* * *
The clever little beast did not rush forward with all its might but crouched even lower to the ground and slowly, unhurriedly, in a fighting stance, as a university cat named Bazilevs Arnoldovich used to sneak up on pigeons, began to move toward the waiting earthling. Either he had experience with spears, which was quite likely, given the presence of scars on his skin was noticeable even now, or he sensed Stepan's magical giftedness and was used to taking everything fountained by magic very seriously, or he had such a combat tactic and adhered to it.
Stepan, in response, threw off his backpack and pulled off the sheath covering the tip of his spear-horn, crouched low to the ground, resting the weapon with its blunt end on the ground, and reached for his contracts. Yes, they were not the strongest, but they could take down a simple beast, as they could disperse a small gang of bandits (mass horror and all the assholes ran away, dropping feces in their pants). But the shaman had doubts that these tricks would be enough to defeat a clearly magical creature. The problem was that he would have to check it anyway, and at the risk of his life and with only one attempt to spare.
He didn't want to wait for this carcass, the size of a cow, to strike, so he attacked first, the very terror forcing the spirit to work off the full reserve it had once been fed. The cloud, invisible to the eye traveled toward the beast, hovered over its head, and immediately burst with energy. The beast shuddered, yapped with some indescribable sound that could not be attributed to animals familiar to man, then became angry and growled in response. It was also a magical growl. The horror tried to shackle the shaman's consciousness, but only just tried: the toughness of the spirit, the high characteristic of this Spirit, and the shaman's general ability to work with alternate states of consciousness were all in evidence, but Stepan only wrinkled his face, pressed his lips into a thin thread, and hissed as if he had spat:
"Weakly." His voice didn't waver, remaining dry and calm, though the point certainly threatened to create the basis for a new bck hole. "I've seen bigger dwarfs."
The beast hardly understood what was said, and in a nguage unknown in this world, but it recognized the tone and the contemptuous attitude, growled, got up, and rushed forward. A few seconds before the contact he stumbled on a ft spot and convulsed, as if trying to throw off something invisible, foaming from the suitcase-mouth. The man picked up his spear and rushed forward, feeling the spirits one after another signaling their "cheers" to him as they wasted their strength, and only the strongest, the most loyal, and the most fed continued to attack, at the same time feeding off the reserve of Stepan, who was helping them.
By the time he got to the creature, it was already up and struggling to stand on twitching legs, making a furious hissing and snarling sound. The spear stabbed into its side. The more maneuverable man did not poke a sharp stick into the huge head, which had only small eyes for such a carcass. The bde went into the flesh on the very crossbar, and the beast surged upward, almost tearing the spear out of his hands, trying to bring the small biped down with all its weight, to crush and tear the defenseless. And it almost succeeds. Stepan, distracted by the rapid call, does not have time to dodge, but a hole under his foot makes him fall in the only direction that led not to death. The beast experienced a spirit-sent convulsion, slipping again and running past the man. The man picked up the spear that slipped from the wound and, without thinking long, struck it on the other side, roughly in the armpit. The completed call created in one exhation a fsh of bright, brilliant light directly into the beast's eyes, blinding him and allowing him to pull out the steel and strike again, closer to the open neck that was just in time.
The frantic and even foolish battle of the ages continued for another three minutes until something that was dying of blood loss and a growing list of wounds finally froze. Stepan couldn't even be gd, he was just too tired, having used up all his reserve and even taking a little help from the spirits on credit. The realization that he was very close to a cruel and ignominious death, especially if he didn't stumble so timely, only added to his monolithic certainty that such pumping was not for him, no matter how lucrative it might be. No, no, no, no, he's definitely a pacifist, because he's against violence, especially upon him.
When he reached the wild apricot tree in the center barely able to walk on shaky legs he put his spear down beside it, leaned his back against the warm wood, and began to meditate gathering energy from the world around him, which was especially plentiful at this point in the world. The fshed message about level five, as well as another, this time almost ignored a whisper of the Autogoddess, he put it aside for ter, when he would be back to normal.
