyone who comes within ten paces of the Second Gate of Light. And this is now that the High Priest of Hotta has fled the islands from the amber capital to the Fortress of Rukh. He stole the Titan Child of Jodcheim with him and proclaimed the Thunderbird Lands as the Last Possession of the Light. Now that the dastardly Cult of Bones is influencing the mind of Emperor Retreat of Grave Mohawk, the ruler will only laugh back at the messenger and his troubles. And will drink more wine, looking through the rims of his glass at his subjects - small bugs with insignificant problems. Many have tried, but not all have succeeded.

Lonely walls and stones are what remains of this castle. The name of the local lord is gone from the pages of the annals, and now no one knows who lived there. Perhaps if the village near the castle had been alive, people would still remember, but it was not spared by the oser. People either left or died of starvation. "Perhaps the Light will be merciful to their souls," I thought angrily as I fired an arrow from my crossbow at the rebel who had carelessly approached me. He let out a cry of something akin to surprise and fell to the ground. The rebel lord's dead guard tried sharply to break free, pinned to the ground by the arrow. He flailed his arms, dislodging several emerald green mushrooms that came out from under the visor of his helmet. One of his gauntlets came off, exposing black, rotting flesh. The guard began to groan and lash out, but I knew he wouldn't make it.

"The hunter has decided on a path. The hunter will take the long way," the words of the prophecy of the oracle of Light Jodkheim's oracle rang out again. 'The hunter will go straight to the Dark Forest. There are still survivors there. The village is half a day's journey away.

Why did the hunter choose the central path? Because the last road led back. Through the desolate lands and the small bridge where he once grew up, and went to the dwarves and the Northmen. And the man didn't know it, nor did he guess why he was visited by the memory that the hunter had tried so eagerly to dismiss. Or rather, he knew, for it was at such a stone that he had been given to the Order. But whether it was this one or the other, the hunter couldn't remember. He hesitated, trying to figure it out, but he couldn't guess, too much had changed here. He jumped into the saddle and galloped towards the Darkwoods. There were many stones, and he was alone.....

...

I reached the clearing near the settlement with only two arrows in my quiver. The forest creatures ate them like crazy. They ate the horse, too. Quite ragged and tired, covered in dirt and small cuts, I looked more like a cold than a living person, especially after running away from a nocturnal predator - a Blue Claw, a large and dangerous forest cat. Why was I running away from a stalker? The answer is simple - I don't get paid for them. And there are many like him.

I staggered forward to the fence. From afar, the villagers noticed me and lined up on the walls with weapons. The old townsman didn't want to open the door to me at all, he didn't believe that someone could overcome the forest at night. He ordered the crossbowmen to fire a volley at me, mistaking me for a cold traveler - a common thing. But he changed his mind immediately when a black arrow struck a meter from his head.

"It's a hunter!" The old man shrieked as if for the last time. The liquid and sparse strands of hair that knew no shearer surged in all directions, and his eyes swiveled madly. I had already gotten close enough to get a good look at his image. The silly palming had stopped. The villagers weren't firing in the opposite direction except for the accuracy of their shots, so terrible was their accuracy. One of them had managed to discharge a crossbow into his leg. So in the background, while it was not up to him, one curly-haired boy with freckles kept reloading his crossbow and shooting arrow after arrow. The headman had to come closer and give him a cautionary slap and personally confiscate the weapon.

"Have you got fenugreek in your ears? Didn't you hear the orders?" the old man reprimanded the child.

The chains of the gate rattled, and I covered my heart with my black-gloved hand against the dust as they thudded to the ground. More on instinct than with any benefit. That's what we were taught in the Order. "Whoever covers his face with his hand is dead! You have to cover your heart!" The dust cleared and two men in half armor stepped out cautiously toward me. I thought to myself that I had only seen such armor in Feanoth Castle with the Count's dancers, and it didn't cover anything.

"Look, a living man!" exclaimed one of the guards. The golden-haired one even tried to poke his finger at me to make sure that he wasn't an obsession, but stopped halfway when he met my hard stare.

"He's a creature hunter, so he's already dead..." the other man said, but he had to stop halfway through, the crossbow bolt in his forehead. I was staggering, which made the picture even more graceful.

"Why am I dead?" I asked demandingly. "Oh! I was really very curious!"

Very slowly, as if reluctantly, the villagers raised their crossbows a second time and pointed them at me.

"Don't be angry, all of you who have been in the mountains, well... haven't become half-dead, that's why you cover your face," he was almost choking. He swallowed convulsively, threw a slanting glance at the comrade behind me, who waved his hands, confused. I scrutinised the sweat trickling down his forehead. He rolled his eyes out of his orbits, too. How he was shaking!

"No, they didn't." I unbuckled the mask from my face with my free hand. The lock clicked. The mask crunched rubber and paper, revealing my face. Then I tucked the crossbow into its mount on my back and entered the settlement. If the guards wanted to search me, they seemed to have already changed their minds.

In the meantime, the village chief had descended. He was supported by two young men. It was evident that the descent from the wall, which was mostly of fences and a mound of stones between the old walls, was no longer a feasible task for him. Once at the bottom, he leaned on a knotty but polished stick.

"It's been a long time," he began, and squinted at me, "It's been a long time since we've seen travelers here, but I haven't seen your brother in ten years."

"The creatures coming down from the mountains are more and more dangerous, and the neophytes of the Order are more and more often killed in fights. It takes all their strength to contain them, and almost no one survives the five years it takes to finish their service and return to the world of the living."

"And you survived, then?" the redneck asked. "What a question to ask," I thought. Confused by the age-old wisdom, I even thought about the past. I remembered many things from my past in fragments. How I had passed the rite of passage into the guardians of the fast and how I had woken up after five years of oblivion, lying on my back in the snow.

It was thawing then, the snow was wet, but I remembered the sky, shining with a silvery white light like a pearl. I had seen them when I was still a novice of the Order, unloading boxes in the harbor. The Order's herbalist used them to brew something. The blue light flickered between the clouds, and somewhere high up, strands of Jodkheim flowed, caressing my face. Some marvelous birds were singing, hopping from branch to branch of a pine tree. It was then that I realized that my debt to the Order was paid, that I was free.

Realizing that he would get no answer, the Elder pursed his lips rather nastily. He looked at his companions as if he had forgotten where they were, or was looking to them for support and guidance. And then, having gathered his thoughts again, he turned to me.

"We are pleased to welcome you to our village, mylsdar. What business brings you here?" The headman scratched his gray and sparse hair. I could see three large brown moles on his head through the thinning gray.

"The Earl of Feanoth Castle is going to ride to Kostegrad next month, and he needs the hunters to clear the Rube Tract of particularly dangerous creatures of the cold and cold. Especially the cold ones."

"The Rubezhny Tract?" the Elder wondered. "It runs south, right by the old castle. I remember, in the old days, there was a village called Sgulli. It was fun in those days! We had caravans and times. Not like now..."

I bit my lip, I knew it was in the middle of nowhere. But I also knew that the locals would be quicker to bring me up to speed. I needed to understand what was troubling the village and what was dangerous in this land.

Another boy ran down from the wall, looking like two peas in a pod like the bounty hunters behind the old man's back. I looked around. The villagers coming down from the wall were all basically the same face, like close kin. "Seems like they've been living here in isolation for years, in this very wilderness. And really, where would they go? It's the darkness around them that has made them prisoners of this wilderness." The boy handed me my black arrow wrapped in a white handkerchief.

"Your arrow, sir," he bowed and handed me his great treasure. I thanked him and took the instrument. As soon as the boy handed over his burden, he immediately ran off somewhere and disappeared among the courtyards. I looked at the village headman talking about the rich past, the merry days, the frequent visits of the southern traders and the harsh living conditions, and decided that it was time to take the initiative. This way, we can negotiate until Jodecheim's demise.

"These are dark times! I'm telling you," the old man, who had become hoarse from his long speech, wagged his finger.

"Do you have any black arrows?" I interrupted the Elder.

"We don't have black arrows, Mr. Hunter," the old man began to shake his head. He shook it for a surprisingly long time.

"Not quite so," replied a tall man who was accompanying the old man, "we do not have arrows, but there is an ancient crypt near us. Another hunter was buried in it ten years ago."

I nodded. If he had any arrows left, we should look for them near him. Ten years ago, the Order gave almost every hunter his own crossbow. But things change, only the general law seems immutable. The Grave Moss Emperor's command is as categorical as a double-edged knife. "Whoever steals a hunter's property from him shall be executed, and if any hunter steals from others, let him do the same, let him be put to death."

The old-timer almost dragged out his earlier speech about the old days again, taking advantage of the pause.

"Is there any uneasiness in the village?" I tried to look into the old man's eyes. He blinked and stopped his shuffle, standing there flapping his eyes.

"What do you mean?" finally the old man looked at me questioningly.

"Have the hunters gone missing? Are all the children healthy?" I was beginning to feel a little sick, weak.

The other man, who had thrown the Elder off the wall with his partner, grinned. With his powerful neck and working shoulders, however, he shook his round belly.

"There is such a thing. Why shouldn't it be, it's commonplace. Hunters disappear every now and then, children get sick when they lick the gray earth, or when pestilence blows from the north, the same thing." It was a very eloquent mocking look. He didn't seem to like me, and because of some of his beliefs he despised me.

I looked down, and then glanced sideways, eye to eye with my laughing companion.

"What dashing thing ever happened? One that would make the whole village afraid and unable to do anything," I said firmly.

All around froze. It felt cold. Another big man shivered, and the Elder continued, "It was, it was! It happened..." He began to remember and worry. "Last week, I remember, it was yesterday. Three of our village hunters were brought to us, all pale, as if they had never seen the light of Jodkheim. They couldn't put the memorial relic in the crypt."

"I see," I nodded. "Anything else?"

"As my grandson said, there is an ancient crypt here." The village head pointed in the direction with his hand. "We used to bury everyone in it, but there's someone dangerous there now, growling and roaring, and I don't want to go inside and check who's there."

"Grandson?" I ran my gaze once more over the broad shoulders of the young man, and he smiled proudly back at me, catching my sleepy and slanted gaze.

"I see," I nodded again and moved on to the slippery subject. "What will you pay with?"

At that moment a boy appeared. He was carrying a rag full of something heavy. The Elder waved his hand, beckoning him to come closer to him.

"My great-grandson is a bright boy," the old man said, rubbing the child's head and pursing his lips.

The man on my right unfolded the bundle and showed me the contents. Inside were precious jasper earrings with emeralds, a silver necklace upholstered in gold, and a gold ring so rich in content that one would not find such a thing in Count Feanot. Here also lay someone's wedding ring, signed "I love you T.T."; it seems that the villagers cannot read. Next to it was a tourmaline-encrusted hair comb, without two prongs, made of a rare alloy that had been brought from the Light Motherland. A handful of fanciful antiquities, so mysterious that I twirled them thoughtfully in my hands. Their purpose was unknown to me. And there were forty coins in gold underneath all the jewelry. I struggled to resist the urge to take more than the Order's code allowed. "I wish I could shoot you in the head with that black arrow," I remembered the words of a stingy mercenary who had once traveled with me. Meanwhile, noticing my hesitation, the village chief continued, "Travelers and caravans rarely come to us..." "We don't even remember how much it costs? It must be a lot, right?"

Looking at the Elder again, I answered, "I'll take as much as my work is worth, no more." I took two gold coins from his hand. And in my mind I thought, "How about that! They're burying him in crypts! No, just stealing his valuables."

Everyone had a look of utter amazement on their faces. Apparently, they had no idea of the wealth they possessed. The young men standing behind the old man looked at each other. One of them quickly took the gold for himself. The boy lowered his head, and without waiting for the bag of coins, he kicked a roadside stone.

"In the morning, since there are no blacks..... I need simple arrows. It won't be easy to get through the woods to the crypt. You have some dangerous predators here. Now I'd like to get some sleep, I'm tired from the road."

"Go to the house on the right, Revva lives there. Her husband died not so long ago, so she'll take you in for the night," the old man explained.

I slightly raised my pointed hat and left. I was terribly sleepy. The boy darted forward, apparently to warn the woman who lived there.

When I arrived, everything was ready. The woman invited me to the table and put a simple plate in the form of a flat board with meat and leaves. I took the meat with my hand and took a few bites, swallowed it almost without chewing. Promising to cook something else for me, she disappeared into the next room. I picked up a bottle of murky tincture and took a sip of something very strong. That was the last straw.

Dumpling wanted to give me something else to eat, but I wasn't much of a gourmet, so the naked woman found me sleeping with my face in the salad. I was soaked by the burning fireplace, and as soon as I sat down, I fell asleep. Two days on horseback through one of the most dangerous regions of the Empire. I bet anyone, even the toughest of men, would have passed out after that. So at the first opportunity, my body took its own, feeling safe.

The woman sighed and sat back in her chair with her foot on her leg, pouring a strong drink. Wake up the dangerous black bird that had flown into her house? A hunter? A killer of the chilled? She didn't dare.

Chapter 3: "Crypts and Guardians"

A small black-backed varan with luscious yellow flanks blocked the way, opened its bright scarlet collar, sharply poured with blood, and hissed, chasing the intruders away. He was not intimidated at all, so he preferred to move out of their way, noticing the glint of glass and metal and the confidence with which the intruders were advancing. Folding its crests and blowing its yellow flanks, the varan hid in a burrow beneath a boulder overgrown with rusty moss.

The two travelers emerged from the Dark Forest where not a single strand of Titan reached the ground. The well-lit edge, however, allowed a few rays of Titan Yodkheim to fall upon their serious faces. Before them stood the burial ground of the ancient highborn. A stone-walled cemetery with the same centuries-old marble slabs and mounds of forefathers who had been the continent's explorers. Behind them, a mysterious crypt was in a light haze, waiting for rare guests. Five feet high and with a massive colonnade, it could have rivaled the small walls of the First Gate that stood on the road in front of the Fortress of Rukh. Only here the archway led not to the last Lands of Light, but somewhere deep in the centuries, into the impenetrable darkness.

The fog was not uniform. It flowed like a marshmallow, parting under their footsteps, swirling along the trunks of trees, and creeping over the ground. The bottom layer floated and drifted right over the dirt as if it were smoking. The soil squelched and implied a swamp, in time safely hidden behind fall, moss, and bumps. The branches did not crunch underfoot, they remained damp in such depths of dark woods.

A man in black robes took the first step onto the cemetery ground, right through the masonry of a marble arch that had long ago collapsed. With the arc of his crossbow he cautiously beckoned the other man behind him and walked along the stone fence, leaving a direct path along the same stone path to the steps up to the colonnade in front of the crypt.

Serenity reigned over the ancient ruins. Centuries-old elms and oaks swayed on all sides from the wind walking through their crowns here. The leaves murmured, shimmered, whispered. But the travelers shunned going out into the open, they walked along the masonry fence along the edge of the burial grounds. This fence, heavily pierced by roots, had been the only barrier to the darkness since the cemetery had been here. On three sides, surrounding the space of the buried, it served as a solid defense that had stood there for hundreds, perhaps thousands of years. On the last, fourth side, there in front, stood the crypt, a gaping passageway leading down into the depths of darkness. Two rows of massive columns, right and left, gradually protruded from the golden haze of mist. They stood on a level elevation of slabs. And behind the immense columns rose equally smooth high walls that closed off the back side of the cemetery from the forest. They shaped the burial ground into a regular rectangle. And even the trees of the Dark Forest were afraid to enter it and preferred to avoid it.

One of the men looked carefully into the center of the ancient cemetery. There, among the shriveled tombstones, two open marble sarcophagi floated in the mist in the middle of the burials. One carved lid, with a knight depicted on it, had fallen apart and was in three pieces. The other was too sturdy and lay there, beneath the marble bed. Two sarcophagi, two hollow coffins for the number of guests.

...

Taking another step, I brushed the dewdrops off the last blades of grass and stepped onto the white steps. As I walked up the rough surface of the steps, I touched the wet marble of the side wall of the crypt with my hand. It was as smooth as if it had been polished yesterday, the damp drizzle gathering right on it and flowing down a small stream in a chute. My companion took his time, looking around, he picked his way among the ruined tombstones. "I think it's the right decision to go around along this whole long white wall. The marble seems to have flecks of jade," I looked closely at the stone. Ahead, two rows of columns again emerged from the fog. Finally, my companion caught up with me, and we moved forward without making any noise.

Titan Jodcheim was nearing sunset. Even though I'd ordered a wake-up call in the morning, none of the locals dared to get me up at the crack of dawn. Especially after my "greeting the guards," they didn't want to get a crossbow bolt or worse in their foreheads. Having slept well among the lettuce leaves, I gladly sent one of the leaves wilted on my sweat into my mouth, "Mmmm..... That's a flavor I'll never forget." Afterward was a conversation with the deputy Elder, the young man who had balked in front of me yesterday. He clenched and unclenched his hands, feeling a kind of insecurity while talking to me. I looked at his shattered fists, "Did he really fight with his twin over gold in the middle of nowhere like this?" The deputy told me that the head of the settlement was sick from all yesterday's worries and asked him to choose a guide for me.

Borna, my guide, followed suit as I froze near the crypt. The woodcutter's ragged and anxious breathing turned to vapor with each exhalation. His stick was slipping from his sweaty hands, and he gripped it tighter. Borna fumbled himself so hard, that when I turned to him, I made him flinch.

"Why don't you go back, there's not much going on inside?" I glanced at him obliquely, leaving the first pair of columns behind and keeping my eyes on the passageway. He looked as if I'd invented speech for him again. And it poured out of him like a full-blown river.

"No, no, my lord! Have mercy! I don't walk in the woods alone! I'll be eaten, I'll be calmer with you at least," the man wailed, taking away the trembling in his knees. "If he continues to tense himself up like this, then our business will definitely not end well," I thought. "We've got to distract him somehow."

"Do you have the relic?" I tossed the question casually over my shoulder, treading carefully on the marble slabs, which were surprisingly tightly fitted together.

"Yes, yes, she's here." Borna dropped his hand to the bundle lying on top of his shoulder bag.

"Try to keep up," I whispered to him as I ducked closer and closer. "One more thing. Light a fire. You have a torch with you, I hope?"

"Yes, yes, here, wait, wait, I'll light it," Borna paused to get what he needed from his bag, and I stood waiting. With two flicks of a flint, my guide lit some caustic cloth with shaking hands. Then he stood up and grasped his club with his other hand, and then he smiled.

"It's a bit of a thrill," he exhaled with a sigh of relief.

I knew the feeling. Fire always adds confidence and determination when nothing else does. "Fire is plain and simple, it's always at hand. And if a hunter enlists its help, then maybe I can do something too," such a person will cheer himself up. How many times I had to use this trick with the novices of the Order during the trials. Well, and if there was no fire at hand, then I gave them a knife in their hands, and they were immediately encouraged, even if they did not know how to use it at all.

"All right." I pulled from my bag a green glowing crystal in a small cage and with a hanging handle. They say that back then, when the first settlers arrived on the island of Amberesvet the Great, the prisoners went under the Canopy of the Unknown with such emerald crystals. Then, long ago, at the dawn of the first age, as I said, they were worn by the prisoners to dispel the darkness of the Canopy. And now we hunters wear them to ward off the infected creatures of the ancient night. These crystals are like a short leash, made only to keep the convicts from straying too far from the expedition. The crystal sucks the life force of its wearer. And now I felt a kind of wind blowing through me and taking my vital juices inside the crystal, which was burning with new vigor. The skin on my fingers would gradually become flabby, like a bath, then begin to cool, and if I delayed, it would suck everything out. Belatedly, familiar otherworldly disordered voices sounded. They wailed, whispered, sighed. They say they are the moans of the souls of those whose lives this crystal has already consumed.

And everything was stained with the red blood of Titan Jodecheim. The columns were lost in the gloom, the thick fog coming up on the right and left in a scarlet glow. Behind was the graveyard, huge stone tombstones. To the right and left towered columns of reddened white marble, they reflected the light, casting a scarlet veil over everything. The haze ahead shrouded the blue shadowed passage into the darkness of the unknown past with a bloody shawl. Footsteps whispered between the columns with a resounding echo, disappearing into the tomb. And then there was the pounding of his heart, unexpectedly loud for such a late hour.

Borna behind me stepped on a branch. It crunched, shattering into ashes. I turned my head slightly in his direction, and he spread his arms. Ahead came a hoarse and harsh growl and a series of wheezes from a predator sniffing for prey. He roared, already more clearly guarding his territory. I had a few guesses as to who might be inside. All that remained was to confirm or deny them.

I crouched down carefully and looked at the floor. There were claw marks on it. "The predator was huge, and not so long ago it had dragged some large prey into its lair..." I put a drop of blood on my tongue that was clearly visible on the stone, "a young deer, by the looks of it." I ran my hand over it and examined it, "Hmm. The layer of dust has been wiped away, as if it had been swept with a broom." No creature matched the description.

The cage with the crystal dropped to the floor, and it went out almost immediately. If rumors are to be believed, there is another crystal, a light crystal that can dispel darkness without taking payment in the form of life force. Thunderbirds, the Rukhs, decorate their nests with it. It also stands on the ancient lighthouses in every big city. The capital city is named after him - Amberlight the Great. He is the light of Titan Jodcheim enough to dispel the darkness. It's also known as the blood of the Son of Light. You ask why I don't use it? We are forbidden to possess it. The crystal is inaccessible to hunters because they have fought the peculiar contagion that reigns on the other side of the mountains, and in five years have absorbed dangerous concentrations of it. Therefore, it is forbidden for the killers of the cold to possess it. After their service, each hunter is released into the lands of the living to use their experience to fight the weaker spawn of the blight. In all my time here among the living, I have never seen such a jewel.

All my assumptions fell apart. And I was wondering what kind of people were here, when the unexpected answer came to me: "What unusual footprints. Madness! They're not extinct after all, are they? Yes, that would answer all questions! It can't be! And is it really an owl bear? It makes sense. The male carries food to the egg-laying female. He hunts in the forest, and the crypt is a very good and protected place to nest. It's late evening. The male owl bear has just gone hunting. We seem to have missed him."

Taking a couple flasks of paralyzing smoke from my bag, I tossed them inside, "In a closed room, the smoke should put everyone inside to sleep. The female owl bear, if it's really her, can't see us yet, which means she won't be aggressive."

"We have a few minutes. After that, the predator will wake up," Borna wanted to rush forward, grabbing his club, but I held his elbow.

"You can rejoice, you have a family of owl bears here," I shared with him, and a rare slight smile went unnoticed beneath my milchemist mask.

"What is there to be happy about, Mr. Hunter?" the puzzled guide inquired. He still looked worried.

"They eat all the small creatures in the area, kill the cold ones, and shun humans. There's a whole nest of them out there, go put up your relic," I explained my joy and let go of his hand.

"Milsdar, we need the crypt, you know? We can't survive here without it. You know what happens if the bodies of the dead are left in the village," the woodcutter explained his logic to me. I gloomed.

"If you kill the owl bear and cubs, the other one, the one who is hunting now, will take revenge," I instructed him. He seemed to understand, or pretended to understand.

"Good, I'll go put the guardian relic back in its place," Borna replied.

I turned around and walked toward the steps. To the tombstones, blue and pink in the glow of the Titan's extinguishing light. Sitting down beside them, I scrutinized my surroundings. There were two open graves, and I didn't like them very much. I had to think...

…

In the sky the firstborn of the Bright Sonm glimmered. Over there, Urnat the Bear flared; to the right, the Trap Net frolicked and the Red Giant shimmered with its light. Borna emerged from the passage with a club in his hands. Behind him were drops of red blood. His boots were smeared with something yellow and draughty. I turned away and looked toward the cemetery. It was almost invisible in the dim light of the thousands of Light Sons that kept appearing in the black depths of the blue vault.

Crickets chirped. An unknown bird answered them with a whimsical chirp. The fox, glinting his black eyes in the glow of the green lantern, went about his business. You want to know why I didn't go to see the body of the hunter on the chill? It's simple. He was not of the group that came out of the castle with me, but died here ten years ago, as the Elder said.

Even though the Order has stopped issuing crossbows to hunters, it still assumes that the killer of the frozen ones can use them, and that's why the ancient mount for this weapon was left on his back. True, it is usually now occupied by a spear or dart. It alarmed me that no one had visited this village before me. There didn't seem to be anyone ahead. I hoped that the hunters in my group had simply passed this place by, not even knowing about this, forgotten by all, village in the thicket. It was possible. I wanted to believe it. "The places here are dangerous, so they might not have lingered," I concluded.

I was brought out of my musings by Borna, addressing me impatiently,"Well, it's done - I've put the relic up." The guide put his hands to his sides. Having poured in front of me about a dozen more black arrows, he pointed towards the forest, "Why are you sitting, let's get out of here!"

"That's not all. It wasn't an owl bear that killed your villagers," I explained and counted the new black arrows, "twelve more. Fourteen along with the one I already have.

"What are you talking about?" A grimace of fear crept over the guide's face.

"Do you see two sarcophagi open here?" I started from afar. "Yes, and someone drank all the blood from those people."

Bourne had all the blood drained from his face now. I think he was starting to get the point of what I was saying. Now he was really frightened by the juxtaposition of the two facts. I cringed.

"Wolfhounds! Werewolves!" The redneck blurted out the name of the dangerous undead he knew. I covered my face with my hand and rubbed my eyes. "It's the same thing every time. All the villagers are obsessed with them. I thought I'd get something else in the middle of nowhere."

"It's definitely not wolfsbane. If it was, there would be numerous bites all over the victim's body, if the body had survived at all. But most likely there would be nothing left of the body," I explained to him.

"Sir, then who could it have been?" Borna asked. I was about to answer him, but the hair on the back of my neck stirred, and I turned to where my guide was already looking-right behind me. Without looking away, I started to get up. The villager behind my back ran to the crypt with a wild cry. "Right decision," because now it has the relic of the keeper, and she will not let the coolie into the crypt. With a swift movement I snatched the crossbow from my back.

Two red lights burned between the trees. The beast tilted its head to the side, a red line running down its spine to its razor-sharp claws. Its sternum glowed a bright scarlet light from within, illuminating its ribs and the prey it had devoured not so long ago. Another ghastly creature echoed his call. Flaring with infernal fire, it hung from one of the crypt's columns, under the very parapet of the colonnade.

I fired my crossbow vertically upward, and the dwarven mechanism clicked demandingly, waiting for another arrow. And it was not long in coming. The beast had already made three big jumps in my direction when another black arrow flew out of the crossbow. Usually I didn't miss, but this time the arrow went sideways, as if deflected by something. The chilled man squealed, and his womb flared brighter.

I had a strange feeling that these were no ordinary ghouls, but something older, something to do with this crypt. I hesitated and rolled to the side, because the monster covered the distance in a few sharp jumps, and only then its carcass swept past me. The floorboards of my cloak rang out, reflecting the impact of its claws. "Ugly bloodsucker of the underworld - he reached me after all!" I was angry. The enchanted cloak held the blow from the back.

I put a third arrow into my crossbow, and out of the corner of my eye I noticed that the second enemy was already on the ground and blocking Bourne's path, blocking my guide's passage into the crypt. In a flash, the creature began sucking the woodcutter's life energy out of him like a huge red funnel. Borna collapsed, and his legs gave out. "Looks like he passed out from fright. Found the time," my head rushed through my mind.

Turning around, the huge infernal bloodsucker came nose to nose with my crossbow. "Now pure casino, right or left?" I fired the arrow forward. The ghoul jumped to the right, much to my delight. Something fell from the sky, pinning the monster to the ground and piercing through his torso. The bloodsucker screamed and exploded. My first arrow found its target. "Fool, you're dead!" This time I covered my face with my free hand for some reason, despite all my training. Thinking back on that moment after the battle, I decided that I must have realized then that without my eyes scorched by the explosion, I would definitely not be able to continue fighting.

The cloak withstood another blow, and the crystals inside it went out. The second creature roared pitifully, before it could harm my guide. The monster jumped over him and came at me.

The crossbow jammed, and I tossed the useless mechanism aside. I reached for my belt pouch and realized I'd made another mistake-my bag was still where I'd been sitting! I had taken it off to put new arrows in my quiver!

I gripped the crystal cage tighter, and it glowed brighter with its cold green light. The howls and whispering voices intensified. A small dirk appeared in my other hand.

The beast was running at me, and I made a swift dash at it. The moment was seized by a roll, and I ducked under a leaping foe. This bloodsucker was less nimble than its counterpart, or I was able to successfully weaken and blind it with the crystal. My pointy hat was removed by the belly of the behemoth, and then the knife sliced along its entire length. Its hind paws slammed into my back and pushed me and my bag forward, sprawling me on the ground. The crystal cage was knocked out of my hands.

The bloodsucker of the underworld laughed. The flames in his chest went out, and the monster disappeared from sight. All I had to do was stand up and orient myself by hearing. My eyes couldn't get used to the darkness around me. "I can't imagine how ancient passersby fought them in the past," I stood up as the shadow seemed to surge toward me, then again, and again. "Yes, where is it? I see nothing!"

And the ancient ghoul showed himself. Its sternum glowed, and it pulled on its power. I lunged sharply; you have to be quick here to keep the monster from sucking you dry. I didn't let it do that, but the creature disappeared into the darkness again and pulled power from the other side. I screamed, it didn't hurt, I just felt my reaction speed going away and my body getting absorbent cotton. And this beast had just fed off Bourne, and now it was feeding on me! There was laughter in the darkness.

"I won't leave a bite of you, you're delicious," the ancient ghoul said, drawing some of my life force again. I waved him away with the barely clenched object in my hand, causing only laughter.

"But this is a moment I'll savor..." And he pulled his power again and jumped aside. I released my reserve of strength, as the novices had taught me, and grouped myself, preparing to straighten like a bowstring. But the creature, sensing the stored energy, laughed again and fled. "If it keeps acting like this - I'll pass out! Come on, just show yourself!" rushed through my thoughts, and I realized I was losing. As if reading my thoughts, the bloodsucker glowed again. Its chest lit up brightly behind my back to let me know it was too late to do anything. The beast leaped at me though. Perhaps its released reserve and hunger drove it to do so. The monster probably thought that since it was so tasty and nutritious, it was better not to waste the extra... Who knows who they are, these ancient ghouls? In the pouch I wore on my belt, I clutched a magmobomb. "If I am to perish, it is by taking the choler with me, as the Titan Yodkheim does when restraining Tlekorz the Apprentice before each night." Such is the motto of all hunters. Slowly, as if in a muddle, I turned around, trying to close in. But I could sense that the bloodsucker's perfectly calculated plan had left me with no role other than to run into the claws flying at me, when suddenly a swift, blue-green bolt of lightning shot up from somewhere in the darkness and struck the monster in the side, knocking it away from me. Everything went dark again.

There was a screech, the crunch of claws grinding. Stepping aside, I hit the crystal cage and immediately picked it up. Ahead of me was a pitched battle. I suspended my crystal over my head and risked shining a brighter light. A huge owl bear lifted my opponent over my head and tore the bloodsucker in two.

I stood there without moving. The mythical monster owl bear separated the monster's head from its body with one powerful blow, and tilted its head to the side and looked at me expectantly. His whole look said, "Are you going to fight?" I dimmed the fire and lowered the crystal candle. The forest beast scrutinized me, sniffed me, and took its prey and carried it to the entrance of the crypt. Borna had come to his senses and was huddled against a column, whispering something. He seemed to be repeating one word, "No."

I knew what was coming next. Grabbing my crossbow and my bag, I ran into the forest without turning around. Behind me there was a wild roar, a clack, and then the short, shrill cry of a man. The smell told everything.

Chapter 4: "The Count's Reception"

I pondered as I viewed the inner vineyards through the window of my room in the tower of Castle Feanoth. Once upon a time, this inner valley, hidden from outside troubles, had been a source of food and valuable herbs for the region, allowing the warriors to push back the gray earth that had then approached the castle itself, spreading most heavily in the early days of the infestation.

The uneven stones of the walls were smoothed as only dwarven craftsmen could. The walkers, artisans, and miners hired by the first lord of these lands have furnished the castle to their liking, and so it is common in the shire to settle mostly within the castle itself. Of course, there are small houses and wooden buildings in the inner lands, but most of them are still on the fertile plains. Of the more recent buildings inside the castle, there was a hippodrome, a trade and crafts quarter near the gates. But mostly the servants and inhabitants were housed according to the custom of these places inside the castle walls, underground chambers of the castle and towers. And in the highest spires of Feanot the sages and magicians found their shelter.

The history of this amazing castle is full of intrigue and unexpected turns. The very first count was able with great difficulty to gain an audience with Grave Mosshovik, where the question of the right to own this land was raised. The Emperor listened to the nobleman and agreed that if he could build a fortress in a year, he would get possession of such a vast land.

Promising to pay his tithes faithfully, the ancestor of the Dreir Feanoth family made a secret pact with the underground travelers of the Blue Mountains and several ancient mages of Zakat. The castle was erected by the wizards in the shortest possible time, with its exterior splendor and tall spires, and polished by the dwarves on the inside for another ten years. For such help, Theanoth promised great freedoms for the mages of his county, practically making them independent. And the dwarves were promised all the gold to be found in the bowels of the mountains.

The tunnelers, hearing of this generosity, designed a deep network of tunnels beneath the castle in the likeness of the royal chambers of Onyx the Merry. It is said that Count Dreir Feanoth twisted and bit his elbows when he saw the carts loaded with gold leaving towards the Blue Mountains. And yet, the resulting castle was a good place to house all the people of the county. And perhaps it was worth even more than what its builders had gotten.

Thus, Theanoth gained its uniqueness and became known as a castle reaching both the heights and depths of the mountains. Towering over the valley with its sharp Gothic spires, it completely isolated it from the outside world with its fortifications. It was as if he had placed a hand with its thumb jutted upward in the shape of a gate tower, saying, "I have fulfilled your commission, Grave Mohawk. This is now my domain."

The fortifications were truly inspiring. All along the valley's perimeter, mountain spires echoed the towers. "If I were a painter, I might even want to paint them," I thought.

But still, the fame of the largest defensive fortification in Terresia does not belong to it. It is rightfully held by the Fortress of Rukh, which was built among the thunderbirds' nests to completely isolate the southern coast from the north. The Sand Mountains have only one crossing, bridging which back during the First Age a small outpost gradually turned into a fortress. At the time, it was smaller than all the cities of Terresia.

Gradually more and more fortifications were added to it. To this day that castle still provides breeding and nesting grounds for thunderbirds. There was the First Gate to the Native Lands, and then the Second Gate in the Pass of the Claw. There is also the Abode of Light, the Order's Oplot, and the Castle of Thane, which is more of an ancient ornament than a serious defensive fortification. Also of note here is the Cathedral of Titan Jodkheim, where the Firstborn of the Amber Isles escaped to in modern times.

And even the second and third places on the list do not belong to Feanoth. Innesent, with a coastal port and a white belt of walls around it, erected on an island at the source of three rivers. It is virtually impregnable thanks to its white fortifications. Next in size will be Kostegrad, whose city walls, which defended the city once upon a time, have been left behind by beggars camped around an ancient stone heart. Only these cities would be followed by Feanoth, completing the four largest fortifications of Terresia. A castle built with dwarves and mages alike.

And strangely enough, the capital of the Empire itself, Amberesvet the Great, as well as Red Port, Iron Grip and the large but wooden Burning Cauldron would only take the last place. Here the main emphasis was placed on the Lord's castle and the fortifications for it. Without that fortification, they would be no different from the cities of the Homelands north of Fortress Ruch, stretching all the way to the First Gate. And the Forbidden Cape, or otherwise known as Ghost Cape, where the people of the whisperers-in-the-night live, would be barely larger than the outposts in the mountains, where only the guardians rule.

Why did I wonder about a contest in the size of the fortifications of all the castles of Terresia? Probably the upcoming tournament put me in that competitive mood. But I digress....

Today, Castle Feanoth was more crowded than ever. People in the valley were hurriedly stopping work in the vineyards and rushing to the castle. It seems that the Count's tournament had attracted many brave men, both heroes - knights from all over the lands, and mercenaries - hunters for profit.

Mercenaries crowded the corridors, guards and servants scurried here and there. Even here, away from the feasting hall and the exits to the arena and arena, it was crowded. Every now and then someone passed by the open doors. Not so long ago a passerby knocked on my door, and when I asked him what he wanted here, he said that he had mistaken this room for his own and hurried away. I was thinking how many people like that are here now, looking for something to eat.

I was contracted by the Order for a mission. I still blame myself for that emotional outburst and for agreeing to it. Except that I was a little relieved that everyone who signed the contract now had their own private room in the castle, as a special gift from the Lord. I walked over and sat down on the bed, taking in the view from the window, and met my gaze again with the dwarf standing across from me. My friend and faithful companion had finally finished his long contemplation.

"You know what, I'm not going with you," the dwarf shook his head. "My instincts have never failed me before - it's a lost cause, my friend!"

I waited for my friend to think. I was looking out the window, thinking about the cities of Terressia, when his voice came from behind me. He finally spoke again after my question and long deliberation. And walked to the now my private room and sat down across from the dwarf.

"Suit yourself," I shrugged. If the Order does sign the contract, I'll have to fulfill it as a mercenary. K'Yoevghahn's contract is up, and he's free to go wherever he wants.

The dwarf stood up and grasped his crossbow with determination. I thought he was going to point it at me again, but this time he did something different. K'Yoevghahn stroked the hilt of his crossbow once more and held out his weapon to me.

"Here you go, you saved my life, and it will replace your spear." In his usual careless manner, the dwarf pushed me in the stomach with his weapon, only this time with the handle. He did this whenever I took one gold for a new contract, threatening to shoot me for my stupidity and stubbornness.

I wanted to object, but met the dwarf's steely gaze. The dwarf shifted his steely eyebrows for effect, and when I took the weapon, he folded his strong arms across his chest as if forged in the crucible of the forges:

"Take it before I change my mind. And I will not tolerate any objections," he waved me away with square fingers and clenched his fists so that the knuckles turned white on his strong hands. History says, "Fear the dwarves who bring gifts..." and it's because they're pathologically stingy. It is very difficult for them to give gifts, and so my friend was torn between two opposites.

"I'm grateful to you, K'Yoevghan. This is an invaluable gift." He seemed to let go a little.

"If I'd known," K'Yoevghahn said in a low growl, "that you, humans, had such a mercenary mess, I never would have come to you."

"You didn't complain much the last time we gathered gold," I grinned, remembering my recent contract.

"Gold," the dwarf said, raising his index finger, "shines brightly, but here, if it's not a trick, it's just bad smelling.... foolishness! What was the point of you binding yourself to the Order again? You should have smashed a couple of dragon eggs over their heads instead of agreeing to it. You're very wrong, buddy!"

I sighed.

"I don't understand it, absolutely not!" The dwarf waved his hands away again. "Don't ask, I'll never go with you," he turned away, waiting for something to happen, and froze. He must have been expecting me to talk him into it. In that moment, I realized how much my friend trusted me. If I insisted right now, he would go, even in spite of his premonition.

"I understand you, K'Yoevghan. I'm not asking you to, it's my personal thing, you know?" I tried to give him a hint.

"Personal, you say?" He rubbed his beard from top to bottom with his right hand. That gesture meant many things to dwarves. K'Yoevghahn shifted his eyebrows and said, "I have a wife and children in the north, and that's personal, I understand, but what you find 'personal' in the Order, I don't know," I shrugged.

"Friend, I'm not asking you to come with me this time." The words sounded as if they weren't spoken by me. So different from my usual tone. The dwarf stayed still for the first time in our long journey, then shuddered as if startled out of his thoughts. He shook his head again and nodded, "All right, have it your way, old friend," he patted my shoulder. The dwarf could only do that because I was sitting up. "When you're done with your business, come visit us in the Blue Mountains. I'll be waiting for you."

"It's a deal," I gave him my hand, and we shook hands on the verbal agreement.

"Not goodbye," the dwarf said angrily and walked away. Without turning around, K'Yoevghahn went to the door and slammed it so hard that the plaster flew off, covering the entire threshold. My heart skipped a beat. I shook my head, "How childish is that?" And after a little while, I walked out towards the playpen.

The dwarf was gone in the hallway.

There was a half-human-sized porcelain vase in a deep alcove across the hall from my room. A cart of fruits and vegetables passed me in the hallway. The peddler, not letting go of the hand luggage on wheels, nodded at his wares, offering them to me, but I shook my head negatively. Then he walked on down the mosaic laid out here.

As I went lower, I saw a dwarf blacksmith pouring some kind of liquid into a kind of furnace mechanism. The splashes flew in all directions, hitting the fire, which was eagerly embracing them, and the apron, which was already very unattractive and shabby-looking. Looking down, the dwarven smith took a pair of tongs and began to extract the small bronze plates coming out of the machine. "Lamellar armor!" I guessed. "Looks like preparations for the upcoming tournament are well underway here."

Further down the underground corridor, three girls sat at a loom. I had to go down two more floors and through the dwarf halls to reach the central hallway with festively dressed merchants and similarly dressed craftsmen. Then it would be easy to get to the inner valley from those rooms.

…

The crowd was cheering! A rare spectacle for Theanotus was about to begin. A man in brightly colored festive clothes entered the arena to a standing ovation. The people in the stands stopped whispering when they saw Herold. With a smile, he held his hands up in the air, showing everyone his inflated and worn over his wrists cloth doughnuts - dumplings. It would not have been easy for him to shout over such an excited community, so he had to show his palms in three directions before everyone gathered paid attention to him.

"The Trial of Chivalry, to select the noble and elevate them to dignity, as well as the Tournament of Recognition for the best mercenaries of the County of Feanoth and other lands, cannot be opened without the traditional battle between two mounted knights!" proclaimed the Herold, and then, gaining air, continued, "Therefore, Count Feanoth has chosen two brave and noble men to fight for the honor of the Castle of the Stag's Crest, and thus open the tournament!"

Finally, the trumpets sounded and the knight Ulrich appeared on the arena. It is he, and Ser Wimal Yaneso, who should open the honorable tournament. They are honored for their exploits. Ser Wimal Janeso, a knight from the Fortress of Ruch, who left the Lands of the Last Light to fight evil, and it should be noted that he fought very successfully. No sooner than yesterday, he identified two sectarians from the Cult of Bones right here in the capital of the county, in the castle of Feanoth, right in front of the ring. For this feat, he was awarded a medal personally from the hands of the ruler of these lands and the honor of being the first to clash his lances in today's tournament. His horse, a rare color for our lands, was as white as snow. Clad in armor, it thumped its hooves and snorted in impatience, waiting to begin. The same whitened cloth that covered the armor of the knight who sat upon it bore the mark of a blue heraldic sprout unknown to me. Sir Wimal gripped his spear tighter when he saw his opponent.

Knight Ulrich, in bright green robes, made a small circle of honor, warming up the crowd and shaking his lance, and so, a little later, took his seat. His black horse snorted and bellowed almost every time he pulled on the reins. I knew nothing of him, but the Herold, who had before announced the exploits of Wimal, spoke of Ulrich, "This honorable knight named Ulrich Stormwind, on his way to Castle Feanoth, defended the village. After single-handedly slaying at least a dozen dangerous foes on his horse, he also helped the wagon reach the settlement and provide food for the starving inhabitants! Meet the knight Ulrich of the northern frontiers! And may the noblest man win!"

I looked around at the unusual colors, "Green robes, not at all peculiar to northerners, he must be from the lake dwellers in the very east." A golden swan glittered on the fabric, a small, barely noticeable detail.

Ulrich threw up the visor, and it closed. Wymmal began to accelerate, casting a light shield over himself. The green knight responded by activating the runes on his cloak. "How interesting," I thought, "where did a mere knight get the Order cape of a guardian of the foothills?" The hoofbeats intensified. The crowd held its breath. A peal of thunder! The two riders fell out of the saddle.

Ulrich rose at once and, throwing off his crumpled helmet, bared his sword, showing that he was ready to continue the fight. But Wimal rose slowly, a splinter from a spear that had been shattered to pieces embedded under his right shoulder. With a fierce determination he also drew his sword and stood in a defensive stance, more like a swordsman than a swordsman, holding the weapon with his left hand. His right hand he preferred to throw behind his back.

The crowd roared as the knights began to circle each other. Ulrich made a lunge, but Wimal did not react to it, and then abruptly went on the attack himself. A swing to the right, a swing to the left. The knight took advantage of the fact that his opponent was holding a sluggish sword rather than a swift rapier and was able to sidestep his opponent and kick him in the back, causing him to slip forward on his knees. However, such a dangerous maneuver almost cost him his helmetless head. The crowd gasped in horror again.

Wymmal rose, intercepted his sword, and lashed out with chopping blows at his opponent. Gracefully parrying the next lunge, Ulrich crouched down and tried to reach his opponent from below, poking him in the other knight's forehead. The one from Fortress Ruch was now helmetless as well. The Herold looked at the Count to see if he had the will to stop the fight, but Theanoth shook his head, willing them to continue. Oh, and could he really stop this fight even if he wanted to? I think so, but then the tournament would not have taken place, and would have been postponed for two weeks at the very least.

"It looks like Wimal has decided to use his main arm despite his injury!" Herold shouted, and the crowd roared again. Wrinkling his nose, Ser Janeso drew his weapon with his right hand. After a couple of swings, both knights froze, stopping their blades at their opponent's neck.

"An even match!" Herold announced. The crowd erupted in cheers and turned to shouting.

Wimmal Janeso extended his hand to the green knight, and the latter shook it firmly with his gauntlet.

Count Theanotus rose and, raising his hands, called for silence.

"I admire the skill and nobility of the brave knights of the first contest of the tournament! At this solemn conclusion of the duel, I consider the Tournament of Order Trials open!"