It took him a while to get into it. First, go to his backpack and munch on dried fruit and leaf-wrapped roast meat. Then he cleaned his body and weapons of blood, which could easily be fed to the spirits. They would just lick it off, especially so magical. Only when his legs were no longer shaking, and his hands stopped trembling, Stepan began to cut out the most important parts of the beast's body. The fangs and cws would be used for totems and spirit houses, the entrails would be eaten by a whole list of those entities to which he had not yet dared to turn, because there was nothing to pay. The meat was definitely not edible, the bile had spilled into the body after so many blows to the belly, and there was no time or desire to dress the backbone - it would take at least a week's work, but it would be of little use; the main spiritual power of the creature was in its cws and fangs, as it was with predators, and also in its eyes and tongue. The tter is not surprising, remembering its frightening magical roar.
Received: "contract with an elder spirit: Sleepwalker".
The acquired talent is added to the overall Pyer status.
The first of Stepan's "minor" knowledge, not even so much knowledge as a contract with a spirit for twenty summons per year, forever, and with the possibility of passing on the right to summon to his descendants. The spirit is strong, very strong, as for Stepan's low personal level, he should not even try to summon such a spirit before becoming a Senior Shaman - the analog of mastery for cssical mages. He would not have enough reserves, or banal offerings, most of which, according to the avaible base of knowledge, would be cssified as "very expensive", and the rest as "fuck it". In theory, he could, knowing the full specification of the ritual and already having the most favorable attitude on the part of this Sleepwalker, call the spirit and outside the limit, but... no, he won't make it to becoming that senior shaman, physically and magically he won't make it.
In general, the gift is very good! In fact, the goddess gave it to her non-Сhosen one, and here begins the reason why the individual who did not appreciate such kindness does not tolerate the Autodivine Milf very much. The specialization of this spirit and, more importantly, the stiputed framework of the contract under which he works, just freezing, as well as everything is usually associated with that big dy. You can't use the spirit in battle, or rather you can, it's not defenseless in a direct attack, but the essence will not fit into the fight, not that contract and agreement. Invocations, all twenty in a year, are activated only if you call this entity only to perform a predetermined type of work: against a female person, and the caller must find this person at least sympathetic.
The spirit comes into the dream and makes this dream very wet and passionate, after which the girl or woman wakes up all upset and, most likely, helps herself to quench this passion, necessarily with hands or other aids, even if a husband or fiancé is lying next to her on the bed. Then the woman behaves as usual until the summoner (or the one to whom he points when giving orders to the spirit) will not say in front of her originally specified to the spirit phrase-key. The victim who hears these words or sounds - one may even hear a melody - falls into a somnambulistic-trance state in which she immediately indulges in passionate and lewd debauchery. If she is in public at this time, or in a pce where sex is not possible, the victim will quite naturally suggest moving to a more acceptable pce under one or another, nowhere suspicious, reason.
After performing lewd actions several times in a row - it is possible and one, but then she will help herself a couple more times at least - the woman will get dressed, get out of the distorted state, say goodbye to the person she just fucked (she can also scold him if her retionship with him is not very good), and go about her business. No suspicions, even if her clothes are torn and there are marks on her body she dismisses it as an insignificant trifle and will take all necessary actions to hide such marks from those who might notice them: retives, servants, acquaintances, or random witnesses.
This was it. It was the best and strongest contract at Stepan's disposal for the next ten levels at least. He had to admit to himself that he was as fucked up as the Autogoddess and still couldn't come to his senses. If she could give him a fighting or defensive spirit of at least half that potential, he would be happy and crying with gratitude! The Earthling would even agree to do her missions! But no, how could a gift be useful for survival? Now the newly gifted noob has a contract of the level of a very powerful cn secret of an entire family of shamans that is just completely useless to him. He won't even be able to find a rich kept woman, because Sleepwalker only creates a one-time situation, not a permanent spell!
Oh, how Stepan wanted to shout, and only fatigue prevented him from bspheming, forcing him to continue to understand the mechanics of the new suitcase without a handle and usefulness.
SpoilerT.N. suitcase without a handle - it's too heavy to carry and too painful to throw away.
[colpse]A non-gifted individual will be affected in just an hour or two, but strong-willed individuals may require several nights for full exposure. There are certain reservations for the Gifted and owners of good amulets. For the gifted, not above an apprentice of some sort, because a strong aura is too difficult for a spirit to distort properly, especially imperceptibly. For the ungifted rich and amulet wielders - the time limit of exposure. The spirit is very cautious and considers its invisibility a very important part of the contract and will act the slower the more paranoid the target's defenses are.