Chapter 5: "Laughing Sister"

My breath hitched as I stumbled over the roots. My side stung mercilessly. Through the forest, deeper and deeper into the thicket. I ran for my life. An owl bear was on my trail. Goosebumps of foreboding ran down my back, and I jumped back sharply. Just in time! The mythical beast tried to make a dash, to knock me off my feet, but blue-green lightning flew forward, breaking the shrubbery and low branches. Changing direction, I found myself on a natural stone bridge over the dried-up bed of a deep stream. I turned and plunged into a small ravine, nearly breaking both my legs on the small rocks. I couldn't confuse him; he was already here. His pecking sounded from above, "Click, click, click, click." He lagged behind only a little and ran after me along the steep bank, still hesitant to jump down.

I screamed because I had stepped on a sharp rock with my heel, but I didn't even think of slowing down. For some reason I remembered the Order's conspiracy. The belief was that it was supposed to help before a hard fight. I didn't want to fight an owl bear, but I had to cheer myself up somehow.

"Where darkness does not enter the heart,

Where the dwelling of the brave stands.

I am the blade that fights darkness,

The protector of men who adds to the days,

A new dawn will come - yes."

The creek bed ended in a full-flowing river. I stood on the bank, gathering my courage to step into the rapid. To the right and to the left there was a thicket of brush like nothing I had ever seen, except in this forgotten wilderness. A pecking sounded right behind me, and I turned around. The owl bear was slowly approaching. He saw that there was nowhere else to run-the river blocked my path. His beak snapped, his eyes burning with the fire of rage. I turned away, not wanting to look at him.

Securing my crossbow behind my back and stowing my lantern in my bag, I jumped into the river. The swift current swept over me. I was immediately swollen. My feet hit something. Miraculously avoiding the rocky rapids that made the water gush over them, I heard a growing noise.

"Shh, shh, shh, shh," the water murmured. Fish were jumping out of the water, spreading their wings.

"Oooooh, asshole righteous follower of Yodckeim," I bellowed, almost in tune with the raging water, getting hit in the face with a fish tail.

A few moments later I felt weightless over the abyss. My hands tried desperately to grab onto something. The waterfall was soaring, and I couldn't see where I was falling. I barely thought to brace myself-the impact of the water knocked the breath out of me. A splash of blood tasted.

Consciousness faded like a candle that had previously illuminated the world around me and was extinguished by a sudden gust of wind.

...

The huge blue-haired cat dragged its prey out of the river like a kitten and threw it on the steep bank, unable to retrieve it entirely from the water. The cat growled, sniffed its face. The predator's vibrissae twitched. She looked at the man again and abruptly, with two paws, stood on his chest.

Consciousness returned to me, but I couldn't breathe. I was twisted and bent and started coughing. Every time I tried to frantically inhale, I collapsed again, expelling the remnants of water from my lungs. It seemed like this hoarse coughing would never end.

Finally, I was able to catch my breath and looked around. There was a beautiful girl next to me with no clothes on. I froze in surprise. She was sitting right in front of me with her hands on my chest. When she saw that I came to my senses, she smiled. I even stopped coughing, "Am I dead or still alive? Who is it then?" An unusual feeling of euphoria spread throughout my body.

"Shade, stop it, there's no need to try to eat him. He's our guest," a woman's voice came from behind me. I couldn't turn around and look back, staring ahead mesmerized. The next moment, when I blinked, the obsession stopped. In front of me was a huge predator - a cat. It was blue-boned. Her soft paw pads rested on my chest, and her released claws left marks on my cloak. With a growl, the beast gracefully retracted its daggers into its pads, stood up, and walked to where the order had come from.

A demanding female voice sounded, "Are you going to sit like that, hunter?"

I cautiously got up - all my legs and arms seemed to be intact. Only my whole body ached from the recent impact with the water. The cloak seemed to have saved my life by blocking the blow, and it had completely discharged, losing two charges at once. Its green, rune stones were slowly being infused with new life energy.

Then I turned around and saw one of the forest sisters. She was wearing savage clothes, a crude garment sewn from leather. I wrinkled my nose, but the girl smiled as she noticed my reaction. Oh, I knew the witches of this forest well!

Back on the wall, where I'd served my five years, we'd had a witch from the Dark Forest come to visit us. She helped us against some kind of contagion that was spreading rapidly through the camp. Her potions and herbs were the only thing that saved us. But I remember the sensation for a long time. The hallucinations were such that it was the first time I was out of the control of the fortress keeper. I remembered it very well. Too well, in fact.

"Catch up or stay! And then you'll be eaten by an owl bear for sure," she giggled, reminding me of my pursuer, and strode forward, pushing the leaves of a tall fern. What was left for me to do? Only to follow her.

The fallen and browned leaves with their carpet of moss sprung softly under my feet. Around me, in the crowns of the giant trees, there was a white haze. I gradually came to my senses, taking note of my surroundings. It was eerily cold. "A little longer and I won't be able to get a tooth on a tooth," I thought. But still I found strength in myself and caught up with the girl. She turned to me and asked, "Man, what brings you here?" The witch asked it so sharply and strictly, as if she had just seen me for the first time.

"Hunting," I answered briefly.

"Hunting," the girl emphasized the word, and then bent like her cat to pass under a large branch, "and what do you hunt?

"Anything larger and more dangerous than a perootle," I grinned. "Count Feanor wants to take the boundary road to Kostegrad, and he doesn't want dangerous neighbors on the road."

"And how much did he pay for it?"

"Nothing. I have one contract with the Order, and I'm serving it," I answered, and the girl stopped.

"An Order hunter, then? Why did you come to the villagers and not to us?" She met my gaze.

"I don't know how to find you," I fought the urge to throw up my hands.

"It's good that you don't know," the girl smiled again and turned away, "and, yes, we need help."

"What kind of help?"

"Later. Let's go to our village first," the girl answered mysteriously and once again pushed the branches apart and walked through the shrubbery. As we moved through the forest, the memories and knowledge of the guardian of the fortress came over me.

The sisters of the forest have long supported the humans in their battle against the creatures of Polog. When the ship Dawn reached the island, supporters of the Cult of the whisperers-in-the-night were found aboard. Due to strange circumstances, the Senior Inquisitor of Sonma ignored their presence. And what's more, the Grave Mohawk Dynasty openly recognized their rights and granted them the Cape of Ghosts on the island of Amberlight for eternal use. It was an impregnable arm, framed on all sides by rocks. Here the sectarians of the whisperers-in-the-night had made their home. To keep the peace, they supplied the palace with a mute-born girl, who was in the king's retinue along with the bishop, counselor, and inquisitor.

I distinctly recalled the feelings of the guardian who ruled the fortress. Perhaps he had been there. I thought I could feel the waves crashing against the rock, and the wind howling as it carried me away with the memory.

Later, at the very end of the First Age, at the behest of the mute-birth, after the first ships had landed from Amber Isle and the founding of Fortress Ruch, Kostegrad, and Innesent, she ordered the establishment of a settlement in the Dark Forest. Thus came the "laughing sisters" - the witches of this already inhospitable forest. And there's one of them up ahead, leading me through the forest.

Chapter 6: "Ancient Guardian"

The young man sank his fingers into the spear. He was terribly afraid, despite all his training in the Order. He knew that these moments of life could be his last. His thoughts raced, frantically searching for ways to escape, to save and deliver. He succumbed to them for a moment and looked up at the fortress wall of the mountain outpost, the only barrier to the infected creatures of Polog. Huge and massive, made of immovable blocks of stone, it was taking roll call right now, taking guard and passing guard.

The young man glanced back without anyone noticing, not even the boys standing next to him. There was a sloping path down to the lower gate. Not so long ago an Order novice had used it to bring them to this inhospitable place, and now stood to the right, smiling. He himself would be leaving soon enough, when the initiation into the guardians of the foothills was complete.

Mute cliffs towered around them, and the ground drew heat rather than warmth. Snow swirled near his feet, blown in from all directions. It was so cold around that I could even feel the wind blowing the warmed air from the other men in the formation toward me.

I stood straight. And in front of me was the passage to the inner rooms, here ahead of me lit a torch. Too late to think of escape. The torch illuminated the darkening vault of the passage in front of me. One of the boys on the right exhaled, as if he thought it would be over now. Maybe it would be, because not everyone comes to their senses after merging with a fortress keeper. The thoughts began their dance around the circle again, they were in a round dance, constantly reminding him of this. Now the old man would come. Or, right now, his gaunt figure would appear behind this or that novice of the Order.

The bitter cold seemed to intensify. I couldn't feel my feet and I couldn't look at them. They must be all blue by now. I have to stay focused. I must stand straight. Those are the orders of the order's novice.

There was a procession coming out ahead. It went on and on. Ministers in long robes with candles. The novices with vessels and scented oils. Men with blessed weapons. Order adherents with clean new robes.... They were all coming out, and there was absolutely no expression on their faces.

Suddenly, a gaunt old man suddenly appeared from behind.

"Well, weren't you expecting it?" he asked. One of the novices wet himself on the spot, right under himself, like a horse in a stall. The other ran. Silently. Because Order novices don't yell. But I heard his body fall, pierced by bolts. I glanced up, the guards on the wall were reloading their weapons. I thought to myself, "He was the third one who couldn't get away. Couldn't escape."

The old man laughed. He walked between us and spoke, "Should I choose you? Or you?"

The Ancient Guardian did not point his finger, as he should have, but amused himself with us. He bent down and hovered in front of each one's face. Suddenly the fear was gone, replaced by anger. My knuckles crunched from that unpleasant memory, so hard I clenched my spear.

"Don't move," I told myself.

There had been two yesterday, but the order's novice had let it slip that they hadn't run far.

The old man's long beard flashed in front of my face. The old man froze in front of me and, leaning toward me, asked almost in a whisper:

"Should I choose you?"

I did not express any emotion. He stopped smiling and hesitated, "Aren't you afraid of me?"

He looked puzzled. He straightened up and looked behind me.

"Really, you're not afraid of me?"

I didn't move, "You can't."

"Then I'll show myself to you." His figure melted away. It was an obsession. And, oh, the horror of what I saw! At that very moment four novices carried out the withered mummy of an old man with his unnatural body parts bandaged around the poles. Huge wooden poles, smaller and smaller sticks. Like a rack, an endless torture. "Relentless guard," a mysterious whisper suggested, its voice seeming to echo from everywhere. Bandaged in the most ghastly of forms were hands to a tree. One finger to one side, the other to the other. One of his hands was free, but he didn't need to lift it - I met his gaze. His clouded faded eyes opened. "Is he really still alive!" An unexpected conjecture struck me. "Withered, but still alive," the space around me said benevolently.....

I woke up. Birds were singing outside the window, quiet music was playing somewhere. There was a woman's quiet laughter. I lay on the bed and looked at the ceiling. This dream torments me every time I fall asleep. Ever since I got my freedom. The memories are as fresh as the first day. It's as if it's the first time. That's why I try to exhaust myself before I fall asleep, so I don't dream about it. "Well, how are you? Still alive? I'm so handsome, aren't I?" came a voice in my thoughts. I jumped up. He was about to say something else funny, but the connection to the Fortress Keeper had dissipated, as had the remnants of the dream.

And I was left sitting. Alone in bed behind a wooden screen. The wind blew fallen leaves right into my bed. It was better to get up right away than to listen to it, especially in slumber. I put my hand to my forehead and yawned sweetly. "Where am I? How beautiful! Embroidered with colorful threads... a fabric blanket? Looks like I slept like a king tonight!" flashed through my mind, and the memories of the previous day came over me in a rushing wave that swept away all obstacles.

I was surrounded by an unfamiliar interior, but it gradually rose in my memory. There was that window with the thinnest white cloth, from which the whitish light streamed. The ancient stone walls. Opposite me hung a painting, or even an ancient, ornate tapestry depicting an ancient event - the landing of the Dawn expedition on the shores of Amber Island. A small but richly decorated room. There's my bedside chest, where my belongings lurk. Here was the plaster that had crumbled to the floor when K'Yoevghahn had slammed the door in his usual rude fashion yesterday.

I got up. It was unusual to feel unclothed as an undead assassin. After wrapping and securing the straps, I checked and set my crossbow forward. The locking mechanism was multi-shot. I lifted the crossbow's affix with my thumb, and beneath it was a branding with the Dwarven numeral three. A circle, symbolically representing the Titan, and three points in different directions. I see, so it's a three-shooter. It's the kind of fake that the dwarves of the Blue Mountains supply to the special guards of Kostegrad.

I shook it, "It's strong!" ran my eyes over the smooth wood once more and fastened it behind my back - it fit perfectly. I bent down. Sat down. It doesn't constrict movement - "just what you need". I took my hunter's bag from the back of the chair and left the room.

A servant of Count Feanoth's house approached me. If one paid attention to his demeanor, he must have never had to leave the castle in his life. He walked down the corridor with his fist clenched in front of him. I didn't understand these mannerisms. It's one thing to hold your hand up, defending yourself from the creatures of the cover, and another... "this."

"Hunter, are you awake yet?" He was thinking about something of his own, so he faced me nose to nose in the doorway, "What carelessness! On the other hand, maybe that's why we exist, to protect people like him. Those who can't stand up for themselves." I looked at him from head to toe, "Put him in that caftan against Ulrich, the fight would be over immediately. And the knight won't even spare such an inexperienced opponent. I wonder if he can overpower a hound? Yes, no! Where can he go!"

His eyes widened as they met mine. What he read in them was a mystery to me. The servant's voice trembled, "Count Feanot is waiting for you. Come along." He waved a graceful, slender hand in a white glove, inviting me to follow him politely. Turning on his heels so that he even made the hem of his clothes rise up, the servant, beating a rhythm with his heels, headed down the corridor in the right direction.

"I don't think you could kill even a perootle!" I shouted after him. "Oh! That would be a terrible insult. If I said it to Ser Wimal Yaniso, he would challenge me to a duel. Even the boys of the Order can slay the lowliest wretch from the lowest creature of the cover. What to speak of seasoned warriors like the white knight. Turtlenecks, gown and white collar... Ugh! How can you fight in that?"

"We all have a job to do, hunter." But this guy didn't even bat an eye. The man turned around politely, raised his hands and folded them in some special gesture, grasping the edges of his cuffs.

"What is this? Magic?" I squinted at the unusual gesture. "Maybe he's a court magician, just with a quirk," I thought to myself.

"Oh, you mean that," the servant smiled and waved his hand lightly, then folded his arms across his chest, "it's just gallantry and fashion. I apologize for embarrassing you. Please come along, Count Feanot doesn't like to wait."

"So 'this' is called 'gallantry,'" I finally explained to myself this phenomenon, so sharply at variance with my picture of the world.

"He's probably right," I thought, and for some reason I got cold feet. Someone has to defend the wall, and someone else will walk around in a caftan and fold their fingers in an exquisite manner in front of their guests. I sighed and followed. When the servant saw that I had followed him, he continued on his way, turning around just as gallantly. The hem of his robe swept into the air again.

...

The feasting hall was being used for a meeting today. Fourteen hunters, who had been sent out by the Order to fulfill the Count's assignment, were seated here. Two hunting dogs were warming themselves by the fireplace. The exorcists settled down, removed their bags and other articles of clothing, and hung them on the backs of massive oak chairs. Spears and swords were laid out. I was the only one with a crossbow. I laid it down in front of me.

The huntress girl across from me had her feet on the table, swinging on the oak chair. I'd never seen a girl hunter before, so I looked in her direction. She pulled her hat over her eyes, showing with her whole look that she was ignoring me. We're loners.

To my right sat a hunter so ancient that he literally had glowing mushrooms growing on him like a chill. His hand twitched involuntarily from time to time, and saliva flowed from his mouth now and then. His shoulder was adorned with a servant's patch that read, "Meritorious Service to the Order of Hotta".

Opposite him, a thieving-looking assassin of the cold ones ran his eyes. With one arm over the back of his chair, he was picking at his teeth with a dagger. When he met my gaze, he nodded. "What do you want?" he said.

To his right sat the Best of Us. His hands were folded, his chin resting on them, and he was thinking about something. His ancient milchemist mask looked like a raven's beak. Once upon a time, one of the Archmages of Theanoth had cursed a fellow hunter of the Chill to never die. What drove him to such a strange curse, no one knows. But that hunter had somehow found a way to twist the spell, and now it worked differently, becoming a title among the exorcists. The Best-of-us really can't just die from the paws and claws of monsters. However, if he is in a group with other hunters, he may well die. And then will be chosen by lot again, among the survivors. Or as in the case of the current hunter - the last surviving member of the group will be recognized as The Best-of-us.

"Gorevetr! Is that you?" asked one of the hunters with a sword.

"I am," nodded one of the hunters with an axe.

"Don't die," grinned the killer of the creatures of the canopy.

"Don't fall off your hooves like your horse. By the way, where is she now?" Gorevetr answered him with a reciprocal grin.

"Feeding fish," the swordsman said, grinning.

"Fish? You can tell me later where you found fish in the depths of the continent," the axe-wielder shook his head approvingly.

I knew very well where one could lose a horse that way. Here, near the Castle, there's an old quarry filled with land fish. The locals often ask to rescue some livestock or get something out of it. Or who. There's piles of gold down there. Fools' gold. People go down to get rich, but all they find is a pack of land fish and hungry fish. They can be very hard to kill, especially in winter. These strange creatures survive even after a few blows to the head. Rumor has it that even the brain-deprived body of one of these amphibians continued to hunt for several more months.

Finally, Count Feanoth appeared. The honor guards froze to the right and left of the entrance, the hound dogs ran past and sprinted out of the hall. The Keeper of the Castle stood across from us, directly beneath a large hunting trophy in the form of a stag's head. It was the Horned Stag that was the symbol of Castle Feanoth. For this reason, two white and blue banners with the image of this noble animal were hanging to the right and left of the effigy. The castle Feanoth, the namesake of the clan, was an ancient barrier separating the lands of Fortress Ruch, which left behind its traditionally white color, as well as the lake fjords of the Northmen and the dwarves who lived in the Blue Mountains.

Myrtel Feanoth, to be precise, a hereditary nobleman and owner of these lands, looked around at everyone gathered. Apparently this meeting was unofficial or private, because the herald did not announce his appearance to all assembled. Stopping at "The Best-of-us" with a heavy gaze, of all those present at the massive table, the Count nevertheless addressed everyone, "Hunters, murderers of the fell! Of the plague that is spreading through our lands. I need your help in clearing the Rube Tract." He once again looked at everyone sitting in the hall with his penetrating eyes, but no one uttered a word.

And so the Count continued, "I wish to send my youngest daughter to Kostegrad and marry the son of the Keeper of those lands. To make the journey safe, I have asked the Order to provide fourteen brave men to clear the way of the most dangerous cold and infected creatures of the canopy."

"How much are you paying?" addressed the hunter who sat to the right of The Best-of-us. Everyone in the hall looked in his direction.

"I've already paid the Order. Didn't you receive your salary?" The Count studied the man who dared to ask the question with genuine interest. There was a royal condescension in his tone. The question itself was provocative. According to the laws of the Empire and the Order's statutes, hunters are forbidden to take more than one coin per task on pain of death.

"According to the king's decree," the mercenary tossed the gold coin carelessly onto the table, "we are entitled to this as payment for our work. Yes, it is! But it's not enough to even take a piss in your town. If that's all, you can slaughter me in the square for refusing to serve the Order and canceling my contract."

One of the hunters, tall and broad-shouldered, stood up and pounded his fist on the table. "The employer must provide his hunters with good, or even the best weapons he has. That is the law!" roared the huge man, who looked more like a bear.

The Count turned his head and leaned to the side.

"You will have a full hunter's kit. You'll get everything you need near the stalls, as well as a horse," the descendant of the Feanoth family commented disapprovingly on the assassins' performance.

"That's another matter!" The big man rejoiced and sat down at the oak chair. It rattled under such a large man. I realized why the giant had stood up. He would not let the earl say anything, such as rebuking the other hunter for insulting the dignity of his house. I don't think the Count would do that, though. Except that he doesn't blow dust off us.

The lord of the borderlands raised his face and addressed the crowd. His tone was now completely impassive, "We have held a tournament and summoned knights to fight evil. They will march ahead of you straight down the path and crush everything they see on and along the road. Your task is to go near the path and destroy all the lairs and everything that will be farther away, but represents a serious danger when moving along this path. You need to make sure the knights don't miss anything."

There was a creak in response, one of the exorcists of the chill took out a knife and scraped it across the beautiful oak table, leaving deep nicks. Then he raised his weapon and looked at its sharpness.

"You don't need to tell us how to do our job. It will be done...better. As best as it can be, after this shitty oser...." he spat out.

"If that is all, then I dare not detain you any longer." The Count's response was a mass shifting of chairs and a clamor of black robes.

Chapter 7: "The Descendant Witch"

The whisperers-in-the-night, are a strange group of people, among them are assassins and hunters, witches and enchanters. More like castes, the ruling system can't tolerate one thing: a mute-born. This girl is born every time the previous one dies. To the whisperers-in-the-night, she is an outcast that must be banished, but to the Crown of Grave Mohawk, she is a valuable advisor. Because of this, when the mute-from-birth reappears among them, she is whisked away at the age of sixteen to the Emperor's court when she finishes her training.

Back in the era of Terressia's exploration, the mute-born ordered a settlement of sisters to be established in the Dark Forest. All because of what dwelt in those forests. Kostegrad's expedition threatened to simply end up in these parts if no one could confine the monsters of the eerie thicket that stretched as far north as the mountains and swamps to the south. It was only the help of the whisperers-in-the-night that remedied this situation. The Laughing Sisters had mysteriously subdued the wild beasts that had attacked the tiny outpost of Kostegrad, a piece of land that people had clung to with their teeth.

And now we were walking with my companion of the forest huntresses through the remnants of a once great oak forest. The last green spot on the maps, north after the endless swamps. Wild stunted trees sprouting in all directions had been replaced by noble giants with spreading crowns, and gullies with broad roots. I knew from the Castle Keeper's memories that Darkwood had lost much of its lands to the north and east. It had disappeared beyond Kostegrad and near the rebel lord's fortress, losing nine-tenths of its forests. And only in this place, where the Laughing Sisters live, did the oak tree mysteriously still stand and successfully resist the infestation.

The cliff lifted the small, forgotten village above the verdant sea of forest. Perhaps it would have been utterly wild, being in the depths of the Dark Forest, were it not for the ancient stone walls and equally ancient temple buildings at the very top. There was a fire burning in the middle of it, with an old witch sitting by it. When she saw us, she broke away from the hazy brew on the fire and, splashing her hands like a kind grandmother, sat down on a small bench.

"Come, child," she beckoned closer to the girl who had brought me to this place.

"Sister Huntress, you have brought a man into our camp..... A man," the Old Witch wagged her finger. Her voice creaked at the last word, and then she laughed with recognition, and realizing who I was, she continued in a softer tone. "You have brought us a hunter of the creatures of the canopy!"

The woman looked at me eagerly and even fidgeted on her stool like a frog, preparing to spit her tongue at me.

"All the old women in the camp have exhausted their strength. I'm the last one to keep the gray land from moving south of the Dark Forest for untold years. My domain, by the way!" The witch's eyes fixed on me with greed.

"There in the north of Darkwoods, the gray earth cuts into the forest itself, and in the south before the sanctuary, the river serves as a natural barrier to the oser." The witch's unblinking eyes fixed on me. She was like a blue-barefoot, peppering the wooden beads with small fingernails. For a moment I saw her facial features grow younger, and so I turned my head slightly to the side to avoid making the connection. The witch giggled at her innocent joke; apparently she had already read my thoughts. Then she turned serious again.

The witch wiped her face with her hand, becoming old and tired again. A wrinkle creased her forehead.

"The castle, in the south. I sent my sisters there, but no one came back. That weakened me even more." She grabbed my hand, peered down and looked at my palm, studying the old scars and calluses from the crossbow. She drew my hand to hers for some reason, almost under my nose, and then let go, losing interest. "I need you to clean it completely. Only then will my children be able to read the ritual on top of it. It should help stop the sulfurization of the southern lands."

"Do you have any black arrows?" I got right to the point.

"Now you're talking!" clapped her hands and beckoned the two girls over. "Better, my dear, better! Here, back-splitting arrows!"

She pulled back the cloth, and I saw the arrows shimmering with secret incantations.

"She'd pulled forty from her stockpile, and it had been a long time since we'd had hunters." The witch's eyes lit up, or maybe it was the fire's glow from the new wood.

"I've never seen one of these before, how do you use them?" I lifted one arrow that shimmered with light.

"Have you seen Kostegrad's arrows?"

"Yes, I have seen them," I agreed.

Kostegrad is a dark city with a grim reputation. Poverty-stricken neighborhoods along the walls, fighting arenas underneath. They say they keep the spite down with the beggars' blood. And as for arrows, yes, they have a special guard that protects the Lord Protector and the Bourgeois.

"Every shot fired by Costegrad's special arrow hits its target. Then the arrow disappears and reappears in the quiver, and so three times," I voiced my knowledge.

"These arrows are better, better! Precious, where do you come from? Their wizards are no match for my skill, I am a descendant of the whisperer-in-the-night. Maybe the last true witch on the continent. My arrows will go back ten times, and then blacken, not disappear like a Milchemist fake," the hag smiled conspiratorially. She looked like a kindly grandmother slipping a sweet candy to her grandson while no one was looking.

"These are very valuable arrows in a case like this. The law..."

"And yes, the law forbids," she interrupted me, raising her hand, "to take more than a gold piece. But you're not forbidden to take equipment more expensive than you need."

I shrugged my shoulders in agreement.

"Then the fee is one gold piece," I folded my arms across my chest in a playfully serious manner.

"What a sneak," she wagged her finger in a kindly manner and smiled.

"My girl, escort this rascal out of my sight, let him rest," the witch said kindly, and then suddenly squeaked her voice like a cutoff." Then you will take him to the castle.

She laughed again, and then she looked at us.

"Come with me, killer of the cold, there's a place where you can rest," the girl beckoned me after her.

Chapter 8: "Spear and Crossbow"

Many hunters of the higher undead piled up near the stables, causing the land to be full of rumors. The local servants were scattered around the castle in terror and recounted the news that the stableman had a terrible illness and now the hunters, acting alone as usual, had come to kill him all together. And the local garrison officer is issuing the killers with cooled ammunition, since the young man is about to turn into a creepy monster, and that's why they need so many weapons.

Here was another local commoner, stopping in the corridor, and wishing to impress, interrupting himself with his voice, whispered to the maid he had met another version of this unprecedented sight. The maid froze in front of him and covered her mouth with her hand, hiding her fear. I just waved away - I'd rather stay near this unfortunate man than walk around the castle listening to all this "folk art". But to be honest, there was nothing to do there while the local quartermaster went for weapons.

Clinging to the parapet, I climbed to the roof. A light breeze filled my cloak, and then a gust blew downward, where the cook boys were whispering, peering out from under the cook's hem. She herself, too, was wary of such a cluster of hunters in one place from behind the kitchen door. One of them spotted me on the roof almost immediately and spat on the ground, complaining about the speed of the weapons.

Castle life moved at its own rhythm. Guards were taking off and taking up their posts, servants were going somewhere. Five noblemen were chatting on the balcony about the past tournament, and in the garden walked the one for whom everything was planned. And she was really beautiful. She was tearing red roses in a lush dress and putting them into a huge bouquet. I stopped, mesmerized by this sight, and she raised her eyes to me. Her eyelashes fluttered. The girl was staring into the deep shadows, and I met her gaze. Flawless in her beauty and young years.

The instant the earl's youngest daughter saw the monster killer, she pricked her finger on a rose thorn. Licking the snow-white skin, the heiress of Theanotus gave a quiet yelp, but when she looked for the mysterious hunter again, she no longer saw his silhouette in the shadow of one of the columns. I am sure she will long remember the massive figure propped up on the marble pillar with his shoulders, and the strange gleaming, even in the gloom, glasses. She looked for him, standing upright and lifting her flower basket. But he disappeared as suddenly as he had appeared. The hunter left no trace.

I was back in time. One of the hunters was fixing a saddle by the stalls. And the stableman was unconscious in the mud for some reason. The castle quartermaster had just finished distributing weapons. When he saw me, he handed me a bundle of forty black arrows.

"Here, just as you ordered. Here, this one too." The officer went to the wooden side of the weapon stand near the stalls and took a spear with an iron point from it.

I accepted the weapon and unwound it in my hand. Perfect balance, a little tilted toward the tip so I could comfortably grip it and throw it if I needed to.

"I need a horse," I reminded the supply officer of my needs.

"Come into the stalls and choose for yourself. The stableman has already had enough advice for today," the man assigned to us told me, checking the pulse of the young man lying in the mud.

"And who did he advise?" I grinned.

"This mare," the hunter pointed to the horse, who had hesitated with the saddle and was now watching me with interest.

I walked around the wooden stalls near the stone wall of the courtyard. There were still a couple of stunted horses here. It looked like someone had taken offense at being advised against a stallion. This horse looked much better against the others. I'm not proud.

"I'll take this mare," I pointed to the horse.

"Take the horse," sighed the anxious quartermaster, lifting the young man carefully out of the mud. With his other hand he called several servants, who, however, keeping order, surrounded the boy on all sides.

The hunter who had pointed her out laughed and rode out of the courtyard. Out of the shadows came a girl, unnoticed by me, the one who had been sitting in the meeting opposite. She winked at me approvingly and jumped on her horse, following the hunter. I decided that it was all foolishness and that the boy had been hurt for nothing, and then I sped up to keep up.

The long and piercing gaze of Count Mirtel from a small elevated terrace did not escape me. Now Pheanoth might even have regretted hiring us. He hardly cared about the fate of the stable boy; rather, he wanted to see who had snuck into the enclosed garden to see his youngest daughter. And this young man's story is just another stone in our garden.

Chapter 9: "The castle by the road"

As I walked away, the hag put a bag of food in my bag. The water in the flask was splashing again, "Take it, my dear - you need it more," she said kindly. We broke through the forest predators, and I wielded with dexterity the new carga's spear. My companion led me to the edge of the forest.

"We can't go any farther, there's the castle," she pointed ahead. Her bluish-black cat walked along the edge of the forest from side to side. The cat hissed and lost all patience when she saw the gray earth. Covering her nose with her paws and getting angry.

"Good." I stepped forward, and the ash-gray dust that had engulfed the plants near the forest crumbled to ashes under my boots, as did the grass itself, devoid of life. The girl looked at me again, probably wanting to say something. But she changed her mind, then ducked down and, beckoning the panther, disappeared into the forest.

I walked straight toward a barely discernible target, which for a moment appeared in the haze. The disease-ravaged brushwood crumbled to dust as soon as I touched it with my boot. The skulls of small animals that had been exposed to the sulfur that had forced them out of the forest crunched beneath my feet. Here, on the border, one could feel the struggle of the last guardian of the Darkwoods and the eerie gray earth pulling the life out of the entire forest.

"Yes, this was the castle to which the waystone pointed. There, at the crossroads, I made a note to the other hunters that I was leading the work here for them to move on. But it felt like there was no one behind me. How many of us were there? Fourteen? Fifteen if you count the hunter who took part in the tournament itself? This is definitely the place the forest villagers were talking about. Nearby, near it, there must be a village, what did they call it? Sgulli... Sgugli? I don't remember." The headwind gutted the remains and ashes, and even through the mask my throat choked and I coughed. I had to cover myself additionally with the edge of my cloak. The fine particles floated like mist, so I didn't see the charred hulk of the village building right away.

I wandered around the ashes. It was all that remained of what had once been a fairly large settlement. I saw an anvil among the ruins of one of the houses, and an unpleasant feeling came over me. With bitterness I remarked to myself, "There was even a smithy here long ago, but despite its size, the settlement still perished." My face was covered by the mask of a milchemist, so I wasn't afraid to breathe. But the air in this small depression in front of the castle where the village was located still felt stifling. Burnt houses and huts. What had happened here? The dust storm had intensified, but the Titan Jodkheim was at the zenith of its power, shining through everything for twenty meters around. A premonition visited me, and I raised my green lantern higher. Ahead, the silhouette of a stray dead man emerged from the shadows of the haze around him. He took a couple more steps forward, then jerked sharply and turned toward me. He saw me.

"Wheeewurrrgh!" came the shroud of mischief from all directions. The dead man ran when he saw his prey, and another and another followed him out of the mist with his hands out in front of him.

I stood in the protective stance of an aspid, lowering the sting of my spear downward. As soon as the enemy approached, I sliced him open with a swift thrust of my spear. Another swing followed, and then another. One blow, one corpse. All the dead came at me from the same direction. It was as if all the former inhabitants of the village had gathered in one place for some reason. I took step after step back under their onslaught, chopping up the mindless bodies.

My foot caught some pebbles, and they tumbled down into a small ravine. "So this is where we'll stand," I thought as I fought back and kicked another foe down the cliff.

At last the stream of cold ones dried up. The wind died down, and the dust settled lifelessly almost immediately. It looked like this village used to be frequented by zombies, but now all that remained was a crushing silence. I walked forward along the recent traces of the battle. I needed to know what had caused them to gather in one place.

Small rats with red and black eyes jumped out of the ground now and then. They were strange, small and white. They were looking for the green mushrooms that shimmered with dim lights and covered the bodies of those I had recently laid to rest. They were looking for the mushrooms with glowing green caps that grew on the ashes. Why were they rats and not mice? Rats are the only animals I know that can laugh. The inexperienced mouse grabbed the overripe mushroom and it exploded in its paws, emitting thousands of spores. She sneezed and jumped aside. The other two, more mature ones, squeaked and laughed. Except they didn't point their paws at her. They didn't know how to do that, though.

The mushrooms shimmered here and there from the dust in the air. It was as if they'd stuck to the face of one of the zombies I'd killed. They looked more like fireflies on a thick stalk. I'd heard they'd been bred long ago by the Milchemists to counteract the Canopy with their light. The action of the mushrooms is similar to the crystal I carry with me. However, they were useless against Tlekorz the Apprentice's sulfur. Except for the fact that they sucked the remaining life out of the cooled ones, growing on them abundantly. I felt the urge to spit, but I overcame it. The concentration of sulfur in the air was the highest.

Ahead on the road lay the corpse of a knight, and in the distance I could see a naked horse. The warrior had cut down at least a hundred mushroom zombies with his two-handed sword before the wave slammed into him. A gruesome death. The mangled plates of the armored steel of his shattered cuirass lay in various places, looking like he had literally been torn to pieces. I lifted a piece of shoulder armor to see who was in front of me.

The herald in my mind announced, "Ser Letrius of the Valley of the Singing Birds!" He could hardly be taken so easily. At the tournament, he had proved himself a great swordsman, slaying his opponent, a peasant with a pitchfork, dressed all in black and pretending to be a monster hunter. But here the zombies surrounded the knight and ripped off the milhimic's breathing bag. After which the fight was a foregone conclusion.

After examining my find carefully, I drove down the edge of the ravine to the dried up floodplain of the river. I think I understood what the hag was up to. The fortress on the hill is there for a reason, there is a key that comes from under the ground. It's advantageous to the defenses, it's much harder to take a fortress like this. I'm sure the witch of the Dark Forest wants to restore the spring to its former strength, so she can limit the sulfur from this side as well. That way she can close the south completely and clear it of the gray earth.

I climbed higher up the hill where the fortifications were located. Turning around and looking around, I pointed the toes of my boots toward the fortress. From here I could already get a good view of the surrounding area. The village on the other side of the dried up riverbed had already been deserted after the hilltop fortress had fallen. The settlement is not the source of the contamination. What ruined the local region is inside the castle. "The fish rots from the head," my faithful companion K'Yoevghan would remind my old saying. I caught myself feeling that I missed him and his crude way of speaking.

Chapter 10: "Priest of Rukh Fortress"

A fanfare resembling the ancient composition "The Enchantments of the Thunderbird Lands" sounded. It was traditionally played before the army of Rukh Fortress marched out, so everyone's attention was focused on the dueling arena.

"Priest Abramius Tul of Fortress Rukh!" announced the herald. The crowd shouted furiously. "A priest?" I could not believe my own eyes. It looked like one of Titan Yodkem's servants had come out to see what was going on in the outside world.

"I have come to cleanse these lands of ossery! I am Abramius Tul, the Unrevealed Fist of Titan Yodkem, and I will crush any evil that comes my way!" shouted the priest to the cheering crowd. And the crowd applauded. Shaking his club and shield, Yodkeim's devotee roused the crowd.

Dressed in bright red and white robes, the priest immediately attracted everyone's attention. Therefore, the presence of the second contestant was not immediately noticed, even the herald, accustomed to his work, missed his appearance in the dueling arena. In gray and blue robes, lean and lean, he took a seat opposite. It was only then that he was announced, "Lkad of the Northern Tribes!" shouted the name of the second contestant to the herald.

"I, Lkad of the Northern Tribes, child of the warg and the wolf! Fear my fangs!" the archer shouted hoarsely and grinned, showing his teeth.

It was not necessary to shout, but it seemed that the northerner wanted to repeat the success of his rival, so he raised his bow and shook it in the air. But the crowd had little or no reaction to Lkad. There was liquid clapping. It was clear to everyone, except for the northerner himself. "I guess they set up the tournament grid so that the favorite always wins," I wondered. "Or maybe they just don't want any trouble from Fortress Rukh, the priest of Hotta after all." I took a closer look at the archer, a strange wolf, long-range. Weapons like bows were not common to the Wolf and Warg clan. This tribe of northerners was known for their skillful melee warriors. Each arrow attached by a fan behind the skinny back had a bone tip. "They must be warg fangs or something like that," I couldn't say with accuracy from this distance.

"Let the duel begin!" exclaimed the herald, and the combatants began their duel.

Lkad tried to get around Abramius Tulus and flank him the way a wolf guesses the direction for a throw. He cackled and wheezed in a hoarse voice, trying to mimic the growl of a predator. The priest, unlike the child of Varg and Wolf, bowed his head and closed his eyes, lowering his weapon. His rival even hesitated, looking at the herald, who announced the beginning of the battle, and turned around perplexed and asked, "Is he surrendering?" Lkad shouted in a hoarse voice in the almost complete silence possible in the arena.

In response, the herald shook his head and raised his palms to the sky, drawing the attention of the assembled crowd, and announced, "It seems that the priest has decided to use combat meditation to swiftly slay his opponent!" The crowd hooted happily, finally everyone understood everything. "The priest is just saving up his strength for a powerful dash."

A venomous grin ran across Lkad's face. He drew the bowstring, and it rattled melodically, like the first note of a battle rhythm. The hall gasped, and with good reason! The child of the Warg and the Wolf had hit the floor of the Hott priest's robe! Even the Hott priest seemed surprised. He opened his eyes in surprise and looked down at his clothes, lifting the pierced fabric of the cloak. Yes, the clothes were securely pinned to the ground by the arrow that had bound them. And I knew why it had happened. Lkad hadn't intended to kill his opponent, he hadn't even thought of injuring him, so the Titan's Unsheathed Fist defense hadn't worked. I hid a smile as I watched the priest's eyes widen, either from surprise or fear. It looked like he was now reviewing his duel with his opponent. His idea of reflecting the aimed arrow hadn't worked. Apparently, he wanted to summon the faith of those gathered to turn them to the Light of Yodkeim. But it didn't work. I hid my smile in my sleeve again.

After snatching the arrow, the priest unsheathed a massive mace and struck his shield twice. Apparently, this was just what Lkad had been waiting for. He began to aim his arrow. The first arrow flew and should have been reflected by the shield of light, but... the arena marveled again. The arrow slammed into the shield and slowly, one centimeter at a time, continued to move forward. I looked at the child of the Wolf and Varg. It looked like he was indeed of their clan, despite his strange weapon. Lkad, with the help of the rune rings and bracelet, was pushing his plumed fang forward, through the barrier, giving it extra power.

The priest finally recovered from his first impression and raged. He swung his mace carelessly away from the arrow, shattering the rune on its warg fang tip. The more I watched the fight, the more details I noticed.

"Stubborn heathen! You will be crushed!" shrieked Abramius Tull.

О! Now I do not envy Lkad. The full might of the Priest of Jodkheim is about to fall upon him!

The Undisclosed Titan Fist had completed its martial meditation, and its actions were now blurring in the cold morning air. In a few moments, the Priest of Hotta approached his opponent and with a ringing blow of his shield, sent the lean foe flying with a powerful lunge, followed by a swift leg kick to the side that pushed the northerner away. Lkad flew sideways and flipped twice, hitting the ground and letting go of his bow. The duelist raised his hammer and shield to the sky, and the audience cheered again! "If the priest had wanted to end the duel, he should have struck with his weapon and is still coloring," I rubbed my chin as I pondered.

Lkad lifted himself off the ground. Spitting up blood, he roared, melting the morning hoarfrost on the sparse grass with his breath and... began his transformation. "Oh! He seems to be the talent of his clan!" The clothes on him burst, and thick wool began to cover the northern man's white body. Shaking his thick, disheveled mane of hair like a dog shakes off water, the grinning werewolf warg appeared before them all. The Priest of Hotta twirled his weapon in his hands and got into a fighting stance. "It looks like the duel will now go to the victor."

The warg roared, generating a sound wave. Some of the spectators covered their ears with their hands. Those who were closer were bleeding from their ears. I cringed. The hearing valves of my glasses prevented any damage to my eardrums. The Priest of Hotta stayed on his feet, but I saw that his figure was slowly being blown backward. It had already shifted half a meter. The mages had finally placed a barrier over the arena, and a life-giving wave of healing washed across the grandstand.

Varg leapt forward and tried to strike his opponent. But instead, he hugged the light shield on both sides. He jumped backward, dodging the mace, and tried to attack again with a ranged attack. From the side, it looked like arrows were separating from the warg's body, right from behind its scruff. "I'm amazed at his idea," I laughed.

The Titan Fist was smashing projectiles stuck in the protective sphere with its mace and moving forward, fending off claw attacks with its shield. The predator that the Northman had turned into was slower and slower to strike, tiring quickly. Finally, the warg was completely exhausted and froze.

Hott's sweaty follower didn't realize it right away. Now, however, a wave of light swept across the arena, dispelling the illusion. The illusion fell, and the gaunt Lkad of the Wolf and Warg tribe reappeared before the crowd, with his quiver empty and his daggers shattered against his shield.

The priest, glowering to the cheers of the crowd, approached, hanging his mace from his belt. As he came close to the archer, he raised him above his head with his free hand. This signaled a clear victory for the priest. The tribunes applauded.

"Do you wish to turn to the Light of Titan, child of men?" The Priest of Hotta called out to the lost soul in a mentor-like tone.

The warrior roared and placed his hand on the amulet, causing the sound wave of the banshee's cry to travel around the arena again. The chilling, terrifying scream echoed repeatedly off the walls of the dome. The other duelist released his shield and slammed his fist into his opponent's chest, where the amulet hung. The resounding blow crunched the object against the ribs of the child of the Wolf and Warg, then threw the archer's body several meters away. Lkad fell, rolled over, kicked up dust, and rolled on the ground, motionless. He didn't seem to be breathing at all. Spreading his arms wide, he hugged the dirt of the arena. He was no longer moving.

The stands, which had been holding their breath until then, shrieked. It was a knockout!

The undisclosed Titan Fist raised both of his hands up, shaking them. He clenched and unclenched them, celebrating his victory.

"The Priest of Hotta has won!" shouted the herald, trying to shout over the cheering people.

Chapter 11: "The Forgotten Fortress"

Sometime in the beginning of the third era, after learning of the death of Grave Mohawk's best warriors in the north, some of the fortresses decided to withdraw from the Emperor's rule. They considered it a good day to become independent. Such fortresses included this one - with high stone walls, a sealed spring inside, almost impregnable. Now I am almost certain that it could have stood at this height for years against the Emperor's armies, and so it is likely that Grave Mohawk was forced to recognize its independence long ago. There was only one option left as to why this Fortress had become a ruin like so many others - something had ruined it from within.

I climbed up the leveled steepness of the cliff. This path was here so that riders too could climb up to the castle. Every now and then the winding path looped in quaint half circles, now approaching the nearly dried up waterfall, then moving away. And then there were the zombies. Some of the mushrooming inhabitants of the fortress, seemingly completely brainless, darted towards me, leaping down the cliff. I even cringed when one of them fell to the rocks from a great height with a crunch and another "Weeeeeeee!" The other wandering dead had risen from the ranks of the local lord's guards, the discipline instilled in them in life not to die recklessly, and so they approached more cautiously rather than running headlong. As I cut through their rusty ringlets and armor, I left new streaks of mushroom spores in the air. Already at the very gate three sisters from the Dark Forest were caught, one of whom I had to calm down again. She made it all the way to the gate, becoming a creepy banshee. The girl was screaming, which should have attracted hordes of mindless zombies to the prey, but from the gate of the castle no one appeared, which looked very unusual. So I wondered what was going on inside.

The metal-covered flaps of the collapsed gates, as thick as my fist and as long as my elbow, were left behind. I found myself inside the fortress courtyard.

Ahead of me, on the cobblestone sidewalk, lay hundreds of the dead lord's men, all cold. All their armor was sooty and partially melted from the heat that had fallen upon them, their bodies turned to ash. Cautiously stalking forward, I surveyed the place. Standing in the center where the flames spilled out, I looked around. A picture of the battle was revealed to me. It looked like a priest of Hotta had passed through here.....

Abramius Toole reached the middle of the courtyard, as I did he moved from the broken gate. Only in the past, about half a daylight hours earlier. Why did I think it was him? It was simple: the priest's split club lay on the ground not far from where I stood. My keen eye began to pick up small details, reading the footprints. All around, here and there, lay the lord's entire retinue, no less. A whole garrison of warriors that defended the castle and did not expect an attack from behind from the castle citadel. The priest had reached the middle along the motionless bodies when one of the townsfolk stirred.

"You vile brat!" the Unfurled Fist of Titan Yodcaim raised his voice at the zombie clawing at his leg. With fierce ferocity, the Hotta devotee stomped on the head of the dead man who had frightened him and smashed it with his iron heel. Crouching beside the motionless body, I watched the blows being delivered. The zombie took the final blow from the toe of the metal boot.