It is possible to notice such influence before activation of the key, but it is not so easy. It should be at least a master of magic, preferably a Mentalist, Healer, Malefic, or the same Senior Shaman, it is better that a couple of the two at once, and one of them must be either a mentalist or a shaman. It's even harder to notice the traces of influence after the key is closed, even the wizards won't find it there if they don't know exactly what to look for. Admirable caution and stealth, no doubt about it.
No use either.
And Stepan's nerves.
The most frustrating thing here was that it was indeed an incredibly powerful creature, which could be summoned by a master of magic or shamanism, minimum, using ready-made temptes and a full description of the calling ritual. To make a contract with such a creature, eternal, hereditary, and as safe as possible, that is, as Stepan has now, you need to be not a master, no. A whole family coven of shamans with half a hundred generations in reserve and a couple of higher (analog of masters of ordinary magic) spirits caster in the composition and that will be chiseled for many years, decades even, and will finish the contract and sacrifice will be their grandchildren.
If only this spirit could be used in some other way! But no, no! Stepan even marveled at the fact he had been given such an expensive and useless gift. No, seriously, it was like being given a real fighter pne with all the possible combat equipment, but at the same time, they changed the body of the fighter pne to one made of pure gold. And now the fighter has become even more expensive, but it can neither take off nor even be towed. But now at least it became clear why Big Milf had given him a retively useful skill of working with dreams and spirits in those dreams in his st gift - without learning such knowledge Stepan would not be able to communicate with his new faithful servant.
Having already habitually waved his hand at the Autogoddess's tricks, having promised himself anew not to be surprised by new ideas in a simir style, the guy was still gd that he was an isekai with the System and not a local individual. Because the local shaman, for whom his craft is his life, from such a feint, would be in complete hysterics. And the earthling though morally prepared by thrashy porn novels, his happening also pisses him off, but at least it does not atomize the picture of the world and the purpose of life. But, of course, the great Milf has to be very careful with such gifts, if she doesn't want to destroy the world with a greenhouse effect provoked by the burning ass of her (un)Chosen One.
After exhaling, waving his hand, and giving a word to those who deserved it, the traveler, who had taken a break, got up and began to work again. The eyes of the beast had to be sacrificed right there, making it the basis of a call to summon a very advanced spirit, which now for the next three years twice every ten days will give him the opportunity to look at the world from above, like a bird, but without the bird. One for each magical and natural magic-infused eye. Almost cheapened, but skill was enough to realize: the spirit of this gift is truly willing, and therefore willing to cooperate more fully. The intangible scum, when he realized that he had been revealed, twitched a little, - a weak apprentice could have been crippled by such a twitch, but the protective totem, preliminary call, and the circle made of small stones kept the scoundrel in check. And then Stepan, angry and still on adrenaline from the past mortal danger, began to press back with all his Spirit and skill. So much pressure that the spirit very quickly began to back down in the style of "What's wrong with you, we had a normal conversation", which, to be honest, pissed him off even more - not a spirit, but some kind of chav, who began to whine after the first retaliatory blows.
He carved the tongue of the Source Guardian with care, treated it against decay, wrapped it in the leaves of a local pnt that resembled both burdock and pntain, and carefully pced it in his bag. It was a valuable thing, he would not risk using it as an offering just yet. He would have to think about who it would be good for, and how to handle it, how to protect himself from possible attack. Spirits are like that. They can often try to take away the offering, take it without paying, or even together with the bearer, especially if he is weak and small, which can be offended. But really strong shamans may just ask or demand, even without payment, just by right. There is a whole list of rituals that give, for example, the right to order any sufficiently weak spirit of any of the spheres, be it air, darkness, water, or something extremely exotic. And to whom not to order, it is simply cheaper to order different services, a kind of shamanic discount for VIP persons.
But where are the mighty shamans, and where is Stepan?
He finished his work only in the evening, not even afraid of the night predators. It wasn't just the deterrent totems. The smell of blood would not overpower the remnants of the Guardian's presence, who would eat anyone who wanted to get close to his treasure, having developed a strong reflex in the local fauna. He didn't touch the bones and flesh of the beast, because they weren't worth it, but he meditated with sincere pleasure near the apricot for a long time, spending and replenishing his strength. The young gifted one was not going to bind himself to the source, to become a new guardian, but a simple feeding would not harm, only good.
At the same time, he browsed through the options of possible talent enhancements for himself... Though he had made his decision in the first minute, he just let himself think it over, to make his choice in a banced way, not under the influence of the moment. And the choice was simple. Stepan had successfully taken care of his survival and was sure that now he would not perish even in winter, he would find warmth, food, and even a bit of comfort. But the first real battle, which he did not want to get involved in, but which he found despite this reluctance, clearly showed how much the earthling cked combat power.