The priest had walked a couple more meters when he realized what he had done. The untold army had awakened from their slumber, picking up their weapons and shields, the vigilantes deliberately digging themselves out of the ground at a leisurely pace. Clods of dirt slowly crumbled from their armor. The guards exposed their ancient swords, which in some places were covered with rusty crust. The blades snapped and glinted in the dim sunlight on the walls of the ruins.

"Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh!" The priest smashed a pair of skulls of the ladniks with his club as it bounced off the centurion's hexed armor and shattered into pieces. The Priest covered his eyes with his hand.

A huge number of lancers surrounded the Priest of Hott on all sides. They chopped and fired crossbows at his Light Shield. Then the barrier failed and exploded with the accumulated energy from the blows. And while the explosion was weak at the duel between the White Knight and Knight Ulrich, here an entire garrison was putting in considerable effort to charge it up. The ensuing burst of fire and shockwave were not long in coming. They were such that they tore out all the remnants of the fortress' trees and incinerated all the attackers in the blink of an eye.

The body of the priest was nowhere to be seen; it seemed that he had survived the attack and had gone inside the castle citadel. I decided to take a closer look at the destruction in the courtyard first.

Rows of stalls were interspersed with faded and burned signs of craftsmen. There was a note on the door of the tanner's shop, not even the blast wave could shake it off: "Closed - come back tomorrow". Apparently, what befell the unfortunate occupants was on the tanner's day off. Most likely the Third or Seventh day of the week, if the local market worked according to the Emperor's generally accepted scheme. Here, near the shop, the body of a zombie tanner lay in the dirt. The mushrooms burning with emerald light in the shadow of the fortress wall had taken all the life out of him before anyone had been here.

I walked on, exploring the local herbalist's shop. Some of the dried plants were still of interest. Dragon root, Mandragora, and Stalecium lay at the bottom of my bag. Awning didn't smolder them, and the Light of Yodkheim took away any remaining moisture. Near the counter lay a woodpile. It looked like the merchant was heating his open counter. You couldn't haggle on one of these in the winter. It looks like the trade was done in the spring or fall. Most likely in the fall, since the garrison guards were on parade. Even now I could see the special cloth epaulettes on the shoulder pads that had oxidized to rusty foam. So everything that had happened to the fortress had been on a day off-the Feast of the Gifts of Autumn. I took a break from researching the time of the fortress's demise and approached the stone bridge leading to the castle citadel.

At the bottom of the deep riverbed could be seen the conspired breastplates of the guards, shiny as they had been on the first day. It looked as if the men had fallen or jumped into the moat. Everything else was already covered in slime and rust. I dismissed the idea of climbing down the steep cliffs and went inside the citadel. It was especially dark here without the once-familiar torchlight, but I moved along the partially collapsed passageway, pulling out my insatiable lantern.

Ahead of me walked the priest. Or rather, I read his footsteps. Here was the priest smashing the skull of a particularly zealous ghoul with his fist. Here was his punch slamming into the wall as the sulfur monster dodged. Here was what was left of the zombie.

Further down on the floor lay the priest's shield. It had been split and punctured in several parts by sharp claws. But that wasn't what had rendered it unusable. It was the old pressure plate lock trap. And if it hadn't been for the last piece of defense, the priest of Hott would be lying here, pierced by arrows.

The design of the lock was simple enough. To the right was a branch for the riders' stalls, and ahead was a huge feasting hall. Apparently, the living quarters and all the furnishings of the Local Lord were above, on other floors.

A small barricade blocked the way to the stalls, preventing movement further down the side passage. A collapsed ceiling had settled on top of it, completely isolating the stables from the corridor. I examined the claw marks. It looked like something had been tearing outward from that side, and the last defenders of the castle had tried to defend themselves by building this barrier here. In the early days of the prophecy, it was not uncommon for people to unknowingly eat oserized food without fear of contamination, turning cold. I looked through the cracks. It looked very much like there was a kitchen between the feasting hall and the stalls, and the loading and unloading of food was done in the stables of the castle citadel.

I followed Priest Hott's footsteps to the shadowed dead end of the corridor. To the right stood an open gateway to the Citadel's most spacious room. Somewhere in there, almost just before the feasting hall, the priest had been wounded. And, apparently, because of it, he was unable to complete the task by turning back.

"Nice try, priest!" It seems that the Unrevealed Titan Fist also guessed that there was a water source in the fortress and tried to enter it. But he couldn't get through the monsters. He did a great job, though, taking out the guards of the castle garrison. It might have taken me a couple days. I noticed a second line of blood appearing right next to me. Apparently, somewhere at the end of the corridor, before the entrance to the feasting hall, a Hott adherent had turned around and hadn't even dared to use healing magic. What was the matter?

I dimmed the green light, then turned it off. There were windows in the front of the hall itself. It was bright there. Droplets of blood reached the threshold and stopped here, near the massive doors. I approached cautiously and stood tensely, staring ahead. Oh! I realized why he'd turned around.

An ominous chill ran down my spine. The space around me was as dark as the storm. My hands were sweating and I wanted to clear my throat. It seemed the dwarf's instincts were right.

Chapter 12: "Order in progress"

The hunter was dying. More than ten breathless bodies lay around him. Order novices, they had come for him. Again. How he was sick of being asked, he couldn't remember living on his own. Without rules. He paddled from one dangerous assignment to another, for pennies on the dollar. While the mercenaries were making big profits, gouging people. He looked with rage at the figure approaching him. A short, stocky dwarf with a bandana tied around his head and a crossbow, wearing a leather jacket and spiked armor plates attached to the top. In a word, a mercenary. The hunter spat.

This place was familiar to all assassins of the Chilled. The Turquoise Route of the Homelands. It's the route younglings take to the wall and their first trial. It gets its name from the amazingly colored moss that breaks through here and there on the road. Somewhere up ahead, behind the blue firs, the settlement of the Springs of Love could be seen. Behind them was the small town of Hawk's Eye, sheltered by stone fortifications. And down there, to the right, near a smooth, serene lake, the settlement of Deep Ravine was visible. The hunter sat on the road leading to Fortress Ruch. To the land of the Thunderbirds. That was where the unruly trespasser was being led by the servants of the law for refusing to follow orders.

To deal with the novices, he needed to unleash his reserve, a forbidden technique of the Order. And now he could not heal himself and was slowly fading away.

The mercenary approached and surveyed the battlefield. The hunter raised his head, even from such a simple movement the wounds on his chest opened again and began to ooze blood.

"You were sent to finish me off?"

"I didn't come to this land for your sake, my friend," the mercenary said, carefully choosing his words as he surveyed the battlefield. "I want to fight monsters, like you."

"Beasts? Look at them then." The outlaw lifted his brush from the ground and circled the bodies lying before him. It must be said that the hunter was not very good at it, and he began to slump on his side. Yet he found the strength to rise again, and, examining his wounds, laughed. The black bird was missing a few teeth, which made him even more horrible in other people's eyes.

"What's the point of all this, boy?" the dwarf sighed, resting his crossbow on the ground with the front handle.

"The Order is just a wheel spinning on the road. It rolls by inertia, you know? They came for me and my family, they waited until the day my son was born to subject him to the same thing they subjected me to," the assassin spat out a red blob.

With an effort he forced himself to pull himself together and look at the dwarf.

"I ordered my wife and son to escape. And for that they caught me and took me to the Fortress of Ruch for trial." Here he swallowed the lump in his throat and coughed up blood. "I was to be sentenced there."

"I still don't understand why you attacked them." The dwarf shook his head, leaning on his crossbow.

"Don't be a fool... The Orders don't let anyone through the gate. No one who has encountered pure... evil in the mountains. Discernment is child's play. There... we fought real creatures. The highest creatures of the canopy."

"I'm a rare visitor here, mate, and I'm not familiar with the tradition of outsiders. But maybe you can tell me more about it as a history teacher. Then, when I return to the Blue Mountains, I will record it for future generations in Dwarf ellipsis," the dwarf explained."

"What's your name?" the stranger asked suddenly, something alive in his gaze.

"K'Yoevghahn, once a historian, now a mercenary of the Blue Mountains," the dwarf explained.

"K'Yoevgkhan," the hunter mumbled the word and stretched his broken lips into a sort of smile when he saw that the dwarf had seriously pulled out a paper scroll and was ready to write.

"I don't know what happens afterward, but I swear I'll put in a good word for you..."

Words were hard for the cold-hearted killer to say.

"There are far more dangerous creatures beyond the wall. You, Dwarves, know nothing about them, because hunters kill everything. In the old days, when we were numerous, nothing bigger than a perootl ran through the southern mountains. Now we're fewer and fewer. The Keepers of the Strongholds are sacrificing us more and more, because they're exhausted and because the spawn are becoming more dangerous. They're changing. It used to be that the Perootli weren't the smallest spawn. There were preeds. No one remembers that."

The hunter coughed.

"The closer you get to the threshold... the edge between life and death, the more you drown in the memories of the Guardian of the Fortress. I've spent my whole life just walking it. Even the Order don't realize the burden that weighs on the defenders of the fortresses."

He tried to catch his breath, taking in air hard with his mouth. Then smiled madly and looked at the dwarf.

"You want a joke? The bodies will stay here. They don't go anywhere in these lands, won't even come back to life. Funny, isn't it? Too calm. There's no sulking here. I don't have to go any further. dumb chumps..."

He started talking about the rolling wheel again and then he added something new, "It's personal, you know?"

"Personal?" the dwarf interjected, after a meaningful pause. He ran his hand over his beard. It was a meaningful gesture in the Blue Mountains. "My personal life is my wife and children."

"And I have... They are free now," the hunter wheezed out a breath. He didn't fall, but tilted his head back and opened his eyes wide, staring upward. K'Yoevghahn shook his head, made some notes in the historian's notebook, and moved on, treading carefully on the road stones between the still-cold bodies.

When the dwarf passed the battlefield, the hunter stood up. Blood poured from his mouth in a thick black fountain. The mercenary slowly turned around at the sound. With an unseeing gaze, the black bird looked around and trembled. Its pupils were dilated like those of a drowning man. The dwarf looked at his former companion and realized that the hunter in front of him was no longer a hunter. "Klax!" A crossbow shot rang out. It put an end to the suffering of the murderer of the drowth.

"Even as the hunter became like those he had fought all his life, he tried to take the road away from the Homelands," the dwarf wrote in his chronicle.

Chapter 13: "Night Beast"

If there is one creature I wish I had never encountered on the continent, it would probably be the contemplative and the dragon. Yes, exactly in that order. If the dragon is an animal, albeit a dangerous, majestic and powerful one, then the contemplator is undoubtedly the spawn of the very Hollow of Ignorance that was once long ago banished beyond the mountains and then dispelled altogether. But these creatures did not disappear with him, for they themselves exude darkness around them.

The huge hall ahead, though lit up, had a depth to it. And that depth... Oh! It went far beyond the hall itself. Absorbing the entire end of the feasting space, along with the windows and everything hidden from view within it. I had never seen the Shroud of Ignorance before, this was without a doubt it, painted in stories, legends coming true right now. Once inside, the darkness collapsed behind my verdant crystal, and the way back disappeared, or not disappeared, but a brick wall that suddenly materialized in front of my face. Here, you can never be sure what will protrude from the gloom as you walk through it.

Deep Terror, Darkness Emitting Creepiness - these are the words the dwarves fear to hear in their tunnels and caves. The Northmen will not, on pain of death, tell you about these creatures. The superstitious fear around them has arisen for a reason. They are, in fact, the only surviving creatures of the darkness untouched by the blight. The strange leprosy that had appeared on the creatures that had lost the cloak of ignorance, causing them to mutate again and again, had bypassed them.

And the beholders... they were like a paragon of perfection, hidden in the darkness of the Shroud. They were untouched by time or osierenie. They remained as distant as the Nightbringers, watching from the legends that passed from mouth to mouth. Only they were. the spawn of the opposite, or something.

I couldn't shake the feeling that this creature's very existence was wrong. A huge, writhing ball of sea creatures, snakes swarming in the darkness, disappearing or appearing in the swirling darkness of the Shroud of Ignorance around its body. The colossal eye, devoid of eyelids, was admiring what was before it. And there was indeed much to see before him. Two girls. A huntress and a witch from the Dark Forest, who by some miracle had escaped the fate of her sisters before entering the castle, and had found a fate far worse.

The second girl was an assassin of the Chill among those who had traveled from Castle Feanoth. Her green crystal was barely smoldering, still clutched in her hand. I knew she was the girl who sat across from me in the hall. I even knew her name. Her name was Arsa. The beholder swayed again and went for another lap, eyeing the green crystal curiously, like a night butterfly interested in fire. Like a moth flitting around a candle. A candle that was dying out. The girl had lost her milchemist goggles, even from here I could see the burn on her face, from the acid eating away at the protective mask. They must have come here with the huntress. There was no other way I could explain why she was still alive. The darkness would have devoured them long ago, if it hadn't been for the barely smoldering crystal the girls were holding onto.

And then there were the white rats. They were mesmerized by the beholder and ran in circles around the girls in some incomprehensible rhythm, imitating the tactics of curly tentacles - snakes. They stopped and ran on, turning around on the spot. One white rat after another disappeared under the Hollow of Ignorance. As soon as they touched it, it immediately drew in a new victim. The circle was slowly shrinking.

It seemed like they were about ten meters away from me, but in reality..... they were very far away. The shroud of Ignorance seemed to part, allowing me to look inside myself, but I could see it still drifting across the floor of the hall. If I touched it, by flashlight or body, it would surge upward like a predator, insatiably devouring everything.

What did I know about this kind of monster? All the sources on how these creatures killed varied. Some legends spoke of acid, others of mind subjugation, still others mentioned turning to stone and deep wounds from materialized metal spears. Burns, freezing, poison, rashes. They were unpredictable, like the Shroud of Ignorance itself, and dangerous. But all the legends said one thing: don't look into its eye. The eye of the beholder subjugates and deprives the will of the one who looks into it, as in a huge mirror, when you see the reflection in which you lose yourself.

At another turn, the Deep Terror stopped and began to fly upward. Its central eye spotted me-another actor. I gripped my green crystal tighter, enjoying the groans of the souls it devoured, the perfect neighborhood to enter under the Canopy of Ignorance. The wind rushed through me, carrying the heat from my body inside the crystal. I took a step forward. The Hollow of Ignorance, like the beholder, drew back, as if disbelieving another visitor. All the mice scattered from the circle of light, leaving only the two girls. It was as if the beholder was asking me, "Have you come for them?"

I took a step, another step, and the darkness spun. Like black water, it surged forward, enveloping the sphere of light with the green crystal at its center. It flowed around on all sides and then rushed upward, covering the ceiling and the light from the windows. My arm flew up, exposing my only trump card, an outstretched hand holding the crystal. For some reason it felt right to me then. I found myself in absolute, crushing darkness, the howling of the souls ceased, replaced by an empty, ringing, collapsing silence. I had a strange feeling, as if the environment around me had become thick, as if I was under layers of many waters. In a small bubble of air, so deep that not even the light of the Yodkheim reached the place. The Shroud of Ignorance wanted to show its power and strength to the unexpected guest. And only the echo of my footsteps echoed deafeningly around me. There was only one way left... The way forward.

Chapter 14: "Girls first"

And there she was. That girl, even still almost a girl by the standards of the hunters, who was sitting at the meeting in Lord Mirtel Feaonot's castle, across from me in the hall of speeches. In their spare time, the elders of the city, castle nobles, philosophers and court mages use it for various purposes. I overheard it from the servants while I was wandering through the corridors of the castle, which is why the hall got such an unusual name. I spurred my horse and caught up with the hunter of the cold.

"Arsa," the girl introduced herself briefly.

"Envnir," I mimicked her brevity and remembered what my mother had called me.

We rode in silence for a while, until I heard a voice behind me that sounded playfully resentful, "And Tocent, by the way!"

The hunter caught up with us and showed me my mare by the stall. He himself preferred a half-dead stallion. The huntress and I smiled at his indignant tone. The narrow road did not find room for another rider and did not allow him to ride third in line.

Our group parted the canopy of air, scaring the superstitious travelers with this concentration of monster hunters on the road. A group of peasants holding a procession to Castle Feanoth stepped off the path, letting us pass. There were seven of them: stout men with pitchforks and threshers in their hands, peasants traveling from their village to the market and city business. At a time like this, it was better to walk together; brigands and small creatures of Polog would not be able to harm a large enough group.

Upon noticing us, the burly men were quite startled, so much so that one of them asked, "Gentlemen hunters? Are you all right? Where did you come from?" the villager addressed us respectfully.

"Yes, everything is fine! We are on a mission from the Count," Tocent said casually. We rode past without stopping.

"Arsa, where do you come from?" I asked at last.

"I was born in the Homelands," she said, looking ahead.

"And where exactly?" Tocent said with all his directness.

"In the Springs of Love," she said, suddenly blushing and glancing at me.

"Ah," said Tocent, "where are you from, Envnir?" He was obviously eager to chat.

"From the Northlands beyond Feanoth. There are small villages there, or rather there were," I shared my origins.

"What, are you from the Springs of Love, too?" I'm sure if we'd been facing each other, he would have squinted and looked me straight in the eye, but now he had to limit himself to the tone of his voice.

I laughed. Arsa pouted, but then smiled too.

"No, I don't remember the name of the village," I shook my head, "I was taken at four."

"Ah," Tocent said again, "an early bird, then."

"Where are you from?" I decided not to let the hunter ask another question and thus change the subject.

"Well, uhm," Tokent seemed to be scratching his head. "I'm just from Rubizhne, my grandmother lives here."

"Grandmother?" Arsa smiled.

"Well, yes," Tocent said, confused, "grandmother."

"How did you end up in the Order? You weren't supposed to be in the Order, were you?" I asked the murderer of the cold.

"Yeah, you know..." he sighed. "My family was killed by vagrants, all of them. My parents, my grandfather, my brothers and sisters - I had twelve of them then. Only me and my old grandmother hid in the cellar. I still remember her eyes staring up at the ceiling, and she was reading something, either an incantation or a prayer to Titan Jodkheim with just her lips. It was scary! The bandits were creaking the floorboards above us. Blood dripping from the ceiling. Sometimes she sits like that now, especially when I don't visit for a long time, worried about me."

We were quiet. Tocent was thinking about something.

"What happened after that?" I asked a question, not letting Tocent finally go into himself.

"Then there was the Order. I was promised that I would become a novice. And I spent four years training to be an Order minister. And it would have been over the following year if it hadn't been for the gray death. The evil monster managed to destroy the children's wagon, along with the escorts that were supposed to go to the wall," Tocent paused, "the abbot decided to choose among the novices who had not yet been trained. I wasn't supposed to be taken at all, but because of my misbehavior, my trainer ordered that I be included in the number of those to be tested. So we drew lots that pointed to me... I only had a month left to complete my novice training."

"What was the offense?" Arsa asked.

"Sneaking into the girls' wing next door." Now the tips of Tocent's ears were reddening. I smiled, Arsa snorted.

"When the Keeper of the Fortress saw me, he just pointed his finger at me," the hunter said. An old man appeared on the road. He must have been blind or in over his head, so he didn't see us. Tocent barked at him in one word, "outoftheway!" It was only then that the old man finally noticed the three monster hunters. They were coming straight at him.

Frightened, without knowing what, he fell to his knees and raised his hands in the air. We had to go around. The old man, still seated, waved his hat in his hand and rose with a lurch. "Oh! That wasn't good; perhaps I should have stopped and helped him up?" came the belated thought.

Arsa waited until we had passed the unfortunate man, and then she said, "I was nine when I was taken from my family and taken into the Order," the girl began her story.

"My father saw no other way to feed his family. He broke his leg and couldn't work until it healed. It had been a particularly bad year, and we had to deal with the debts that had accumulated."

Fixing a lock of hair, the girl continued, "I was not the first in my family, but only the third, and my father, pitying the only son left, since the Order had already taken away his firstborn, gave me a girl in a hungry year. That's how I ended up in Fortress Rukh."

"Nine years old? Why are you so young?" Tocent wondered.

"When I was brought to the Order, the abbot took one look at me and said that the girl would be of no use anyway, so they sent me straight to the mountains to my guardian," she said indignantly.

Tocent and I looked at each other: the abbot broke the law of the Empire and the statutes of the monasteries.

"You should not have been sent to the wall according to the laws of the Empire and the Order Charter, why didn't you refuse?" I asked.

"Alas, I knew neither at the time," the girl shrugged.

"When we traveled in the cart, they said terrible things that not all children reach the Fortresses. Some of them are buried on the road by the novices of the Order, and some are eaten by monsters. That the Guardians are horrible and mock the people entrusted to them. Maybe what they said is partly true, especially when you consider what Tocent said. But I'm sure the Guardians are kind, unlike the Order," Arsa concluded.

Tocent and I looked at each other again: great skepticism met with incomprehension.

"The Guardian of the Fortress didn't scare me, as the other children had said. He stepped out of the passage, a kind and sweet-looking old wizard," the girl nodded and smiled at her memory.

"After hearing about how I had been treated by the Order, the old man brushed away a tear and stroked my head, leaned over slightly and praised me for my bravery. Then he asked me, 'Are you ready?'"

Tocent's jaw seemed to drop.

"I readily nodded back at him. The old man kissed me on the forehead and promised me that he would keep me safe, and he must have kept his word since I'm traveling with you now. I have exceptionally good memories of him."

There was an awkward silence. Arsa took it as a sign that we wanted to hear the rest of her story.

"When I came to, I was afraid to open my eyes at first. But then I smelled the tar and I couldn't help myself. I was in a tavern and I woke up. My previous life flashed by and was forgotten, like a bad dream that had ended. I lay in bed for a long time trying to remember anything from the five years of life I had lived and could remember nothing." The girl stopped and thought about something, or the measured clatter of hoofs on the paving stones of the road at that place distracted her.

"I went downstairs, where the tavern owner was preparing a celebratory meal for me in honor of the end of my five years of service. She looked worried, but when she looked at me, she calmed down a bit. So I pestered her with questions. She told me that a Wanderer of the Wall had appeared on the doorstep of her tavern yesterday, scaring away all the customers with her bright blue eyes. The Guardian of the Wall spoke through her and explained to the owner that tomorrow Arsa would wake up and become herself."

The girl froze and looked in my direction, "Tell me about yourself?"

I briefly recounted the story of how I became a novice. I didn't remember much about my childhood, and my Order days were mostly either laborious chores or training. Arsa and Tocent listened to me intently. Then I told them about my Outpost Keeper, preferring to hide some of the details of the old men's existence in the Castles.

"Order bastards," Arsa's lips curled when she heard what had been done to those who had been frightened.

Then I told the story of my awakening. I told how I had come to my senses, in the spring, in the wet snow, somewhere in the southern mountains. There the Guardian, with my help, had hunted down and killed a monster that had broken through. The monster's body lay below under a rock. Then I went down to the foothills and talked to a local shaman from a tribe of northerners about where I was.

"And yet, I have a bright spot in my life!" Tocent began particularly cheerfully. "I felt myself on the fourth day in the snow when I killed the carrion!"

Arsa and I spoke at the same time, "You killed a carrion?" The girl couldn't believe it.

"No kidding?" I was also very surprised. Carrion is considered one of the most terrifying enemies. It infects everything around it, releases miasmas of darkness, and there's a lot of other things about this beast that are unpleasant, just little things.

"Look, see if my skin is darker?" Tocent asked and smiled. "That's a mark from the fallen I killed."

"I thought you were just overcooked when they cooked you," the girl laughed.

"Very funny. Wait, wait, did you just call me a bun? The Guardian of the Fortress said that for this heroic deed he would give me a year of life and released me from his influence for a whole year!" explained Tocent's joy.

"Wow, but you really deserve it," I remarked.

"That's right! When I went back, the guards would cover me and salute me. I know it was the Guardian of the Castle, the eyes of the foothill guards were burning blue, but it still felt good! I had forgotten how to fight them, so a few fighters covered my retreat, holding shields above me. The monster killers continued to fight. And I just watched everything from the sidelines, how everything was moving around here. The Guardian gave me clues as to where to go."

We were telling tales and stories, and before we knew it, we were at a crossroads.

Our small group moved on until we met a guiding stone on our way. The first in our journey along the Ruthenian Tract. Arsa, Tocent and I approached the rock outcropping almost closely. Three hunters. Three monster killers.

There was a triple fork here. The arrows carved into the boulder led in different directions: toward the village of Alharn, toward the southern outpost, and forward along the Rubezhny Tract to the Blizzard Tavern, a tiny farmhouse on the road, barely making ends meet.

It seemed that all the hunters and tournament heroes just skipped this place, assuming it was safe. I knew the nearest village was worth checking out, though.

"No markings. Looks like this fork was left to us, the last ones to go. I'll go! You, boys, keep up!" Arsa shouted, and, pulling her mare under the reins, rode on down the Rubezhny Tract. Looks like our trio didn't last long. Like I said, we're loners.

"She's beautiful," said Tocent suddenly, "if I had the chance, I'd save her, and then again, and again, and again, and so on in different positions. Dibs on the left! Hey, hunter, watch out, I chose the most dangerous way, you never know who is waiting for you there!"

He laughed and turned his horse to the left. I grinned - he was really going to inspect the local brothel. I decided not to think about the horrors that might await my colleague in the brothel - my imagination of monster hunters is too rich for that. Especially now. "I think I've fallen in love with that girlish voice again. Okay, think of the deed..."

I had a path left to the right, and I knew I wanted to check there. There's a village just off the road here.

Chapter 15: "Shroud of Ignorance"

The dark sea bubbled and boiled in this place. I walked on the stone floor of the castle, muffled footsteps echoing. Strange otherworldly sounds, like wind or liquid or blows, echoed closer and farther away, sounding from one side to the other. I couldn't make out anything definite. A gust of wind suddenly came from the left, pumping my green crystal. And then the wind disappeared, as if it had never been here. I felt warm, as if I were beneath the magma that surrounded me on all sides. Only my footsteps beat a slow, quiet rhythm. Step. Step. Another step.

The floor suddenly ended, disappearing under a thick carpet of moss, and the forest began. Birds sang, they flew from branch to branch, and then disappeared, hidden again in the Shroud of Ignorance. At my feet was a spring with water rumbling on the rocky bottom. I walked on, raising the lamp a little higher. The floor of the castle reappeared, and I felt myself weakening - the green crystal was demanding more and more of my life force, and gradually it was getting larger. I had heard that the ancient wielders of these stones had learned special techniques to limit their life force expenditure, and would help them walk under the Hollow for weeks at a time. But the Order considered it pointless for its hunters - the crystals were used only to fight against the infected and the coolies after the Polog disappeared. And that's why I didn't have that skill. "But I'm good at cleaning fish," I moved the coin to Arce in my thoughts, agreeing with her that the Order could do a better job of training its soldiers.

The Guardian's voice was already in my thoughts, "Do you want to know why they put boys out in the cold? It's to make them weaker so that it would be easy for me to connect with them." The Guardian of the Castle answered my own question.

There was the sound of claws hitting the stone floor of the hall. And then I saw some rather unsightly little creatures.

"Preids, even smaller than perootl," the voice of the Castle Keeper immediately sounded in my head, and then there was a pause, followed by a glow. "Wait, the connection's fading, stop."

I froze.

"Where did you find the Hollow of Ignorance?" the Guardian asked incredulously and projected her illusion next to me. It touched the darkness swirling around it, fell apart, reassembled.

"It was real. It can't be!" the Keeper of the Fortress marveled in genuine amazement.

"Here is the Deep Horror," I answered, pointing my finger forward.

"Did you get those words from the dwarves?" laughed the Keeper of the Fortress. A vague silhouette of curly snakes appeared ahead. The old man closed his eyes and covered his face with his hand, as if the illusion could see something.

He uttered, "I can't help you. Get out on your own, don't touch that stuff.... It's only a matter of time before he makes a connection with me! Oh, what will happen then! I'll give you some advice, take your crystal with your hand, at least you'll have a chance to survive." He began to wrinkle his nose, another contemplative obsession loomed ahead.

"Wait," I asked, and the Guardian tried to linger, his illusion trembling with tension.

"Ouch! He is not alone here - I can't go on." The Guardian grabbed his head with both hands. A breeze blew from the front and the illusion dissipated, the evil-eyed obsessions ahead vanished as well.

I very reluctantly intercepted the crystal with my left hand and took a direct hold of it. It was a forbidden Order technique. Now the crystal was eating insatiably, with no barrier between it and me. It was like a sponge, absorbing the life force. My ring finger began to sting, my heart and hand began to freeze. The quiet whispering returned, only now it was different. It was only in my imagination, but now it was real, coming from one side or the other. A flash of light dispersed the Canopy of Ignorance, sizzling the small Prides. A way back appeared and materialized, it was a thin path. The humming in my head grew, ahead, in the shimmering darkness I saw two silhouettes with a barely smoldering grassy-salad glow of a beam.

I took a step. I found it harder to move now. The Shroud of Ignorance resisted, another step through the darkness. The shroud tried to build a wall between us, materializing, but the masonry crumbled when I hit it. A frosty mountain wind blew out from behind it, trying to knock me off my feet. With an effort, I finally burst into a small patch of light. The two girls were sitting side by side as if they had fallen asleep. "They're exhausted. How am I going to get them out of here?" I think I said it out loud in desperation. My heart stabbed. The crystal had eaten away the skin on my palm, but I felt no pain. I used my free hand to secure the crossbow behind my back. The veil on all sides began to fade, revealing a dozen silhouettes of contemplators. I didn't look at them, but with my other hand I grabbed the other crystal that the girls had. Again the Hollow of Ignorance spread out in all directions. The bright flash made the way back again a barely discernible path, like moonlight on the surface of black water. It also scorched the beholder, who had crept up from behind and was already in the circle of light, right behind me. I glanced back carelessly and looked directly into the eye. To my horror I realized what I was doing - too late. But it just so happened that his eye at that moment had glazed over with a sickening green light, and the monster couldn't look directly at me. He recoiled back into the darkness. The other contemplators shuffled their paws around as if with a tidal wave, carried back.

"It's too bright. The heat," came an otherworldly whisper.

"If we're going to break the Order's rules, we're going to break them all at once." I released my spare reserve of energy, hoisting both girls onto my shoulders, and ran down the vanishing moonlit path. All around me, rocks were falling and it seemed the castle itself was beginning to crumble. Away through the gardens and waterfalls, away across the roof of the hut! Leap to the house with the chimney with smoke coming out of it! Quickly, across the floor of the Castle, around the wooden feasting tables that had never been there. My whole body was dry. My lips were wrinkled like the wrinkles you get on your fingers after a bath in a hot spring. But I broke out from under the Hollow and fell to my knees after riding a few meters. Then I got up again and folded the girls in the hallway - away from the Contemplator. I turned around, the Hollow of Ignorance was pulling up to the descent into the catacombs of the castle. It looked like Eye and his friends had decided to leave the feasting hall. There, under the canopy, he tried to make contact with me. Good thing I didn't wrap myself in the small circle of light completely to lock it both ways. Apparently he was attracted to my connection to the Castle Keeper and didn't attack. Well, good, that played to my advantage... And then I felt one of my hands unbend on its own. Bare to the bone, it had lost all muscle and unclenched on its own. I let the second crystal out of my hand by itself. It, tinkling like the first, fell to the floor and went out. "And how nice and cozy it is here, and the girls are so... beautiful," I thought and collapsed without feeling.

"Come back. To us. Later," came multiple voices in my head.

"Come back again. Later. Hunter," rang out in my thoughts, once I'd loosened up a bit.

"Bring. Blood. Under the Blood," they spoke, and the word repeated many times in my ears, "Blood. Blood. Blood. Blood," as if each of them wanted to repeat it.

"Under the Canopy," clarified again some particularly dark voice in intonation, and I sensed, with some sixth sense, that he was calling the Canopy of Ignorance with a capital letter.

"Blood. Stars," another added heartfelt, making goosebumps run down my back.

"Later. Not now," the last one muttered in a special crackling voice.

Chapter 16: "Ordering One Person"

"You can hire two, my lord!" The village head didn't give up and, having tightened his sash better, looked up to the Nobleman. The old man's cloak was hanging down to the floor, a bag-like thing. This is the first time I've seen such a ridiculous garment.

"It turns out you can," the village owner finally relented and nodded and turned to the monster hunter.

"Padali Killer, an order is already in the works. Our village paid a mercenary to do this task, but if you take on the same task, maybe one of you will do it," Lord Nemrald Crimson Sunset turned to me.

I didn't think they'd come to an agreement with each other after all. I, who was already in the doorway, turned around and folded my arms across my chest. The village headman, nodding with shaking hands, unfolded a handkerchief.

"Here, just one gold, your lordship. Compared to the wages of a mercenary, it won't cost you anything. The Order's novices charge a set fee," the headman nodded at the gold.

The nobleman's eyes lit up. If I don't stop him now, he'll definitely make me not only a monster killer, but also a laborer. I sighed and turned to the nobleman to explain the details of the deal.

"There is one more rule: if the hunter has no equipment, then you must provide him with everything he needs. If not the best, then a good one. That's the Emperor's decree," I looked into his eyes.

"Are you missing something? Do you want a new spear? What do you want?" The nobleman raised his index finger and pointed at me. The enthusiasm in his eyes was visibly diminished. "That's good," I mentally nodded to myself.

I took the spear off my back and twirled it around. The balance remained as it had been the first day, so good that it forced me to even shake my head in satisfaction.

"It wasn't long before I broke my knife in the skull of a perotl. If you'll have a good replacement, I need one," I explained.

The Earl of a small estate near Bloodlands, a village that stood at the foot of a small hill in the marshes, removed his dirk from his belt and held it out to me. I checked the balance of the weapon again. "Sharp, richly inlaid." I placed it on two fingers. The weapon froze motionless. "Excellent balance."

"Don't doubt, this one is the best we have," the nobleman even grinned somehow.

"Then I'm ready to fulfill this order," I immediately agreed. It seems that I had gotten my hands on a rather rare quality family item.

...

I tracked down the mercenary. As it turned out, he did not give up the order, but he was in no hurry to fulfill it. He was preparing something in the cave, burning the ends of the stakes on fire to make them stronger. Then the mercenary, grunting, took up a shovel and, being a dwarf, dug a hole in the frozen ground easily enough. Then he climbed down and set a trap, followed by another hole and another trap.

The heated dwarf removed his jacket, revealing rounded steel muscles. Wiping the sweat from his forehead, the mercenary dug stakes right and left into a small gorge, so that only the prepared traps would be passable. Making a fire, he soaked the arrows and set out a few stretched ropes to make improvised crossbows. I was quite skeptical of this design. I felt that the weapons were not powerful enough to kill an adult warg.

It seemed that the mercenary had not just not left, but had spent the previous few days tracking down a pack of waspy wargs and their leader. There was a reason he'd set traps in this particular spot. I crouched down, studying the ground, and saw that the pack had passed on ahead not too long ago.

By evening, the dwarf had poured the liquid in the barrel in front of his fence. Afterwards, he walked up the slope and returned to the cave, where he began to change into his battle armor. I agreed with the mercenary, the place he chose is good: to the right and left of the cliff, a little farther away the abyss. As long as the predator doesn't climb up, he won't notice that there's someone here. Next, the waspish warg will give in to instinct and lunge at a living creature to satisfy its eternal hunger. And they're coming through here, and it looks like they're coming through very soon.

Sturgeon affects different creatures in different ways. Small ones are forced to leave their habitats, herbivores are forced to eat as much as possible, and then the animal seeks out a predator to get caught. Predators infected with oserenium, on the other hand, show a terrible intolerable hunger.

The pack appeared the next morning, with Alpha leading the way, followed by three mature she-wolves. When they saw the dwarf in front of the fence, the wargs ran forward. The dwarf didn't see them right away, but then he ran between the traps on a loop he knew. Three wolves fell into the pits.

The alpha did not deem it worthy to hunt such unsightly prey. Leaving the three females to fetch it for themselves, he lost all three at once. Whimpering and squealing, the infected animals became deeper and deeper stuck on the stakes. Wargs mostly hunt alone. But sometimes a male takes several females at once, and then they do all the dirty work of catching prey for him.

And this pack looked anomalous. There were two other she-wolves here. Weaker and battered, they now raced forward, along with Alpha. The mercenary was just waiting for this. He cut the rope, and makeshift bush crossbows shot forward, showering the remaining pack members with arrows. The females fell breathless, but the alpha... It didn't hurt Varg. The arrows bounced off his thick hide.

The alpha was approaching with rapid leaps. I saw the fear on the mercenary's face. He threw his torch at the combustible mixture, but the fire didn't have time to ignite, and the warg jumped over him. The dwarf fired his multi-charged crossbow, but with lightning-fast reflexes the waspish beast dodged the bolt. A second shot and a third followed, and then the crossbow clicked. It was no longer possible to put new arrows into the mechanism, it had to be fully re-cocked. The dwarf drew his axe, but he realized he had no chance against the Alpha. Enraged, the monster rushed forward. Time to intervene.

With a sharp, blurry movement, I stepped between the predator and the mercenary, thrusting my spear forward. Combat meditation was something I'd learned in the Order. One of the priests unexpectedly chose some of the boys and gave them a few lessons.... But the warg managed to get away. I took up position between him and the dwarf again, not letting him get any closer.

A crossbow clicked behind me. The dwarf wasted no time in reloading his weapon. I stepped forward and tried to reach my opponent, thrusting the tip of my spear forward. He ducked, clamping his front paws and standing on his hind legs, leaped to the side and then at the mercenary. Here it was met by a crossbow bolt, breaking its front paw in mid-air. The beast howled and fell, rolling down the cliff. I ran to the edge of the precipice. There, on a ledge, the warg was crawling forward, trying to hide from his pursuers. He'd broken his spine, and both hind legs were gone at once. I wanted to jump down to finish what I'd started, but a dwarf called out to me.

"What's your name? Hunter?" the dwarf asked puzzled.

"What do you care about my name? We are all of the Order," I answered.

"Well, you have one, don't you?" the dwarf asked uncertainly. I had to explain, and I thought to myself, "What a day! First I tell the lord the rules, now I'm talking about it."

"Yes. Envnir, that's what my mother used to call me a long time ago." I froze, breathing heavily. The battle meditation had begun to wear off.

"And I am K'Yoevghan, mercenary. I was a history teacher in the Blue Mountains. What is this world coming to if even I, a dwarf historian, have to hunt monsters?" The bearded man shook his head, and I grinned. Then he lectured me, "My mother, Keya the Dragonlance, always said to me: 'You're such a wimp, you'll be a history teacher in no time,' and I wouldn't listen to her!"

"Did you spend all your gold on all these traps?" I asked, hiding a smile up my sleeve.

"Not without doing so. I had to buy ropes and liquid, but to spend all of it," K'Yoevghan grinned, patting a rather large pouch full of coins. "That's too much. How could you think such a thing?"

"You should have spent it all, you'd be more ready for Alpha," I pointed my spear down at the howling enemy.

"Ha! You haven't invested a dime in our joint venture! I bet you have a bigger sack than I do right now," the dwarf said, his hands folded across his chest, and the mercenary's eyes glinted greedily. I realized I didn't want to be between him and his gold.

"Alas, that is not the case. We, as Orderers, are supposed to do a job for one gold piece."

"How is that possible? One gold? Do you even have enough to eat?" the dwarf marveled.

I didn't answer, but jumped down, using my spear as a pole to land on. The special hold cushioned my landing; it was more acrobatic than an Order trick.

The huge warg leader crawled and howled. By the sounds, my new dwarf buddy K'Yoevghan and I found him. The warg's eyes were crazed and his hind paws touched the osier. Perhaps he had suffered more than any of his pack members. He couldn't stop, he licked his paws, getting more and more affected by the gray earth. Foam oozed from the alpha's mouth. I ended the suffering of the mighty predator.

Turning around, I walked past all the slain females to finally make sure they were all dead. I was about to approach my partner in this task from the local lord when I heard scraping. Bending over to one of the infected, still warm she-wolves, I picked up by the pelt and spun the wolf and warg pup in the air. He was crying and yapping doggishly, his eyes still closed. No sign of disgust. Clean.

I took the cub in my arms, covering it from all sides against the cold. The wolf and warg puppy whimpered, poking its nose into my chest and my jacket.

"Drop it! You can't raise a warg!" the dwarf said in a confident tone, noticing my actions.

"Where is your lust for gold, K'Yoevghan? This is the pup of a wolf and a warg!" I announced, showing my prey to the dwarf by opening my half-gray jacket. I was not yet wearing the Order's black robes.

"My dwarven mother! You found a wolf pup and a warg!? We are rich!" K'Yoevghan looked almost happy. "For once, we've made a real profit! My friend, we're going to be rich! Any ruler would give us a mountain of gold for the weight of a full-grown warg!"

"I was thinking of keeping him. I've heard that wargs are the best companions for a hunter," I told him.

"You seem to be incorrigible! All you ever think about is hunting monsters," the dwarf complained, but I could see his eyes light up. He didn't seem to mind so much this time, because he didn't lecture me. "Come on, let's go, it's getting dark, we don't want to run into anything creepier in this wilderness."

I was stunned. The dwarf waved his hand, beckoned me along, and even took a step toward the manor. But when he saw that I wasn't moving, he stopped and froze half-turned.

"We are hunters. We're loners by nature." I stopped.

"Loners, you say? Your new pet doesn't count, does it?" the dwarf said sarcastically, crossing his arms across his chest.

I remained silent and looked away.

"What's the matter with you, anyway? It's like fate brought us together! My friend, what do you think?" the dwarf exclaimed. "We'll be like Loric and Nonjart! The great heroes of antiquity! Well? What do you think?"

I remembered the heroes of the old stories.

The legend told of two heroes traveling together. A dwarf mercenary and a monster hunter who heroically slew a great host of dangerous foes, and then bravely gave their lives to defend the city of Innesent from the hordes of cold ones. Which is what I shared with the dwarf.

"Leave that nonsense to the novices of the Order, they only want to die heroically. They dramatize it, you know, on nothing, here and there, on and on... But here they say it differently. They're golden, buddy! They're swimming in gold after their exploits! So what's it gonna be? Is it a deal?"

The mercenary winked mischievously at me and held out his chainmail gauntlet. I nodded and shook his steel palm.

"That's better, my friend, that's better! What do you want to name the beast?" K'Yoevghahn was cheerful at once.

The beast, it must be said, had warmed up and was sleeping, sucking on my collar. I thought and answered, "I will name her Zu."

"Her?" the dwarf raised his eyebrows, as if he hadn't expected this twist in the warg story.

"A warg-wolf puppy turned out to be a girl." I stroked the sniffling little thing behind the ears.

"Oh," the dwarf said, rubbing his hands together. "We're going to be golden, buddy, when the puppies come, we're going to be golden!"

I laughed, and the dwarf picked up the mood, pouring out his mirth like he had a barrel of it with him.

Chapter 17: "Eternal Hunger"

"Hey, fifth-character adventurer, wake up! Lemming of the Dark Forest, can you hear me?" The voice of the Castle Keeper echoed in my head. "Someone's brains are about to be eaten! And I don't want your rescued companions to share the fate of such a brainless fool as you may soon become."

I tried to get up, but I was very dizzy. With a grunt, I could only lean on my elbow.

"If you don't wake up, I'll point my finger at you again, and you'll spend another five years on the wall!"

That last phrase felt like an encouraging shower. I jumped up and shot the mushrooming impudent, sneaking guard in the darkness. The arrow glinted and went back into the crossbow. I carefully, with my healthy hand, picked up my green crystal and put it in my pouch. I walked over to the girls and felt for a pulse. They seem alive.

"It always works," the illusion of the Guardian of the Outpost was rubbing his hands together.

There in the Order we were taught various forbidden techniques that we should not use. For example, one of them - the one the girl did - is called "living candle". The green crystal is not taken in the hand, but is placed on the knees and covered with two hands from above. The person who applies it literally burns alive. At that very moment, when the person puts the crystal down and covers it with his hands, the spiritual flame bursts out of him. The defense mechanism of a living being. And that is why instead of coldness and weakness, a feeling of burning and vigor comes over the one who applied it. But for a very short period of time, after which the remnants of heat gather in the center of the body, and the person experiences a vision of the "Distant follower of the soma", as if somewhere ahead is a distant white light.

I rummaged through my bag and pulled out all the herbs in a cluster in search of the right one; most were from a local shop. I quickly built a fire from the wood I'd retrieved from the gate, and hastily brewed an invigorating infusion and slipped it under the girls' noses. I reminded myself, "Now we must bring them to their senses, and then we'll do self-medication." The invigorating liquid had an immediate effect: the fair sex moved. The witch opened her eyes; she didn't realize where she was. Arsa, however, was cold and shrank into a ball. I added more wood chips to the fire and, to my joy, the girl began to warm up.

"Where am I? My head hurts!" said the witch of the forest with painful words. She felt much better than the huntress and was even able to get up on her own. Her arms and legs were shaking, but overall her condition was satisfactory.

"Mmm..." Arsa couldn't speak, she just didn't have the strength. After examining my mangled hand once more, I began to treat the girl first. Another taboo of the Order was lifted: In danger, the hunter must bring himself to the maximum fighting form, and only then take care of others. If there are sources of spunk nearby, the hunter must put the mask of the milchemist on himself first, then others.The hunter must always have a spare mask for himself. "Wow, how many prohibitions have I just broken!" I even felt a chill.

"Where is your mask?" I asked my laughing sister from the Dark Forest.

"I don't need it, I'm a witch and I use a breathless infusion," the girl demonstrated a vial from her bag and put it back away. "Looks like she hasn't fully recovered yet," I reasoned.