The knowledge of "basic practice of martial calls" was inherently complex, like most of the other talents, providing not only a considerable list of martial-useable entities and methods of summoning, controlling, and managing them but also a set of reflexive tricks. How to call under stressful conditions, ignore pain and fear, act quickly and decisively, and the like. Stepan's personal combat experience was sadly cking, and the one he had just recently received finally convinced him that he didn't want to get new ones in the usual way. And if the system can download that combat experience into his head and soul, then one should not hesitate to take advantage of it. As, this talent was not exactly experience, more like a prop for using the experience of his own, allowing him to use the knowledge he already had for combat.
"I know kung fu." Again he repeated a joke he'd said a long time ago, smiling an almost satisfied grin. "Well, almost kung fu."
The carcass dragged away was not much in the way. The blood from his clothes and weapons had been cleaned off, and even the night was surprisingly warm, so he decided not to waste the chance. Once again, leaning against the tree, Stepan fell into a trance, the deepest one he had ever experienced, gazing deeper and deeper into the spiritual pne. The world blossomed with countless colors that had no names and could not be named, fell into itself, thinned, and was repced by other ndscapes, more fragile and subjective, depending on who was looking at them - just like shamanism and the theory of quantum uncertainty. The real world had receded further than anything else. His spirit might have gotten lost in this byrinth. His mind might not have been able to maintain its connection to his body, but now the young man had a very strong connection to reality - not just his body, but support in the form of a small, lumpy, uncultivated, but still a Source of Magic.
The power flowed into him, soft and deceptively gentle, but if he lost control and let go of the river, he would be swept away, torn apart, and damage his aura, and his thin body, maybe not fatally, but certainly not pleasantly. In retaliation, the guy could have temporarily drained, killed, and dried the tree he was leaning against, in return both feeding his still small and stupid retinue and taking some of the tree's power for himself. But he did not want to do that, and not only because of the danger of getting a curse from the dying tree, which had its own spirit, no. He could hide from the curse. He could transfer it to some anchor or feed it to a special spirit. He just didn't want to spoil the beautiful gde and destroy the tree that gave him shelter and support in his meditative practice.
Instead of drying and drinking the power he gives away, he runs it through himself, only through the topmost yers of his aura, giving it back to the tree and its source, creating a closed cycle while strengthening the source in return. This goes on for quite a long time. Two or three eternities and a couple of millennia in return, but when Stepan opened his eyes, he saw only the beginning of dawn, especially beautiful in this morning mist-filled clearing. The ritual he performed was a mixture of shamanism and cssical druidism, which his systemic knowledge didn't really delve into, just grabbed at the edges, just where those edges intersected with shamanic practices. His body felt great, full of strength and vigor, even the bruises and sprains he had received yesterday had gone away, and the fatigue caused by the long journey had dissipated without a trace. His mood was even better when he read the new system message. He hadn't gotten a level, of course; he'd only recently taken fifth, though he'd gained about a third of the experience from the new step. But the system message was still there.
Acquired: "basic techniques for interacting with magical sources"; increased affinity with the natural sphere; increased probability of acquiring knowledge and properties of the Druidism branch.
The acquired talent is added to the overall Pyer Status.
The gift of knowledge was successfully assimited right during meditation, and he didn't even immediately realize that he had begun to interact with the Source much more easily and deftly. The depth of this knowledge was very significant and, more importantly, it overpped with literally all his other talents, not so much enhancing them as allowing this enhancement to be carried out by working with the Sources. The skill of the wanderer-shaman was especially distinguished, where the whole blocks of skills to work with such small and not too valuable wild sources of magic, which are of little use for ordinary gifted.
After yawning, stretching, and stroking the bark of a wild apricot tree, which had once grown on this pce from a random seed, the traveler picked up his belongings, grabbed his spear, and went on, guided by his homemade magic compass. The possibility of going out to the people beckoned with such desperate force that even ziness retreated... However, Stepan had literally defenestrated ziness during his hermitage. And even before he got into this crap, he had rarely allowed himself to be zy, mostly as a schoolboy.
Gathering himself, girding himself, and patting the sheltering tree on its rough trunk, the Earthman continued on his way.