"How long does it last?" I asked, pulling out the knife attached to my belt and scorching its cutting part on the fire. "I need to help the huntress now, and if I have any strength left, I'll examine the witch as well," I nodded to my thoughts.

"If you drink it a little at a time, as much as you like, but when I'm asleep or unconscious, I'll forget and start breathing," the witch explained.

"Are you going to drink it?" I dug into my bag and pulled out a spare mask, tossing the melted one aside. I put Arce's milchemical mask on my face.

"Why do you ask?" the girl inquired. Instead of answering, I pointed to the end of the corridor. The Contemplator seemed to have finally left here, since oserenie was climbing into the castle from all sides. A white veil was swirling in the air. The witch opened and examined her bag, looking for the vial she had already shown me. I didn't see the huntress's bag anywhere.

"And yet, how was I going to help her with an injury like that?" I realized as I came to my senses. "Looks like I've been hurt pretty badly, too." Then I extracted and poured a special binding infusion into my arm to cover the wounds on it. Only then did I start to treat the crystal burns on the huntress. I didn't have time for ceremony, so I just ripped my clothes open at the seams. And froze. Even someone as stubborn as me realized, "She's really beautiful, isn't she? It's like the girl kept her skin in milk to make it supple and soft. Oops." I caught the witch's gaze and pretended to check for tibia damage. And then I tried to abstract myself from the process, but involuntarily I still paid attention to the young girl's body. After treating the wounds, I began to sew back the clothes through the special loops provided on them. The whole set of 'hunters' armor is thought out in a special way and takes into account such a possibility.

When I finished, I double-checked everything and looked at the Castle Keeper. He nodded in satisfaction and disappeared with a snap of his fingers, scattering sparks.

The girl came to her senses, and I could feel that she had just released her reserve, and her belated gratitude flew into my face, nearly breaking my mask of milchemist. I swayed and fell backwards. The blow seemed to lift a little of my trembling love dope. Taking advantage of my confusion, the girl stood to her full height, raised and twirled my crossbow in her hands.

"Stop, or I'll release my reserve," I held my hands up conciliatorily. There was no reserve, but she didn't know that, did she? The girl who pointed my crossbow at me didn't shoot right away, but studied the shimmering arrows that appeared inside the mechanism with curiosity.

"What the hell is that?" she wondered. It was obvious that Arsa was in a bad mood. If I tell you what it is, I'm sure I'll feel the test of the weapon on myself. So I tried to distract her.

"Something that will help us get out of here," I pointed my hand back at the shimmering shroud of sulfur. It looked like a storm was raging outside the castle.

"And yet, what is it?" she asked more softly, but also demandingly. Already she realized I had no reserve. I sighed, which wasn't easy to do through the mask.

"It's the arrows of the karga, striking in the back," I shared with the girl without too much detail.

"What happened? Why am I wounded?" Arsa asked.

"You don't remember?"

The huntress raised her crossbow and shook it, demanding an answer. My back shook, and I had to lie down on the heated floor near the fire. Gathering the last of my strength, I answered:

"I pulled you from the Contemplator a couple hours ago, give me a couple minutes to rest and recover, okay?" My eyelids almost closed my eyes by themselves. I didn't realize I was so tired.

"Okay," she said conciliatorily and threw the crossbow at me. I didn't even move to cover myself. My cloak went off, absorbing the blow and losing one of its two charges. Arsa started pacing back and forth, looking around the place and trying to remember where she was.

From the sounds of it, she grabbed my bag and started looking for something in it. I opened my eyes grudgingly. She pulled out a piece of breadcrumbs left over from Feanoth. She found an ancient piece of melted cheese somewhere in the lining that had become a stone over time and tossed it out into the hallway. I sighed and carefully picked it up and put it in my pocket.

"Give it to me," I asked, and a few moments later the bag flew at me, too. And then I broke out in a cold sweat, realizing how thin the ice I was walking on was, given that the bag had Fireseed inside it.

The witch drank her infusions and meditated, sitting in a lotus pose near the fire.

I looked at what the forest hag had laid out for me. "A meat bug. And how crunchy it is. Mmmm..." I rejoiced. "Crunch. Crunch!" echoed throughout the castle halls, even a couple of mushroom zombies loomed at the beginning of the hallway upon hearing the sounds. Finding no brains here, they wandered dejectedly outside.

"Would you like some witchy goodness?" I asked, sucking out the nutritious contents of the head.

"Ew! What a disgusting thing!" the huntress grimaced. Of course, the girl did not eat it. I rummaged in my bag and pulled out a jar of fish oil and took a sip. Arsa turned away, seemingly nauseous.

The witch opened her eyes, watching us closely.

"I'm not a sissy young lady, and one crumb of bread won't be enough to get me in shape. A hunter must always be ready to fight evil..." I quoted the charter, and, crunching the shell without chewing, added, "...and must keep himself in shape."

"But I shouldn't let THIS inside me!" the girl was indignant and bit her lip.

"I wouldn't say no," the witch said. Arsa roared like a wounded animal at her statement. I held out the bag to my laughing sister. Now she actually smiled.

The witch, to her credit, ate the two remaining beetles while Arsa shot the returning mushroom hunters with particular fury with my crossbow.

"Will you stay awake?" I gingerly touched her elbow and tugged at the edge of her clothes. She opened her eyes.

"No, not yet."

"I'll have to get a long-range weapon, the spear is getting tiresome. Whoa. My bag... " The huntress stopped, groping her side. "Looks like someone's starting to come to their senses." I hid a smile under my hat.

"Stayed under a canopy of ignorance," I explained. Arsa dropped down beside me and sighed heavily. Her cloak, too, had lost its charge from hitting the floor, and she was resting her hands on her crossbow, examining the rainbow-shimmering enchanted arrow of the Karga.

"Now I have to put it all back together again..." she complained doomedly. I understood her perfectly well. The hunter kept an eye on his own bag. And all the items in it had to be accounted for.

"And what do you need?" the witch asked.

"The most valuable element of the hunter's equipment is a bomb. The same magma bomb has its counterparts - the Dunmer Milchemist's saber, the Blue Mountains' quasit charge, and others. You hardly have any of these. The magmobomb itself can be made from a compressed drop of elementalist lava. In a very interesting way. The thing is, they're these huge slugs, and sometimes they lay a larva. And that's what you have to pick up and put in a jar. It always amazes me that the hunter dies in an excrement."

"That's enough!" Arsa shouted.

"It's an occupational hazard. You'll take an order from some nobleman and improve your situation," I didn't manage to hide my smile this time.

"Yeah, and he'll slip you a tincture of irsis instead of agamont. I'd rather do it myself," she put her hand to her forehead.

"Of course you would," I snorted, and got a poke in the ribs with my fist.

We lay there for a long time. The witch was meditating. The fire crackled cozily.

The mist coming through the castle was like flower petals. It swirled in the air like flying weightless shavings. It touched the fire, and the fire went out, quickly losing heat.

"We should go, we can't sit here any longer."

Arsa fixed her glasses, brazenly taking a few things from my bag. Her piercingly bright eyes: scarlet and blue, hidden behind the glare of her mask. "Looks like detochromia to me. Or maybe, like me, one eye was repaired after the damage, that's why the color is different," I noted with interest. The witch just closed her eyes. On the back of her eyelids were drawn luminous dream symbols.

The fire had cooled down completely when our group was already on their feet. We looked at each other and headed for the stairs to the second floor of the castle citadel.

Chapter 18: "The Village of the Northmen"

Further away from Feanoth Castle, there is a small village of northerners. That's where I was heading now.

All the neighborhoods near the border path can pose a serious threat to any traveler. Castle Feanoth, on the other hand, is a safe place, and in theory everything around it should be relatively the same, but individual Oserenium spawns can go deep enough to spread contamination. And there was also a real threat from the Cult of Bones. The White Knight who discovered their supporters in Castle Feanoth had initiated the search. I personally tracked down one suspicious person and overheard him talking to another secret member of the cult. That's how I knew they were planning something in this village.

Noticing a traveler on the road, a relatively young village headman came out to me. His blue robes told me that this man belonged to the Northern tribe. And at the same time, the embroidered white stag indicated that the village belonged to the castle of Feanoth. If I went south, the colors would be the opposite. There I could meet elders with white robes with a blue deer on them. This is how the people of the county emphasized that they were residents of the frontier lands. More differences can be seen in the way they greet travelers. An elder south of the count's castle would not come out to meet me, as is the custom of the northerners, but would stay in his house. It's a funny thing about Feanoth County.

"Good traveler, what brings you to our land?" the Elder placed his hand on his chest, where the strap supporting his blue cloak with the white stag was located.

My filly's ears twitched as she heard the northern man speak.

"Do you think hunters are kind?" I decided to clarify the question instead of greeting.

"You help the villagers, which is good," he bowed, inviting me in.

"Well, I had to agree with that." I jumped off my horse and led it under the reins. The guards opened the gates of the city before us. It looked like Alharn had put on a lot of weight since the day the guide stone had been placed, and had become a small city with stone walls. I decided not to think about the current status of the settlement: no burgomaster means no village.

"What are your village's problems?" I asked, meeting the guard with my gleaming glasses. The local garrison was not inferior to the castle garrison in terms of equipment. The Elder again pictorially placed one hand on his solar plexus, and with the other pointed to his left side, with an open hand.

"On the whole we have a good, peaceful... village, honored hunter," the Elder began and beckoned to one of the servants.

"But..." I continued for him, handing the stableman his horse.

"Indeed, there is a 'but'," the Elder paused, glancing at my clothes and ammunition, and met my gaze. "Our undead are quiet, too."

That didn't mean anything to me, so I raised an eyebrow questioningly. The village Elder looked in the direction he'd pointed his hand not long ago.

"You see, we have a cemetery at the bottom of the caldera. And in other villages, the dead scatter in all directions, only here, they're all lying as they were laid down."

"What's the problem?" My other eyebrow went up. Honestly, it's the first time I've ever heard anyone complain about something like this.

"Neither the old-timers nor the guards like it. The local garrison's not used to catching strays. The commander swears we'll forget how to fight. If anything happens, he says, we hold our weapons with the blunt end toward the enemy." He splashed his hands. "And the locals are afraid to go there."

"Have you tried moving them somewhere else?" I controlled my surprise and frowned thoughtfully.

"Of course, we haven't. We did," the Elder was even more embarrassed, "but they all got up and went in the direction of this strange caldera. They lay down in the pits and lay there. Their eyes are red. The locals say that evil has settled in them, that's why it won't let go," explained the headman and his face reflected all the worries of the villagers.

"So the eyes are glowing." I scratched my chin meaningfully, "All I could think of was the glow of the eyes when the Keeper of the Fortress controls the living novices. But they glow blue, not red. Red glow, red glow... What could that mean?" I voiced my last thoughts aloud, "Perhaps some force, indeed, is controlling them."

"If you don't mind, we can take a cart to the lowland, but we'll have to go down it on a special ladder with hangers. It's very deep," the Elder folded his arms.

"Caldera, ladder, hangers, undead, very cultured speech. Are you a nobleman by any chance?" I asked, folding my arms across my chest and feigning suspicion.

"Alas, no. My father was a master of the High Arts under the child of a nobleman. However, afterward, Count Feanoth granted him control of this village for his good service. From him, I learned the wisdom of the arts. But spite spares no one."

"I'm sorry for your loss," I said with restraint.

"Much water has passed since then," he said with a wave of his hand, "but the feeling is still with me. Thank you. Your horse will be fed and watered and put to rest in the stall. You and I will go tomorrow to see what happened. I have prepared for you..."

"Today," I interrupted the Elder before he could finish his speech.

"Tonight?" the Elder's eyebrows were raised with the restraint of a Northerner.

"Yes. We go today. The undead, you say, are quiet, so we'll go to see what's going on," I reassured him, "but there is one 'but'.

"What's that?"

"Apparently, you learned the word "undead" from your father, while all of us call them 'cold'. And there's a difference between cold, undead and withered. If you'd like, I can tell you what the difference is," I said to the local headman.

"I'd love to know. I've heard of the Withered as the Keepers of the Strongholds."

"Yes, the Withered are very curious. They have black blood, shriveled bodies and black skin," I decided to show the wrinkles on my arm, for some reason, by arranging the skin in an accordion. "They regenerate their bodies and heal their wounds. And their minds are much sharper than normal people's because of the years they've lived."

"And the cold ones?"

"The cold ones are those from whom the sulfur has taken all the heat. They've lost their minds, and their flesh doesn't regenerate. And usually, if enough time has passed, luminous mushrooms grow on them, which are the only thing that can take away the rest of their life and finally calm them down."

I was interrupted again, and my interlocutor reminded me of the undead.

"The real thing? I'd only seen one once in an old burial ground. No contamination had gotten into it because the ancient burial ground had been sealed. It's been there since the first expeditions from Amber Island to the continent. I had to go down into it and confront the guards. The undead are much smarter than the chillies, but it's like they're in a dream. Their bodies don't regenerate like the withered, but they don't deteriorate. Nor does it grow fungus, as if soaked in something. The only way to kill the undead is to hit them in the head. In that case, its sleep will stop and it will simply crumble."

Titan Yodkheim was nearing sunset, and the Elder thought for a while. He did not move, and only his moving pupils expressed intense thought activity.

"I will have a cart assembled for you. Please come to our tavern, there will be dinner for you, and after everything is ready, then I will call you," explained this amazing man.

I nodded in agreement, and orienting myself by the sign "Blue Flower", I went to the local tavern. To be honest, I was surprised by the cultural atmosphere inside. The three mercenaries were almost whispering to each other, and the local tavern owner took my order, welcoming me and seating me at a table. "Looks like they're repeating a very famous establishment in Castle Feanoth. Eh! It slipped my mind what it was called," I remarked to myself. After the guards entered the building and quietly seated themselves at their table, I respected the local headman - he keeps everything in iron gauntlets.

We set out in the evening, as the Titan Jodcheim was nearing sunset. The cart was ready, with two guards and a driver.

"Whoa! Go!" commanded the horse, a bearded man in blue robes.

"I didn't want to go out at night," the Elder said to me as the cart started up.

"Why so?" I asked, yawning with difficulty. The swaying of the wagon was too soothing. I ran my hand over my face to cheer myself up.

"Our natural caldera was formed by the darkening of the canopy of ignorance," the headman said. "Here, long ago, Beady-Eyed Homme, a very dangerous and treacherous Contemplator, went underground. The flat place where he entered has remained lower with a deepened bottom in the form of a lowland. Locals say that they sometimes see a black canopy of ignorance flowing around the edges of the resulting natural arena. The surface is flat and resembles a similar caldera near Castle Feanoth, but it was formed by underground ice melt, according to the dwarves. Miners from the Blue Mountains tried to search for materials and resources in those places, but soon the entire lowland was filled with thawed predatory fish of the Vostrukhvatki. And the miners were forced to abandon their riches."

"So that's what they're called," I thought to myself. That was the last thought I remembered.

I didn't notice myself dozing off. Perhaps it was the swaying of the wagon, or perhaps the place was really quiet.

Chapter 19: "Guardian of the Graves"

For the first time in a long time, I did not dream of a wall or freezing young men, or even a Guardian. In a half-doze, completely different images and memories began to come to me. Perhaps our conversation with the headman about the undead inspired them. I remembered our campaign for the relics of the hero of antiquity. Then the Emperor himself sent his employee to personally lead the expedition. And it just so happened that I was one of them.

A lot of things went wrong that day. The boy who was looking after the horses did not catch up, and one of them managed to grab a bunch of dried grass. Distraught, the animal sped off into the forest. The second squad did not meet with us, apparently, something delayed them on the way. And we also went down to the burial ground without conducting a reconnaissance. The servant of the Imperial Chancellery ignored my valuable advice.

"And I don't want to see any green light!" He turned to me as we walked down the stairs. I nodded.

It was dripping from the ceiling, and one of the guards found himself in a century-old spider web when he turned away, and tried in vain to remove the layer stuck to his helmet. Our torches trembled, crackling with the stale air. Every now and then there were broken statues in age... however, I do not know such figures.

"Urtarnath, look," the captain of the guard who accompanied the chancellor pointed out. A huge man, covered in wards, bent down and, sniffing the floor, let out a low guttural roar.

"It's clear. No one opened this place," the druid almost growled.

"Ellentis?" the captain turned to the next participant.

The imperial attendant Hotta bent down and examined the seals in the floor.

"Closed. This place has not been opened," the priest even said a little enthusiastically.

"Hunter, what's your name? It doesn't matter. Go take a look," the captain waved his hand casually. I scattered the antimagic powder. And then I tried to check for ghosts with the help of the Zarya-2, a device of the milchemists.

"I would like to check with a crystal," I met the scribe's displeased gaze, "but there are definitely no ghosts here," I turned a little louder to everyone present.

"Excellent," the servant of the imperial chancellery entered something in his papers, "open it immediately!"

"Maybe it's not worth it?" I turned to the clerk. "It's been sealed for centuries."

The soldiers froze, not daring to continue. The clerk casually waved his hand, and then the captain barked, "Why are you frozen? I'm giving orders here! Or have you forgotten who your commander is? So ten lashes will remind everyone of this in a flash!"

The soldiers began to fuss. One of them put the researchers' mechanism on the stove and turned it. The lid of the deeper rooms went up.

"I repeat — your fears are in vain, hunter. As soon as we get a sample, we will immediately place it in a preserving solution. Latus the Dry Researcher will be pleased," the clerk rubbed his hands. Suddenly, gas burst out from under the raised cube. Several sluggish guards clutched at their throats. The priest of Hott, who was standing closest, fell, crouched and immediately turned black.

"There's gas, hurry up! The masks of a milchemist!" the captain barked, and the guards hurried to put them on. The man in the wards poured a breathless infusion into his mouth and growled, turning into a bear. In this form, he was practically invulnerable.

"The stove is closing, stop it!" the clerk of the office screamed. He was dragged back by the guards and quickly put on a mask.

I, who was watching all this, chose a place and plunged my spear into a narrow gap under the stone. My alchemist mask was already on me. I was pleased to find that the stove was stuck and stopped lowering, so I looked around.

Of the entire squad, five warriors, an official, a bear, and a captain survived. Half of them, all the other guards, like the priest of Hott, turned to dust, and only piles of earth in the shape of their bodies reminded them of them.

"Get her up," the captain ordered.

The guards reluctantly approached the stove and tipped it to the side. Underneath it was the skeleton of a warrior. He was in a strict pose on his back. The sword rested on his withered chest. Yes, two similar hands, mummified from time, lay on top of him.

"Careful, don't wake him up! Put the fire away," the imperial clerk ordered. The guards had placed torches around the perimeter, and it was only now that I noticed that there were clay urns with the bones of the dead along the walls.

"Put the ropes under him. Yeah, that's it, careful. If he wakes up, everything is gone!" the captain commanded, and then he himself came closer, preparing to take hold of one of the ropes. I held the torch higher, examining the walls. Ancient weapons hung along the walls here — metal spears that had not been touched by the rust. It seemed that he was being followed.

"Wait, don't pick him up!" I warned, but I was ignored again. Six men-at-arms pulled on ropes to slowly extract the ancient tomb guard from the grave. And at that moment, he abruptly opened his eyes.

Two swift swings, and four guards lost their heads. The captain and the other swordsman took a step back, drawing their weapons. The urns along the walls exploded, and skeletons climbed out of them. An undead hand pierced the floor right next to his feet, and he had to retreat. The clerk took a step back and ran into a spear that pierced him from behind. One of the dead crept up from behind and lunged out of the darkness.

The bear warrior rushed into the crowd of the dead, unwinding a dozen for a blow, but was quickly surrounded by spearmen. He roared terribly under the blows, repeatedly slapping and smashing the skulls of worthless opponents. But there were too many of them. The captain of the guard fiercely fought off the pressing enemies. Several defenders of the tomb grabbed the captain and tore his throat with their bony hands. The swordsman retreated to the very corner under the onslaught of the guardian; even the swordmaster could not cope with the power that fell on him. The swords crossed and sang, parted, slicing through the air. The guard parried the blows every now and then, until the ancient defender of the graves impaled him on his sword.

I smashed all the minor minions with a swift spear blow to the skull.

"We need to leave!" I shouted to the bear. But where is there! Surrounded and having lost a lot of blood, the werewolf could not escape. His red-hot blood flooded everything around him. She was soaring and so hot that she seemed to melt the enemies who approached him. She, like the menacing death roar, left steam behind her.

When it was over, there was silence. Only the torch on the floor crackled. The remaining skeletons turned in my direction. Their spears were red with blood, and their shields were still smoking from the droplets that had fallen on the metal. The ancient guardian put the weapon on his shoulder. Slowly and majestically, the formidable opponent headed in my direction. The skeleton army followed him. The torch went out when the withered man's foot stepped on it.

I was backing towards the exit of the burial ground. Here, in the uneven light falling from above, there was a tub with a prepared preserving solution. But try to persuade him to lie down in it now. The keeper examined the vessel and passed by, moving towards me.

I couldn't stop him. There was already an exit to the stairs from the crypt and a fall. The stormy wind was raging outside, raising more and more particles of gray earth. You can't go any further back.

As fast as I could, I approached and tried to knock him down with the shaft of my spear. Do I need to say that I didn't succeed? The grave Keeper easily retreated, and then returned, abruptly closing the distance. I barely managed to parry his sword. But he did not think to stop: a new wave followed. And more. He struck with such force that he split the spear. Whistling. I intercepted the fragment and tried to cover myself with it from another blow, but it turned out to be cut. There was nothing to beat off the next blow. And then I squeezed my eyes shut, held out my hand with the palm open. I could have retreated, but I was trying to keep the undead from coming out of the ancient burial ground. I was standing. The ancient warrior didn't seem to have completed the swing. I opened my eyes and saw a terrible picture.

The ancient undead froze, staring at one small particle flying through the air. The blade of grass spun around and sat on the exposed and dry hand. And at the same moment, the numbness bit into the body and began to slowly crawl over the dried flesh in all directions. He twisted his arm, examining what was happening to it, and then jerked sharply, raising his sword, noticing that I was looking at it too. I lowered my head, that's all I had time for. At such close range, he will chop me into pieces no matter what I do. There was a clang of metal. I looked ahead again. The ancient warrior, kneeling, pulled his hair behind his back, opening his neck for a blow. He held a sword in front of him.

The wind outside was blowing stronger and stronger, it seemed that its streams rushed inside the crypt. The fallout curled up and fell on the skeleton warriors. They grappled with each other. One of the infected tried to attack me, but was stopped by another. This brought me to my senses, and I began to act. The shock had already spread through the Crypt Keeper's hand so much that he had to pull the weapon out of the undead's hand. He did not react to this in any way, only extended his neck more strongly.

I took aim at the heavy sword and swung it.

When the fallen grave guard crashed to the stone floor with a crash, the skeletons behind him crumbled into piles of bones.

I was left alone in the silence of the crypt, just for a short time.

"What happened here?" Alarmed guards were coming down the stairs, examining piles of earth in the shape of the bodies of dead comrades who had suffocated from the gas. I turned around. They were people from the second squad that had fallen behind us.

At that time, the concentration of gray earth in the air was small, and people did not yet wear alchemist masks all the time. So these guards, believing themselves to be strong, did not put on protection, calmly inhaling the air along with the gray suspension. Before, the fallowness did not hover in the air at all, even when it spread far south as far as Feanoth. I remember it now: These were the first days of the pestilence.

"Wait, put on the filter masks! Don't come down, there may be more gas here. We couldn't put the keeper in the solution. He was infected and had to be killed."

"Is the Imperial Scribe alive? Did anyone else survive?" the captain of the second squad asked.

I could only shake my head negatively.

Chapter 20: "The Cult Arena"

When I opened my eyelids, I saw the driver leading the cart somewhere ahead. A man in blue robes was sitting across from me. I focused my eyes and tried to remember who it was. I did not immediately recognize him, but the man sitting opposite me in the cart turned to me.

"Finally — you woke up! Have you tried to cross the barrier? Isn't it?" the man asked with interest.

"What is the barrier?" I drawled sleepily, appealing to the mercy of the interlocutor. I didn't understand anything.

"Between the world of the living and the spirits to find out what's going on. You, hunters, are always at work," the Elder shook his head. Finally, I recognized him.

"No, I just dozed off," I replied, stretching my neck, "your place is really calm."

"We're just getting there," the village headman pointed to the gangway for the descent.

I ordered the driver and the guards to go back. The Elder was still trying to look tough, but I could see that he didn't really want to stay here and was relieved that he could go back and pick me up the next morning.

Following the wooden bridges, I went down using a small platform. I had time to think that the lift was designed for two or three people, perhaps even in armor. He was going down very slowly. As soon as I got off him, he started to rise. "The perfect balance of the mechanism," I thought to myself.

After going downstairs, I walked along the arena. There really was a whole horde of zombies lying here. Their eyes shone with uneven red lights, flickering every now and then, which gave the impression that they were blinking. There were thousands of cold ones that just lay there, perhaps even for several years. I had no doubt that they were cold. The fallowness covered them abundantly. Some of the older ones had mushrooms on them. It is unlikely that these dead were brought to the caldera from only one village. Perhaps everyone from the whole region was brought here. That's just what the Elder kept silent about, for some reason I don't understand. Were you afraid that I wouldn't go?

The cold ones did not react to me in any way, to the noise they made. After walking between the open graves, I decided to go down into one of these. Leaning my hand on the thin grass, I knocked down a couple of clods of black earth when jumping down. This time I miscalculated and landed on one of the legs of the cold one who was lying there, his eyes flashing. I was ready for anything, but the local resident did not react to my appearance in any way, and therefore I became curious. Lightning flashed in the sky. It began to rain. The water flowed straight into the grave, where I pushed the creature out. He gave in. My feet slipped on the instantly soaked turf. In two swift jerks, I pushed him out of the grave. From such unceremonious treatment, the zombie even said, "Waaaah." Now he was standing at the top and looking around. At some point, his gaze slid to me, and I took up the spear. Raindrops slid down the tree and dripped from the tip.

But the zombie's gaze didn't linger on me. His attention was completely taken over by the grave he had left. And he slowly walked back. I stopped him with my free hand, turned him around and even pushed him in the other direction. Cool people are not people, and they can keep the balance much worse, so he took a step forward and just fell into the muddy mud. The zombie tried to get up, but slipped on the clay. Covered in dirt and soiled, after a few moments he still stood up. "It seems like a mysterious force is holding him in this place," I followed the zombie with a heavy gaze as he wandered back into the open grave.

While I was thinking what to do, the dead man was lying in the grave again. A faint lightning flashed. And then a very dubious idea came to me. I don't know what prompted me to do this, probably their peacefulness, then I was amused in a black way. And it was really very atypical for me, if you think about it! The killer of the cold, who faced an unexpected obstacle in the form of absolute indifference on their part. "Complete peace of mind," as the Elder would put it. There was a distant pop, perhaps the lightning had hit somewhere, but I was not up to it. I sat down near the edge and looked at the dead man from above. Traces of sedimentation touched the body, it hissed from the water that got on it, but this did not affect the aggressiveness in any way. He continued to lie motionless, his bright scarlet eyes twinkling, as if sending signals to distant space.

I went down to the next grave and pushed out another zombie. This one was heavier. It was not easy to lift him. He was lying in a puddle, and therefore, as soon as he was picked up, the water began to flow down in streams. My clothes got wet, and I shouldered him to the edge and then out. This one behaved the same way as his neighbor. After looking around, he tried to hide in the grave again, like the zombies before. I knocked him down with a slash. The walker did not react to this in any way, only after a while he tried to get up again. I didn't let him do it by sitting on top. But the ugly cold one did not react to this either, continuing to twinkle his eyes in the darkness of the night storm and wait for me to finally get off him.

This is the first time I've encountered such a thing. I was confused. So I wrapped him up with a rope and decided to see what would happen. I grinned at the thought that came to mind, if everything goes well now, he will stay in place. Then, by tying them up, they can be taken away from this place. I even laughed angrily at the idea, "I imagine how I ask the local elder to bring me more ropes, and the whole county of Feanoth throws itself at me and my venture, because by decree of the emperor they must provide the hunter with everything necessary." I imagined the confused headman, even Count Myrtel himself, raising his eyebrows in surprise. Lightning rolled, and I whinnied angrily in my voice to the sound of thunder. I was caught up in the excitement, "And then some seedy half-educated necromancer arrives, and his whole army is tied up." I smiled at my thoughts, "How so? What should I do?!" he will plop down in the mud in despair. "And here! Not all of you are mocking me!" I stepped aside and looked with satisfaction at the creation of my hands. "Swaddled him like a baby," my friend K'yoevghan would say. "Ah, if only he were here, I'm sure the dwarf would have found a way to stir up these poor people, or put them all to rest," I was upset.

I froze, "Did it really work out?" The zombie lay motionless. The drops rattled on the tightly fitted cables. But then slowly he began to move. He fumbled with the ropes for a while, apparently trying to break them, but gave up and crawled to his place.

"Stubborn caterpillar!" I shouted at him, outraged. At the same moment, lightning flashed again, a gust of wind blew and a belated thunderclap rumbled. I spat out of frustration. Leaving him, I decided to move closer to the center of this ill-fated caldera.

"And yet, if this is not a necromancer, but the action is caused by some object?" suddenly the memories of the guardian stirred in my memory. They flashed before me like a vision. This happens sometimes, but not often. I reached into my hunter's bag and poured out a magic potion — it's time to end this performance.

The haze blurred, and it was blown into the center of this stadium or arena with small pits. I moved, sometimes dropping one or two drops to check my course. Everything would have been much faster if it hadn't been for the heavy downpour reigning around. The haze kept disappearing under the falling drops. In general, there is no magic search potion as such. I used an anti — magic potion that was supposed to block her-not for its intended purpose, but according to the memories of the Keeper of the Castle.

A crimson haze began to gather in the makeshift arena. In four different places, it transformed into a spinning funnel leading somewhere. Suddenly, four portals opened in the arena. People in cassocks were coming out of them. The Cult of Bones, I guessed. Someone came out so far from me that I even lost sight of him as soon as the portal arch slammed shut behind him. It seems that it was a young cultist girl. One of the strangers who appeared next to me raised his hand and pointed at me:

"Stranger! Kill him!"

I couldn't get a good look at it because of the rain. His silhouette was blacker away from me, but, behold, two men, those who came out right next to me, wore robes with gold threads embroidered on them — the sign of the highest hierarchs of the cult. They drew their swords and ran at me.

The Far One was preparing a spell. Therefore, I should have closed the distance faster, but instead I retreated from the swordsmen approaching me. "Now we need to try to get around them when they pass by the pits. I only have a cloak that can block magic. So, both charges are active… What?" my harmonious stream of thoughts was interrupted by perplexity. Instead of aiming the spell at me, the distant adept shot one of the attackers in the back, instantly killing him!

The survivor turned around and began to prepare his spell. Suddenly, a girl jumped out from behind the rain and slashed a distant man with blades. The cultist who was standing next to me finished the spell and directed it at the girl. A black arrow flew by, instantly pierced her, and she fell in a shapeless lump to the ground, not having time to complete another jump. That's right, the spell killed her. Then the last cultist slowly turned in my direction. I've got a crossbow ready. I can't miss from this distance. But suddenly the opponent's knees buckled, and he collapsed into the muddy mud on his face, like a pillar, on his own. I came closer, and what looked to me through the downpour like some kind of decoration in a headdress turned out to be a dagger sticking out of his skull. "It looks like the girl managed to throw it, and I didn't even notice it because of the heavy rain. Brrr. At least not at me, he might not have had time to dodge either."

Suddenly, something clicked inside me and the hunter's reflexes gave way to the realization that the danger was over, at least for now. I stopped, looking at the place of the battle and tried to figure out what it was all about now. Why did the cultists start fighting each other? I froze, puzzled. I didn't have an answer. All four were high hierarchs in the Cult of Bones. All four of them lay lifeless, killed by themselves. "Perhaps it's worth continuing the search. Maybe they got into a fight over loot or something rare." While I was thinking, the cultists' eyes turned red, and they, having risen, began to disperse in search of graves. Goosebumps ran down my back from this.

I walked to the middle of the makeshift arena, where imperceptible flickering symbols were painted, and sat down, studying the strange symbols. I poured a couple of drops on the edge, but the energy shield threw me aside. "This is what I need." After moving a decent distance away, I threw the potion at the symbols painted on the ground in a strange, non-obvious sequence twisted to the center. The shield exploded and... "I thought so!" the sodden earth easily yielded to my hand. A mysterious artifact was buried in the center at a shallow depth. "Oh! He's definitely keeping them all here."

As soon as I picked up the artifact, all the dead rose from their graves and turned in my direction. I felt that if I gave them an order now, they would undoubtedly carry it out. Blinking red sparks, the zombies of the caldera all rose and turned in my direction, waiting.

Red portals opened all over the arena. People in cassocks were coming out of them. Hundreds of people in cassocks. And here is the cult of bones. I remembered again the words of my friend K'yoevghan, "It seems to me, or do they have a small numerical advantage?" I looked around the walls of the caldera with my eyes — a great many cultists. "It's a bit much for me alone." But one thing was encouraging to me. They were all standing at the top of the caldera and formed spectator stands rather than a trap. However, a new portal has opened not far away, almost next to me.

"Brothers and sisters, let's rejoice! The last contestant has been selected! He passed the test ahead of all the other participants," the man in the robe pointed at me, the tone of his voice, despite the speech, looked lifeless. "And got the red shard! The new and last participant of the competition turned out to be a hunter for the cold!"

I thought that now the stands would be cheering like people at Count Feanoth's tournament, but the people in cassocks did not move. Even Lkad of the Wolf tribe and Varga applauded louder than me. "Well, it's definitely a sect," I thought to myself.

The competition for the gift of the power of the necrocrystal is declared open! The strange man shouted and immediately continued, "Brothers, meet Gorin the Vale of Sorrow. The great and terrible necromancer of the wastelands! In the southwest!" the robed man shouted, stretching out his hand in that direction.

When the great necromancer appeared in the arena, he tore out all my zombies around him from under my control, painting their eyes green. This time, the stands, meeting a new participant, depicted something like a scream, more like howls.

"Sisters, meet the Gaul of the Dark Seal. The one and only! The necromancer of the Great Amber Light! In the southeast..." The cultist pointed in the right direction.

Gall easily selected my charges, changing their eye color to yellow, and only a small ring around me still glowed red. She was greeted with a similar howl.

"And finally, our special guest! In the north! By himself, in his own person! Meet me! The Fallen Guardian of Legate Innesent's Fortress! Li-i-ich Mileniy Ostrood!" the announcer drawled.

Now the crowd was screaming. Even the lightning and the rumble of thunder could not completely drown out this roar. After these words, a storm of emotions swept over me, "Innocent? The Legate's fortress? The Fallen Keeper of the Castle? What's going on here?" I was thinking. "It seems that these are the farthest fortresses beyond the Wolf's Mouth, which serves as a border for the Bonegrad. Perhaps, one of those protecting the city of Innesent has fallen. And therefore one of the guardians... A lich?"

A third of the zombies have acquired a blue eye shade, just like the novices of the Order have when they are taken under control by the guardian. I felt a sinking feeling in my stomach, "Such an opponent can be very dangerous."

"This is a duel for the best necromancer. Whoever wins this competition will receive a new power forbidden in the Order! And may the strongest win!" the man in the hoodie continued and, leaving through the arch of the portal of the participants, hurried to get out of the arena.

The arena for a duel with sectarians, that's where I got to. Hordes of zombies ran from all sides. At the same moment, it became black with bodies rushing around. I started the "dance of the mongoose and the asp". Zombies collided and fell, randomly jumping out from all sides, it seems that the other three participants in the duel were focused on fighting each other. I took the spear with both hands, closer to the tip, resting the metal rim on my right elbow. "Five consecutive jumps in a circle. The mongoose dodges the asp's throws," the instruction of the order coach flashed through my thoughts. The first jump, I started clipping the heads of the opponents. The second jump, I took off a few more cold heads. The third jump, I rolled over the back of a slipped zombie. The fourth jump, a crash rumbled through the arena, the bulk of the dead collided. Fifth jump, complete the circle, intercept the spear in the other direction. I do not let myself be caught by the leg swarming along the ground, "The mongoose entangles the snake." I jump back, cut off my legs, and the zombies fall on top of the already killed ones. Another jump. I continue to form a barricade of bodies. The third somersault in the opposite direction, I had to make a prepared combat feint with a spear in order to push out the enemy who broke into the center of the circle I was forming. And the final, fourth technique: a jerk back. I repeated the mongoose dance one more time, and then I got into the asp pose. "Cornered, he becomes twice as dangerous," the coach continued the lecture. The point struck the ground, easily drawing a strip in the wet mud. Breathing heavily, I stood with my back to the barricade of bodies, completely eliminating the threat from one side of the circle I had formed. I had to defend myself. I intercepted my new spear, issued by the Count of Feanoth, and hacked from the bottom up those who rushed towards me.

Some of the zombies covered their yellow eyes and ran through the blue-eyed formation. Once behind them, they opened their eye sockets, but the ancient guardian easily tore them out from under the power of the girl - Gaul of the Dark Seal. The Lich in the north summoned skeleton mages who attacked zombies with magic, and they began to crowd the necromancer fighters. Necromancers didn't seem to be able to do that. It soon became clear that the Lich is much stronger than two living people. They were even forced to stop fighting each other, calling off all their zombies to fight the Lich.

"Hunter, do something! He's going to eat us up!" Gorin shouted in a Vale of Sorrow.

The stream of dead people running at me from necromancers gradually dried up. But at the same moment, a ghoul began to climb over my barricade. When he reached the top, he screamed hysterically and, spreading his wings, rushed down at me. As it turned out, the ancient guardian did not sit idle, but transformed several of his servants into ghouls and sent one at each of his opponents.

The attack was unpleasant. I dodged to the side, tried to intercept my spear in a more comfortable position, but the monster jumped at me again and I had to defend myself by putting it forward. With a powerful backhand blow of two paws, the ghoul broke a splinter in my hands and pulled some of my life force out of me. I swung the fragment, but the monster noticed this movement and the attack of the bone tail threw me aside. The whiplash knocked the wind out of me, but I was able to group in flight and landed on one knee, the ghoul jumped at me, but I was already holding a crossbow in front of me. Our eyes crossed for a moment. The arrogant expression of the muzzle disappeared in the blink of an eye. The monster screamed shrilly before a crossbow bolt shattered its skull. I tried to roll to the side, but the subsequent explosion still removed one of the charges of my raincoat.

I staggered to my feet. My eyes saw again, and the surrounding picture opened up to me. Around the perimeter of the caldera, the Lich horde was crowding two necromancers. The monster hovered in the air like a conductor, controlling his army with his fingers. He watched the eyes go out in the army of his opponents. And I have a plan. The moment the ancient guardian turned away, I decided it was time to step in. My crossbow bolt, flying through the entire field like a black lightning bolt, was, however, stopped. The Creepy Guardian grabbed the arrow right in flight! But the second one achieved its goal by breaking the shoulder joint.

At the same time, part of the army also crumbled to dust. Because of this, the yellow zombies were able to break into the flank and, taking it out, tear the lich apart. Now the green-eyed ones were running like an avalanche towards the defenseless yellow necromancer.

"Hunter, cover me!" Gall the Dark Seal shouted.

And I decided to follow this advice. The yellow-eyed army that had torn apart the Lich ran through a semicircle and began with the same enthusiasm for one of the remaining opponents. While I was backing away, under the onslaught of zombies, he was closing the distance between me and the last necromancer. There was a shrill scream, it looked like they had got him.

"That's it, I don't need you anymore!" a cold voice snapped from behind me. She shot a ball of thick darkness at me. The Foothills Guardian's cloak held back the blow. There was no time for gallantry, so I threw the stump of my spear, impaling almost the entire torso of a dangerous opponent on it.

When it was over, the local cultist who conducted the duel reappeared. A mysterious stranger walked through the eerie arena between the opponents, examining the results of the battle. He picked up the same mysterious stones from the hands of the other participants and handed them to me. Thunderclaps stood directly above us, a vortex funnel began to form in the sky of the caldera.

"Connect the crystals," the man in the hoodie prompted me, almost in a whisper. He threw them to me, and I caught the bloody stones in the air.

"Let's rejoice, brothers! The hunter became the winner." He raised his hand and pointed at me. The crowd depicted something like the sounds of otherworldly sepulchral happiness. There were liquid pops.

"Raise your crystal hand, O supreme Necromancer!" the man in the hoodie asked me. The ritual has begun. From all sides, the sectarians folded their hands in dark prayer. Purple lightning gathered into a sphere at the top of the arena.

"Take power, you who have slain three necromancers!" the cultists said in chorus in one voice, and a blinding lightning struck me. After a bright flash, I noticed that I was alone. The torrential rain is over. The storm cleared up. There was an overwhelming silence all around. And only the zombie I had swaddled was persistently crawling towards me; his eyes were no longer burning, and he was foaming, succumbing to exhaustion. I lowered my head and looked at the mystical sphere flickering with purple light. The color of the object was very similar to the "Sunset Crystal". But it was obviously another stone, its shape tended to be spherical, while the Sunset stone has sharp edges, elongated, and more resembles a small dagger or needle. The new one, on the contrary, almost coincided with those rounded stones that sparkled in my protective cloak, but it was noticeably larger than them. "The purpose of crystals varies," as the milchemists say, "but its shape will determine its effect." I turned it over in my hands once more, examining the small purple ball from all sides.

"The Necromancer's Sphere..." the Outpost Keeper's voice whispered mysteriously in my head.

"How long have you been following me?" I looked up for some reason.

"When the ghoul weakened you, at least some entertainment for the old man," the Keeper of the Fortress laughed and materialized the illusion next to me.

"What is it? It looks very much like a stone from Sunset." I showed the crystal to the keeper.

"This is a crystal... like," the ancient old man thought about something. "It's a shadowstone. They are needed in order to fuel the magic of the creator. When the ships sailed to the shores of Terresia, there were two of them, for a reason. One ship was called the Dawn and the other the Sunset. The orange crystal, the 'Child of Yodkem', was then on the Dawn, and the dusky one was on another ship. Such a bundle is good because it does not need anything. One crystal is a dusky one, charged by Titanium Yodkema when it walks through the heavens, and at the same time is able to give energy, charge the amber crystal so that it does not discharge on water and does not fade away. Once on the water, the amber goes out like a burning chip. And the shadow crystal slows it down with its magic. He himself, like the green stone, is able to dispel darkness, but only as a last resort it is worth resorting to this if there is no other way out... if there is neither green nor amber crystal. When both ships were caught in a storm, the entire Expedition was, in fact, doomed. The amber crystal should have gone out. But, fortunately for them, they turned out to be close to the lands of the island 'Yantaresvet the Great'. The Sunset, having almost sailed across the mainland, also landed on the lands of Terresia in the south of the mainland, where thunderbirds build nests. But they had been using the shadow crystal for too long, and an unenviable fate awaited them…"

The guardian's voice dried up. I've already recovered enough to not hear him anymore. The illusion shrugged and crumbled into small grains, resembling a night dream.

Chapter 21: "The second floor of the Citadel"

I did look down into the castle's casemates, where the Beholder had disappeared, but I was disappointed. The passage in this place was filled up with huge boulders. An afterthought came to me, "Didn't they fall when I ran outside?" But if you think about it, it can't be! After all, the passage went in the opposite direction, and I would have had to move in a different way. Unless, maybe, everything is slightly different under the canopy. After all, he is able to change what he has closed himself. I made a mental note to ask the Keeper of the Fortress in more detail about the Canopy of Ignorance, if possible, he might be able to tell me something.

My memories, which arose from the synergy with the Guardian, reminded me of one of the kings of the Amber Island. He lived then in a fortress that completely came out from under the Canopy of Ignorance in a ready-made form. The builders only completed new sections, expanding it as needed. What was her name? It seems that this was an Ironclad Fight. Later, the descendant moved the capital to the center of the island, making Yantaresvet the Great the center of the entire Empire.

And yet, the inhabitants of the Rukh Fortress turned out to be smarter than me, which played a cruel joke on them. They figured out how to stop the spread of settling in the region, but they were not ready for what would be waiting for them inside. You bet! Face to face with the beholder! I made a note to myself: they are also not prepared for traps in the castle, however, it is not surprising if you are the owner of a light shield. The priest, when he lost his triangular shield and mace, as well as his protective dome, had the sense to turn back. But the body of the white knight, who opened the County tournament with another participant, was sitting in front of the corridor. Here, immediately at the entrance to the second floor, to the right of the spiral staircase, lay the corpse of the Lkada archer.

The knight's body was leaning against the wall at the end of the corridor. From a distance, it seemed as if he sat down to rest, tired of chopping down the cold in this corridor. But this was far from the case. In his hand, the knight clutched a lighthouse glowing with white light. I have heard of such artifacts; with their help, a person in trouble could summon the priest of Hott to heal him. "Perhaps the Undisclosed Fist of Titan Yodkame was responding to this call," I scratched my chin. There is a legend that the servant of Hott can even revive a dead warrior if he was killed recently. What was practiced by the priests of the Fortress. This item explained why both representatives of the Rukh Fortress were here. The knight appeared to defeat the siege, and the priest tried to come to his rescue.

But Lkad, the child of the Vorg and the Wolf, was taken to the last. I remembered my pupil Zu well, they had something in common in their behavior. Most likely, he arrived earlier and went to the second floor before the Beholder rose from the depths of the catacombs under the fortress, but later than the white knight. It looks like he sneaked past the garrison and escaped the traps — no external injuries are visible on the body. "Why did you die, Lkad? Tell us." I gently turned his body over with my foot on his back.

In front of me lay the stiffened body of the champion of the Vorg clan and the Wolf and... the exile. I saw the brand on his neck. I couldn't see this mark at the tournament. It seems that the shamans of the tribe did not recognize Lkad as a real wolf, and at the tournament he demonstrated a skillful illusion, not a genuine reincarnation. His face was frozen in a soundless scream, in a grimace of absolute horror, he seemed petrified, and his body felt completely wooden.

"There was a jellyfish here, the beast of the canopy," I pointed to the glazed eyes. My voice sounded even, so it was almost not distorted by the milchemist's bandage.

The witch nodded. Arsa bent down and made a suggestion, "The creation of the canopy… She either disappeared, having lost the darkness, or she became infected, having fallen under the siege. But, most likely, she left with the beholder, returning back."

"It turns out that the White Knight was the first to appear in the castle," I pointed to the figure at the end of the corridor. "Then the Lkad entered here and tried to turn back, but could not leave the fortress, because the beholder rose from its depths. Then the priest Hotta visited the fortress, and after him the laughing sisters appeared," I restored the picture of events.

"Yes, I saw one of the hunters fighting near the gate. Vile assholes killed her partner right in front of my eyes. I barely managed to save the last of them," Arsa nodded towards the witch. Her speech was emotional, and therefore her voice came out strangled, as it came from under the milchemist's filter bandage. "My spare mask, by the way," I thought, "I need to be careful not to lose mine myself."

"We entered the castle together, and then I don't remember," the huntress rubbed her forehead.

"The beholder grabbed you, and only a timely hint from the Outpost Keeper helped save you," I looked at the girls reproachfully. Something inside me overflowed, and I felt that my inner reserve of strength began to recover.

"Do you know how to communicate with the Guardian?" Arsa asked, very intrigued.

"Yes, I didn't cut the connection completely, and now, when I'm on the verge of life or when I'm sleeping, he can talk to me," I explained to the girl.

There, in the far northern foothills, upon completion of the service, all hunters usually undergo a ritual that allows them to completely cut off contact with the keeper. Or, as in the case of Arsa, her guardian himself performed the ceremony on the last day, putting her to bed, and the next day the girl woke up in the tavern. After the ritual is completed, the hunter forgets everything that was on the wall and all related memories. In exchange, all exorcists receive generous compensation in the form of the skill with which they fought under the control of the guardian. But what their ancient old man was thinking at that moment, they no longer remember. The body acquires, as it were, innate instincts to fight the cold ones. As a simple man in the street pulls his hand away from a hot one, so the hunter falls into a combat trance. There is another serious downside to such a ritual — carrion killers who have escaped from the power of the guardian can no longer establish a mental connection with anyone.

We walked cautiously along a corridor strewn with the bodies of servants and guards chopped up with a two-handed sword. The rooms we had inspected and left behind were empty. The white knight passed through here like an iron whirlwind, demolishing everything in his path. The rusty steel of the guards who ran out of the barracks shattered with a clang from the heavy two-handed sword. Those who were on their watch on the day of infection jumped out of the closet with weapons and also fell from the hyped weapons. Surprisingly, the discipline instilled in life affects the behavior of the cold. So, for many hundreds of years, they sat in this room, keeping their watch.

Then there were the rooms of the nobles, workshops, and even a dusty observatory with a spiral staircase up to the tower. I thought that a local astronomer might still be sitting somewhere on top of it, contemplating the stars. But I pushed the thought away, somehow it made me feel uncomfortable. Further down the floor there are doors to the cartographer's rooms and the rooms of the local servants. The white Knight led the way to two closed doors at the very end of the corridor. The room he was sitting next to, with his back against the wall, was an artefactor's workshop. But the door opposite was closed. Most likely, it led to the room of the court wizard.

I supported the witch by the elbow, who managed to stumble in a cramped corridor littered with chopped-up bodies. And he examined the place where the White Knight had laid down his head. The swordsman took advantage of the flamberg and chopped up several brainless cold-blooded servants who ran out to meet him. They ran out of the remaining rooms at the end of the corridor after hearing the sounds of fighting. The knight did not stop, but walked, fighting dozens of opponents. Their bodies were now lying all along the corridor. Here, at the very end, the swordmaster clashed with the guardian of the lord's chambers. A disciplined, loyal and, I think, a devoted soldier during his lifetime. Even after his death, he returned to his place and did not leave the post entrusted to the keeper.

The place of battle has preserved the deplorable results of a short-lived battle. The warriors clashed with swords. I put two fingers in the flamberg notches on the wall. It seems that the wound prevented the white knight from conducting receptions correctly, and this was noticed by the Lord's personal bodyguard. The cold one viciously pressed the swordsman's shoulder, which was injured during the tournament, with his metal glove. Most likely, the pain knocked the white knight off the rhythm, prevented him from spinning the wavy sword, but this could not be the cause of death. Studying the body, I bent back the chain mail near the heart, and froze, examining the place of the fatal injection. "And then, taking advantage of the hitch, while the knight was in pain, the cooled man shortened the distance and plunged a thin and narrow dagger — Mercy." With his last breath, the warrior of the Rukh Fortress cut off the head of the personal guardsman of the local Lord, staggered and froze against the wall.

"How strange is it that the knight's wound received at the tournament has not healed yet? There were also well — trained magicians and priests," I sat down opposite the seated figure. Even now, an Aura of Light swirled around her, keeping her from touching the remains of the fallen. I carefully removed the hand that was clutching the beacon and unfastened the shoulder armor plate to examine what was under it.

"That's what I thought, the spear was made of Tares wood, — it seems that the Cult of Bones substituted the weapon for the green Knight in order to take revenge on the one who hunted down their followers."

"Why didn't the wound heal?" the huntress asked in disbelief.

"The Tares tree, I think, is the work of the Cult of Bones." He examined the wound again. I didn't fully believe in what was happening myself.

"Taresovo? Aren't you mistaken?" the girl asked again, sitting down next to him. I shook my head and pulled back the edge of my chain mail to show the wound. The scar turned black, just like the hunters. Wounds received over the mountains do not heal for a long time, so I am not surprised that even the knight from the Fortress of Rukh still had a wound.

"Yes. This is definitely it."

"It seems that the cult has the ability to get over the mountains. After all, this is the tree that can only be found on the other side of the Zagorje."

I thought for a moment, remembering the guardian from the fortress of Legate Innesent, the ancient guardian who fell from the Cult of Bones and became a lich, "Very similar."

I also remembered my fight in the caldera. Ahead, the corridor turned left, ending in the lord's chambers. We did not open the second closed door leading to the Keeper's private room, but on the contrary looked out and saw that there had been a garden there a long time ago. A fountain with a statue in the form of a girl with an amphora barely gave water. It looks very much like part of the wall has collapsed, blocking its flow.

Having dismantled the blockage, our group crouched down near the intensified, but not yet powerful enough stream rushing down the hill. The witch shuddered, feeling something, and swiftly drew with her hands the glowing scarlet symbols in the air, gradually strengthening and expanding the flow. The mysterious signs shimmered, glowed red for a moment, and then disappeared in a light haze, echoing the movements of the girl.

As soon as we saw the first fully completed symbol, the stones that covered the door to the lord's chambers began to move apart with a loud rumble. And then, somewhere in the corridor, a second door opened with a terrible screech - the door to the wizard's room.

"You did not honor the lord of the castle with your appearance," the ghoul rumbled. I don't think I've seen anything like it yet. He was old and had terrible bald spots from the gray, which had grown abundantly on him, like lichen. And yet, the creepy creature of the fall had metal armor, it was clearly being adjusted after the lord turned.

A cultist from the Cult of Bones appeared behind him — in a black hoodie and with motionless eyes, deep-set stones in bone sockets, "That's who ruined the fortress!" The Lich stroked the monster like a pet and pointed a bony finger at us.

I looked at the witch. She continued the ritual, increasing and expanding the flow. Now, even if our group dies in a fight with a local wizard, the precipitation will still weaken, and getting wet from humidity, as the alchemists say, it will "settle down", and it will be possible to breathe again in the whole region to the south.

Chapter 22: "Zu, the puppy of Varg and the wolf"

His unexpected blue color in comparison with other wargs was especially memorable to me.

The puppy was born surprisingly docile, even for a worg. Why is it a worg and not a warg? The dwarf and I called him that because of the fur collar, which was so tight around his neck that it forced the puppy to always keep his head straight, observing a proud posture. We raised and taught him one by one. However, my fellow dwarf decided to train our pet more diligently in order to raise him to be an obedient combat companion. And for this he used pieces of cheese.

We discovered a favorite treat for a puppy by accident. Zu, smelling a slightly stale cheese in our bag, danced around the bag of supplies, and then at our feet. And when we found the source of such a strange behavior of the puppy, she tried to lick and even slightly bite the hands that held him, she liked the treat so much.

Zu doted on the smell of this product, which made all the local cheese makers of the province very rich. You bet! The growing puppy had an excellent appetite! K'yoevghan raised the pet affectionately, rewarding cheese for each completed command. In one of these training sessions, the dwarf decided to teach the worg to give a paw. I was watching carefully from the side then. I was interested.

The dwarf carefully sat down opposite, said the command, "Give me a paw," took the paw, said, "Well done, well done," and then lowered it and gave Zoo cheese. After doing this twice, the dwarf reached out his hand, but did not take it by the paw, and Zu herself put her paw in the dwarf's hand. He looked at me and smiled. I also cheered up. After praising him, he gave Zu another piece of cheese.

"Let me try," I offered, smiling.

I came up to the side and asked Zu for a paw.

"Zu," I met the puppy's naive eyes, "give me a paw!"

Zu was a little confused, shook her ears, looked at K'yoevghan, but did not move from her place. I repeated my request.

"Give me a paw! Zu?"

It was only when Zu tried to lift and give me her hind leg that I realized my mistake. Of course, she didn't succeed. I laughed, and so did the dwarf, and held out another piece of cheese.

The puppy grew up fast. Three months later, he caught up with the dwarf in size. And four years later, he surpassed me in weight and continued to grow. The fur collar finally fit him now. This rapid growth has also affected appetite.

Zu was now gnawing, and then trying to devour everything that fit in her mouth. I don't even know what would have happened if we hadn't raised Zu from an early age. Even K'yoevghan couldn't tell for sure. Varg's appetite grew day by day, but accustomed to hunting deer, the huge predator preferred only them in the main diet. Ignoring the cattle of local farmers. And she also did not perceive the peasants themselves as food, but rather as suppliers of delicious cheese treats.

One day I took Zu hunting. We were tracking a young deer. I sat down and examined his trail. Zu repeated my actions — she bent down to the ground and also bent over carefully, not taking her eyes off me and sniffing the trail of future prey with her nose. She repeated everything after me. Carefully spreading the thickets to the sides, I showed varzhitsa the animal we were following. It grazed on a small forest edge, where Yodkame's gaze almost did not penetrate, barely flooding everything with golden light. Varg and I exchanged glances. I cautiously went ahead and pulled the bow, shot the animal.

Then he commanded varga, "Zu, take it!"

And she easily overtook the wounded beast and brought it to me.

Soon our daily routine changed. From Zu, I learned how to collect roots and herbs that I didn't know about before. Even the Keeper of the Castle did not see some of them, but with his help I was able to find out what they could be used for. This was how our every day passed. Zu went into the forest and brought herbs while K'yoevghan prepared the hunting trophy that she had caught in the forest before. So she relieved us of a lot of worries about hunting and finding the right plants, greatly simplifying our camping.

Sometimes she brought the roots and did not want to give them away so immediately, playing and not letting them out of her mouth. Then I had to negotiate with her, trying to select the spine she liked. These were usually especially large pieces of dragon root roots. It seemed that Zu was proud of such a valuable and rather large prey. The alchemists wondered where we got so much dragon root, and especially why such a valuable ingredient smelled so eerily like a dog, but they were willing to buy it anyway.

On one of these days, Zu brought a large duralis Root, caressed and turned over on her back while playing. I stroked it calmly and took away the bitten root. K'yoevghan raised an eyebrow and turned to me.

"Varg is growing," the mercenary rubbed his hands. "It is written in our dwarven library that a young female varga brings duralis root only when she is ready to produce offspring."

"The royal dynasty of the Grave Mohkhovik believes that a woman is fully formed only by the age of twenty—seven, and therefore girls are married strictly after that age," I noted.

"Well, you said it, my friend," the Dwarven historian laughed and wiped away a large tear from the century. "The beggars of Kostegrad may already die suddenly by this age from poisoning, which leaves the city around."

"Then I'm already a very old man for a Bonehead," I thought about my life. There was no definite answer here, and I came to the conclusion that everything is very different here. "After all, there are even those who never became a hunter, but died before reaching the wall, or already during their five-year service as a defender of people. Each story is individual. Is it really all a matter of chance?"

I shook my head. Yodkame flooded the clearing with smooth strands. K'yoevghan stopped sharpening the knife and, after looking at its sharpness in the light, put it aside. He had another tool in his hands — a pen with a coal inserted into its tip.

"And by our Dwarven standards, you're only a boy at all," the dwarf mused, and then added, "hmm, perhaps it's worth writing about this in a dwarven ellipsis."

He sat down and spread out his notes, carefully tracing the first rune. Steel-bound dwarves lived for five to seven hundred years and died more often from the clutches of dragons or Cave Horrors than from natural death. That long evening I thought a lot, and then I fell asleep unnoticed, looking at the Heavenly host moving slowly across the sky.

Soon, Zu began to go on assignments with us. We did the work of mercenaries, K'yoevghan swore at me and even taught varzhitsa to look at me reproachfully, in exchange for cheese, whenever, following the order's rule, I took one gold piece. But I was relentless.

As soon as the Order or the royal auditor finds out that I took more somewhere, our adventures will immediately end. But, of course, I did not prevent K'yoevghan from earning money. Therefore, if he made a deal, then gold flowed like a river.

Chapter 23: "There were more of them anyway"

We entered the city. The townspeople fled in horror. Carriages stopped on the road to let us pass. The horses neighed in displeasure and fear as we followed the streets to the estate of one of the representative citizens.

There was a clang of steel. The guards at the gate parted to let us through.

"We were warned of your arrival, carrion killer," the fighter boomed in a pleasant timbre from under the visor of his helmet. The fame of the hunter who tamed the warg has spread far. That's why one of the local nobles invited us to serve him.

I examined the fighters in front of the gate; somehow there were surprisingly few of them, only two, and this despite the fact that the post in front of the gate provided even a small structure for guards. It was empty now. The small garden in front of the manor is also overgrown from neglect. It seemed that almost all the servants had simply run away. It is likely that the business of the nobleman who invited us is not going well.

Following a small path overgrown with moss, we entered the main building of the estate, as the doors were open, and saw our employer. He was glad to see us too.

"Why did you bring Varg here?" he shouted, jumping with his feet on the sofa on which he had just been sitting. The assumed complacency fell off his face, like a leaky alchemist's mask, as soon as the nobleman saw Zu, who entered after us. He was trembling, and the wine from the glass splashed around. "It's a dangerous predator!"

Zu aggravated the situation and decided to add fuel to the fire by growling at an inadequate person. I covered her eyes with my palm. Or rather, the eye, because the puppy has already become really big. And the almost adult varg sat down complacently, shaking his big ears. The dwarf was studying with him. From the very beginning of his training, he rehearsed several tricks to subdue, if necessary, an adult predator.

"You called, dear Retreyon Yodmunheim, and here we are," I said cautiously. After my words, a distant descendant of the famous pirate captain Dawn pointed at Zu. I shook my head, and then, pulling himself together, the nobleman calmed down a little.

"Does he bite?" the nobleman asked with a grimace of horror and interest. An amazing man, his voice has already returned to normal.

"She is. Her name is Zu, and she won't do anything without a command."

"And cheese," I mentally added to myself.

"However, outsiders have nothing to know about our secrets," I thought, and secretly shoved the secret treat under Varg's nose.

"So it's a girl?" Will there be puppies?" the nobleman asked and drank from a glass of wine that had not been released from his hands. He was still trembling slightly. I sighed. "He's scared, shaking like a leaf, but he's asking about puppies. That's why he needs it? He will not keep the varga in the pasture, but a ban in the kennel, embittering the freedom-loving animal with such content."

I shook my head.

"It's still early! She's just a puppy!" the dwarf exclaimed.

"The puppy!" the nobleman exclaimed and looked at the ceiling, as if it was an amazing joke and he had a guess-the answer to it. This finally brought the descendant of Yodmunheim's distant ancestor to his senses, and he stopped trembling. Thawing out, Retreyon got down to business.

"I need your help," he turned to us, "my people are being attacked and killed by my enemies. I've done too much to annoy the diverse public of this city by being a judge. Now, here, I need to go to my old friend. And my informants and trusted people all say the same thing as one. That's why I'm sure there will be an ambush along the way."

This time the Dwarf was ahead of me and turned to the noble citizen first.

"Gold, at least two hundred!" the dwarf shouted before I could say anything.

"I agree!" the nobleman agreed without bargaining. It was painful to look at the dwarf. I shook my head and asked, "What is the composition chosen for the crew? Who will accompany you?"

"I'll take three of my guards, and there will be a driver. I wanted to take them all, but I don't have many people left... some of them will have to be left to guard the house and the old butler. He's the only magician left," the nobleman shook his head and lowered it, then after a couple of moments he caught himself and added, "as well as you."

I nodded in confirmation.

So we volunteered to accompany the judge's stagecoach. The dwarf climbed up to the top of the cart to take the shooter's place next to the driver, so the guards and I followed her on foot. When the driver confidently pulled on the reins and the carriage began to move, I sent the young predator to hunt in the forest. Therefore, when the bandits blocked our way, she was not there.

It happened in a small undergrowth at a bend. Here, at the exit of a small village, the crew slowed down, trying not to fly into a ditch when our path was blocked.

Three confident fighters took to the road. Skinny, Big and Savage. Skinny was holding a crossbow. The bully shifted from one foot to the other in the center with a huge two-handed sword and in the gorgeous armor of a knight with an open visor. It was obvious that the armor was a little out of size and pressed on his nose. To the right of the Big Man with two axes and a naked torso, a Savage was breathing heavily.

When we stopped, the Big Guy, apparently the leader, spoke up, "And who is it we have here? Drive the loot and the mongrel of this... What's his name? Reire, ugh, Rhea is shorter," the bandit pointed with a metal glove.

"Are there three of you?" the dwarf looked skeptically at the assembled people. The bandits did not immediately notice him, who was sitting on top of the shooter's place, on a platform behind the driver.

"Hey, guys! Come here!" the leader beckoned to the other bandits. With a hoot, the rest of the bandits appeared from the forest. The guards took a step back to the carriage, timid in front of the outnumbered enemy. After examining this motley crew, mostly made up of peasants, the historian shook his head.

"You should have let us through, boy!" the dwarf said angrily.

"Did you hear what carrion says? Who are you to call me a boy anyway?" the big guy turned to his fighters. The bandits laughed.

"K'yoevghan, the teacher of Dwarven history!" the mercenary announced loudly. But it didn't seem to make an impression on the gathered thugs, but only encouraged them. And the bandits began to egg the dwarf on, shouting all sorts of things.

"I'm going to call you K'yo, because you're short, and it's kind of long for you," the leader pointed. The gang laughed.

"I think I'll teach you another lesson," the mercenary gritted his teeth.

"Look at this booger, she's going to teach me!" the bandits didn't roll on the floor, they had so much fun.

The mercenary clenched his teeth tighter. Even from here, I could hear the dwarf gnashing his teeth. Everything was floating like in a fog, my heart was pounding wildly. The robbers shifted from one foot to the other, casting sidelong glances in my direction, and gripping their weapons tighter, and still continuing to laugh. The battle madness was rolling in, blurring the view with each new heartbeat. The Savage breathed more often, I knew he was preparing for a leap forward and saturating his body with oxygen. The moments dragged on for a stupefyingly long time. And suddenly the pressure receded.

"What kind of lesson can YOU teach ME?" the Big Guy highlighted his speech in a bass voice. He stuck a two-handed sword into the ground and put his hands on his hips, posing in front of everyone. The bandits laughed, they liked the confidence of their commander.

"Lorlik and Nonyart!" the dwarf barked.

"What?" the leader asked, taken aback.

"That's it, suspense," the history teacher lowered his crossbow bolt. The bully, as he stood, collapsed into the dust of the road. For a second, everyone froze, motionless, not expecting such actions from the dwarf, except for me. And then the whirlwind began to spin.

My next blow took off the head of one of the bandits with a crossbow. His bulging eyes looked at me from his two heights. The frightened face of Retreyon disappeared behind a metal shield, which immediately went into a wave from the blow: one of the guards saved Yodmunheim's life from a crossbow bolt that crumbled into dust. A Savage with two axes deftly bypassed a guard with a halberd and plunged one of the axes into his neck under his helmet, where he got stuck. A guard with a crossbow killed the second henchman of the Bandit Leader, the Skinny one. One of the archers whistled, and only then pulled the first arrow. The driver sat down powerlessly on the box, but still managed to send another of the attackers to his leader with his crossbow. K'yoevghan jumped off the roof of the wagon and shot another thug while in the air. The shot was not accurate, but it pierced the bandit's knee. And he howled terribly. I chopped down two more crossbowmen when I had to block an unexpected axe that flew into my back. The Savage grinned and picked up the halberd of the man he had killed. A guard with a shield drove off three more attacking bandits with a circular blow. The history teacher fired from his knee at an archer who missed a flying target. The Savage cut a guard with a crossbow in half with a powerful swing of his axe, he did not have time to reload his weapon and tried to cover himself with his hand, but it did not help. The archer, with his hands on the bolt in his chest, fell into the dust, driving the all-metal black needle even deeper. One of the bandits ran into the guard's sword with his stomach, and the second, taking advantage of this, tried to get the defender by poking his sword into the joint of the armor plates. I cut off the third hand of the bandit, who turned in my direction, and then the other. The Savage swung his halberd and made me jump aside. The swaying guard performed an uppercut with his shield into the attacker's nose and, twitching, fell back into the nobleman's arms. The dwarf shot at the last bandit from under the wagon. Turning at the sound of the shot and seeing that he was alone, the Savage cursed, realizing that he would not be able to escape with a two-handed weapon in his hands, he threw the weapon at his feet and ran into the forest.

The Savage was running through the forest. It seemed to him that he was being followed. Finally, he realized that he had run far enough. The bandit turned around and, seeing no one behind him, took two steps forward and stopped. A young varg grinned at him. The last thought before the predator's mouth grabbed at his throat with one swift jerk was, "Where did this beast come from here, so far to the south?"

Picking up a fresh partridge and proudly raising her tail, Zu ran to the owner.

The nobleman helped to lift the wounded guard with a sword and put the dead defenders into the carriage. I hardly stabilized the victim's condition with the help of Zu roots and hunter's infusions. He will get to the judge's friend, and then the magicians will help him. The dwarf took the reins of the carriage, and Jodmunheim and I had to walk.

"If it wasn't for your help, then I and my last surviving person… We'd all be dead by now." The nobleman examined the place of battle. The leader's sword was still stuck in the ground, blocking the way. Retreyon tried to get it out, but the blade apparently got stuck between the stones, so he invited me to try it with a gesture.

"It's our job to protect people," I replied sparingly and confidently pulled out the two—handed one with one hand.

Chapter 24: "The Battle at the Top"

I threw Arsa an ancient enchanted dagger. And she pulled out her own and stood in a scorpion fighting stance. Twirling two daggers, the girl snapped them in the air like claws. The laughing sister began to speak the words of the spell aloud, expanding the flow of water even more, not paying attention to what was happening around her. As soon as the flowing stream found new deep juices, it shifted the boulders that had filled it up long ago and began to rise higher and higher. She chanted a spell and continued to breathe the gray-dust-soaked air to pronounce new words. The girl seemed to have fallen into a trance, if she is not stopped right now, then even I will not be able to help her anymore.

"What are you doing? Stop it!" I shouted at her, but the witch from the Darkwood completely ignored my words. Perhaps she considered the battle already lost. A few more minutes, and even despite the proximity to the source of water, a high concentration of precipitation in the air will begin to act on it. It's a shame, it looks like we've lost one of our allies. One of the flying creatures approached her. The witch concentrated on her pronunciation, continuing to chant, even as Trix began to lift her into the air. Arsa growled and in two leaps jumped onto the flying creature and walked over it, chopping off its wings.

The Lich made a gesture with his hands, summoning someone else. From the sky, new infected lower creatures of the canopy attacked us instead of the first one. From below, on the ground floor, there were blows of something massive on the door from the kitchen, the very intermediate room between the stalls and the banquet reception hall. Even here, muffled sounds could be heard, as the door resisted massive blows.

The huntress darted like lightning between the flying targets and even jumped on one of the winged Trikes again to reach the top one. Here are the advantages of breaking the connection with the Keeper of the Castle. All your skills come back to you in all five years of your life spent fighting. The Trikes, like plucked and decapitated overgrown chickens, fell down. But it didn't matter anymore, because, apparently, having exhausted her strength, the witch from our small group read the spell to the end and fell dead to the ground. The bullying was doing its job.

And here's what I didn't expect — a jellyfish appeared from the roof of the castle. She had just picked up the disease and therefore had not yet managed to mutate into something even more dangerous. Arsa, noticing a new target, switched to it, but for a second she still glanced in my direction.

"Look out!" Arsa shouted, and I, who lost sight of the ghoul for a moment, almost paid for it. Sneaking up, he jumped right at me. Abruptly shooting offhand, I pierced a wing filled with red blood in a jump. The monster screamed and tried to draw energy out of me, but I grabbed the green crystal with my hand and, after a blinding flash, pierced the disoriented monster's chest with an arrow that returned to the bolt of the crossbow. "It looks like this is going to be my favorite trick now," I thought, and was surprised at the ease with which I dealt with a dangerous opponent.

The ghoul exploded, but that's not why my cloak lost its charge. The Lich managed to send a dark clot of energy into me, swirling around my defenses for a few moments, and then fell powerlessly. The object that helped me out more than once held, but the inserted crystals cracked dangerously again.

I heard that the door downstairs was knocked out by a powerful blow. It looks like whatever's down there is coming towards us now. I shot two arrows at the lich. The Dark Bone mage protected himself from them with a magic shield. Fortunately, the hag's arrows are powerful enough to knock down his magic shield twice with one arrow. Or it was two shields, like in a layer cake.

It was not necessary to cock the mechanism again. At that very moment, the fountain came to life. Water spilled in all directions. The key, gushing out of the ground, became ten times more powerful and filled with a fountain in all directions, like a dome, which was how the ensemble with a girl and an amphora was conceived long ago. The water wall fell on the lich with a deafening roar. With a rumble, she moved the remaining stones and rushed out of the garden. Hissing, the monster let out a heart-rending otherworldly scream, as if it finally wanted to compete with the devoured chorus of the green crystal, and then it completely shrank into one point.

I went up to the witch and felt her pulse. "Eh! I didn't even have time to ask her name," flashed through my mind. Alas, she had already inhaled too much oserenie. I looked towards Arsa. She was wiping the blades on the scaly flesh of the jellyfish. Looking at me, the girl immediately, without words, understood everything. Without asking about the witch's condition anymore, she pressed her hand to the alchemist's mask. I shook my head. The Huntress turned away. Quickly resting the crossbow on the ground, I began to cock the mechanism for three new shots. Providence has announced a new round of hunting for the cold...

A hunter appeared in the passage. The dead killer was falling, and he had a sword in his hands. If you have never met such a dangerous cold, then I will explain the difference to you... There were marks on it of a pulsating black earth, the one beyond the mountains. Tentacle-like appendages protruded from them. According to them, I realized that the vilification has not yet had time to be predicted, and it is relatively "fresh". In a very short time, he will become much more dangerous than all the inhabitants of this place combined.

Once upon a time, K'yoevghan, my friend and history teacher, wrote down my description of the dead assassins cooled in the dwarven ellipsis with runes, I involuntarily spied how he did it. It turned out that there was no declension in their language, and he simply swapped the two runes, thereby completely distorting their meaning. This unexpected memory made me shudder. "Cold killer," flashed through my head.

A dangerous opponent stood in the doorway, waiting for his partner. It turned out to be a huge butcher from the kitchen. The massive bulk bent over and barely squeezed into the passage. Clutching the cleaver smoking in the light of the Yodkame, the monster let out a battle cry. They came at the call of an already dead lich.

Arsa, having chosen an opponent, reflected and struck the hunter with lightning speed. I think she's the only one who can beat him now. With all my desire, I, who had not severed contact with the guardian, did not have such an arsenal of techniques and just watched the rapid dance of two magnificent fighters. The big guy lost interest in Arsa and ran at me, right under the water of the fountain. His flesh hissed under the influence of the water, but the massive carcass only began to shine, immediately tightening the peeling flesh. For him, this barrier was nothing. The butcher turned into a sklird, much larger in size than the ghoul and other creatures. The wounds from the fountain on his chest were rapidly healing. The whole space trembled from the footsteps of the massive carcass. I stepped back, examining his body, and was able to count four hearts, deliberately holding him under a stream of water. And then I decided.

To kill the butcher, I used a technique forbidden by the order. I fired the crossbow three times and then released the reserve to pull the crossbow a fourth time and shoot through the last heart of the monster. The butcher roared and frothed under the torrents of water.

I looked around. A huntress was sitting near the collapsed stones of the wall. She coped with another cold monster, but she also suffered. Arsa was sitting and clutching the wound on her side. A mortal wound.

"He slipped, that's the only way I could get him," the girl said, breathing heavily.

"Is there a reserve?" Arsa shook her head negatively.

Then I began to pour my energy into the wound, hoping that the sedimentation did not have time to get inside and settled under the influence of the water flying in all directions. Then I took out the sealing compound again and closed the remains of the wound.

Looks like I got the witch's idea. She created the conditions for survival at the cost of her life. Even if one of us gets wounded, he won't die of exhaustion. And is it possible to imagine better conditions for dealing with cold ones than standing under a fountain and splashes? Unfortunately, the witch herself inhaled the poisoned air to cast a spell. After finishing it, she fell unconscious. The water of the local fountain washed her afterward, washing away the gray road dust. She never cooled down, having lived all her life under the protection of an ancient hag in the forest. And now what she had warned about had happened: "When I forget myself, asleep or unconscious, I will start breathing." But apparently there was a third option, which the witch chose not to tell us about. It sounded something like this, "When I get to the fountain, I'll have to inhale to complete the spell."

We went downstairs. To the place where there was a kitchen and a stable.

The corpse of the hunter who came to the lich's call, as I understood it, lay near the stalls before the lich called him. There was a trace of a body lying there earlier. There were also treasure seekers who had sneaked into the castle. They were all dead. It was thanks to them that the hunter found this alternative way around the garrison. He followed a secret path leading to the citadel through a tunnel, where he was attacked by adventurers who had already died in a fight with the butcher. One of the seekers was still clutching the map in his hands, despite the absence of a head. This terrible castle has taken many lives.

However, here, in the stable, we were met by the last inhabitant of these places. An ancient horse was tugging at the bridle in the stall. All dried up, unlike his fellow skeletons, he still looked relatively alive... An eerie chill ran down my spine at the sight of this creature. Arsa grunted indifferently, twisted the knife and was about to stab at the joint of the armor plates covering most of his withered body when I turned to her, "Stop," I stopped Arsa's hand, "the guardian is saying something."

I listened to my thoughts again and voiced the answer for her as well, "This stallion is neither undead nor cold. This is a withered horse. The rarest creature that can be encountered. Actually, the Castle grandfather himself... Ahem." I faltered, hearing objections to such a nickname, "The Outpost Keeper is one of those. This beast was already like this, long before the infestation of the fortress, and may have belonged to a local lord."

The horse looked at me with unblinking, luminous eyes. They were burning with the white flame of a fire. He could have stood here for centuries, in armor made of bronze steel, decorated with gold and ready to fight even now. A grim determination burned bright in his eyes.

At the direction of the keeper, I took out a round necrocrystal of twilight from my bag and inserted it into a cell in his harness. The horse's eyes flashed a new reddish hue. He dug his hoof into the ground impatiently, waiting for my orders.

Chapter 25: "The Priest of Hott"

I left the village of the northerners on a well-fed and well-groomed horse, without a spear, but with a gloomy crystal. The Elder took me on a good journey, having carefully listened to everything that happened to me during the storm. After passing by the stone where I parted with Arsa and Totsent, I went ahead along the Frontier Highway, and soon met an unexpected traveler. Walking right down the road was the priest of Hott, himself personally, the Undisclosed Fist of the Titan Yodkame.

I slowed down as I caught up with him.

"Why are you without a horse? Are the priests of Hott forbidden to ride horses?" I've heard of many prescriptions for priests, but I've never heard of such a thing.

"It's not forbidden!" the priest laughed. It seems that his mood was very positive before the upcoming trip.

"Just, 'you drive more quietly, you will go further,'" the priest replied, spreading his arms and smiling. "Earlier, at this intersection, I felt danger on the right and left, but it seems that thanks to you and your colleagues, it has already been eliminated."

"Yes, I agree. There was indeed a serious danger of a necromancer attacking villages here. I'm pretty sure that if I hadn't stopped the competing ministers of the Cult of Bones, they could have ravaged the settlements north of Feanoth. They had more than enough strength for this."

The priest ran a puzzled hand over his bald head.

"I've been in an arena full of cultists," I nodded, meeting the gaze of Titan Yodkame's Unopened Fist.

"Did you fight in the arena?" the priest of Hott was surprised.

"In the local settlement of the Northerners, the bodies were buried in a caldera, a natural depression with sharp walls. Such depressions arise from melting ice or volcanic activity. But this one appeared as a result of the darkening of the surface from a huge Beholder."

"Oh, yes, you are well versed in this topic," the Undisclosed Fist marveled at my awareness.

"I became friends with the local headman."

"It's good to make new friends while traveling the world," the priest agreed and waved his fist in the air, showing that he liked it. "Tell me, so the cultists were at the local cemetery?"

"Yes, they set up a competition between two necromancers and a lich. I happened to be in the middle of a fighting tangle of bodies from assorted zombies. And only I, by some miracle, survived, defeating my opponents."

"The village cemetery couldn't be big," the priest shook off a few drops of sweat from his forehead. He was thinking about my words.

"Actually, there were too many bodies there. Perhaps they were brought from all over the region, considering the caldera a good place to train soldiers. Even if the cold ones start to disperse, they will not be able to get far because of the sheer walls," the Priest of Hott was silent, so I continued, omitting some details.

"The cultists were holding a competition, and I found myself in the middle of it. But almost immediately, two necromancers joined forces against the lich, and the confrontation in the caldera quickly turned into a duel."

"I've never heard of liches. What kind of creature is this — a hunter, an ass?" the priest asked.

"No, it's worse. This is not just an act of intoxication, but also magic. It was the fallen Guardian of the Castle Fortress," I pulled my horse to slow down.

"How did you manage to defeat such a formidable creature?" the priest frowned.

"I had to join forces with the necromancers. We fought against him alone, and the lich almost won," I revealed this detail to the interlocutor.

"Which Fortress was the Lich from?"

"From the Fortress of Legate Innesent," I replied.

"It's probably not for nothing that I left the Rukh Fortress in search of news, carrion killer," the priest replied respectfully.

After saying goodbye, I accelerated only to stop altogether after a few kilometers. A Totent was standing by the road. He had his hands on his hips and was covered in mud. A dead horse lay beside him.

"Stupid mare!" Totent shouted and kicked the carcass with all his might. And I was happy to correct him, "Well, you, stupid horse!" I hid a smile in my sleeve.

"You're kidding me, right?!" he turned in my direction. "Is it not enough that I had to go through?"

"What is it?" I asked.

"Slow walker! As soon as we arrived at the outpost of Feanoth Castle, this creature of the abyss approached him!" Totent shouted, pointing at me with his finger, as if I was to blame for his troubles.

"Isn't that the ugly one you were talking about?" I laughed.

He just waved it away, and, folding his hands on his hips, looked at the horse again. But then he continued anyway, it seemed like he needed to talk it out.

"Everyone was evacuated while this beast was crawling into the fortress and scattering its larvae. And you know they stick to everything. I beat her almost all night, I thought, at least I'd sleep on the road..."

"One stuck to the horse, but I didn't notice, now splash, don't splash in this mud, but I'll have to trudge on foot," he spat in frustration into the road dust.

"Wait for the priest Hott, he is also walking along this road, you will go with him," I suggested to him.

He sighed and turned to me, "Listen, will you take this bag to the Bubbling Basin? It's a pity to leave the shells here, after all," he opened the bag that the horse was carrying, and, showing the contents, repeated, "the shells... it's a pity to throw them."

"I'll get it, prepare one gold piece," I grinned and pretended to seriously fold my arms on my chest. The professor laughed angrily through his tears. There were three hundred people here, if not more, so my conscience did not torment me. But it seemed to me that he laughed especially angrily.

I took the bag and said goodbye to him.

Further down the road, I noticed a mark at the intersection: right and left, and therefore missed it. I also found two more marks on the next guiding stone. And then I realized that there was a long way to go, only forward and forward along the Boundary Road to the Bubbling Basin.

Chapter 26: "The Ambush"

We camped near the eastern mountains, a little north of Feanoth Castle. A local gang became a guide for Orcish marauders, and one of the villages asked for our help. The thugs dealt with the villagers with special cruelty, and therefore we marched immediately. But even worse, as if that wasn't enough, in addition, the local chief was able to subdue a band of goblins. We decided to kill them all separately. First, deal with the gang, and then take on the orcs and goblins. According to the principle of "divide and conquer".

Our small group was returning from the bandit camp back to the village. I have already let Zoo go hunting in the local forests, and she rushed into the frozen thicket with great joy. The next in line were to be the Orcs. However, we did not take into account one thing... That the enemies are already on our trail.

Two goblin smoke bombs rolled out into the clearing. I reflexively fastened a milchemist mask on my face. But K'yoevghan did not have time to react in time.

"My eyes are closing!" the history teacher rubbed his eyes and swayed. "I think the red dwarf put bread crumbs in my eyes again!" the dwarf yawned and fell like a stone into the snow, immediately snoring.

Goblins came out into the clearing and surrounded me. Their bows were ready, stretched and ready to strike. There is absolutely no chance of dodging so many projectiles, especially when they fly from different directions. The goblin commander with milchemist glasses raised two fingers, preparing to release the arrows. It seemed that nothing could stop them, but at that moment the orcs and their leader appeared. He walked behind everyone and brazenly bragged, "Did you think we wouldn't catch you? But they caught it. We will exchange your fellow historian very profitably later. Yes, yes, we know who he is!" the orc laughed.

I looked back at the dwarf. The historian was grabbed and dragged away by goblins in front of my eyes.

The forces were clearly unequal. The orcs surrounded me from all sides, and the goblin arrows were aimed right at me. Just one order, and dozens of arrows will fly, turning me into a kind of hedgehog.

"We are waiting for your command to shoot him from a distance!" the goblin leader declared with amusement in his voice, adjusting the milchemist's glasses with his hand.

"Get out of here, you parasites!" the orc boss barked.

"But it's safer this way!" one of the small goblins wanted to object, but immediately fell down, struck by his leader's arrow.

"This is without honor, — he is an honorable opponent! Whoever brings me the hunter's head, the shaman will give him a talisman from his teeth! Let's disassemble it the old-fashioned way for spare parts!" the orcs shouted in unison, brandishing their axes.

The goblin leader took another look at the battlefield and ordered his fighters to go, setting the direction, "Go ahead! Go ahead!" he suggested the pace of movement with his hands, and everyone ran.

The Guardian's voice sounded in my head, "Despite the fact that the alchemist's mask filters the main poison, the hunter is still exposed to it and gradually weakens. Provoke him."

"You shouldn't do that, fat man! With the archers, you really had a chance to win," I stood up in a fighting stance. The Orc did not answer. He let out a war cry and charged at me.

A lunge. A lunge. I dodge the blows and do not stab back, I keep the spear behind my back. And so the orc chieftain makes a sharp dash, taking a good swing with two of his axes. The tip of my spear draws a neat line across his chin. He freezes and jumps aside, putting his hand to his face. There's thick green blood on it.

"Green blood indicates a high content of sulfur in the blood. Her concentration is almost at its limit," the Keeper of the Castle reminded himself.

I didn't kill him, because if I did, everyone else would immediately attack me. The Orc read my actions differently. "Worthy! You and you," the orc pointed at his charges.

We spun in an incredible and deadly dance, the price of a mistake in which is life. One of the orcs screamed, struck in the leg, and then was completely struck down by a sharp swing of the spear. But the other, taking advantage of the fact that I lost the pace in spinning the weapon, brought the axe from behind. The blade flashed in the light of a thousand Hosts. Is this the end?

At a critical moment, Zu jumped out to our parking lot and tore apart one of the orcs, who was already preparing to send me to my forefathers. The Orcs, swaying, were afraid of the half-wolf.

"He's got a varg! He's got a warg!" it spread across the clearing. The huge predator crouched and bared its teeth, exposing a bloody grin. Stepping forward, Zu took up a stance.

"Just look at the female varga! In nature, when arguing for territory and leadership in a pack, she covers the male's throat. Wildlife is amazing! Here varg is trying to repeat a similar technique, working in combat with a human. However, the hunter does not use the wolf stance," the tone of the Keeper of the Fortress reminded me of the lectures of my order mentor.

The Orcs still did not dare to attack, they stood shaking their weapons. Their enthusiasm has noticeably diminished. I changed my tactics by leaning forward. Now, in the guardian's opinion, the combat bundle was not perfect, but it was the best available.

"In my time, they also taught the varg stance. How old I am! But it fell out of use after the predes mutated, and it essentially became useless."

"All together, come on!" the Orc commander shouted. The battle was going on, and the Keeper of the Fortress began to lecture me about the habits of the Wargs from memory. "Amazing creatures!" the old man kept saying.

It was all over. I stood for a while over the bodies of the defeated enemies. He struggled to stay on his feet, leaning on the tip of the spear. And then he collapsed in the snow. I was slowly dying.

Chapter 27 "Two Hunters"

The withered horse in metal armor seemed to be flying, galloping across the road. He seemed to be indefatigable and rather stagnant in the stalls. In the end, he was just glad to finally leave on the path I had chosen. I felt it. Take off these armor plates decorated with precious gold and the same stones from him now, and there will be something dried up, almost weightless, possessing at the same time incredible power to set these plates in motion, tightly covering the horse enclosed inside from all sides.

Arsa was sitting behind me, hugging my chest and resting her head on my shoulder. She seems to have fallen asleep from the measured jump. I held the reins and guided the withered horse, as the Keeper of the Castle called him. We were driving along the river. Soon, a stone bridge on the other side appeared ahead. We crossed it so quickly that I didn't have time to see what was glistening on the shallow bottom. It was probably a research submarine that got stuck in shallow water. Or maybe some kind of steam engine jumped off the bridge, going berserk.

Yes, unfortunately, dark times have come for researchers. Their mechanisms were failing from exhaustion. But, on the whole, they have never been particularly bright, I chuckled to myself. After all, researchers have been studying the Canopy of Ignorance. Now their wing in Kostegrad is neglected. But they own a lot of interesting discoveries! The same glowing mushrooms. Sometimes I forget that they invented and implemented it, not the milchemists, and I say that the residents of the laboratories did it. It is immediately clear to a simple villager — "Milchemist, he is from Kostegrad, he is listed." And if you say "Researchers", then you will have to talk about them for a long time. The thing is that after the loss of the canopy, their business fell into disrepair. But the wing of milchemy has flourished with the advent of oserenie. I heard, of course, that the Cult of Bones also came from among the researchers, that these were those who did not disdain forbidden knowledge in the Order. Although, if you think about it, there are a lot of things in the Order that are forbidden.

Here, beyond the bridge, I saw a slight streak of green and yellow grass, clearings among the weakened sedimentation in the bend of the river. The old golems of explorers still walk here, near the mouth, and try to cultivate the once vast fertile fields. Some of them have already fallen into the ground, covered with moss and gray...

One of the golems partially restored himself with the help of a tree. The earth is reflected in a small window on the chest. His nose is disproportionately large, apparently he fell under the influence of oserization, since he has become so independent that he complements himself. Looking closer, I noticed a glint of gold in the hole he was digging. "Eh. They used to plant seeds. Well, he's definitely gone crazy..." I decided. "Krex. PEX! Fex," his fiery engine groans. And there is a spark of hope in his eyes.

Another bridge appeared ahead. There are many of them in this river delta. Here, the ferry is partially destroyed, so once upon a time, researchers parked a metal raft in a collapsed place. And now the half-submerged surface submarine, rusty and stuck to the destroyed bridge, still served as a reliable and wide opportunity to cross the river. A kind of platform, like a cornerstone shield, put forward with a sharp side. The horse's hooves echoed several blows on the metal and raised a sheaf of spray, hitting the shallow water.

Just go ahead! There was another bridge, and behind it, in a light haze, an island showed itself, on which the Land of Light remained. A kind of small Alcove where a traveler can set up his camp and forget about the hardships of the Frontier Highway. The Rukh Fortress has long tried to solve problems with grain for the Costegrad. But alas, now there is only one outpost left from a certain great Northern Light Lands. This joint project of researchers and priests of the Rukh Fortress was one of the last.

New rows of golems sleeping in the fields have appeared. Mossy, they still stood guard over these lands, as the last reminder of the former greatness of Kostegrad. "Perhaps someday the living metal will finally petrify, and future researchers will say that these terracotta warriors are just statues," I mused.

A lone and mindless zombie was trudging through green meadows, abundantly overgrown with yellow flowers. I stopped my horse after staring at this sight. Stealthily and crouching, he walked forward somewhere. There was something unnatural about him. I jumped off— you can't leave him here. Arsa woke up alarmed, but after looking around, she calmed down. I raised my weapon and cut down the opponent. Then he dripped from a bottle with a mag-bomb. Like a long time ago... It is customary in all bright lands — infected corpses are burned so that the contamination does not penetrate further into the lands of the living.

"I've never been in a Bright Alcove," Arsa shivered.