He came to the road in the middle of a warm day, and for the st kilometers, he walked in an extremely rexed state because the forest near the road was free of logging and impassable areas. Stepan scratched the back of his head, thought about it, and went back into the forest. No, he wasn't going home, he was just a little scared to take such an obvious path without the slightest reconnaissance. After all, a lone traveler on the road is a tasty and quite manageable prey not only for brigands but for anyone in general. A simple group of medieval peasants was distinguished from a group of road thugs only by the risk of getting kicked. No, of course, it may not be like that here, the coasts may be sour, the rivers may be milky, and there are no highway robbers, but it was believed as strongly as in the honesty of a wyer or the sobriety of a bor teacher.
When he returned to the forest, he stripped down to his waist, remaining barefoot, and cast a scout, a few spirits who would fly ahead of him, looking for people like him. Then he remembered that the world was a bit fantasy and changed the condition of searching for humans to humanoids. There were still beasts, but he had no doubts about his ability to disperse wolves or drive away bears. The main thing was not to run into another guardian beast, but that was unlikely, even though he was not that unlucky. Well, he hoped so.
And so he walked forward, kicking up dust with his boots and whistling a simple tune. A couple of times he came across travelers, but in the first case it was a rider going somewhere, whose horse looked at the world with eyes much more intelligent than the rider's own. The boy did not take any chances. He went off the road and hid in the trees, fearing not so much the rider as the possibility of making a mistake in all those bows and other things. He passed the three men accompanying the big cart with sacks calmly, though he was no less tense inwardly than the men who gave him tense looks. No one spoke, but the tension was palpable, and the local natives kept their pitchforks and axes within reach.
Another rge group, a whole trade caravan, albeit a small one, only seven wagons and a covered wagon, he prudently skipped past them, stepping off the road into the forest and going around them in an arc, watching them through the eyes of the avowed bird. The five guards, who were guards and not armed horsemen, were a bit arming to the Earthman, and he didn't like something about the caravan. On Earth, intuition was considered an unproven phenomenon, but here he had learned that high Spirit and Sensitivity allowed him to listen to the world, understand its signs, and anticipate danger.
He spent the night in the forest again, surrounding himself with totems and spirits, at the same time summoning and communicating with already quite serious entities, pre-agreeing on future cooperation rather than making a deal right now. Any serious contract, especially if it is on a permanent basis or if the spirit is to become part of the retinue, is usually negotiated in this way, long, little by little, knocking down the price and coming to a common and comfortable decision. The stronger the shaman, the faster such a stage passes, and the stronger those spirits for who shaman can simply say "Do it, bitch" and they will do it. So far Stepan could not cssify himself as strong, and in general, he preferred caution and slowness in any action.
And so the road went on until he came, at st! - to the very settlement that had beckoned to him all these days. Surrounded by a simple and low wooden wall intended to keep the beasts out of the settlement, it drew nearer with every step of his tired feet. Many of the houses were not located within the walls at all, and some were located on the outskirts of the settlement. There were no guards at the gates, and the gates themselves had not been closed for half a year at least, as they were so loose. The boys, who were pying some game of their own, noticed him and ran away quickly, but there was no crowd with pitchforks to meet him. When he had passed a couple of houses, barked at by the dogs, he gave the scurrying mutt that had tried to come closer a pure spirit, making it whimper and run away, after which the other friends of the man preferred to bark a little more quietly and from a greater distance.
Four men came out to meet him, and it was evident that they had just stopped working, and they looked at him without aggression. The chief of them, broad, burly, and with a considerable potbelly, did not seem either good-natured or harmless, and he looked him over with a keen eye, going over his spear, his knife and cleaver on his belt, his bag behind his back, and his clothes as such. The young man, a little shabby, despite his attempts to take care of himself on the road, was certainly not a prom-goer, but he still looked good against the background of these four.
"You, traveler, what are you going to be? Well, they didn't attack at once and didn't seem to be particurly aggressive, which was already a small victory for Stepan. "Where are you going?"
He had already thought out his further actions - and how could he not have done so in so much time - so he didn't get lost. If there was any pause, it was only because he was surprised at how easily and effortlessly he understood the man's speech, as if he had been speaking it all his life. It sounded, by the way, unlike anything else, but there were notes of something Romano-Germanic.
"I am a shaman." And, confirming his words, ordered the spirit called in advance to light a small light on the tip of his finger, and see how the expression on the faces of all four changed, immediately adding respect and fear, he continued already calmed down. "Beginner and young, but I think you can see it. I am wandering, walking along the roads, talking to spirits. I want to buy some food here and spend the night, and then go on stirring the dust of the road."
The numerous pebbles, the homemade pins and feathers, the woven rag strips, and other amulets and spirit houses that adorned Stepan's clothes, hung on them in seemingly random order, might have helped to guess that they had been visited by more than a simple traveler. Of course, he could turn out to be a chartan, true, but not when combined with a lighted fme. While the three simple men were looking at each other, the chief of them hummed scratched his belly contentedly, pulled his mustache, and smiled contentedly.
"Well, that's a good thing. It's not hard to bargain if you've got the coin." Stepan just nodded and nothing more, and there was no need to answer, as his interlocutor seemed to be the type who needed ears, not dialog. "If you want to spend the night, you can stay in an inn, it's a good one. Trade caravans come to trade all the time. But I tell you at once, shaman, that our vilge is quiet, peaceful, and does not like noise. I'm not threatening you, but I don't want you to misunderstand. We have our herbalist, who also trades so you can solve all your magical questions with her. What do you want to buy?"
That's when the dialog started.
Stepan walked with Gozb the local headman, to the local tavern, having an unhurried and thorough dialog. By all appearances, he put himself within the limits, and the gifted were respected here. It seemed to the young man that the headman was fttered by the fact that they were on a first-name basis and did without unnecessary friction. This dialog (mostly Gozb's monologue) also raised the local headman's reputation. By the time he arrived at the inn, which had no name because it was just "the inn," he was already being waited for, even served food.
Of course, he checked the food and drink - Stepan asked for just compote, not booze - for impurities and found none. The headman noticed his companion casually passing a strange pebble over the food but made no comment. The spirit pnted in his ears allowed him to detect lies, not exactly accurately, but to look into the emotions and feelings of a person who was not protected. He tried to overestimate the price, but as soon as he met the counterarguments, he blossomed, and after that, they haggled for half an hour for every copper.
The main reason he was so warmly welcomed came when they had already agreed on the business of trade. Flour, cereals, butter, a sack of raisins, a jar of honey, some spices and salt, candles, and wax: there was so much that the boy feared he would not be able to carry. Gozb wanted professional help from him, which was not surprising. That's why he approached him so politely. Well, he also wanted the Earthman to do what he wanted cheaper, preferably for free, and ideally also paying extra. Fortunately, the local audience did not reach the infamous "you do it for free, and we will advise you to everyone, and you also need experience of work", or the rugged vilger did not have the nerve to get to this point, he saw the losing patience in the eyes of the interlocutor.
"So Truda and Lashka treated Knos, but it didn't help." The man compined, seemingly genuinely grieving, describing the situation and trying to make the young spirit caster more sympathetic. "No, their herbs and mixtures work well against a sore or a simple wound. But this wound is not just a wound at all. It's a small one. As if it was pricked by a thorn. But Knos barely made it to us, half of his leg doesn't work. And now he can't stand on his feet at all. He can't feel anything at the waist. Truda drank him. Her poultices help a little and slow down that crap but, in short, it's a complete shit. Can you handle the curse, shaman? Neither Knoss nor me have the money to hire a magician out of town, and to transport him... there's no chance. It won't be worse, I won't bme you, don't think so. I've been here all my life, but my father is from the city, he's been to Morgrave three times! I know the difference between magicians and shamans, that's what I mean, where Truda's herbs and drink can't stand it, maybe you'll manage. Knos is the best hunter in the vilge and my wife's favorite brother. If you don't help him, you'll only have to suffocate him with a pillow. He's already howling with pain every night, so he can't torture people like that."
From the headman's vague and incoherent description, Stepan understood approximately what they wanted from him and what the victim was suffering from. In theory, his knowledge would allow him to solve such a problem, and he had chosen the knowledge of healing shamanism with that in mind. But it was unnerving to go from the treatment of blisters and bruises to such serious tasks at once, it would be better to start with something simpler, like a simple wound and fractures. But if it was just those wounds and fractures, the local herbalist-alchemist would have lifted the victim to his feet. Or certainly wouldn't be worried about whether or not he'd live.
The headman was silent, seeing how his interlocutor was thinking, so he didn't hurry him any further, intuitively sensing irritation and unwillingness to get involved in other people's problems. But he can't just leave the suffering man to die an unpleasant death. Stepan was not so calloused that he could do such a thing without blinking an eye. But he didn't want to be cheap either, because it was one thing not to help, and another to work for free. And the cunning vilger was definitely trying to make him feel sorry for it, and he was humbling himself as if his father were not from some town, but from Odessa itself.