"I've never been here either. A few years ago, everything was different in this place," my voice sounded softly against the background of the murmuring water. When I came up, she jumped down and put her hands on my shoulders. She looked into my eyes, her milchemist glasses flashing. She reached out and took off my mask, and then unbuttoned her own. She bent down carefully and kissed me.

"I'm sorry for hitting you, I am... I'm grateful for the rescue," she stood on tiptoe to kiss me.

I didn't know what to say to the girls in this case, so I responded with my kiss, pulling her by the waist.

"Don't relax, hunter," Arsa looked seriously into my eyes. From this distance, it was possible to see them behind the safety glasses. I looked into her eyes too. There was something elusive about them. And then I felt a sharp pain. It was a punch in the gut.

"Why?" I bent over.

"You seemed too vulnerable to me," the girl laughed and covered her smile with a glove.

I think I can figure out the habits of even the most creepy creatures of the night, but this... I will definitely never understand girls. "But there are places much more vulnerable," I thought with some gratitude. While I was gasping for air, she was smiling sweetly.

Chapter 28: "The Warg Leader"

The battle with the greenskins was over, but I was in no hurry to release the reserve and did not try to heal my wounds, but continued to slowly die. You ask me why? I'll tell you — it's simple. A new participant entered the clearing — the wild Warg leader. He smelled the Zoo and came to look at the female.

I could release the energy, but with such wounds to win a battle against the warg leader? Who would do that anyway? And Zu should be pitied. Without her help, I would definitely have died today. She won't survive a second fight. I could have tried, but I had a crazy idea.

At first, the alpha aggressively ran to finish me off, jumping and lifting the snow with his paws, as if I were some kind of hare or bird that would now break off in fright and gallop into the forest. But Zu didn't let me do it. She bared her teeth, abruptly stepped forward, and snapped like that every time one of the pack members tried to attack me. The mighty predator was a head bigger than the other wargs, probably K'yoevghan and I fed her properly, and therefore easily drove them away while I continued to lie wounded.

The cold was coming from all sides, I felt the presence of the Guardian.

"Do you want me to point a finger at you, defeat this beast, take over the pack to guard the castle, and at the same time save your dwarf friend in exchange for five years of your life?" the Keeper of the Castle asked in a confidential whisper. I knew he could do it.

"No, the wargs will die on the walls of the castle from the gloomy land, this will not work."

"Trust me, they will be great fighters and will help save many soldiers' lives, and I will take care of their protection," the old man replied.

"No, I can't afford to spend five years of my life," I refused.

"As you wish," the Guardian chuckled and fell silent.

Snow began to fall. It was coming in large flakes and noticeably worsened visibility. The leader of the Wargs restrained his pack, and they lost interest in me, starting to feast on orcina. Very quickly, all traces of the battle were destroyed. All that remained were clothes, weapons, and bloodstains from the bodies, gradually disappearing under the snow down.

The alpha circled the battlefield, he was not interested in the bodies of the orcs. He was interested in something else. Now he saw in me another leader who had wandered into his territory, badly battered by the orcs, but still alive at the head of a small pack in the muzzle of Zu. And so he let out a long howl, which meant the beginning of a duel between the two leaders of the pack.

"Looks like the alpha recognized you as the leader. Mmm... now it's going to be an interesting sight, will I go stock up on crackers?" the Guardian chuckled. There was a faint crunch.

"Really? Did you get some crackers somewhere?" I voiced my thoughts.

"I'm kneading my joints, where can I find you crackers here?" the old man was annoyed.

This time, Zu stepped aside. I understood her, she just didn't have the strength after the fight with the orcs. She watched the Warg leader approach me, and I let out a long howl in response, which meant one thing — I accept the challenge. The alpha stopped, waiting for my actions. I stood up with the last of my strength, leaning on my spear. His hands left red fluid stains on his shaft. Varg looked at me without blinking. I didn't know what kind of look it was. Respect? Waiting? And then I collapsed to the ground and turned over on my stomach, recognizing him as the winner. The pack began to bark and roar. The male Warg approached me majestically. His toothy muzzle nuzzled into my side, checking my wounds. I writhed in pain, the disturbed cuts opened up again, wetting profusely. Right now, it wouldn't cost him anything to bite me in half, the charges of the cloak still hadn't recovered from the last fight. I could feel the stale breath of the predator. The alpha sniffed me, made sure that I was not a tenant, and then turned around and let out a fragrant stream. "He pissed himself, you bastard!" It was clearly a defeat.

"Oh..." for the first time in this millennium, the Guardian was speechless.

Zu wasn't looking at me anymore. Now she has found a new alpha. As soon as varg disappeared into the bushes, the female followed him. The pack, barking, rushed after me, leaving me alone. Perhaps even the Keeper of the Fortress, on whose knowledge I relied in this strange duel, did not know any other ideas on how to survive in this battle. Either five more years of hard labor on the fortress wall, or this.

But in fact, there was no alternative as such. If I had agreed with the Guardian, then by the eighth year I would have mutated under the influence of the black earth. And then I would have been recognized as dangerous and burned.

Releasing the energy from my internal reserve, I healed my wounds and staggered up. Now you need to catch up with the kidnapped dwarf and fight him off from the goblins — a simple matter! But you just need to light a fire and get a little warm.

Chapter 29: "The Restless village of the Bubbling Basin"

I was driving and saw the silhouette of a black bird on the road ahead, emerging from the dust swirling around…

Right in the mud, in front of the guiding stone, lay the corpse of a hunter. Even from a distance, I noticed the reason and jumped off my filly. His antique alchemist mask with an elongated nose resembling a raven's beak was torn and completely unusable. I turned it over and looked at it and recognized it. It was one of those funny ones who lost his horse to the fish. It seems that he forgot to ask for a renewal from Count Feanoth. What a ridiculous death!

After pausing for a moment, I picked up the cold killer's sword, and then bent down and looked at what was in his bag. I dug around there looking for a magmabomb. Accidentally touching the hunter's body, I realized that it was warm. I didn't have time just a little bit. What a pity! You can't leave him here. The marks of the black earth have already appeared on it. The fingers were already beginning to move gradually, we need to act quickly. In the bright lands, the bodies of those infected with greyness are burned; here, more terrible things are avoided. The marks from wounds received in the lands of Zagorye throbbed more and more strongly on the hunter's body. Finally, I found the right item. Inside the bag there was a charge of a Blue Mountains tunneler. "A checker. Apparently, he had already spent his magobomb somewhere. Most likely, Count Myrtel gave it to him in return for the spent potion," I shook my head, agreeing with this version as the most plausible, and then took wildfire out of my bag and dropped a drop of fiery liquid on the body. The flames flared up and caught fire, engulfing everything in the blink of an eye.

I recoiled from the heat and looked around. There were two markings at the previous intersection. There's only one Arsa ribbon here. It curled in the air and blocked the way to the left, but I didn't need to go there. The professor asked me to deliver the bone plates, so I went to the Bubbling Basin in the opposite direction.

The Bubbling Basin is famous for its haven for mercenaries. There is a convenient point in the middle of the route of the frontier highway, which is responsible for protecting local villages and roads. Travelers and rare caravans to Kostegrad stop there to replenish their water supplies. Groups of adventurers also flock here to travel around the neighborhood later. And in autumn, a Gift Fair is also held here. It is a very famous and perhaps the most densely populated place in the whole North.

All the remaining crowds of mercenaries became both a blessing and a curse for the settlement, which was so conveniently located on the way between Kostegrad and the Fortress of Feanoth. Here, in the glorious days, once upon a time, when there was much less settlement, there was another road south to the Red Port, but now they prefer not to mention it in the Bubbling Basin. Creepy swamp creatures have become even more dangerous, having tasted the gray earth. On the other hand, all gold and goods in the Costegrad always passed through this route. Therefore, due to the gangs of thugs that appeared over time and those looking for easy money, the Bubbling Basin constantly lived, in fact, under martial law. And even the main authority here was not the elder, but the Captain of the Guards who ruled the settlement.

When the King's entourage, mute from birth, spoke and uttered that fateful prophecy about the infection of the creatures of the canopy, about diseases and hunger, no one thought about what fate awaited the Bubbling Basin. I didn't think about it either, going on horseback to this fortified settlement.

I yanked on the horse's harness and jumped on it in one swift leap, pointing it in the right direction. The Bubbling Basin is not a simple settlement surrounded by a palisade; hot springs are beating from the ground here, but only one of them is with drinking water. Here it will also be possible to feed my tired horse, which almost ate some gray muck on the road, as soon as I stopped and was distracted by the hunter's body. This place was once quite extensive; it was prophesied the glory of the Fortress of Rukh, Feanot, or at least the Red Port. But with the spread of bullying, everything has changed.

Will you ask why there is no milchemist's armband on the horse? A good joke, because a horse with a beak would look really funny. In fact, everything is quite simple. Large animals, unlike the same lemmings of the Darkwood, do not fall under the influence of precipitation so quickly, and it acts on them differently than on humans. In general, a horse can travel great distances by quietly inhaling it. But if she eats it, she'll go crazy. Foam will flow from the mouth, and it will insatiably absorb until it is completely filled; the belly will swell to enormous sizes. And then she will look for a predator to infect him already. For me, it would mean that I lost my horse.

The main danger of precipitation is for people. But the black earth is dangerous for everyone. The ashes from the hunter's body scattered, and I gave the horse a tsk to accelerate. The fire died out as quickly as it appeared; the heat had already drained away.

Chapter 30: "A cheap job"

I was looking out for guards at the goblin camp. The fort is surrounded by a high palisade — it seems that this is a sufficiently fortified position for defense. Two people are playing ribbons near the gate. I see the flash of metal on the tower, which means there are at least two more archers there. Goblins are not orcs. They always go in pairs or threes. Deprived of a leader, they get lost very quickly and get into squabbles among themselves for leadership. However, everything was surprisingly calm here.

When I crept towards the goblin camp, I was full of confidence that as soon as they fell asleep, I could quickly kill them all. It was enough to remove the sentries, and then there were only about two dozen sleeping archers and scouts. The plan is as reliable as a Costegrad clock. What could possibly go wrong?

The door to the underground prison swung open, and the cage with me sleeping inside was carried in by goblins and hung in front of the dwarf who was already here. Even the milchemist's mask didn't help me this time. Two grenades launched from nearby bushes, near the place from where I was conducting my observation, were especially poisonous.

"What are you doing here?" the mercenary from the next cage asked.

"I've come to save you!" I explained and sighed.

"You stink, man! It smells like a hundred dogs pissed on you, and then you fried the whole thing on fire!" K'yoevghan grimaced instead of thanking him.

"And I'm glad to see you too, old man!" I laughed.

The mercenary also burst into dwarven laughter a few moments later. And then he got serious.

"Where's Zu? If those little bastards killed her, then I swear I'll find a way to get back at them! Eventually, I'll get cold feet and come back! They'll dance with me! Why are you silent? Tell me what happened to her!"

"In general, you correctly noticed that I stink," I briefly retold the story of my meeting with the alpha warg. The mercenary listened to me carefully. K'yoevghan even turned his whole body to the side when I finished speaking. The mercenary was clearly upset by such news. He lowered his head, his lower lip even twitched. Was he really that upset?

"Don't be sad, K'yoevghan, because of the gold! You will have more opportunities to earn money," I decided to support him.

"You're back with your gold!" the mercenary muttered, "I raised her like this, and you, and you..." the dwarf pointed a finger at me. There seemed to be tears in his eyes.

"What is it! He gave my baby to some varg!" the dwarf wailed and clutched his head with both hands.

I must say that the "baby" was already really big. By this time, Zu had finally grown to the size of an adult varg and matured. She was twice the dwarf's height and four times as thick. Even by the standards of the Wargs, it was very, very large, the cheese delicacy must have influenced the growth of bones. Moments later, the dwarf plopped down on his fifth symbol like a plush toy, without bending his legs. He stared straight ahead without blinking... He seemed very upset. I hope that K'yoevghan will understand that Zu will be better off with the pack, she is already a huge and adult predator.

At that moment, four goblins ran into the cellar where we were being held. And then another one came in here. His glasses glinted in the torchlight, just like mine. Out of habit, I had to squint my eyes, on the contrary, I was not wearing protective lenses now. The goblins took them down.

And then she came into the room. In a white transparent dress and yellow hair shimmering with mysterious reflections.

"You shouldn't have come here," Oracle said in a soft voice. Her voice was sad and calm.

"I would have known that the goblins have such a serious leader..." I looked at the big-eared milchemist with glasses.

"You don't understand... I am the leader of these goblins! Because of your stupidity, I was already the leader of the orcs and those bandits, and I am not," Oracle Steel added slightly, and then put her hand on her face. "Who do I have to work with!"

"With goblins," I did not miss the moment to gloat.

"But they are more adequate than you, hunter. You should have refused these scoundrels from the village, and you killed a lot of innocent people for one coin," the girl pointed out my place to me.

"What are you talking about? These bandits have been attacking this settlement for a long time," I took a bug out of my hair. "Hello, a new phobia! Who were they keeping in those cages anyway?"

The Oracle shook her head.

"There is a gang among the villagers that kills the locals. He leaves no witnesses. I wanted to put an end to this by convincing the orcs and gathering those people, but an unwise cold hunter intervened... If you only knew how difficult it is to convince an orc without brute force! But now it's not about them, it's about you," she said, still calmly indignant."

"About me?" I asked.

"Yes, about you," she confirmed, "I want to look into your eyes to see the future."

"Why?"

"I am an Oracle and I feel that a very powerful evil awaits you on the way. I want to know what it is. You hunters never share what you saw behind the wall. The Guardians, even if you don't break the connection with them, block me from seeing what you were fighting. But you will meet evil from beyond the wall, somewhere here in the future, and I want to see what awaits you there ahead."

"Are you sure it's wise to look for what they're trying to hide from you? After all, it's not for nothing that the old people on the walls close their memories?"

"Let him look," laughed the illusion of the Guardian of the Passage, "I allow it."

It was as if the Oracle had seen and heard the illusion, as she immediately untied her blindfold and took it off her eyes. It fell on her bare legs. Her eyes were burning with thousands of nocturnal dreams. She was blind. Looking into my eyes, the uncertainty on the girl's face was replaced by a slight fright.

"Hurry up! Let him go faster! Otherwise, he may not make it! The future is almost closed!"

And at that moment she began to prophesy, "The hunter has decided on the road. The hunter will go the long way. Oracle almost gasped in fear when she saw something. The Keeper of the Castle laughed at her reaction. After catching her breath with the help of a special technique, the girl calmed down, but her knees were still shaking."

"Did you like it?" the Keeper of the Fortress tartly remarked.

She did not answer, but turned around and casually pointed at K'yoevghan, "And you can let this one go too... He didn't kill the goblins of your tribe. And he was not involved in those events and the massacre. Even his mother, Keia Dragonbane, spoke out at that dwarf clan council against that massacre. I think it's in your best interest to spare her only child. Let him go!"

"Yes, Oracle!" the goblin in milchemist glasses obsequiously agreed and ordered the cages to be lowered.

As soon as the first lock clicked, a cheerful smile played on the goblin's face.

"Go, you're free!" having released us, the goblin said like an inspired boy.

"As for those robbers... Who from the village set us up?" I folded my arms across my chest.

"You've already added to my problems. I'll deal with them myself, go straight to Feanoth, there's a letter waiting for you. This is much more important," the Oracle turned away, and one of the goblins handed her a bandage. Even though the girl didn't see anything, she took it away. Her gift seemed to be helping her.

"I'm not going anywhere without gold. Since we're all such friends, and you're letting us go," the dwarf put his hands on his hips and raised his voice, "give me back my hard—earned and honestly earned ones!"

The goblin looked at the grimacing Oracle, who rolled her eyes and made a gesture with her hand, "Give them their things, Aktar. This time, I was the one who was unwise in holding them back…"

The goblin bowed to the girl, after which he handed us a small bag. And then he pointed to a niche in the wall with our things.

"Gold is good!" the dwarf immediately cheered up.

"Get out while you're safe!" goblin barked in a completely different way and drew the tip of the knife across his throat, indicating that they would not talk to us here anymore.

Chapter 31: "A halt on a Mossy Island"

Many people gathered around the cozy, crackling campfire, among the low and sparse fir trees. Many, but not all. Hunters and heroes of the tournament are located here. Those brave warriors who dared to enter the Frontier Road then, after the tournament, from the castle of Feanoth. The killers fell, got up and hugged after a long road with us. I especially remember the strong embrace of the hunter, who looked more like a bear. The one who was outraged in the county, demanding all the necessary equipment. My bones really cracked, and he just laughed in a rude manner. "How strong he is!" I almost exhaled my thoughts with the remnants of air.

"We already thought that we would not hear scary stories about the castle," Gorevetr smiled kindly and I patted one of the old-timers of the hunting fraternity on the shoulder. He looked over his shoulder and froze, meeting the stallion's blazing eyes.

"What are our days!" I laughed.

Sitting by the campfire, The Best-of-us hid his smile under a round hat. He did not hug or slap the newcomers on the shoulder, but remained sitting by the campfire. But he also looked happy when he noticed our approach. Six is much better than four out of fourteen. Arsa jumped off her horse and even squeaked when she got into the arms of a bear hunter. He got so emotional that a tear glistened in his eye.

"That's a horse!" Totent walked around the withered beast with his arms outstretched and clicked his tongue. "And he told me that the horse is not the main thing…"

I laughed, and the hunter looked at me reproachfully.

"Sit down-sit by the fire! And you, Arsa! Don't be shy, we have story time!" Gorevetr invited me and the girl. The Best-of-us grinned.

"Whose story are we listening to?" I settled down near the campfire. Arsa sat down next to him, on the other side there was a Gorevetr and pointed at the Bear.

"Here, Urnat says, this meant that, at least, we had already missed the story of The Best-of-us. He was always the first to talk about what happened to him in his travels at meetings. I've worked with him a couple of times. The man is, in fact, very unique. He once told a story about how he got his nickname. Back then, The Best-of-us wasn't one yet. There, in the mountain pass, he had to close the gap in the mountains with the dwarves. As a result of the landslide, a small gorge was formed, through which the creepy inhabitants of Zagorye began to penetrate into the Northern Lands. And while the sinkers of the Blue Mountains set up a charge to collapse the rock, the hunters (again, fourteen) held back the passage. The carrion killers formed a wedge in the narrow gorge, and as soon as the infected canopy monsters stopped penetrating the lands to the south, the dwarves set to work."

That day, not only the hunters got hurt, but also the dwarves. Their foreman remained under the rubble of the mountain, a glorious death for a dwarf, any inhabitant of the underground chambers of the Blue Mountains will say. At the most tense moment, when almost everything was ready, one of the creatures came from behind, because even before the expedition of dwarves and humans arrived, it found a passage and tried to prevent it from being walled up. The dwarves fought desperately, but their foreman was wounded and the fuse mechanism was damaged. That's why he stayed there alone with the bombs, and when the blackened monsters broke in, he blew up the mechanism.

The Best-of-us and the other killers of the cold ones remained behind the pass. Together with two hunters who were still alive at that time, he hurried to get away, because the roar of the explosion attracted a slow walker. She and her legions hurried towards the sound, moving their mandibles and flicking their forelimbs through the air in search of troublemakers. Then only he survived from the whole group. That's why he got the nickname, or rather the title — The Best-of-us. He inherited it from one of the dead over the pass. Previously, the title was chosen by lot, but being the only survivor, this hunter received it "after the fact".

By some miracle, after walking through the rocky wastelands and surviving, he came to one of the outposts on the wall. If I remember correctly, it was the farthest eastern outpost, the Fortress of the Brave. There, behind the wall of mountains, the three hunters did not take long to decide where to go, because there was another fortress very close. She was even closer — the Line of Seven. Except that the Tardigrade and its hordes drove them in the other direction, trying to take them deeper into the rocky wastelands. Where there are even more creepy and dangerous creatures of the Zagorye.

"Count Feanoth must have already left with his Army for Kostegrad by now," one of the mercenaries pointed somewhere back in the direction of the passed guiding stones. He leaned his duffel bag against the trunk of a tree and sat down next to The Best-of-us. Everyone nodded in agreement with him. Someone smiled. We were in an inspired and even elated mood. We are at the end of the road. From here to Kostegrad is just around the corner.

"So, where was I?" Urnat the Bear asked. "Oh, yes! Have you ever seen perootl? And they are! Not three days ago, peasants in the village of Stony Manor starved one of them. Well, and then, you know, they rushed to infect everyone around, the fallout didn't go away. In the midst of the disaster, then, I appear. I'm killing all the infected. The local headman awards me with a gold coin and says, 'Let's go, they say, check out what happened there.' And beckons, they say, let's go."

"We went into their hut, and here he says, 'How delicious it smells! It looks like men were eating meat here', and the first thing he did was take a bite. Okay, I was there, turned him over, holding his legs. Upside down, and shook all the crap out of him," the big man shook his hands.

The hunters smiled. The bear stopped talking and grinned. And then The Best-of-us turned to me and said, "Show me your badges."

Other mercenaries came up to Arsa and me, surrounding the hunters from all sides as soon as they heard about the new insignia. I reached into my pouch to pull out a smaller pouch.

"We thought that there would be no news from you, because even on the approach to the fortress, near the ruins of the village, the cold ones tore up three mercenaries and a hedge knight. We were walking in a squad then, but out of ten people, we barely got away," one of the mercenaries put in his word.

"I saw his body," I opened the bag and immediately became sad.

He turned to the side and met the gaze of the Firewind. He understood my feelings and put his hand on my shoulder. I looked at The Best-of-us.

"Let's get Arsa to post her own first?" I looked at the girl.

"All right," the girl agreed.

There were two mercenary badges and one hunter badge on the fabric. And the badge of the adventurers' five-pointed battle star. The heroes of the Tournament, having sorted them out, disassembled themselves, leaving the sign of the hunter — the one who climbed into the Fortress through a secret passage, was killed by adventurers and came at the call of the lich, almost killing Arsa.

"It's also a Fortress," I nodded, meeting the eyes of the other hunters. They didn't seem to believe their eyes.

"I'll take this hunter's sign," The Best-of-us said, rubbing his temples. He reached out and tore the cold metal from the fabric.

I began to lay out in front of him the signs given to us by Count Feanoth at the beginning of the journey.

"Lkad from the tribe of the Wolf and Varga. Fortress. The white knight Vimmal Janeso..."

"So the white knight died, what a pity!" the Professor was upset when he heard my enumeration.

"Yes, in this very Castle. Five more laughing sisters from the Darkwood, but they didn't have anything with them," I pointed back and laid out two lifeless infusions — the rest of the vials broke. After that, I continued to post the signs.

"Laughing sisters? It's been a long time since I've heard of them," The Best-of-us passed over his eyebrow, thinking about something of his own. He took the vial and turned it in his hand.

"I do not know his name, the hunter of the cold, the one who lost his horse from the fish, I picked up his badge at the crossroads," I laid out a nondescript plate on the fabric.

Gorevetr frowned, took the badge and said, "I know his name. I'll take this badge, if you don't mind," he asked dryly.

Gorevetr looked at me, and I nodded.

And then I took another bag from the bottom, inside this one, and poured out about two dozen badges. Only the participants of the tournament were here. And I put another sign on top of it from one of the hunters who came with us from the county. There was a silence in which everyone was sorting through the badges. The Best-of-us cleared his throat, but even his voice faltered.

"From the Bubbling Basin," Gorevetr answered for me. Everyone looked from the badges to me. The Best-of-us looked demanding, wanting to get an answer about what happened in the Bubbling Basin.

Chapter 32: "The Exorcist"

My horse overcame the last turn, the finish line remained. It was already possible to remove the mask here. I was approaching the Bubbling Basin, a huge wooden settlement standing on a hill. It was busy here. There was a detachment with luggage by the road. The merchant kept count of those wishing to visit the city from his caravan, and told the fighters something. A guard stood next to him and checked the documents. Two mercenaries in milchemist masks walked in step towards me on the road and waved affably at the killer they met with cold hands. They came out of a wooden fortification dug into the ground and, I think, went to one of the nearest villages. I also raised my hand in greeting. For mercenaries, it is considered a good omen if a black hunter pays attention to them. My glasses flashed in the rays of the Yodkame as I drove past a small checkpoint. The guards of the fortress had no questions and only looked after me - "The hunter of the cold. Everything is clear and understandable. Why interrogate him?"

Here, forcing the road to go either to the right or to the left, cultivated small fields with protective ramparts stretched around so that the fallow did not fly in and spoil the crops. And further beyond the fields around the settlement there are gardens. The smell of resin and forest invisibly penetrated through the mask, replacing the air with the oxide of the empty lands. Remembering her, I unfastened the locks and took her off my face, feeling the fresh air. I hadn't seen trees on the way for a long time, so I was incredibly glad to see the changed environment.

A group of the most ordinary hunters in emerald robes was tucked away by a bright, rich green stump overgrown with moss. I caught them skinning a deer carcass. Rarely, but some of these noble animals still migrate to this place from the Lake Fjords of the Northerners. They go through the gardens of the Bubbling Basin, and then into the Dark Forest. The hunting season, I think, has started, like three days ago. One of the hunters stood up and looked after me. After all, it's not often you get to see a black bird.

I drove through the central gate, it was crowded here. Someone scattered tomatoes at the entrance to the fortress and did not even bother to collect them. The orange pulp scattered in all directions under the hooves. Several more villagers followed me through the gate, they were attracted to the Bustling Basin by the abundant food market, and therefore they came here to buy what they needed. During a bad harvest, villagers often replenish stocks of crops like this. After passing another group of mercenaries and guards who were playing some kind of card game so enthusiastically that I was ignored, each of them chose not to notice my arrival. Only one, the youngest of them, broke away, but when he saw that it was the killer of the cool ones entering the settlement, he waved his hand in anger, letting me pass without inspection, and quickly returned to the exciting game. Therefore, I drove unhindered to the Quartermaster and wanted to pass him too, but a man in half-glasses and armor leaned out of the window and, showing everyone on the street his gorgeous twisted mustache, called me.

"Wait, come here, who will you be?" he got up from his papers and shouted after me, almost missing me. He sat down in the chair again, without waiting for me to turn around, and began to fill out a magazine. I rode closer and got off the horse, looking through the window. "How did he get out of it in his armor?" The shackles of his glasses glinted in the light of the fireplace burning behind him. He was sitting at a reception table in a stone-floored room.

"Who is this, what did you come with?" raising his pupils over the arches at the newcomer for a moment, the Quartermaster asked.

"I am a hunter, I came here to clean up the frontier tract from monsters, under a contract from the Order with Count Feanot," I unfolded a sheet of paper with an armorial seal. The quartermaster, having accepted the paper, lowered his glasses and ran his eyes over the lines.

"It's all right," he wrote my name on the list and turned the magazine towards me, "put a cross here, hunter, that you have read the rules and are ready to visit our city."

"Rules?" I raised an eyebrow, but still scratched my pen on the paper as I signed the document.

"Is the new guy here?" the Quartermaster squinted at me, looking searchingly over his glasses.

"I was here a long time ago. Then Yodkame shone brighter, and everything around was still green," I looked into his eyes through the glasses.

"I understand," the Quartermaster twirled his moustache and leaned back in his chair. "Yes, once everything was much more interesting here, now, that's just that, basically everyone is sitting in the fortress. That's it! Sticking your nose out is another thing... you can't do it without a mask."

"Then I fulfilled a dozen contracts, helped the local Captain to build the remnants of the perimeter."

"What was his name?" the Quartermaster narrowed his eyes again and even stood up, apparently, he still wanted to check on me.

"Is the Aizatz nicknamed the Steel Dog?" Upon hearing this answer, the man sat down on a chair. And it was as if the name he had heard had great weight, because the quartermaster was hunched under its weight, or rather, his former power.

"Yes, he was a nice man! Not a single monster folded! I wasn't afraid of anyone! Every beast of the Canopy avoided him! Yes, here, only some ghouls from their own stabbed him in the back. Since then, the Captain has two guards always hanging around with him," twirled another mustache and looked at the fire. "Eh! How much time has passed since then."

"I wouldn't mind a couple of orders right now."

"We're doing this on our own right now," he nodded toward the guards and mercenaries playing cards. "There are no unnecessary tasks now. Unless the Elder needs help."

"Elder?" I even hung up, I never thought there was an Elder here. The quartermaster, taking advantage of the hitch, took an eyepiece from the table and studied something on a piece of paper.

"Is there an Elder in the Bubbling Basin?" I was even surprised. How many times have I been here and heard this for the first time.

"Yes," the employee put the magnifying eyepiece on the table, and putting his hand on his arm, he looked at me.

"We elect him, paying tribute to tradition, but all the main affairs in the fortress are managed by the current Captain, which is true, that's true," after thinking about something, the Quartermaster straightened his red mustache. "Drive along the palisade on the right, and then turn to the end, where we have the Elder's house. I dare not detain you any longer. Have a good trip," the officer saluted, returned the papers with seals and lured the next visitor of the Bubbling Basin to him.

I drove along the route indicated by the Quartermaster. I was looking around for the right person and was startled when the Elder himself pulled my sleeve. "How did he manage to sneak up on me?" I immediately asked him about this, "So, it's true, Mr. hunter, I used to be a scout in the army of Feanoth," the old man explained, leaning on his wand.

"What problems do you have?" I asked, still in shock. "He was a scout, you see, that's how I believed you. The man had obviously been trained by shadows, or assassins, so he couldn't just sneak up on me. Could he be one of them? Maybe. Although, one should make allowances for the fact that they were trained more strictly then, since the siege in those harsh days of his youth had already approached the very walls of Feanoth. I wonder if he himself knows what skills he actually possesses?" I examined the terry-cloth Elder and decided not to bring up this topic.

"Well, it's not like it's a problem..." he began, and I thought to myself, "What kind of fashion is this? So there is a problem that needs to be solved, and you crumple from foot to foot, look into my eyes and for some reason tell me that this is not a problem? Maybe this is how you want to tell me that this is not your problem now, but only mine, since I have appeared here?"

"An ascetic from the Rukh Fortress introduced himself to us from the old ones not so long ago. Yes, he just returned, it appears, back to our settlement. And... that's not long ago than yesterday he died on that hand for days."

"What is bothering you?"

"You see, he did not find peace, but constantly comes to the fortress from his house near and calling ordinary settlers undead, uses his exorcism," the old man told me about it in such a tone, as if he was saying something creepy.

I stood there and didn't know what to answer. The Elder was waiting for my answer, so I had to ask him a question, "As far as I know, exorcism does not work on living people. What's wrong with him using it on you? On the contrary, the sensations are even pleasant," I recalled the impressions of the incantatory prayers of the priests of Hott.

"So it's an ordinary ascetic, but this one… I'm telling you," the Elder almost screamed in despair, grabbing my sleeve again, "he's from the Fortress of Rukh. A righteous man. As soon as he begins to apply his exorcism, so at least stand, even fall, even into the bushes!"

"And what do you want from me?" I asked, puzzled.

"Our settlement will be much better if you put him to rest. He comes to the village after lunch, every evening, and exorcizes the people for nothing! We tried to... calm him down ourselves, but he only expels everyone with his exorcism. Well, the guards are tired of this case. They spit and that's it, they don't even want to try anymore, and the Captain says to the mercenaries, 'I don't have time to do this'. And you are an experienced person and you know how to do everything right, and how to properly rest her ... this undead ... you also know. That's why they sent you to me," the Elder finished shaking my sleeve, trustingly looking into my eyes.

"If so, then the payment is one gold piece," I folded my arms across my chest.

"Of course," the old man spread his hands. "And one more thing, if you drive him out of the house... your horse, and yourself... well, you can live in his house. We will not take money for a stay here until you leave."

"All right," I shrugged.

Leaving my horse to stay in the village of the headman, as it turned out, he also managed the local stable, I went out behind the stockade and headed in the indicated direction. Here, on the right and left around the main wooden castle, the same wooden dugouts found a place for themselves.

I didn't have to walk for a long time, besides, he went to meet me himself. In a closed black order cloak and with a light shield. It will not be easy to defeat such an opponent. Without thinking twice between a crossbow and a sword, I chose a sword.

I didn't really care about my defense, because the priests of Hott don't have that many fighting techniques. Also, not all of them can boast of combat meditation. The main arsenal is occupied by defensive ones. Most often, priests use a loaded weapon or a loaded fist in battle, and this ordinary member of the order, judging by the absence of markings on his clothes, can hardly surprise me with anything.

"Baponhathillll! Sabesha!" pointing his hand at me, the stranger said, and a bright spark of an unknown spell flashed between us. And I felt a wave of real exorcism all over my monster hunter body. She passed through me with fire, burning the old scars left by the monsters behind the wall, opening old wounds and turning them literally into an open book, according to which, if desired, one could read where, by whom and when the hunter was wounded. Having pierced me in this way, the spell went up the road by inertia for another ten meters, causing the bushes around to bloom brighter. After that, my ligaments began to tear. Bones, ribs, feet crunched, knees buckled, and then my arms, which I had the imprudence to lean on when falling. I fell backwards as if knocked down. The wounds that had been opened were groaning. The cloak of the foothills guardian did not understand how to block the damage from the inside and went crazy, the crystals on it crackled. And only the heart, which I always covered with my hand at the direction of my mentors from the Order in all dangerous situations in the first place, only thanks to this precaution, was still beating in my chest. One eye was dripping, I was lying in the dust, resembling something very unsightly and mass-like for just a few moments. After that, the Elder applied a wave of healing. I couldn't hear what he said in order to restore me, purely physically, because my eardrums recovered only after that.

I stood up, surprised and refreshed. An unexpected gaiety came over me, as the villagers say — "I ate a laugh." The whole body breathed youth and was ruddy, as after a bath. "And that's what the hillbillies were afraid of?" I even wanted to thank him first.

"Wow! I feel like after a bath!" I walked from foot to foot, voicing my feelings aloud — I'm definitely feeling better. It's a very pleasant feeling!

"Even here, through our mental connection, I felt it. Around the people I control, even the black earth has turned gray." The Outpost keeper's voice rang out. "Come on, let's say it again, I'm interested!"

"And how much land has been cleared?" I was interested in this state of affairs.

"Under the feet." I spat out of frustration. "Wait, did the Guardian say let's repeat it?" I belatedly realized and looked up at the ascetic. In response, the exorcist again raised his hand in a friendly manner and pointed it at me, "Baponhathill! Sabesha!" he roared in a wild sepulchral voice.

"Ah, that's why the locals don't like him so much." Now I understand. My bones burst again, my skin parted, and my fingers got mixed up like a Castle Keeper's.

"Nah, you're still a long way from me, it's bad, so you watched it! Or your childish psyche did not allow you to perceive everything, it happens," an otherworldly voice rang in your head.

"The Guardian..." I didn't have time to finish my thought, and suddenly a wave of healing came again. I stood up, and my renewed body tried to turn around and run away, but the exorcist had other plans. Having pronounced his signature, "Sabre!" he sent me back to the liquid state.

"I thought cats were liquid," the Keeper exclaimed. He seemed to be having fun. "But you were able to surprise the old man."

I could have sworn that he was not pointing his dry finger at another young pupil of the Order, but was removing a stingy tear.

After the update, the dead exorcist partially erased the memory of past pain, as well as particularly painful memories. I couldn't remember the first few times. It seemed like two long days had already passed, after which someone else appeared.

"Not two days, but twenty minutes at most," the Keeper of the Castle objected to the course of my thoughts.

"Hunter, are you here?"

A redneck was coming down the hill towards us on the road. I heard his voice and froze.

Noticing the new target, the exorcist began to view it with his vision. I stood there, knowing that if I moved, he would cast his spell.

"The Elder sent me," a man came up to us.

"Why?" I asked him slowly, almost without opening my mouth.

"He asked me to warn you that he can do this all day!" a redneck told me the news. The exorcist regarded the newcomer with reproach, even cocked his head to one side.

Finally, the exorcist realized something about us, having determined the diagnosis, and chose a shorter version of the spell for the Elder's messenger, "Sabesha!"

"It's hard for you, hunter. The headman asked me to tell you..." he did not have time to finish, having received a powerful charge of exorcism, he ran headlong into the bushes.

"Wait, don't go away…"

I shouldn't have moved. The exorcist performed this cleansing procedure two hundred more times. For the hundredth time, the bones stopped breaking, almost... And twenty-five minutes later, the skin stopped bursting. The hair became soft and silky. Finally, the exorcist ran out of steam. After that, having healed me again, he left me standing, and he turned around and walked back to his house. I was like a pillar and didn't know how to describe these feelings.

"Eh! I would like him here in the fortress," the Keeper of the Fortress lamented, "he would be a very good fighter…"

I changed my mind about using a sword in a fight with him and took out a crossbow. My hamstrings involuntarily shook as soon as I thought about resisting him again. I hoped he was exhausted and his shield was down, but... my crossbow bolt hit the protective sphere.

"...Indefatigable and inexhaustible," the Keeper of the Fortress finished his thought.

"Un-dar! Baponhathillll! Sabesha!" the ascetic howled in a particularly frantic way. Now I'm hot, so I lost consciousness.

"I'm falling apart," I thought to myself, and I shuddered at the thought.

"Welcome back!" the Keeper of the Fortress greeted me in my mind when consciousness returned to me again. "Could you shoot him again?" This last spell works even on me — the sciatica has passed, it has been bothering me for two hundred years, and it also has a beneficial effect on the fighters under my command. The whole earth next to them turned gray instead of black. This time by a whole meter! If I had known, I would have taken this ascetic to my fortress.

"Can you really take him to the fortress? You're kind of similar.…"

"Don't be silly! He is undead, and I am withered. I'm alive!" said the Keeper of the Castle.

The exorcist turned around again and went to his hut.

"And what's the difference? He seems to be moving too," I looked after him.

"It should not be left because it is affected by the gray earth. Once a small part sticks to it, even I don't know what will happen here. Just imagine," the Guardian reminded me.

I myself, as in a fog, remembered my fight with the ancient Defender of the Graves. "What a strange feeling. It's like I've forgotten everything," I thought to myself.

"And if you take him to your place?"

"There is a lot of gray earth on the way, it is not moistened and will stick to the body. A living person has sweat, but here it will stick. And there is also a miasma of darkness here in the fortress that sometimes rises from the ground. They will make it not just gray, but immediately the highest cold!"

"And what happens?"

"I don't have an answer. He's kind of unique. A huge ghoul, sucking out lives and before that purifying future victims so that they crunch? A creepy sklird with a paladin's aura of light and tentacles? A shadow torturer using exorcism instead of torture? An Aratennik weaving a web of particles of light? Honestly, I don't even know. The case is unique."

I threw the crossbow aside. The exorcist was distracted, and I did not miss my chance, taking a weapon from under the hem of my jacket with an elusive movement, threw the enchanted family dagger of a nobleman at him. Without feeling the barrier, the knife flew through the light shield, and at that moment the novice turned to me.

"Oh, you clumsy, you ruined such a fighter..." the Keeper of the Fortress was indignant. But I knew he was joking.

My dagger hit the forehead of the undead. The protective raincoat didn't help either, because it doesn't cover the face. The ascetic of the order stood for a while, and then crumbled to dust.

"Well, anyway, what did you pass through here, huh?" the Keeper rejoiced. "I gave him the opportunity to just leave without getting cold feet."

"By the way, why can I hear you? After all, my body is great..." I asked, puzzled.

"Too many questions, don't you notice? Your mind has become like a child's. A little more, and who knows, you'd go crazy with pain or something..."

"And then..." I stopped.

"Go get some sleep. I wanted to do the best I could, but I managed to relax… I'm serious, you're very bad mentally right now. You'll rest and be fine," the Keeper of the Castle replied.

"I think you're right, Guardian. He took me apart two hundred times into bricks."

"More! I've already counted almost one thousand one hundred and twelve, considering the last one."

I didn't know what to say to that, whether to laugh or cry, so I just went closer to the ascetic's house to spend the night there.

Chapter 33: "Sanctuary"

A horn sounded in the distance. This meant that the scout was approaching our camp of mercenaries and hunters of the cold. I stopped and looked around at the warriors gathered around me.

"Did the death of an undead ascetic from the Fortress of Rukh cause so many victims?" the Best-of-us asked, puzzled.

"Indirectly. The main reason really wasn't that..." I put my hands on my chest. Having gathered my thoughts, I was about to continue my story when the priest of Hotta spoke. He went up to the fire and said:

"You did the wrong thing. I will inform the council of priests that you have killed one of the great ascetics of the Fortress of Rukh. Weren't you, as an order student, instructed not to kill such people?"

Everyone crowded looked at each other, and then The Best-of-us objected, "No, he has nothing to do with it. Friend, this is the first time I've heard of this. And it seems that none of those gathered here knows anything about it."

The priest of Hott fell silent. He ran his hand over his clean-shaven and ruddy face. She looked like she was shaking. "Maybe he said something unnecessary in a hurry?"

"Next time, if you see such a person, send a message to the Fortress of Rukh. We know what to do with them," without explaining the details, the priest demanded, leaving in his unopened fist the details of why the Fortress needed them.

I was about to continue my story when a scout on horseback jumped out to the bonfire near the sanctuary right next to us. On a thoroughbred steed, the young man was from among the demoted nobles.

"There's a slow boat half a mile away! It's coming!" the horseman shouted. Abruptly righting his horse, so that it even reared up, he raised the tip of the spear up, indicating the direction of a possible attack.

The fighters began to occupy the order of battle. The hunters were checking their weapons.

"What's in there?" I asked, stopping one of the hunters by the elbow. It turned out to be a Gorevetr.

"We noticed her this morning," he explained, and pointed in the direction where everyone was moving except Abramius Tula — the Priest of Hott. "They thought it would or would not come at us, but apparently the ritual of the morning prayers of the Unopened Fist of Yodheim attracted them to the alcove of the sanctuary. The creatures of the canopy feel this way, and the precipitation makes them aggressive. And instead of running away, they, on the contrary, rush into battle. There are at least a dozen smaller creatures in her entourage."

"Okay, I get it," I nodded and turned to the attendant Hott. "Aren't you coming with us?"

"No," the priest looked at me. He was thinking hard about something. "I will need to perform another Day's prayers at the local Sanctuary, and after that I will leave for the south," having said that, he turned around and walked deeper into the small colonnade. To the right and left stood the researchers' moss-covered golems, as if continuing the row of the colonnade of the building.

Somewhere below, under the cape, on which a small sanctuary was located, the waves were roaring. They were hitting the rocks, and the rumble of their massive blows could be heard even here.

Small, shimmering golden drops of dew covered the sanctuary as the priest of Hotta began his prayers. The snow began to fall in large flakes. He fell on the fir trees and crashed against the armor of the fighters. While we were waiting, the fog managed to rise. It smelled of salt and mud, hovered around, covering the sky and distant trees, from where we were waiting for the monsters to appear. I think the proximity of the water is to blame, otherwise it wouldn't be so strong.

The fighters, who were afraid of the white flakes, thought for a moment that this was a new wave of precipitation coming in front of a particularly dangerous monster, and therefore they laughed and joked with great joy. Their despondency was finally relieved.

And then there was a roar ahead, muffled by the thick fog. And, towering over the tops of sparse fir trees, a slow-moving car appeared. Its armored head slowly emerged from behind the white veil, moving its jagged mandibles. Her insect-like legionnaires ran forward, shuffling their feet. Having an almost square shape, on thin legs and with combat-like, sharpened hands, they had some resemblance to mantises.

There was thunder and a clang of metal — the shields of the mercenaries took the blow together, and three of the legionnaires rushing at us were raised on spears. Having pinned the opponents to the ground in this way, the fighters began to crush the heads of the attackers with swords and clubs.

I fired three times, knocking out three consecutive supporting limbs of one of the approaching enemies. He fell at the feet of The Best-of-us. The hunter stripped him of his dangerous arms in two swift graceful strokes and plunged a two-handed sword into the monster's head. He himself, without stopping rotating the two-handed weapon, cut off the leg of the next monster in line and separated the upper part of the torso from the abdomen.

To my left, a Mountaineer and a bear hunter were fighting. Gorevetr threw his spear and pinned another of the attackers, in his hands appeared the severed sword of his friend who died there, still near the Bubbling Basin. The bear hunter knocked off the other limb with a huge hammer. Two paws dug into the hunter's cloak, but he restrained the onslaught and stopped them at the cost of two charges. After that, the giant, by the standards of an ordinary person, carried out a gigantic blow from the bottom up, smashing the protective plates of the monster's skull. The green jelly-like contents splashed in a thick acidic blob on the snow.

A second wave of attackers was waiting for us. Their chirping gradually approached out of the fog, and the slow walker let out a roar, summoning the remaining warriors. These were very young, one of them had not even divided his paws into two yet — an attacking and a supporting one.

This time I reloaded the crossbow and put the hag's arrows instead of the black ones. I didn't like the way the arrow appeared in the crossbow when Arsa picked it up. Therefore, I decided not to invest them unnecessarily, because anyone who takes it and cocks the mechanism will immediately be able to lower it.

Two other hunters came forward to replace Gorevetr and the Bear. Arsa was holding a bow in her hands. Totent, taking a better grip on the new shield, leaned on the hunter's spear with a long slashing edge.

The mercenaries together lifted another opponent onto their spears, but he was larger than the previous ones and managed to reach out and stick a pointed limb into one of them's shoulder. He jerked and fell back, where his comrades picked him up. The remaining mercenaries pinned the dangerous monster with spears and began to cut it into small pieces. You bet! I could understand them. They were, in fact, at the threshold of the Bonehead, and here is a new victim.

Five creatures rushed at us at once. They regarded us as an easy target, or even just wanted to run past us into the sanctuary itself, from where the chants were coming.

This time I didn't shoot at the legs. The arrows of the hag chose their own trajectory, falling from the crossbow. I fired, and the nimble opponent tried to get away from the projectile, but it turned around and hit him in the back, instantly killing him. A moment later, a mysterious material appeared in the bolt of the crossbow. The mechanism clicked, indicating readiness, and I did not delay another shot. The Best-of-us whistled and couldn't help but exclaim in amazement when he saw the unnatural flight of the arrow. Making a turn in an arc, she accelerated sharply and flew into the back of the next monster. He cut into another of the opponents, dropping to one knee to get away from the dangerous swing of the forelimb of the dangerous servant of the slow walker.

Dying, the monster tried to sharply pierce the hunter's breastplate with its front support paw, for which it also lost it. However, this attack took off one of the two charges of the assassin's cloak cooled down. I shot another one and thus covered Arsa and Totsent, but the next legionnaire went into their backs.

Here, near the Campfire, the slow walkers do not have time to gather a lot of retinue around them. The garrison of the city regularly trains its fighters, tempering them in battles with such opponents and reducing the number of legionnaires. The very same tardigrade is released so that it produces new soldiers.

Totent threw a spear and... missed. And the killing power of Arsa's arrows was not enough to pierce the legs and slow down the monster. She had already fired four arrows, but they bounced off the dense chitin. The huntress aimed at the slits of the eyes on her head, but the legionnaire easily evaded such attacks. The soldier of the slow walker split the Totent's shield and threw it aside the fir trees, removing one of the charges. With a cry, he crushed the needles and disappeared under the thick branches.

I was forced to choose — to distract myself from one of the opponents who attacked me, or to help kill the other, who was bypassing Arsa from behind. I had to make a choice right now: either I was protecting myself or Arsu.

The girl squeezed her eyes shut when the monster in an instant, throwing off the Totent, jumped up to her. A rainbow-colored arrow whistled, and, limp, the legionary sank into the snow. As for me, the Foothills Guardian's cloak held back the blow. Seeing that my defense was not so easy to break through, the monster waved its paws from the bottom up, sending me flying. I flew up rapidly from the second blow and froze only at a height of two of my height. Finally, my ally arrived. The Best-of-us ran under me. With a wide swing of the untwisted sword, he cut the enemy into two parts. The third blow, which could have been fatal to me, already from the headless carcass fell into his armor. The warrior covered me with himself, expending the second charge of his cloak. I landed behind him, and after the third shot, the hag's arrow, thinking, appeared not in the deflated mechanism of the crossbow, but in the quiver.

"Good job, where did you get Kostegrad's arrows?" the hunter punched me in the shoulder.

"These are not the arrows of a Bonegrad at all, but of a hereditary hag from the Darkwood," I smiled.

"So one of the witches of the forest is still alive," the Best-of-us scratched his chin. "I guessed that this might be so, also because the Darkwood itself has not disappeared here yet. I'll have to go check on them."

All twelve attacking opponents reported by the scout were defeated. And while the knights came forward, the mercenaries with crossbows shot the slow-moving itself, suppressing it so that the nobles could approach it. Of the nine representatives of the nobility here in the camp, there were only three, and four demoted nobles joined them. Perhaps they wanted to regain their title by participating in the clearing of the highway.

The slow walker could not oppose anything to the weapons of the nobles. Enchanted or enchanted, it, encrusted with crystals, easily penetrated through chitin, instantly cutting off limbs. And if ordinary mercenaries would have needed to make efforts akin to chopping wood, armed with their axes or swords, then this weapon passed like a hot knife through butter. I looked around at the nobles who were raising their hands to each other, congratulating them on their victory near the pierced head of the slow walker. This individual did not give birth to smaller ones, but controlled the legionnaires; having lost them, she became defenseless and soon sank down. The massive carcass fell on its side, breaking a couple of the tops of the fir trees.

And immediately after that, a healing wave swept across the earth, and a priest came out of the sanctuary. A fighter from among the mercenaries who died rose from the dead and breathed sharply. His wounds healed even better than on the hunter. A friendly victory cry rang out over the battlefield. And then all the mercenaries gathered around the priest, bowing their heads.

The unopened fist turned around and majestically shared with all those gathered, "My path ends here, I have nothing to do in the Kostegrad itself. "Here," he waved his hands around the place, "the limit of Light is set."

"Won't you come with us to Kostegrad? We will be accepted there as heroes," Gorevetr shook his head disapprovingly.

"And I don't care about the awards that await me there... And I've done everything here, and now I know about the Bubbling Basin," he sighed bitterly and, finding me with his eyes, patted me sympathetically on the shoulder.

"Goodbye!" the priest announced his decision to all the fighters.

Without waiting another second, he turned around and walked towards the Bloody Swamps.

The mercenaries together began to beat their shields with weapons, honourably escorting him.

"He must have headed for the red port," I thought... For some reason, I had a strong desire to go with him. I was tempted to drop everything and go right now, but The Best-of-us came out from among those gathered to see off the priest of Yodkame.

"And yet, what happened there at the Bubbling Basin?"

Chapter 34: "Mercenary Garrison"

The horse and the crossbow were left at the exorcist's house. I went to the local market to find a suitable string for my crossbow. The weapon needed to be tightened. K'yoevghan, it seems, has not updated the metal for a very long time, and it is quite worn out. "I should have taken care of this back in Feanoth," I reflected, examining the worn section. The bastard turned the hunter who had suffocated at the intersection in his hands and marveled at his quality. The sword was really good. The charter of the hunter of the cold required the presence of at least one piece of weapons always with him to fulfill his duty. That's why I only took him with me.

Slamming the door, I looked around: it looked like the evening was following me. In any case, the serene golden Yodkame was nearing sunset. It was the very end of the day. I went up the path to the wide road and, entering the gate, froze. For a few moments I contemplated what had opened up and appeared in front of me. That's when it all became obvious. Completely understandable.

But I guessed what the exorcist was doing... Later, the realization caught up with me. The mask of a milchemist. Hunter. Everything took clear forms. He was one of the first victims of this monster. I remembered his posture, it seemed unnatural to me then and now. The puzzle has formed. The realization came to me when I saw another curved body and people crowding around. Several soldiers in front were examining the scene. Friends or relatives of the deceased ran up and picked him up, sobbing. If I had hesitated a little bit, I wouldn't even have noticed the resemblance when I walked through the gate a little later. And no one would have guessed now that his position had been changed and his body had been moved. What a fine filigree work! Very prudent! Only one creature works like that. I knew what had happened there and guessed that the creature of the night that had killed the hunter on the road had now come to the Bubbling Basin. And so, there lies his next victim in the dust. The peasants turned the body over, examining the man without external injuries. I eagerly tried to notice every detail around me. The tension grew with every passing moment. I can see him. I had touched the corpse of the hunter at the crossroads long enough for him to influence me, so that this creature of the canopy could avert my gaze... Here he is! A little apart from everyone stood the Captain, and behind him was...

My legs carried me forward on their own, trying not to let him out of sight, I pushed the crowd in front of me. The blade of my sword flashed in the colors of Yodkame's blood. "The Titan has already received a wound. It's not good! I have to do it now, or I'll have to wait for dawn." I crushed the unfortunate man who met me on the way, just a little more, and he covered what I saw with his head. The citizen did not even have time to be indignant. Here it is! A little more! I pushed aside a few idle onlookers and knocked down the hapless peasants and merchants, smashing one of them's forehead with the hilt. He screamed loudly and swore, thereby drawing attention to me. A handsome man whom I tried to push off the road, managed to push me back, almost lost my goal because of him. Then another one got indignant and answered me. The cries of indignation grew louder. The captain of the garrison, with a dangerous creature towering behind him, turned in my direction. There was surprise on his face.

"I have to make it... before it strikes again..." The creature raised its hand over the Captain, but froze before it could hit him surreptitiously. My gaze held this creature and gradually a mental connection was established between us. There were only a few meters left when I was roughly pushed again, and I lost sight of my target. The next moment, I was knocked down again, and I was pinned to the ground—too late. The guards worked quickly, not allowing me to see their superior, the Captain.

They roughly twisted my arms and lifted me up. I think I bit off a piece of my lip. Blood was pouring down his face and chin. Fine grains of sand stuck to the cheekbones, crumbled down. I concentrated and barely noticed the creature of the night again, and again stopped the blow of the creature that was already swinging. It was only thanks to the mental connection that was beginning to form between us that I was able to see him again. We froze in front of each other, as if we wanted to win a staring contest.

"Are you crazy, hunter! Answer me, why did you run at me?" I stared at his back; a ghostly shadow stood behind the commander of the garrison. I couldn't say anything. Now that I've seen him, the last strand of Yodkame has disappeared behind the mountains. If I say a word, I won't be able to notice this creature of the night again... There was a thin thread between us now, a connection that was easy to break. When there is a mental connection between people, they can read each other's thoughts. But this was not here, the creature was of a different nature, different from human. The mental connection drew us like a gust of wind, pushing us towards each other. And the creature took a step forward.

"Hey, is this one of yours? Your group is from Feanoth Castle," the Captain said to someone behind me.

"We need to keep an eye on the monster so that he cannot strike a new blow at the Captain," the vein in his neck twitched, adrenaline was growing. It took another step towards me. The captain shivered, now the creature was standing almost directly behind him.

"Yes, probably too much bragi," chuckled one of the tipsy monster hunters, "that's what's going on..."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a drunken hunter who came out ahead of me with a mug of local draft beer. The captain turned back, but saw nothing. "What a pity, apparently, he managed to touch the body of the deceased!"

"Put him in the punishment cell. Let him come to his senses, then we'll talk," the Captain waved his hand.

We were playing peek-a-boo with a monster... it was right in front of me. If it continues, it will strike and everyone will see it. But the guards pulled me aside, I resisted, tried to break free, not to let them take me away. I even grabbed a weapon from one of them, but a blow to the jaw sent me into oblivion.

I came to my senses already in the punishment cell. Across from me sat the hunter who had brought me here. He was completely drunk.

"Do you remember me?" he asked. In his hands he was twirling the sword of a hunter from our group who was killed at the intersection.

I was silent. I was madder than ever! "How my jaw hurts!" I touched it carefully, it doesn't seem to be broken. The man took my behavior in his own way.

"You must have recognized me, since you're not answering me. I'm not happy myself that I left you then and ran away. The code and all that, says unequivocally... it says not to be human. But I chickened out! I honestly admit it and I apologize to you."

I rubbed my sore jaw. "What's he talking about? I don't know him, what is he talking about? Did he confuse me with someone else?"

"Okay, you don't have to answer. I needed to talk anyway," the slightly overweight hunter stood up and leaned his sword against the bench he was sitting on. "Here's your sword, I had a hard time persuading the quartermaster to leave it so close to the cell. He'll wait for you when you sober up."

"So you're drunk, but I have to sober up... great!" I looked at him furiously, but he understood it in his own way, sighed and turned away.

"You know, I didn't think at all that this creature would be there. I even forgot his name... smerden, yes gray smerden," the hunter savored this word. "I didn't even think that I was so afraid of them, probably because of the incident in childhood when my mother and I were attacked by one of them."

He waved his hand, "I still remember that day with fear. My mother protected me from the insidious attack to the last, but what could she do against this creature? You know perfectly well that she couldn't do anything against the monster."

The well-fed hunter looked at his mug once more and poured the ale right on the floor.

"And then it turned to me. There was nowhere else to run, you could only watch him, claws clacking, creeping in your direction. His long fingers scraped the creaking floorboards of the house, and there were traces of dried blood on his fangs. My teeth were chattering with fear then, the stench was already very close when I covered my face with my hands. I was already preparing for how he would strike a terrible blow, how I would scream loudly. How my body will be cold lying there on the floor of the attic, on which my sister and I huddled in fear."

I took a step forward from the shadows. "What eloquence. It looks like he confused me with the hunter who is already dead. He said, 'Here's your sword.'"

"We were saved then by a hunter, the same as you and me, me and my little sister," he pointed at me. "I think that's why I was so scared."

Without turning around, he left the room just as a terrible screeching sound was heard. The body of one of the mercenaries fell from the stockade into the sand. "It's okay," I thought coldly and distantly, "it's not a problem yet." I went to the window and looked out. "How long have I been unconscious, it's already dark! So, it's worse, of course, but it's still bearable. I'll wait for dawn, and then..."

A woman screamed, and I went back to the bars behind which I was sitting so that I could hear what was happening on the street.

"Oh, I saw a shadow! The Quartermaster! The Quartermaster!"

I began to breathe more often. He raised his hands and gripped the cold bars, listening intently. Fortunately, it wasn't too difficult, the hunter who had just left the door open. I could even see the hem of her dress.

"Describe what you saw," the Quartermaster demanded.

I shook the grate, protesting categorically. The door of my cell was shaking. But this did not stop the woman. She told me in more detail what she had seen. I walked away and turned away from the bars. "Well, he'll get a little stronger, he'll have claws. It's bad, of course, but I'll track him down in the morning. It's not good, of course, but..." was all I had time to think when I froze, as if struck by lightning.

"Very similar to..." There, on the street, I heard the voice of a drunken hunter. He started to say something, but stopped himself.

"For whom?" the quartermaster asked, respectfully listening to the hunter.

I turned to the bars in disbelief, listening intently.

"They don't live here," the drunken idiot said uncertainly.

The hunter kept talking!

I shook the grate as hard as I could... It looks like they heard me. Their speech was interrupted, but only for a moment. The edge of the cloak, covered with blue fringes, fluttered near the door. It looks like the quartermaster turned in my direction for a moment.

"Everything is behind the wall, they are only found behind the wall... right, right, eh?" I shook the grate again and let go — it was useless.

"But... It looks like it was pitch black..."

"I knew. I knew what would happen next. There was silence, and then there was a slap. Yes, it was the idiot's head that fell from the claws of the monster into the sand... The monster got claws and a small incarnation. It's not good." My eye twitched.

A woman screamed, and there was a clang of metal. I carefully pressed myself against the wall so that I could not be seen from the outside through the open door. My heart was pounding. It was already quiet outside. I was frantically thinking about what to do. "If you don't stop the mocker right away, he gets stronger with each new victim. It seems that it is impossible to wait for dawn, you need to try to solve everything here and now. The various stories about pitchers that I've heard from hunters have said that we need to stop him as soon as possible. We need to pick the lock and get out of here."

"The light of Titan Yodkame! What's going on here?" one of the guards must have exclaimed. "It looks like the bodies have been found. The trap is closing. I hope there's not a single idiot left in this shoddy village who..."

"Damn you, kromeshnik, what's going on here!" the Captain's voice rang out, awakened at the crack of dawn. And, oh yes, judging by the sounds, he really tore them apart. Then there was a short shout from the garrison commander, a gurgle, and the silence stopped. Screams, screams, and crying began to be heard here and there... It's started...

I reached under the skirts of my raincoat and took out a hacking tool. I wasn't a master, but I needed a distraction. I was breaking the lock to my cell with a special frenzy. Now I have only one way left — to try to hold out until dawn. And I need to be outside this prison if I really want to survive...

I was startled every time by each new, suddenly interrupted scream and incomprehensible noise. Somewhere in the distance, the moans of the wounded man could be heard, but soon they stopped too. The besieged monster intentionally wounds the victim so that she wakes up and attracts new people into the trap with her screams. A woman screamed from the other side. And so the action continued, he lured more and more people.

I swallowed and opened my mouth with zeal. The screams and noise had stopped long ago, I could only hear the slight creaks of the lock. It clicked surprisingly loudly in the silence that surrounded everything. I could hear my own labored breathing. He slowly opened the grate, it creaked shrilly like a string. I froze for a few seconds... My heartbeat accelerated, and I had difficulty holding my breath. The main thing is not to look up... Something was walking down the hallway. Slap, slap, slap. His footsteps left wet footprints and were clearly audible in the silence that held everything down. Something slowly passed by my cage. And a treacherous memory surfaced in my memory - "The drowned man." At the same moment, I looked up; in front of me was the zombie I had killed a few days ago. He ran at me with his arms outstretched. Miraculously, turning around in a small room of the cell, I picked up the sword and repeated that blow, cutting the enemy in two exactly the same way as then. He flopped down on the floor and didn't move anymore. The inner contents splashed over the stone as if from a broken vessel.

There was a clang of metal from behind. Somewhere in the depths of the gloomy chambers, something fell. I didn't remember what that sound was. Kromeshnik compensated for the loss of his power by my forgetting what it was. The riddles and puzzles of the dark creature were just beginning... And we have the whole night ahead of us.

The hunter's bag appeared on my shoulder again, and a green crystal was burning in my hand. The souls sang funeral songs... I was walking deep into the prison. I need to know what it is. We can't leave this behind. Step by step echoed between the cameras. The sound was repeated, and now I could hear exactly where it was coming from.

"Who's here?" an alarmed voice rang out from the darkness. My flashlight picked out the guard from the darkness. I almost told him who was here. It was only at the last moment that the hair on the back of my head advised me not to do this. A young man in plate armor sat in buttoned shackles on a short chain and squinted at the rays directed at him. I pressed my index finger to my lips and, fumbling with the tool, unlocked the shackles. They seemed to bind not only his hands, but also his tongue.

"Thanks, buddy! The captain chained me up. Let's get out of this hole, their quartermaster wanted to cut off my hands for stealing," the guard almost shouted. I was cut off by the non-native dialect, his speech and the very manner of speaking so loudly, almost shouting. If I had known, I would have left it to wipe my pants on the bench.

Behind me, from where I came from, I heard sklird's scream. I will recognize him unmistakably anywhere.

"What is this?" the man's teeth chattered, it seems he was beginning to be afraid.

I put my finger to my lips, but he was looking around and didn't notice.

"Oh! Where did you find sklirda in the city?" the voice of the Keeper of the Castle rang out. The illusion of the guardian lit up, appearing nearby in thousands of blue sparks of a bright host.

I was silent, saying nothing. "How long will it be before he figures it out?"

Tentacles flashed ahead. My new companion, the guard, couldn't speak at all, he just gurgled, wheezed and pointed with his finger. I nodded back and put my index finger over his mouth. He looked at me sternly and repeated the gesture with his index finger again. It looks like he got it this time. He nodded and covered his mouth with his hand.

"Oh, my joint!" it sounded in my mind. The guardian guessed and immediately continued, "Just don't ask me to take control of you. In general, it's better not to say anything," I sternly searched with my eyes for the illusion of the Outpost Keeper, "I'll tell you right away if I show myself and take control of you... In general, it is better not to do it, only it will turn out even worse. Can you imagine how many canopy creatures I've killed? You'd better deal with him yourself," the keeper said and disappeared.

I remembered that I couldn't kill sklird then, so I sped up. It's just an obsession, he can't raise creatures that I haven't killed. I resolutely went forward, and, indeed, the tentacles scattered. The score was two to one in my favor. The strange game continued. Kromeshnik was just playing with us. We found ourselves on the street. I deliberately moved towards the gate so as not to snatch out the bodies lying there like a green lantern.

We walked through and turned onto the main street when it started to get light. And at that moment, bodies became visible from all sides. And I realized that the score is far from two to a hundred.

The ghoul jumped out from behind the trees of the alley, and soon the Savage joined him. Yes, the one who attacked the nobleman's carriage. I didn't kill him then, and I didn't know how to kill him. How could he even come? I deflected the blow obliquely with an axe, then tried to pierce it, making a sharp lunge towards a dexterous opponent, but he did not give in. The Savage was running around and trying to get me together with the ghoul. I walked away from the next jump of the monster. He tried to turn his mouth on me in a jump, but I raised my left hand higher. I had a green candle burning in my hand, which did not allow him to take the life out of me. We were retreating back with the guard, deflecting the blows of our opponents, when a metallic clang sounded from a gloomy doorway. And then a swordsman appeared in our path. It was the undead from the ancient burial of the Grave Mosses, which I once had the opportunity to visit. A huge undead warrior in full plate armor, disfigured by the absence of one cheek, was walking slowly towards us, placing a two-handed sword on his shoulder.

An arrow whistled. The crossbowman I killed appeared on the roof, but almost immediately melted away, touched by the rays of the Yodkame. I pointed to my companion in the direction of the gate, and we began to slowly retreat under the onslaught of the enemies.

A skeleton magician appeared from the next gloomy doorway; he was preparing spells and throwing them at the guard. It looks like this young guard managed to kill a skeleton mage somewhere. Monsters were approaching us from all sides, and there were more and more opponents. We tried to fight in a combat team. My companion turned out to be an unexpectedly good partner.

I guessed why the night monster had given up life to this guard. It wanted to have a trump card against me... We fought. I tried in the heat of battle not to lose sight of my ally, not to take my eyes off him, but I couldn't. There was a high-pitched screeching sound. And when I turned around, there was already a bugbear behind me... He roared loudly, tearing his chest with his claws when he saw me! His eyes were bloodshot; everything around him was stirred up. And I ran.

I wanted to go into the alley, but a translucent banshee came out of it. I remembered her—the murdered wife of a magician. "K'yoevghan and Zu and I laid her to rest then... But I didn't strike the final blow! It's impossible, why is she here?"

"You came to me, my love!" the banshee almost intoned sadly.

I ran forward without stopping. There was the sound of many feet behind me. Another ghoul jumped out of the basement. I jumped to the side, avoiding a direct collision. Flying behind me, he seems to have crashed into his pursuers. It was definitely a "strike"! But I did not turn around to study the results, but only accelerated when I saw a narrow strip of light ahead, licking the edge of the crossbar of the city gate.

It looks like I got a little ahead, and Pitchfork tried to hold me back. The dead inhabitants of the fortress rose up in the form of zombies right on the road. Ahead, a rain barrel materialized on the way.

A dead exorcist got out of it and said, "You shouldn't do that!" The ascetic shook his finger at me, and before he began to say spells, pointing them at me, I threw a knife at him.

"Okay, don't bother! I've sent a ten-man cleanup team. They have already received instructions and cut off communication with me. They are moving from the mountains at full speed! Eh, I think not all of them will survive in a fight with this monster," the Guardian remarked sadly.

Not listening to the old man, I climbed into the rain barrel and pushed off. She accelerated down the road from the fortress. One of the monsters tried to jump on her, but fell, she rolled on top of him and only accelerated. I threw up. The barrel accelerated to a decent speed, jumped, hit an obstacle and crashed on the rocks. I think I hit hard, but I was smiling... The rays of the Yodkem Light tickled my bruised and bruised face.

My raincoat lost its charge, and I got back to my feet. A feeling of inspiration came over me. It looks like I was able to break out of the trap.

The monsters that jumped behind me under the strands of the Titan Yodkame scattered and fell in a gray veil. "How many of them are there, have I already killed them all? Where is he? A creepy scarecrow with black dots of eyes. A thin body and hands with long and sharp hair-splitting dagger claws." I didn't notice him anywhere, so I pulled on the tip of my mental connection with him.

A strong wind blew, as if it had escaped from the world of our minds. All the shadows gathered and running towards me jerked and froze. Only the zombies of the murdered townspeople who followed me continued to chase me. But I cut through them, blow by blow. Finally, their flow dried up. I was standing outside the light line, and the dawn had already come.

"Is that all you can do?" I shouted ahead. In my mind, it sounded like the sound of a whip. The dawn gave me new strength. Kromeshnik was rapidly losing power.

Several more aggressive zombies jumped out into the circle of light, running after me through the streets of the Bubbling Basin. I chopped them all up. There were only the motionless shadows of the monsters that I had already killed. The monsters suddenly stopped, and their eyes rolled back. The monsters started singing! The eerie chorus diligently began to bring out one note. Once killed by me and now stopped, the motionless figures all began to call out to the monster, as if praising the monster that was able to bring them back to their terrible existence. They all drew out the first syllable together, "Cro-o-o-o-o…"

An infernal chorus sounded, as if they were trying to name the creature that appeared from behind them. It slipped and seeped between them like a shadow as the entire terrifying cast tried to name it. The monster could no longer resist the mental pull. For the first time in a long time, something happened that I didn't know what would happen when they finished singing, but I guessed that I wouldn't like it.

"I was looking for you! The Tlekorets are whispering to me! He promised a real bounty on your head. I can't back down now that I'm so close to winning. Look what the Student gave me!" The creature's whisper, which sounded like a screech at the limit of hearing, was disgusting. I didn't know if the creature was telling the truth or not. Bluffing, playing on fears, trying to get something else. But the creepy creature of the night took a step, and another, then completely came out of the shadows and headed towards me.

All my stories and knowledge ended a little earlier. The hero in them usually already died, or the pitchman himself died. No other was given. This creature is not an opponent that can be killed by a single hunter after it comes into force. However, there was a third ending for these stories, I suddenly remembered. And even more so, I definitely haven't heard a single one where the creature came forward and, burning under the light of the Titan Yodkame, tried to attack you. And that's exactly what was happening now. The thin stilt legs ran faster and faster, the match hands spread their claws, preparing to strike.

I took a firmer grip on the sword of the hunter who was killed on the road by this creature. Standing in a fighting stance, I pulled one leg away so as not to lose my footing. She slid across the sand, scooping it onto her heel. A wave. The air whistled as it was cut through. The steel came into contact with the claws, sparks flew, the claws left several notches on the sword. Step back, move away from the second hand and bring the blade to a new trajectory of impact. The claws flew a centimeter from my face, splattering the eyepieces with drops of some kind of bile.

The steel hummed again, imitating the mad chorus, "Oh-oh-oh."

I parried the blow by taking another step back, crouching down a little, continuing the U-turn. The monster got away from the cut. The whistling of the dissected air. Minus the second charge of the cloak, this time not fast enough. I struck from below, but the mocker was able to push off my sword and, doing a backflip, landed with his claws outstretched. His skin was split in several places. The creature screamed in pain, burning alive under the rays of Yodkame's light.

We fought. The enemy was pressing. He was smoking, burning, and his nails were like blades. The mocker made a swift dash, and I jumped to the side, ending up under the branches of a tree. I tried to cut him down, but the stick branches came off the ground - he jumped unnaturally high. There was a shadow here, under the canopy. In the shadows, his deadly blades were even sharper. I held my sword out to block the next blow...

"Shhh," the choir hissed. With a similar echo, part of the sword fell to the ground. Three claws grazed his right shoulder slightly. I rolled back into the circle of light and looked at the significantly reduced stump of the sword. Kromeshnik cut off half of the blade with his claws! Looking back at the shortened bastard, I realized that now I couldn't reach the enemy. There was only the third option from the stories that I had heard.

Kromeshnik walked around me in a circle. He hesitated. The monster walked, smoked, ignored the Titan of the Blue Vault, which rose even higher and was already half hidden behind the clouds. My gaze caught on someone in the crowd surrounding us. Suddenly I noticed K'yoevghan among the figures. My friend stood and, meeting my gaze, fell down, foaming at the mouth. Nearby, I saw Arsa standing, and a little further away, the Professor. They continued to sing. The only one who didn't sing was the guardian of the graves, a greyness spread through his body, turning him from undead to cold, when the transformation was complete, his eyes also rolled back. "What is it? An obsession? Why is this monster from Zagorye so strong?" I asked, and I had no answers. Clouds had gathered in the sky, only the lowest edge of Yodkame's round face was still shining, leaving a tiny patch of light.

"It's too late!" the funnel of kromeshnik's mouth spat out these words, stretched into a distant semblance of a smile, and again, unable to restrain himself, he screamed in pain. Several more figures fell to the ground, foam pouring from their mouths. It got colder sharply. A rainstorm began to fall from the sky. I finally understood. This is the highest creature of the canopy. I looked at him with new eyes. Standing in front of me was the supreme cold one. He was in no hurry to attack, walking along the edge of the circle of light.

"You're all alone!" a whistling guttural roar of laughter came from the funnel.

"I'm not alone!" the last point of the strands of Titan Yodkame's hair was still shining in our direction, its reflection flashed and played on the fragment of my sword when I got back into a fighting stance. The metal was filled with a bright flame. The supreme cool-down tried to repeat the most successful maneuver again, making a dash forward, but this time I did not go tumbling to the side, but acted differently.

Abruptly and unexpectedly, I leaned forward and closed the distance between us. Kromeshnik's right hand pierced my lung on the right—a fatal wound. I plunged my sword into his thin body, piercing him, and he pierced me. Another blow flew from the left. I put my left hand over my heart, and kromeshnik separated it from my body. I must have screamed. Life was rapidly coming out of the stump. The cold one tried to step back, merge with the swirling shadow from which he had come to heal from his wound. And she had already begun to slowly envelop him from the bottom up. But I didn't let him do it. Already falling to the side, at that very moment, I released my reserve and struck backhand, putting all my remaining strength into this swing. The head of a blackbird with a funnel for a mouth, separated from the body that disappeared into the shadows, fell and rolled through the morning dew. And I sat down heavily on my knees. "Retribution has been accomplished! I killed this creature of Zagorye with the sword of the hunter he killed."

"The last ray of light ..." hissed kromeshnik, screamed muffled and powerless, and abruptly dried up. The monster's head was no longer burning, it had shrunk and withered. The shadows scattered, disappearing, as did the torso of the pitchman in the swirling darkness. The clouds that had gathered abruptly in the sky were dissipating to a pleasant cold blue. The silver faded under the heat of the light of the Titan Yodkame.

"The Guardian!" I called out. My right arm hung limply, no longer able to hold back the bleeding.

"You are full of talents, hunter! But I will not take you under control!" the harmful old man suddenly became stubborn.

"Why? Isn't three years of my life in the fortress better than my death now?" I breathed out loud. "Is this really the end?" flashed through my mind.

The answer was the neighing of a horse. I looked up.

Two hunters from our group stopped on the road. They saw me and jumped off their horses. Everything began to swim in front of my eyes. The hunters noticed from afar that I was sitting covered in blood. And so one of them ran towards me across the grass. I recognized him. Gorevetr. Yes, it was him. I was sitting on my knees in front of the gates of a deserted fortress. The last thought, before consciousness faded, flashed through my head, "If I had guessed at the intersection at the corpse of the hunter. If I had left the exorcist. If only I'd been more restrained around the captain. After all, what if I had just let the spawn kill the captain? No one would have called kromeshnik by name a second time." I didn't have any answers. It seems that the whole world has started to curl up somewhere in the green grass.

The sky swam before my eyes, and then the face of Gorevetr appeared, "Hold on!"

Do you want to know why I didn't mention this creature when I said who I dislike the most — the Beholder or the Dragon? I think now you know the answer...

Chapter 35: "The Black Forest"

Everything was like jelly. The movements were blurred. I did not see Yodkame in the sky, and therefore it seemed to me that I was driving through the black impenetrable thicket of the Darkwood again. And it was as if there was no end to this rare sagging path in the moss. I was trying to leave the forest on horseback. My horse gradually slowed down, visibility was decreasing. It became completely dark. The narrow, wild path to the forest village showed less and less the stones of the ancient road, almost completely embedded in moss. It seemed to me that my hunter's lamp was flying next to me, then I was holding it in my hand. The path, picked out by the green crystal, kept trying to disappear somewhere in the impenetrable darkness ahead of me. Everything was as if under a Canopy of Ignorance and in a light ripple of misty haze. A tart vapor was coming from the ground in this creepy place, I must have inhaled some kind of nastiness.

My horse was restless, snoring, but so far behaved quite calmly. While the glow of the Yodkame was still there, high in the sky, warming us. But now her excitement has increased. When the trees thickened and the Titan of the firmament disappeared over the horizon, everything was plunged into darkness, and the forest predators woke up. Every now and then there were eerie sounds of the inhabitants of the thicket from different directions. That's when I took out my green crystal. The host of the dead began to sing a song about those who died in the darkness before reaching the end of the path. As it turned out, this time I'm parsing individual words. How strange!

"The ancient bandit leads the way in the darkness.

There, what's beyond the crossroads? What awaits him there?

The hour was uneven, the lamp flickered,

It burned out with a green, trembling fire.

But youth, beauty, virgo is white.

That she was looking for her husband, running after him.

In spite of the Canopy of Evil

A green light appeared to her!

And here's the hunter that got hurt.

He can't feel his right hand.

He was driving through the forest, he didn't know,

A green flame was burning on the way."

The horse stopped in front of the fork. "To the right or to the left?" I did not remember this place in the Darkwood. Suddenly, a small picket jumped out onto the road right under the horse's feet. With a high-pitched squeal, he disappeared into the darkness. The horse got scared, reared up, knocking me over backwards. The impact on the ground blocked the cloak.

I rather got up and tried to calm the animal by taking her by the bridle. But we've already been spotted. Several predators were still walking outside the circle of light, growling as they approached. The horse was worried, neighed and tore the bridle from his hands, jumping somewhere to the side, into the darkness. The predators, I couldn't make out who it was, seemed to have rushed after her. I heard the bushes breaking. There was a growl, then a shrill neigh sounded in the thicket, and it became quiet. But I understood that the whole forest would gather here now. I finally ran, choosing the left path, where the small boar ran away.

Pushing aside the leaves of a fern that had grown heavily along the road, I bumped into a huge shade tree with my nose to my mandibles. The shadowhunter screeched at high frequencies when my kick sent it into a ditch. There was a blow — heavy claws snapped at my cloak from behind! A huge predatory cat, a blue-claw, jumped down on me like a lynx and tried to bite through my neck. I threw the predator aside.

My crossbow was cocked, but I didn't have time to fire. The Blue Claw began its dance right in front of me, mesmerizing me. I couldn't move. A spittle of cobwebs flew onto the cat's paws, knocking it out of rhythm. Other spiders were rushing to help the wounded man, their silhouettes appearing from all sides. I raised my crossbow and shot offhand at the huge cat, but missed. The blue-claw was beating around as if it had fallen into a trap with its paw. Tearing all the sticky mass out of the ground, she hissed and jumped to the side, disappearing from sight.

A rolling echo sounded over the entire forest. Somewhere in the distance, there was the rumble of a thunderous roar from someone big. The forest famously rushed through the forest here, breaking thick trees. They creaked and fell, turning upside down. I didn't want to find out what kind of animal was coming here through the whole forest.

I ran forward as silently as possible, dodging two shots from teneplen. Suddenly, I realized that I was on a wooden walkway that creaked from my footsteps. The dilapidated railing was loose and mossy. "So, the village is this way. I chose the right direction," I thought.

Chapter 36: "How I killed the barrel"

Memories floated in front of me, one thing followed another... the Dark Forest. Crypts with ghouls. Quicksand. Swamp mermaids. The laughing K'yoevghan. The moments slipped away like water through my fingers. Here I am lying sick in bed again, and my mother is taking care of me. Here, a black cat is running from the wall of the order. Clinging to this memory, I did not let it disappear. I ran after her. A little more and I'll grab her!

"Where are you going, fighter?" the order instructor shouted, and I had to freeze in mid—step. "The lesson is not over yet!"

I realized that I was standing in a tight formation of guys like me who were studying and training for the wall. The coach shook his head condescendingly, "What can you take from this brat, he's too young!"

"Your task for today is to kill the barrel! Get started!" the coach shouted and pointed the tip of the spear at the wooden product. All the guys grabbed their weapons and rushed at their "creepy and dangerous" opponents. They hacked, beat and cut wood with their weapons. Someone even managed to secure the edge, but that was the end of our success. The barrels were indestructible. They deflected the blows. One of the recruits even got hit hard while fighting with her.

"That's enough," the instructor said. "You're worthless! You can't even kill a barrel, let alone the monsters that are waiting for you?"

One of the boys went into a frenzy at the instructor's words and furiously struck the barrel with his sword again. He jumped back and hit the boy on the leg. He crumpled and sobbed. Blood flowed, and hysterical crying was heard.

Putting his hand on his face, the instructor ordered, "Throw them down for your comrade! This is an order! Because we don't leave our own! And then, when everyone has killed their opponents, run five laps around the fortress. Those who do not make it to lunch will be without lunch! Stop it!" he shouted. The instructor left. After beating the barrels a little more for order, the children scattered, only I stayed near mine. I was thinking and took the instructor's words literally, "Throw them down."

That day, the instructor was apparently distracted, and he did not appear again. All the guys scattered, realizing that he would not come after a while, only I diligently chopped up the barrel.

Yodkame, who had been following my progress, was apparently dissatisfied and went to decline. I repeated the instructor's words to myself again, and then it dawned on me what I should do. I rolled the barrel out to the descent. The barrel was tied up on the outside, but I had already broken the ropes with my spear. And now I was wondering if the barrel would have enough cargo to unwind completely?

I decided that it would not be enough, and climbed inside, and then pushed down. The barrel gained a decent amount of momentum, the caulked sides parted, and I rolled out. I felt pretty sick. Then I went up to get a spear and drove it into every crack between the remaining glued boards. Using the weapon as a lever, he divided the barrel into parts. So systematically I destroyed it step by step. Then he put it in a pile and set it on fire with a flint.

Down here, behind the Order fortress, two figures were waiting for me in the shade of the trees. Two strange shadows.

"Do you think he'll be any good?" one of the figures in the shadow of the fortress asked. How I didn't like the timbre of his voice! It gave me the creeps.

"I don't know," said someone whose face was hidden under a hood. A strange light shield was burning around him. His face was hidden under a hood. But for some reason I realized that the priest was looking in my direction. He took hold of the cloth covering his face to the right and left, gradually lifting it up. I knew I was about to see something unpleasant.

"The novice!" the coach barked, and I turned around, straightening up, but then looked back again.

The next moment, they were gone. The instructor approached and put his hand on my shoulder.

"What's here? What's it?"

"Coach, did I kill a barrel?" I pointed to the place where I carried out the execution.

Looking around the ground, where even the grass was torn out and burned, the order coach exclaimed, "Yes, you just destroyed it, boy!"

Chapter 37: "The Promise of an old friend"

The visions began to sink into the depths again, like rotten planks of a bridge in the Darkwood, they could not stand me again, and I flew into the darkness, into the mouth of the Koross, and the Blue Claw that had already fallen there, to the one whose paw remained entwined with caustic cobwebs. A girl came out of the darkness. I knew her name — Arsa. She winked at me and jumped on her horse. I felt dizzy, it seemed that I almost lay down in the green grass. As soon as I stretched out, I immediately found myself in bed.

At the crack of dawn, my father picked me up, as if evil itself was following me.

"Get ready! And don't make any noise." Quickly dressing me and twirling me around, he took me out of the house.

Even the floorboards creaked from the heavy and thick clothes. They held my movements down. It was strange. I looked at my mittens, which were not divided into separate fingers. "Why didn't he wake Mom up?" doubt crept into my thoughts.

We left the house, and the snow creaked under my feet. He put his hand on my shoulder, just like an order coach. He was taking me somewhere.

I was standing by the stone with my father. He shifted from one foot to the other and winced in the rays of the rising light of the Titan Yodkame.

"What are we doing here?" I asked.

But he didn't answer. After a long time, a cart full of children left the village. Four robed men accompanied her. When the cart drew level with us, one of them asked, "Look, even the captain of the guard has brought his own."

The other novices, and these were the minions of the Order, laughed.

My father chewed his jaw.

"I thought the baron had given you a privilege for your service," laughed another, "but it turns out that everyone is equal."

"You can't blame me, son."

It seemed that their father was about to draw his blade and chop them up. He even put his hand on the hilt of his sword to do so. The situation has become tense. I was scared and clung to my father, in case a fight started now. But the order's minions did not notice the danger and just laughed, holding their bellies. At that moment, a wave of cold swept over. Like an oracle, or maybe I said it myself, "Don't hold him, he may not make it." My father leaned towards me with interest and let go of the sword hilt. But one of the novices, who was standing aside, came up to him and asked, "Norn? Is it really you?"

"A firewater?" my father exhaled and somehow looked haggard.

"Yes, yes, my friend, it's me! Is the path of light of Titan Yodkame smooth?!" the novice turned to him, and his father took his hand off the hilt of the blade.

"Yes, I decided to give my firstborn to the Order. For the service of the Order," he seemed to spit out the last words.

"I understand," the man in the cassock nodded sympathetically. "You know, they also want to take me to the wall by lot, that's why I'm walking here now, with these," Gorevetr waved his hand at the cart and the novices.

"But-But! There is no need to equate us with you, you have not even become a novice!" one of them, the youngest, declared. And Gorevetr spread his hands.

"I'd like to chop them all down here for disrespecting the captain," the swordsman whispered in his old friend's ear. The novices tensed, one of them even whipped out his shepherd's stick. Only then will I find out what it's for.

"I know that you can, but then new ones will come," Gorevetr spread his hands. In response, my father sighed and told me, "Go to my old friend, you see, this uncle. His name is Gorevetr."

Putting his hand on my shoulder, the novice assured me, "I'll take care of him."

I rode in a cart full of children, moving further and further away from home. My father stared after me for a long time, standing on the road.

Yesterday, my mother promised to tell me that story about the ships to the end. But it looks like she didn't make it. I regretted it and regretted that I didn't have time to say goodbye to her.

The vision was rushing away from me. The moments were ending, the dial of life was measuring the last seconds, slowing down more and more. There was not enough time until midnight for a new day to begin…

And suddenly the arrow clicked and moved to twelve, there was a bang. The clock began to strike midnight. Or maybe it was a slow heartbeat.

I took a sharp deep breath of air. Gorevetr was holding my hand.

"That's it! It's over!" he calmed down and exchanged glances with his friend. His face looked even older. It looks like he had to use a reserve to cure me.

"Where are we?" I asked on a breath. I still couldn't get enough of such clean and cool air. The light of the Titan Yodkame caressed his face, green grass rustled around him and the leaves of apple trees whispered.

"A Bubbling Basin… It looks like you just killed... a mocker," the hunter said the last word with a pause. The monster's body twitched in impotent convulsions, the mouth of the funnel clenched and unclenched. Even now, when the monster was dead, that word gave him strength. I patted myself in the place where the monster had pierced my chest and felt my left arm, which was separated from my body by the kromeshnik when I covered my heart with my hand. The blood is already caked and browned.

"It wasn't easy," confirmed another hunter who came with a Gorevet. It was a bear hunter, it looks like even he used up his entire reserve healing me.

"We even had to take off the raincoat so that it wouldn't take the life out of you," the hunter shook his head. It took every grain of it to rekindle the fire of life in you.

I knew that sometimes it happens. The cloak is protective, of course, it's true, but inside it are fixed two green crystals, very small, and one tiny blue limiter. Sometimes it happened that after he blocked a particularly fatal blow or a fall from a dangerous height, the hunter was still injured and/ or could not move and/or was already unconscious. And then the cloak began to pull out of him those last lingering remnants of life, which is why the killer of the cooled died. When the two green lights lit up, a limiter was turned on, blocking the subsequent flow. But before that, there is a waste of vitality. Therefore, on the roads, especially at first, when they did not know about it, there were dead hunters and partially charged raincoats. Breathing has just started to return to normal. The bear hunter turned away, examining the entrance to the Bubbling Basin. There were many bodies of those who did not have time to escape.

"They were told not to build from wood, because it burns very well. One spark and there will be hundreds of victims."

"It looks like the basin is going to burn down today, after all," Gorevetr said gloomily.

"Help me up," I asked the hunter, who was bending over me. And I remembered again how Gorevetr hoisted me onto a cart full of children. I never remembered it, but now that it came back to me, I was sure that it was true in my life once upon a time. In terms of age, he was indeed the same age as his father.

Many mercenaries from the surrounding villages gathered for the big fire. It could only mean one thing—the Bubbling Basin had finally fallen under the onslaught of the monsters.

Chapter 38: "The Gates of Kostegrad"

The first thing that will meet you on the way to Kostegrad is the purification waterfall. The aqueduct here pours water directly onto the road, creating an arch of running water. Any traveler who wishes to visit the city will wash himself first of all from the dirt that could stick to him on the way. But today there were several people standing here — the messenger immediately jumped on his horse and, spurring, rushed headlong to the Castle Palace, and two women smiled, greeting the heroes, waving branches with laurel leaves. They met tired warriors who dissected a water mirror. The honorary escort guarding the girls parted and stood up, solemnly letting the arrivals pass. The waterfall poured down on the armored knights from above, only to be covered with soot from coal stoves.

Mines. This is the next thing a person will see when approaching from the south of Feanoth to Kostegrad. Huge quarries and their workers, relentlessly beating the earth with pickaxes. There were slaves and overseers among them. There were also large antique machines digging the rock. They don't build them anymore. The Costegrad required iron, coal and many other things to set everything in motion inside itself. And therefore, even the law of the northernmost city indicated and provided for imprisonment in mines in the provinces. Community service for the benefit of the whole society, that's what it's called here.

Even from afar, at the entrance to the Kostegrad, it is possible to see tents of various shapes and volumes, abundantly overgrown like mushrooms after rain, under the walls of the settlement. Our group rode in a tight formation between the poor, who came out to look at the brave men who had overcome the path along the Frontier Highway. One of them stretched out his hand, begging for alms, but the mercenary pushed him aside with his foot so that he would not be trampled by horses. The beggar fell into the mud and lay there while we were passing by. Then there were even more poor people.

They surrounded the formation of knights, mercenaries and hunters so tightly that one of the mercenaries even protested to be given the way. Only then did the poor people make way. For them, life here was akin to a trap. Refugees from the northern lands of Kostegrad found themselves cut off from their Native Lands, or the County of Feanoth, by settlement. Creepy places on the mainland where there was nothing to do without a milchemist mask. And they were separated from the Red Port by harsh and inhospitable swamps. One of the knights gave one of them his spare milchemist mask, so it was immediately torn apart, trying to take it away. A sluggish, impotent and already senseless fight broke out.

A fire broke out somewhere ahead on the right. It looks like some kind of riots have started there. Our group was moving to the right of the collision site. People with aprons stained with red blood and offal ran in front of us. They were throwing stones somewhere in the direction of the bonfire.

A woman came forward and pointed to her elderly friend, "The dyers and tanners are fighting again." I took a closer look: those who were standing apart or running away were wearing clothes stained with paint. It seems, indeed, that here the dyers were fighting with the tanners in the distance. I don't know what the reason for such a strange fight was. Our group galloped past. But one of the mercenaries managed to catch a piece of brick on the shield.