"I'll handle it." Before the headman interrupted, the young man raised a hand, which immediately silenced him. "All the things I've bought will be a gift to me if I do well. If not, and it is also possible, I will not hear a single word or accusation from you, but I will not take payment either. I'll pay for what I've taken and go in peace. And, no offense, but I want to see what I've bought before I get to business."
The headman thought, grunted, begrudgingly, but only for appearances, and almost immediately agreed, and then Stepan knew he had cheapened, considerably cheapened. But the second part of his demands, the one about "money first, then chairs", as well as the abdication of any responsibility, the headman liked it much less, but, apparently, he really loved his wife, as well as his brother's wife. Well, or Stepan had been very cheap, which seemed much more likely to him.
They delivered everything he'd ordered - and even a little more - surprisingly quickly, adding a smoked ham the size of a food coma and a bunch of sausages with garlic, "to warm your stomach," making him suspect that not only had he cheaped out, but that the victim was really loved. Shaking his head and pcing a small pebble decorated with a scarlet hooked line on top of the folded goods, the young savior and master of curse removal followed Gozb who was leading him. The amulet itself would not be able to bite hands, not even to electrocute, but the spirit embedded in the pebble was quite able to strike fear into thieves when they tried to reach for his good. Stepan hoped that there were no thieves and idiots in the vilge.
Knos was a short and wiry man of indeterminate age, at the moment seeming about twenty years older than his real age. Covered in sticky sweat and delirious, he couldn't even open his eyes properly when the likely savior (or euthanasia master) was brought to him. With a gesture of his hand, shutting up all the talkers, including the two howling women - the wife and sister of the victim - he demanded silence and sat down next to the wounded man, taking his cold and cmmy palm. High Sensitivity and already avaible skills, though not quite specialized, more than allowed him to see and distinguish what was going on.
It was really a curse, not some kind of poison, which upset the guy because he had one call of a strong spirit that could remove poisons from the body. But here it was a curse pincer in the aura of the hunter (who, apparently, went to the wrong pce) and continuously drinking this aura, strengthening itself - a primitive thing, straight, like a stick, but effective. Judging by the marks on the subtle bodies, the local herbalist really tried to help, some parts of the subtle bodies were cleared of the curse, but it had already successfully fixed itself there again. Fortunately, the evil spells were essentially just causing weakness, pains, and numbness in the body rather than messing with the blood or viscera. If his kidneys had failed by this point, Stepan would have turned around and left, but the curse had not affected his guts. But those same kidneys had nearly failed from excessive use of potions.
From the cautious remarks of the headman and the accusatory sobs of his wife, the reason why he did not see the herbalist and her daughter here became clear. The dy understood that in one or two more of her vilge elixirs, the patient would no longer suffer from the curse because he would die of intoxication. The uneducated woman thought the "witch's hag" had spared her brother valuable and expensive potions. The herbalist did not understand such offense, spit on everyone, and left, smming the door. Gozb understood it and, as the shaman suspected, now he was thinking about how he could reconcile with the herbalist more gently and without losses.
"I need a lot of clean water, preferably straight from the well so no light touches the container." The isekai begins to instruct the locals. They are listening attentively to him like monkeys in front of Kaa. "Either wait for the night or just cover the bucket with something. You also need a rope, a good one, ten feet, and a rooster. If it's bck, it's perfect, but you can use anyone. Take the sick man to the air, I'll call in the yard, but do not let the children go home, if they become stammerers, I will not listen to any accusations. Firewood, dry, and, if you have it, lime or oak. Lamp oil, at least half a dle. And say a prayer for him."
Now he understood why that fat lump had become headman - a commanding shriek that an elementary school principal would sell his arm for, and everyone was running at breakneck speed. The ominously crowing rooster was not quite bck, but it had been brought quickly and already tied up, and the wood had been brought in, as if by teleportation, otherwise Stepan refused to understand such haste.
"The water was not shown to the light at all." Gozb boasted of his idea, waving to put the oil a little to the side. "They tied the boy with a rope and lowered him into the well. Then the bucket was raised halfway up, and the boy put the lid on the bucket. We won't get anything if we stand next to each other. Or, like children, go away and hide."