"Hey there! Take it easy!" he shouted. But the yell of the crowd drowned him out.

The road became winding and generally unpleasant: here and there tents bulged right into the dirt roadway. And it's also a confrontation. Arsa hugged me tighter as we drove past the screaming crowd, and I forgot that she was sitting behind me.

According to the law, it is impossible to build from wood here, so the locals live in special double tents, despite the cold. This decision was made due to the high value and rarity of wood in these parts. It was mainly used to strengthen buildings and to build ships.

Once upon a time, one of the kings ordered the landing of people on the mainland. Each of the expeditions was chosen for a reason. Innesent was supposed to clear the western part of the Territory from the Canopy of Ignorance, Light Harbor was supposed to study the inhabitants of the mainland: huge Roc birds and their nests that disperse the darkness. And Kostegrad was supposed to become a city of explorers. Initially, no one knew if the canopy was far away here, or if there was a strait in that place, and no single Territory existed at all. An expedition sent inland to investigate the most dangerous creatures of the canopy. The expedition that bravely landed on the shores of Terresia and lit a lighthouse. That's who the researchers are — the descendants of the first colonists. The people who founded the Kostegrad Academy became known for their discoveries and their amazing inventions throughout the Territory. Since then, the explorers have become the backbone of the Kostegrad, on which the whole city was based.

There was another group, and under the leadership of the Inquisitors, they founded the Red Port, but this expedition quickly drowned in the swamps and could not enter the continent properly. So, four Bright Lighthouses connected with the capital's Great Tower of the city of Yantaresvet Veliky formed a ring, which ships in the inner sea were guided by.

Remembering the greatness of Kostegrad, I made a note to myself: be sure to look at the amber crystal of the Bright Lighthouse.

A scream distracted me from my thoughts, "And here they are at last! The gates of the city of Kostegrad!" one of the warriors yelled, pointing ahead. Many of the mercenaries did not expect to get to the end and were now happily shouting along with him!

Mud, the same black, coal-blackened snow and slush. That's how we were greeted by the city gates of Kostegrad. The gate that stands on the way of the Frontier Highway, which goes further west and then turns south towards the Innesent, which greets every traveler who comes from the east to the city. To be honest, I was even glad that we overcame this "mess" reigning under the walls so quickly.

A special person came up to us near the gate and demanded a urine tax — one gold piece for the entire stay in the city. The guards looked at us outwardly: their white armor, covered with some kind of ceramics, and crossbows indicated that we had arrived in Kostegrad, the city of the alchemists. With a wave of his hand, the captain of the guard, with black ceremonial epaulettes embroidered in gold, allowed us to pass.

Inside the city, a speaker was standing near the gate, he was giving a speech to a group of passers-by standing there. Some of them stopped, and the other continued to go about their business.

"Listen up! Listen to ME! LISTEN UP! And don't say you haven't heard! The Rukh Fortress has declared independence from the Empire! The Great House of Thunder Wind has announced the formation of the Kingdom of Rukh Fortress! The High Priest of Moar, the Savior of the Child of Yodheim, Inquisitor Olt the Bloody Hand and the Great Tan Vertus Khladostok have admitted that they hate Emperor Retrich the Grave Moss, the Researcher of Dry Latus Whiteface and mute from birth for their connection with the vicious Cult of Bones!"

The county of Feanoth did not stand aside and entered into an alliance with our city of Kostegrad against the Great Yantaresvet. And they declared their independence from Emperor Retrich the Grave Mohkhovik!!! Three days ago, Feanoth's army marched to Kostegrad, but do not be afraid, residents of our city, of meanness and a stab in the back! In confirmation of these words, Count Olen gave his youngest daughter to the lord of the Kostegrad! And in order to bring it exactly and conclude such a valuable alliance for him and his lands, he organized a Great Tournament where the best knights of all kingdoms and hunters fought for the right to clear the Frontier Tract! Any day now they will arrive in the city, which means that the Frontier Highway is clean! Rejoice, merchants and caravaneers, traveling quietly to the Southern lands! Establish new connections, because Kostegrad and Feanoth are free cities from now on!

The Red Port did not stand aside and declared independence from the Emperor! Lord Inquisitor Seviy Krasny, Senior Slaughterer Dorem Onyx and the Guardian of the Lands of Yondo Running Eye renounced the Emperor today and swore allegiance to the Fortress of Rukh!

The rebellious and most freedom-loving Lands of the North refused to join the new free association of independent cities for the longest time, but they also agreed with the outstanding impiety of the ruler of the island of Yantaresvet the Great! The lands of the Northerners proclaimed the Tribal Community a new government independent of the Emperor! The eldest of the shamans, Ayimma, the Archdruid Ogs Stormy, and the Dwarven Queen Agatha the Merry disobeyed the Emperor's orders!

Innesent has also declared its independence! For they, too, hated the Cult of Bones that killed the Keeper of the Castle of the Scarlet Edge! The researcher of the Depths, Letan Kholmisty, together with the priest Uremius All the Sultry Banner of Titan Yodkeym and the Doge of Innesent O'hallem Toole, cursed the Emperor and renounced the oath of allegiance!

The speaker cleared his throat and continued, taking a deep breath, "The secret treaty between the Lords of the mainland of Terresia is now in force! And if the Grave Moss Man tries to bring any of them back under his rule, he will be met by all the Free Lords! Their combined armies will repel any threat coming from the island!"

News of this scale is planned in advance, when all parties have long decided and agreed on everything for themselves. In Kostegrad and other cities of Terresia, they shouted about the independence of Innesent. Heralds gathered crowds and answered questions for a coin, announcing the news. But no one knew then that there was no such city as Innesent anymore. That there is not a single living being in the West. And only the sail of a lonely charred ship gave hope that people would find out what happened before it could befall them. His mast appeared on the horizon from the south of Kostegrad — the first rock bird carrying new news...

A citizen in a top hat and tailcoat caught up with me, he was leading a mechanical steam spider on long legs.

"Sir, can you tell me where the library of the Academy of Researchers is here?" I could only shrug my shoulders.

"Closer to the walls of the main castle," I pointed ahead at the tall building. "Ask there."

The gentleman, whose car was rocking to the right and left, found a moment to lift his hat. And, twisting the levers, accelerated, disappearing at the next intersection among people and the same vintage cars. Smog, and even smoke on the street was a very unpleasant addition to all this. Overhead, clotheslines hung between the houses. I think I noticed some mangy black rats.

An alley opened briefly on the right, where I managed to notice a few details. Someone threw sewage out of a bucket right on the street. Windows were cut down in houses sometimes, where necessary. And some criminal was playing with a knife in front of a passerby.

"Where are you going! Don't you see, our color is blue!" the stranger shouts. He wants to protest again, but immediately falls silent when he sees a group of knights and hunters.

Our procession stopped all the participants of the movement, passing the intersection and not paying attention to the central crystal, which lights up now blue, now red. A couple of inquisitors looked up from whipping apostates in the square, and one of them raised his hand in greeting, addressing someone. The solemn guards from the platform, playing with inflated cloth dumplings on their hands and feet, descended from the wooden deck and walked ahead, dispersing the crowd. One mustachioed loader with a crate and a port stamp on a tree, who looked more like a circus performer, hesitated, and the guard tried to push him.

But the latter only laughed at the futility of his attempts and shouted himself, "Stand aside!" He swept through the crowd on his stilt — like legs.

"Try the best milchemical inventions! Costegrad quality, Merlin Milhimi!" one of the merchants shouted in the square as our procession passed by.

He, on the other hand, was echoed by another voice, "Hey, the best medicine for smog in the city!" the doubtful businessman pulled back the skirts of his cloak and tried to hide in the crowd when the guards noticed him.

And there was paper everywhere. A lot. Where there was so much of it in a city where wood was worth its weight in gold was a mystery to me. Over there, in the corner, a beggar is sleeping on it, and here is another gentleman in milchemist glasses and a mask reading a newspaper.

From somewhere far away, to the left, there was a heart-rending screech and a thud of dull metal on metal.

"Where are you going! Well, you idiot, I'm screwing up your nuts now!" Then came the choice abuse.

On the right, someone was working with a spinning pedal circular saw, sawing off pieces of incomprehensible sulfur, similar to a metal mass. Green, artificially grown, here in the city, the crystal drew the life force from the hard worker, unwinding the mechanism.

Finally, we drove to the Central Castle of Kostegrad. There were guards standing guard of honor along the road. Apparently, we were already expected, and our appearance in the city did not go unnoticed.

We drove to the fanfare of the winners across the stone bridge, where we were surrounded by people from local newspapers — scribists. I did not immediately understand who it was, when I got off the horse, a local beauty in protective glasses ran up to me. The girl asked a question about the horse and, holding out the crystal, waited for an answer. I asked what it was and why I should answer. She said she was a scribbler and would write about us in the newspaper. And the crystal is for the record. One of them. I answered the girl's questions and turned to the others. Arsu has already been distracted by conversations by a scribbler from a local newspaper, making notes with a pen right on his hand. The Best-of-us, smiling, took the crystal in his hand and, breaking the upper tip, imprinted himself and the reporter inside it. The green crystal flashed, absorbing some of the sacrificed life force... "Apparently, this is an image for newspapers," I guessed.

Finally, the scribists let us go, and we walked to the inner chambers of the castle palace of Kostegrad. And it was a palace, and what a palace! With ornate white slabs decorated with precious Kostegrad ceramics and special metal ornaments with gold dusting. An incredible, whimsical ensemble of stucco, ceramics and spraying. The city fortress shimmered with colors, but at the same time it seemed difficult for her to show her best side. Each new pattern on the next side was one better than the other. Everything in general here had a very pretentious and grotesque appearance.

We entered the richly decorated castle-palace. The Proprietor and the Bourgeois should be there now.

Chapter 39: "The meeting of the heroes of Kostegrad"

This man was very massive — it seems that in our last meeting he was smaller. At that time, I happened to accept a task from the lords of Kostegrad. Back then, he could still stand on his own two feet. Today, he was leaning on the back of his portable bed, his legs looked small in elegant soft boots. A bourgeois in rich suede black clothes embroidered with gold threads, in a round cloth hat with red and white patches running in a circle, inflated like dumplings. He, reclining on pillows, with a huge ring and a ruby inserted into it, more similar in size to an eyeball, raised a goblet, greeting those gathered in the banquet hall. All those who entered were handed smaller metal cups. He was the only one with the gold. The girls stood at the entrance with trays and happily handed out a red wine drink. The keeper also took one of these simple ones and stood next to the place where the Bourgeois was reclining. He is the Defender of the city, entered together with the mercenaries and knights gathered here, thus demonstrating his origin to everyone.

"Let the feast begin!" the Keeper lifted the goblet, and all the people in the hall also repeated his actions. The nobles and the assembled servants greeted the newcomers, also raising glasses high above their heads in honor of the heroes of the tournament and the hunters.

"For the whole world!" the sinkers on the gray earth and the audience continued the traditional phrase. It has been a tradition since the very first king arrived in these lands at dawn. Then the whole "world" of the lands of Terresia was limited to his castle and surroundings. Wrapped around an impenetrable Canopy of Ignorance, it demanded new heroes and its researchers, and from there, according to legends, this tradition began.

The knights were the first to sit at their honorary table. Of the nine nobles who came out of Feanoth Castle, there were only five here. Two more representatives of the nobility caught up with us after the victory over the tardigrade. I definitely missed the white knight and someone else. I couldn't remember such a significant figure in any way. The keeper approached the knights and asked a question. Even here they communicated in short phrases — their endurance was monumental. They seemed to be worried about something too, but the knights only shrugged their shoulders in response to the question.

There were fourteen places for us hunters here. But only six were occupied. We sat down exactly as we had sat in the Castle of Feanoth. That's the tradition. I didn't want to talk. Opposite Gorevetr, Urnat Bear and Totsent, it was empty. And only Arsa was sitting in front of me. The Best-of-us was sitting alone. According to legend, he can't just die like that. This is both a blessing and a curse.

The servants, who were scurrying around, were laying out dishes. They also put those who did not go all the way to the end as a sign of respect. It was a great honor, given the city's constant shortage of food.

I sat at the table and listened to the court intrigues out of the corner of my ear. The nobles stood at the right and left walls, as did their ladies. Their tables provided the opportunity to stand behind them. The strange secular etiquette of a Bonehead for formal receptions.

"It is said that the Lord of Feanoth will put his eldest daughter in charge of his castle," the nobleman claimed.

"Is that really possible?" another courtier was surprised.

"What should I do? His two sons died in the North in the mountains in the battle with oseren. I heard that one of the fortresses fell and the horrors of Zagorye poured through the gap," the narrator showed with his hands what a stream of evil spirits was climbing to the south.

"What passions!" the impressionable girl handing out the wine exclaimed after accidentally hearing this.

"That's when they died helping to recapture the fortification, but they didn't save the Keeper either," the nobleman lowered his head.

Further on, the mercenaries sat at the communal tables. There aren't many of them left either. The bourgeois peered at the audience and did not ask anything until everyone was seated. After looking around at all the feasters, he finally asked, "But where is Ulrich?" His voice was high and soft, peculiar only to fat people. And now I remember, "Exactly! There's not enough green knight!"

The knights shook their heads and looked in our direction. The mercenaries exchanged glances with each other, but only shrugged their shoulders. One of the nobles looked at me, but I shook my head and looked away. And then The Best-of-us stood up and bowed his head, "I'm afraid I have to tell you a sad story…"

With his arms akimbo on his left side and putting the glass on the table, the hunter opened his right palm and examined the audience.

"I arrived in the village then, a little before reaching the Bubbling Basin. The locals, when I asked them if there was any need, told me that they had already sent a knight and mercenaries who had come with him to the mountain to kill the monster, which prevented the villagers from collecting water near the freshwater lake. From the description, I guessed that a distorted hermit had settled there, a rather rare product of the Canopy of Ignorance."

"There was clearly not enough water. Even as I was driving up, I noticed that their crops began to dry out before they had time to ripen to the end. When I heard about Ulrich's squad, I set my stallion galloping. I wanted to see the place of the battle. However, as I approached, I heard the sounds of fighting."

"Almost all the mercenaries were already dead. Only one else tried to run towards me."

"Run!" he shouted at me.

It was hard to see behind the monster's smoky shell and the smog smoking around, but it seemed to be the green knight. And he was standing on the edge of a cliff. Waving a fiery whip with one of its paws, the jellyfish-like fire hermit smashed the cuirass. At that moment, the smog parted, and I saw why the knight did not leave that place. A bear trap has dug into one of Ulrich's gauntlet legs! Perhaps the inhabitants of that village set up in the hope of catching the altered hermit with his help. The Best-of-us ran his hand over his smooth, boyish face. His beard didn't grow at all, and neither did his mustache.

"Noticing me, the Distorted Hermit dug his whips into the ground and opened the lid of his shell, spitting out fire projectiles in all directions. The fleeing mercenary burned down, I barely dodged two flaming cores. But at the same time, another shell was flying at the green knight. I couldn't help him in any way.

"However, Ulrich did not immediately notice the flying projectile. He threw his two-handed sword and smashed the shell." The Best-of-us raised his weapon, which he fought with at the sanctuary with both hands, and showed it to all those gathered.

"And only then, in desperation, in armor and with a trap, jumped off a cliff into the lake. The projectile turned out to be not simple, changed its trajectory and flew right after him."

"The broken shell gave me the opportunity to strike at the vulnerable spot of the monster, thanks to which I defeated him. I went to the edge and dived, but it was too deep in this place. Since then, this two-handed man has been with me." Put The Best-of-us massive two-handed sword on the table.

When The Best-of-Us finished, there was a deathly silence. And all the more unexpected was the appearance of the culprit of the story at the door. Ulrich stood and smiled, taking his helmet by the arm. He was not wearing a cuirass. His clothes were all soaked, it seemed that he had recently climbed out of the water. Looking closer, I could make out traces of coal dust. Two guards recoiled from him, as if afraid of something. His smile shone and became even wider, illuminating everyone with its warmth. The bourgeois even stood up in his place.

"How?" in the silence that followed, the question of The Best-of-us rang out. I guessed it— he drove through the purification waterfalls, that's why he was wet.

"Buddy, I saw you diving after me, but I couldn't do anything and I couldn't signal from the depths. The thing is, the monster was choking on burning, and I drank a breathless infusion. In our Lake City, hunters of river pearls often go under the water for a long time with its help. Therefore, when I fell under the water, I did not need to breathe. I got stuck in the mud and came out a long time later. And, to be honest, the hardest thing was to find a stallion who would bring me here."

The Best-of-us jumped over the bench and solemnly held out a two-handed sword.

The bourgeois clapped his hands and raised the cup.

"Let's pour cups in honor of the miraculous rescue!"

"Let's fill the cups! That's it! In honor of Ulrich the Green Knight!" it was heard from all sides.

"In honor of Ulrich the Survivor!" the mercenaries shouted.

"In honor of Ulrich the Past-to-the-end!" the Hunters shouted.

"In honor of Ulrich Ray of the Sunset of the Light of Yodheim!" said one of the priests of Hott, standing among the nobility.

Everyone fell silent upon hearing these words, and then burst into cheers, refilling the cups.

The words of the prophecy were in my ears. What the Oracle said when we were already on our way from her. She told us this, "Hurry up, there will still be a ray of sunset before the darkness." I thought these words might refer to my battle with pitchfork, but now it wasn't obvious. For a second, it seemed to me that the fight was going on. I heard the same sound, like a sword and claws clashing. I turned around, but it was only the mercenaries who clinked their cups together.

I accidentally put my hand on my clothes. I felt something hard in my pocket. A note on tightly folded paper. It was with her that my journey began. I knew what was inside that torn and stained paper. Inside this note there was grief and annoyance.

A persistent feeling of sticky fear did not leave me. It seemed to me that shadows were creeping near the open door. It was dark there, behind them, and the torches, without exception, had been extinguished by someone in the corridor. I saw something rushing into the banquet hall, as if anticipating the moment when I would look, it appeared around the bend. All the torches in the hall were jerked by a gust of air. The coincidence made me uneasy. The clink of goblets and the shouts of the mercenaries who lifted Ulrich into the air came as if from under water. The messenger burst into the circle of light, he raised anxious eyes to the audience, he was looking for someone.

He was not immediately noticed, and gradually silence reigned. Everyone froze in anticipation. Ulrich froze, shaking hands with the Keeper. Finally, the man found the Bourgeois with his eyes.

"Sir!" he was panting, it was obvious that he had been running the whole long route. There was a long pause. The man was carefully unwrapping wet and bloodstained sheets of paper. Even from here, I could see that the edge of the note was burned. A thin trickle of blood flowed through the messenger's nose, watering his upper lip, spreading over its cracks. He began to tear his chest with one hand, and sticky sweat covered his entire body. The messenger looked at the Keeper pleadingly. Two healers immediately picked him up, trying to bring the man to himself. They put the messenger on his back, and he began to suffocate from this, tried to get up again, and then wheezed and froze motionless. Spreading their hands, the healers looked at the Keeper. A heart rupture — nothing can be done anymore.

The keeper of the Bonehead approached and took the letter. He shook his head and turned around. There was a piece of paper in his hands. The Lord Protector's eyes clung to the lines. He shuddered and looked at the Bourgeois. The rulers of the city exchanged worried glances. Returning to the sheet again, the Keeper began to read for everyone in the hall ...

An afterword from the Author of the Book.

Dear readers!

Have a good time! I am glad that you have reached the end of this work, but not the cycle. Of course, I am eager to continue it, but now both the strength and time, and the journey along the Frontier Highway itself are coming to an end. I have been poring over the text for almost four months to please you with this story.

I hope you enjoyed this piece!

When writing this work, I had to use new methods. This was due both to the scope of the competition and to the search for his own style of work. This is the first time I've tried to write in such an unusual format, when the next chapter is associated with a memory of the hero's past and is a juicy and vivid mini-scene. I was guided by the Witcher's style when working on this book, slightly redesigning it to suit my needs. This method allows you to capture the reader's interest and, in general, it is easier to move through the work.

Also in this book, I applied my new technique for the first time and called it "Hunter's Arrows". When writing the first chapters of the book, I tried to paint the features of the main character and his aspirations through the characters around him — what excites and interests him. This is how such characters as Arsa and K'yoevghan appeared. First, a reference is made to them in the book, and then the characters themselves appear in it and tell their story. This new rhythm of work allowed me not to create an additional draft for the characters: the hunter's aspirations and his memories grow into his friends and become the guiding arrows of the plot. Mercenaries and hunters, with their usual caution, gradually enter the plot, telling about themselves, as if on their own. It's the first time I've worked at such a pace with a piece, so I had to come up with both a new style and a guiding thread. These arrows — the aspirations of the main character — end up in a quiver and are ready to "shoot" further along the plot.

In the appendices, I'm going to add the history of the Territory and tell you about some places on the mainland. References to the history of the fairy-tale world. I had to write out the places and mythology in advance in order to roughly imagine the actions that should take place in this work. As I understood it, it is absolutely not forbidden to invent your own folklore for a competitive work, and I really liked the idea of developing and adding a fabulous nature.

A special place was occupied by the fauna of the Territory. What is one Owl Bear worth! An amazing creature! I adapted it and immersed it in the world of Terresia from the Warcraft universe. Here they have their own, more unique, appearance and set of habits. The Blue Claw also migrated from other places to my work, but it turned out to be much more original, which lost its connection with the prototype. In general, I tried to show all sides of the places where the main character finds himself, whether it's the Fortress of Feanoth, Darkwood or the city of milchemists — Kostegrad.

The world itself has also undergone limitations, which, in my opinion, have only benefited it. I had to work out the world in such a way that it did not conflict with the rules of the LITNET site. For example, you will not find zombie children in this work, as is possible in the novel "Game of Thrones". Here, the children do not have time to get the right amount of patience to rebel. I also took into account that the disease should not directly affect animals, so in this work the disease spreads mainly among adults. An authentic type of infection has appeared, ethically taking into account the rules of the Portal.

In general, I share the idea that some topics should be avoided.

There are three gradations of the risen from the dead in the work. I would like to tell you about them separately.

The cooled—down ones are those from whom all the heat has been taken away. Their wounds don't heal. These are classic zombies, as they are, coming from European and Western culture. The only difference is their lifelong discipline, which forces them to behave differently.

Withered ones are something like withered draugs or ascetics. They regenerate, heal wounds; their blood is black, like their skin. The withered ones are inspired by Scandinavian and Chinese culture. Here I took into account the Chinese tradition of covering bones. In my opinion, the Chinese tradition somewhat echoes Jewish history, an ancient event when Shem and Japhet went and covered their father with clothes, but Ham did not. You will not find the withered uncovered with flesh, and flesh with cloth, and cloth with darkness, or something else. What is taken from Scandinavian culture here is that these are warriors, or revenant guardians. In theory, it is somehow so hidden that the withered ones should look.

And the undead themselves are creatures that have risen from the dead, but have not been affected by the infection spreading through the lands of Terresia. Here they are like in a dream, a controlled dream. This is very remotely inspired by the Christian tradition.

I had to restrain myself a little so that the work would not lose its sparkle and atmosphere in favor of the horrors. But for the climax of the first part, I added a creature I met in the game "Dwarf Fortress" — a creepy, frightening invisible man. Oh, yes, there is definitely suspense in this work. I had to pay enough attention to him. Still, the genre obliges.

P.S. Generously added humor, but if you find somewhere "obesity" instead of "oserenie" or "Almond connection with the Keeper of the Fortress of coffee", then it's not me, it's T9 having fun.

Here are some "Pearls of T9" (Autocorrect):

I flip through the text and take notes on my phone. That's why sometimes I find something like this:

"Terrible obesity is spreading across the lands north of the Darkwood. The witch turns to the hunter: 'I'm restraining myself from obesity with the last of my strength!'"

Or here's just what happens when you approach the barista and ask for coffee with almond syrup.

"Who do you keep an almond connection with?"

"Oh! The Keeper of the coffee Fortress is talking to me!"

When I first read this on my phone, I was upset for about five minutes in my notes.

Appendix 1: "A note in a pocket"

It was a cellar, some kind of utility room of a local tavern. There are a lot of them here, but only this one was special. I was going to meet my childhood friend here. But instead of her, I was met by darkness, cold and the same nondescript attendant in black clothes.

I was clutching a note in my hands.

A piece of paper from a man I'll never see again. The man is gone, and his words are still with you. How strange it is. I think my hands were shaking. A treacherous lump rose in my throat. I exhaled noisily. I wasn't to blame for what happened, but suddenly this feeling decided to visit me. It overwhelmed completely and tipped the scales to open the letter now.

I could not read about myself, as magicians and sages do. And that's why I read it out loud, "Ever since we broke up, I've been thinking about you. I didn't stop after you left for the wall. You probably won't believe me, but I've been waiting for you. I doubted, I was not sure, and only when I saw you again, I could give myself an answer to the question that tormented me," here I paused, feeling that my voice had stopped obeying.

"When you came back from the wall, I realized one thing. You've always been different among all my peers. And I like being with you. Maybe we could make a deal together again. I probably would have done that, and talked you into it again. And you would smile, at first you would resist, but then you would give in and agree. I probably would like this, so that we could break into a new adventure together with you, but alas, now it is impossible. This note means that I failed," I sighed and looked at the dim light of the torch. He trembled from my heavy breathing.

"Please don't blame yourself for what happened, it was only my choice," I dryly completed the remaining lines of the strange note.

The novice waited. Our eyes met, and he nodded. Rummaging in his bag, he pulled out a document, and immediately ink appeared on the table.

I swallowed, my mouth felt dry for some reason. His pulse was racing and his breathing was labored, just like a boy's.

Now my signature was on the document. The deal is done — the contract with the Order has been concluded.

Appendix 2: "The Epochs of Terresia"

1.

The Epochs Of The Victories Of The World: The First Epoch — The Epoch Of Development

The light ones fought with the dark ones and won. And, having cast down evil to the earth, they fought with it on earth. But, taking advantage of the proximity of the damp earth, the forces of evil bound some of the celestials to it.

The forces of evil were finally defeated and their ashes scattered, but some of the ancient warriors were unable to get off the ground. Looking after their brethren, some of them stayed on the Bright Mainland to get rid of the shackles of the earth. That's how the first people of this world appeared.

Legends speak of their former greatness — both of thought and nature. The ancestors were masters in everything and approached the sciences with special zeal. This is how philosophers appeared who studied medicine, mathematics, blacksmithing, shipbuilding and much more. Their thoughts were about developing and expanding the possibilities of a constrained nature. Since then, several genera have been tracing their lines from them. One of the most ancient that has survived to this day is the Mohkhovik family.

People settled on the surface of the Bright Continent, and at the same time the cult of light arose. Their temples were built and decorated with special unfading stones. Especially zealous early ascetics decorated their houses from the inside. The brightest stone was installed in the Holy Capital. Rare myths of that time, passed from mouth to mouth, tell us that it was the blood of the Celestials, frozen after a battle with the forces of darkness and turned like amber into stones burning with fire. And while people were settling on the Bright Mainland, it remained unnoticed that the nights were getting darker and the days shorter. But people were blinded by the achievements and did not notice this, because the legends are silent about the golden age of the Holy Capital. After all, a global cataclysm occurred immediately after it, affecting the entire Bright Continent.

As it turned out, Skormorkit the disciple, one of the ancient enemies of the light ones, was able to hide in one of the dark caves. He was able to keep his teacher's ashes in a vessel undeveloped. With the help of creepy spells, Skormorkit was able to enslave this dust and created a veil of darkness. With the power and speed of the plague, the veil swept across the entire continent of the Light Continent. The thickening darkness entwined and absorbed everything. Many perished at the first wave of darkness. Many, but not all. Darkness walked around the strange stones, stood like a wall next to them, not daring to approach. As a result, the Cult of Light has taken a leading position on the continent.

For many years, the war of the Servants of Light with the Darkness of Skormorkit lasted, and the servants won. However, those fighters who stormed Skormorkit's citadel were partially struck by darkness. Among them was one of the nobles of the ancient family of Mokhovik.

The assembly considered all the victims and made a difficult decision. First, let Count Dummal Mohhovik continue to fight evil, as well as people loyal to him, but already outside the Bright Continent. Secondly, let his last name from now on be Grave Mohkhovik, since he resorted to dark magic to defeat evil, instead of praying to the Light. Thirdly, the exiles will be forbidden to return to the Bright Mainland, and they must leave it within two weeks. That was the decision of the Host.

2.

The Era Of The Development Of The Territory: The Era Of Heroes — The Second Era

A long time ago, the first people appeared on the mainland of Terresia, which in the ancient dialect meant "the torn land". And she was really like that. Riddled with sinkholes, unexpected hills and coves, and bizarre lakes, it represented the past battlefield of the celestials. Here, before the first drop of time rushed down in the great clock, the light ones fought with the dark ones and won. But the battlefield remained that way, and only now people, descendants of ancient warriors, bound by the shackles of the earth from another continent, have reached it.

The island of Yantaresvet was the first human colony in this world. A ship that arrived on its shores was wrecked after landing on a cape. It seems that they wanted to sail further into the inner sea and land on the mainland, but providence decided otherwise. And it was a success. The first settlers could hardly have survived on the mainland because of its terrifying fauna.

The armored pilgrims unloaded the crates and founded the first settlement, whose name has been lost for centuries. Some claim that it was the Bay of Victories, while others claim that it is a Rocky Mouth, a ruined fortress that has stood empty for centuries.

Anyway, the first people found themselves on an island near a huge continent.

The Grave Mohkhovik, who founded the settlement, founded the city of Yantaresvet. It was hardly the same Lord who had come to these lands. Historians tend to believe that this was an inherited position. And the city itself was named after the special stones that were found in these lands in large quantities.

That's when the first mentions of the whisperers-in-the-night appeared: the sisters who occupied one of the wildest parts of the island, later dubbed "Cape of Ghosts". The apostate from the main teaching founded this place, so later, at least, she was called the Basilisks.

The first Lords of the mainland became Basilisks. New fortresses appeared under the control of the empire: Rukh, Innesent and Kostegrad.

The Rukh Fortress was founded by Grittar the Lion's Mane, a descendant of the Supreme Inquisitor Flavkins of the Abode of Light. He also saved the nests of huge winged roc birds that lived on the mainland from monsters.

Innesent was a city founded personally by the Grave Mohawk on the mainland. With heavy fighting, a small island at the mouth of the Ebb River was recaptured. The Grave Mohkhovik ordered to name the city in honor of the deceased Basilisk, who especially distinguished himself in this battle. Later, Innesent will become one of the largest ports.

Kostegrad was the first outing and, rather, a successful experiment. An expedition in search of where the land of monsters ends: in the deep lands. As it turned out, the mountains do not allow strange faults to manifest themselves in the ice. This was one of the biggest discoveries — the faults were unstable to cold.

All these events led to the emergence of a Trading Archipelago, which only contributed to the golden age of people.

People pushed the monsters, extracting rare resources, and drove them over the mountains. Only the depths of the mainland remained a wild enough place from which attacks were constantly carried out. Then the Emperor ordered the granting of freedom to those who would move to new lands. And after the rumor about the rich gold mountains in the depths of the mainland, thousands of prospectors went to explore new lands. Fighting the creatures and creatures of the canopy, the prospectors banished them to Zagorye and the Northern Limit.

The Northern Limit was a terrible, lifeless territory where only the creatures of the Canopy of Ignorance could feel at ease. Also, the cleaning of this place was complicated by the fact that mountains also stretched from the north of the mainland. The advance to the mainland clearly stalled and was soon stopped by the Basilisk.

Having driven the monsters beyond the mountains, humanity has founded many forts, not wanting to completely destroy the monsters, which are a good source of profit and prosperity. Fortresses were built, which were supposed to become places for recreation and collecting tribute in the form of skins and shells of creatures of the Canopy of Ignorance. And, as it turned out later, on time!

The Night Whisperers were not the only force opposing the Emperor's crown; however, they never sought open confrontation and supplied the mute from birth to the palace, who served as one of the members of the small council, along with the priest, inquisitor and adviser. So, on her instructions, the Sisters Forest was founded on the mainland. It is she who will utter the prophecy that put an end to the Era of Heroes.

3.

The Age of Plague: The Third Age

In fairy tales and myths, legends and curses, this moment was remembered by all the survivors after…

However, one day, the mute from birth spoke, uttering a terrible prophecy about dark creatures. She said that an epidemic had occurred in the world of faults and it threatened to move to new lands, to the lands of people. The infected lands of the Canopy of Ignorance spat out monsters from another world, covering the northern lands with blackening.

Outposts fell one after another, and then the emperor ordered the troops of the Fortress of Rukh, the Free Lands, the port of Innesent and Kostegrad to strengthen the bastions in the north as soon as possible. Then the best soldiers of the armies died. The monsters infected permanently and it was impossible to get rid of the strange dark aura. At first, they did not notice her presence. But when the consequences began, it was already too late...

The lesser lower creatures somehow penetrated further to the mainland, turning all the lands, up to the Fortress of Rukh, into gloomy ones. These territories will later be called the gray land.

In desperation, the Grave Mohkhovik turned, bypassing the First Priest, to the Cult of Bones, which was secretly spreading among researchers of alchemists. They decided to create guardians who would restrain the monsters at the expense of the novices. So the Order was established, which took the firstborn from all lands into its ranks. Trained acolytes were taken under the control of a Guardian who stayed away from the battlefield. Novices either received the infection rate, receiving the knowledge of the Guardian as a reward. After that, they could become hunters, then still on the infected, fighting with shadowy creatures on the gray earth, or died in battle.

Latus the White-Faced Researcher of the Dry conducted experiments and brought out new warriors, calling them withered. He created them on the ancient spell of the Grave Moss, the same one for which the family was exiled. Latus the Researcher of the Dry improved the manufacturing method, making them resistant to infection.

Upon learning about this, the First Priest kidnapped the "Child of the Titan Yodkame" — a crystal that, according to legends, was brought from the bright mainland and was at Dawn. He did not approve of this act of the emperor and, retiring to the Fortress of Rukh, called the Coastal Lands and the Lands of the Thunderbirds the Last Lands of the World.

As it turned out, there were dark cultists among the subjects who could not understand the meaning of the ideas of the milchemist researchers and began to use rituals incorrectly. This led to a change in the gray earth. So the first cooled ones appeared in the lands of the living…

Appendix 3: "The Legend of Sunset and Dawn"

Dummal, now a Grave Mohawk, could hardly contain his bursting anger. He was tricked. He fought evil and found a way to rid the mainland of it, but fell victim to court intrigues. He and his men were to go on a campaign across the sea, to a place from which no one had ever returned.

Count Dummal, the Grave Mohawk, was helped by his old acquaintance, a pirate, whose daughter he saved from monsters. He promised that if there was land somewhere out there, beyond the swirling darkness, then the old sea wolf would find it in payment of the debt. And if the Grave Mohawk becomes related to him, taking his daughter as his wife, then he himself will personally lead this journey.

When the two ships, Dawn and Sunset, departed from the port, the joyful ringing of bells announced the surroundings. Everyone knew that evil had been defeated and there was no place for it on our continent. The port was noisy in the celebration, seeing off the "heroes". Because the Host was in a hurry to tell everyone that the fighters with the Canopy of Ignorance could not come to terms with evil and left for distant lands to continue the battle. The pirates were also glad that they would have a long voyage.

And only Dummal peered into the oppressive wall of darkness. He met the inscrutable gaze of one of the inquisitors of the Host who were here on the ship. Flavkins the Red turned around and went into the interior of the ship. It was the Inquisition that led this campaign, and they will make sure with all their jealousy that the exiles do not turn back. When the gloomy wall enveloped the ship around like jelly, all sounds died down...

Darkness has always come from the west. It was from here that she tried to penetrate to the Bright Continent, and even before the final victory over Skormorkit, the disciple, on the continent, brave navigators more than once or twice challenged the ocean and the Fog of Ignorance — the fog of darkness, the fog of despair.

Expeditions went into the unknown and disappeared. Were they still successful? Or have they all sunk into oblivion before reaching new lands?

Darkness periodically poured over the continent, emptying villages and thereby posing a threat of its return to the Bright Continent. And then His Holiness turned his attention to Mohkhovik, who fought valiantly in the front ranks and achieved victory over Skormorkit, a disciple. The Enlightened One convinced the Host of Dummal's guilt and impurity, because he had a plan—desperate enough to make it come true.

His Holiness had no doubt that Dummal would find support among the people. And so it turned out, the young nobleman appealed to duty and, marrying the daughter of Captain Jodmunheim, forced him to swear allegiance along with his crew. However, according to rumors, the pirate was honored to fulfill the assignment and serve such a famous fighter against evil.

The host rubbed their hands—they got rid of two problems with one well-timed shot.

Two ships left the port to the shouts of an enthusiastic crowd: Dawn, with a huge and bright crystal "Child of Titan Yodkame" on the mast, straight from the Holy City, and Sunset, with a pink "Spear of Discord" from the wizards of the Aranites. Both disappeared into the veil. At least, that was the case for all the inhabitants of the continent.

The problems started right away. Firstly, one of the inquisitors turned out to be a servant of the Host and poisoned fresh water supplies. This could have been a big problem if it wasn't for the presence of people from the sect whispering in the night. One of them had to open up to desalinate the water. The inquisitor agreed not to execute him immediately and said that he would turn a blind eye to this, because thanks to this man, the expedition could continue.

Secondly, the problem was the low power of the Spear of Discord crystal. It could not pierce the Veil of Ignorance so that the light of Yodkame could penetrate and illuminate people through the Veil of Ignorance. Because of this, the ship had to go side by side with the Dawn in order to see the light of the Titan Yodkame at least during the day.

Making their way through the depths of darkness and the veil of darkness of the air, both ships aimed their keels at distant lands.

The expedition was successful until the storm broke. First, the escort ship "Sunset" disappeared. It had a lighter weight, and the gale-force wind blew it out of the light circle. Then the powers of the whisperers-in-the-night began to come to an end, exhausted by the absence of the Spear of Discord crystal. Because of this, the supply of fresh water and food was rapidly decreasing. "Scurvy began to break up the crew, and there was a 'softness of bones' due to the lack of light from Titan." The sailors began to fish and used it to try to restore water and food supplies.

At certain times of the day, the fish jumped out of the water itself, which made it easier to catch it. This strange fish had something like wings, thanks to which the exhausted crew continued to move.

The crews grumbled that Dummal was leading them to their doom, and a mutiny broke out. The surviving instigators were personally sent by Yodmunheim and the Inquisitor to the punishment cell.

The ship fired shots into the Shroud in search of Land, but it did not appear. So the energy reserves of the "Child of Titan Yodkame" began to come to an end. The captain ordered to save money. And the Veil of Ignorance was getting closer to the ship, threatening to engulf it completely.

Yodmunheim once complained that he had already begun to suspect that this water would never run out. Because of this, he was accused by the inquisitor of betrayal. My nerves were on edge. And only Dummal was able to convince that there was no betrayal here, and that even a seasoned sea wolf, like the captain of the ship, was aware of the depth of the situation in which they found themselves. The ships must have used up all their mana reserves and disappeared without finding land beyond the boundless gloomy depths. The Inquisitor remained silent and left the room. As it turned out, he had an artifact that could power the crystal, but he was saving it in case of a repeat mutiny, in order to blow up and sink the ship if Dummal decided to turn back.

Dummal, remaining in the room, only noticed that we had gone too far to go back. Yodmunheim agreed. The Inquisitor froze in the doorway and went outside.

A new storm broke out, the weakened sailors were lying here and there among the waves flooding the stern. A whisperer in the night came up to them and brought them water.

But the ship sailed into the unknown amid the storm waves. The raging ocean became a serious problem for the crew, and a Veil of Ignorance lay around, a little further away. There was an abyss of darkness below, and an endless and so distant host appeared in the sky. And only the lighthouse from the "Yantarite" sparkled on the mast with a bright light.

The ship leveled off and, despite the raging storm, the helmsman turned her side to the waves. The breakwater did not help, the waves rolled over the side, threatening to turn the ship over. And suddenly, lightning, running to the keel, shot a ray of bright light, piercing the Veil of Ignorance. The crystal of "Yantarite" caught a thin strip of sand with a bright orange ray for just a moment. But that glare was enough.

"Land!" the cabin boy on the mast shouted. The spray of the waves hitting the deck drenched him.

The expedition has achieved its goal.

Appendix 4: "Letter of the Supreme Inquisitor Flavkins"

At your request, the old letter is carefully removed from the archive. It is covered with glass, but the text is still possible to see. You nod to the clerk to make a copy for posterity.

"The Text Of The Letter"

"Your Holiness! The earth exists!

As you expected, Dummal the Grave Moss was able to reach the Horizon. When all hope ran out, I handed him the storage bomb. With its help, the ship 'Dawn' was able to achieve its goal.

Unfortunately, I can't say anything about 'Sunset'. We got lost in the storm. Also a huge problem was its small size and weaker crystal.

The fighters have set up a perimeter. Conducting expeditions under a Veil of Ignorance is a dangerous occupation. The outlines of the coast can change dramatically, which can become an obstacle for travelers.

Therefore, several troublemakers were released from the punishment cell and sent them with green crystals of life under a veil with an assignment to get the necessary resources."

Here the Inquisitor's text was interrupted by a note with an arrow. Apparently, one of the clerks decided to clarify this.

"An unenviable fate awaited the rebels: they were given special green crystals.

The Crystal of Life is a stone that is powered by the vitality of its owner. The more time the owner spends with the crystal, the brighter the stone shines and the more it spends the vitality of its owner.

To linger with such a person under a veil is a form of suicide."

Then came the words of Flavkins again:

"The veil is not static and always changes, but only the creations of the canopy can be worse than this. These strange creatures attack from ambush, and then disappear into the shroud, dragging their prey away.

It is worth such a creature to snatch one of the participants in the string, as a Canopy of Ignorance forms between people, if there is no light source in this place, the earth disappears. If you get closer, then there may be a gap, a chasm, a crack or even a wall at this place that will not allow you to help other participants..."

After thinking a little, the clerk rubbed his temples, put down the pen and took it again, handing you an old note-a note to the text: "The Inquisitor preferred not to mention the whisperers-in-the-night in his letter."

Then the letters in the text of the letter were completely illegible.

"... Sometimes towers protrude from the canopy, and sometimes sinkholes, sometimes mysterious mirrors appear. Just like when the first fighters with the canopy declared war on the Veil of Ignorance. According to legend, these strange places were made by Skormorkit, a student, to spread and make the canopy thick around.

If they are destroyed by destroying the Keeper of the dungeon, then the Canopy of Ignorance may lose its power. Perhaps in the future we will be able to understand how the Guardians of the dungeon control their fighters and we will be able to create our own 'Guardians' to quickly train and transfer skills to the soldiers under their control.

With great respect, Supreme Inquisitor Flavkins."

"I think the paper was special," the old archivist addresses you. "It seems that by writing on it, the Inquisitor created a copy somewhere far away from us, on the Bright Mainland. Many, many years ago."

Appendix 5: "Map of Terresia."

Main map.

Map with Great Towns of Terresia.

"Innocent - West. Kostegrad - North. Fortress Rukh - South. Feanot - East. Red Port - Center. Amber Light - Island."

Traditional map of Terresia with Island Protector.

Old map.

Depth map of Terresia.

Appendix 6: "The Day of Prophecy"

There, near the forgotten monolith, a battle took place with the ancient servants of the Tlecorean Disciple. And victory was close, but Mello Moggilny Mohhovik hesitated, which allowed one of the old men to cast a spell. He sacrificed himself to briefly revive the Tlecorean. With a sneaky and insidious blow, the villain plunged a dagger into the ribs of the Titan Yodkame, and with his other hand distorted the disappearing Canopy of Ignorance. It crumbled and darkened the lands around. Titan Yodkame took off the head of a Tlecorean Disciple with his two-handed sword and, kneeling down, hid them in the vastness of light, where the battle with hordes of enemies was taking place, so that time would no longer pass in this place.

Those servants of the Tlekorz who were here plunged daggers into their chests, sacrificing themselves in front of the superior forces of the expedition for the Light of Yodkame Yantaresvet the Great, the Stronghold of Innesent, the Fortress of Rukh, the Castle of Feanot and Kostegrad. They fed the curse with their blood, and it bubbled, spreading across the ground. The remaining servants of the ancient enemy crumbled to dust just by touching him, as did the warriors of the expedition who did not have a bright aura. Those who survived fled under the onslaught of the creatures of the veil. Infected by the very essence of evil, they became different.

On the same day, the mute-from-birth spoke. She said that Liam's twin brother, the Grave Mohhiwik, who went after the Light, died in the wastelands. Her speech faltered. She raised her hands and said that an infection was coming, which would leave only a third of people alive after it. Cities will burn, and the best warriors will die.

And so it happened. When the dark land began to spread across the wastelands, the Emperor ordered troops to strengthen the garrisons in the northern region to contain the evil in Zagorye. Then they learned all the insidiousness of the darkened land. She infected, gradually transforming everything around her. Without noticing it, people began to transform under its influence.

In desperation, Liam Mogilny Mohkhovik turned to the Researchers, and they turned to the Cult of Bones. Liam didn't outlive his twin brother much. The courtiers, having learned about his connections with the Cult of Bones, made a successful attempt on his life.

A few years later, the secret order was fulfilled, and the first withered ones appeared, created by researchers of the dry ones. So there were Keepers of Castles and outposts in the mountains on the path of the infected land, as well as the same sickly monsters of the Canopy. They became the force that was able to contain the spread of infection for seven hundred years. An Order was created that took care of the recruits, they were sent under the authority of the Guardians to serve on the wall for no more than five years, after which people returned to the lands of the living. Despite all the measures taken, the infection spread further south, although it lost most of its strength. Subsequently, a weaker infection will be called Gray Earth or precipitation.

So the world imperceptibly entered the third Epoch — the Era of Infection.