"No, you're all grown up." He replied, mentally assuming that most of the vilge would prefer not to look at the ritual anyway, just out of fear. "Spirits are often like wolves. They try the weak and the sick for a tooth, and won't waste their strength on a strong and healthy man. I'll cover this poor guy myself, but the children may have nightmares for weeks. It's not exactly dangerous, but it's better not to take any chances."
The headman was still twisting and turning, asking about everything this way and that, and then he couldn't stand it and asked directly, in a surprisingly serious tone.
"Tell me honestly is he bad, or is there still hope?" My voice trembles a little. "My wife, I'll tell you, I'm as sick of her as my knees. And my brother-in-w, my brother-in-w is like a golden floren, here. You should take care of such retives. And I didn't, you see."
For a few seconds, Stepan formuted an answer, trying not to be too encouraging, but not to destroy the remnants of hope for the best, because it is only in proverbs that it dies st, but in reality it is too easy to kill it.
"Let's just say my mentor once joked that all healers divide any illness into two extremes: 'Why did you come to me with this trifle' and 'Why didn't you come to me sooner'." He twists the old anecdote, carefully avoiding that very answer. "I'm leaning towards the second option right now. If I had come here three days earlier, I would have removed this shit without hurry and difficulty. If I'd come tomorrow morning, I wouldn't have even started, there'd be no point. Right now, it's all hanging on by a very thin thread, but I'll try. That's all I can promise."
The man grinned into his mustache, thanked him briefly, and began to disperse all the curious people. By the time the sun was finally hidden behind the horizon, and the shaman was ready to start the ritual of call, the only spectators left were the headman himself, a few bigger men - he didn't trust and over-insured, or even thought bad things, but Stepan understood him and didn't object to such spectators - and the headman's wife, who refused to leave.
Oh, no, she left too, when the old man, furious at the public scene that had undermined his authority gave her a good sp. As Stepan thought, Syutkin nodded approvingly in response to such a demonstration, and if Gozb had a system, he would have discovered a new skill. The sobbing woman left, accompanied by her eldest son, insistently dragging her behind him, and the headman only nodded, looking ready, militant, and even a little solemn, if you didn't look at the shirt stained with something on his belly.
The young man looked at the heavy-breathing and delirious cursed, at the st rays of the bloody sunset, at the dark and cloud-covered sky, and then decided it was impossible to drag on any further. His skills, the knowledge poured into his head, were not just qualitative, they were perfect for their level, reference, one could say, and therefore he did not waste his strength on all sorts of dances, tambourines, or yells. He could, could do it, knew how, but he could do it only with his will and personal spirit. Today he did not refuse even the smallest help, and he stretched out a long note, producing a wonderful throaty chant with a throat unaccustomed to such abuse.
The trance came on swiftly and quickly, the perception changed to spiritual vision, and now he was already moving as if controlling himself from the third person. And the firewood was lit, bursting into fmes at once with the mp oil, and the fire rose in a serpent, falling in petals of sparks. And on the wood is pced a cauldron of water that came from a dark well and had not yet seen the light of the Sun and the glow of the Moon. And over that cauldron, boiling unnaturally fast, he opened the throat of the bck rooster, cutting off the head and throwing the agonizing body into the boiling water, calling life, death, and pain to the essence that has power over the curse and the damned.
His throat was already hoarse, the headman regretted three times that he had decided to stay here and make sure his brother-in-w wasn't sughtered in secret, and the men in the support group were shaking their teeth, but their asses (and the caster himself) only really clenched when the dark night became even darker for a moment. The thing appeared at the demanding call, it looked hungrily at the shaman, the cursed dying man, and, of course, the offerings. For a few seconds, the shaman stands frozen in a strange pose, as if he were paralyzed in motion, but those seconds stretched on forever for everyone, everyone present at all, even the dying man waking up from his coma. For a few heartbeats, the entity and the man pressed against each other with the strength of their spirit, will, and gift, and then the man got the upper hand.
The spirit exhaled, inaudible but still audible, and then inhaled, stroking its ghostly false legs, which seemed pure bckness in the darkness of night, directly on the pot of boiling rooster. The water immediately turned cold and seemingly moldy, but far more important was the second of the spirit's actions. The creature sent another tentacle out into the area of the dying man's knee, pulling something out of it and running it along his body as if licking it with a dog's tongue. A second more and everything disappeared, the night ceased to be an ominous time of nightmares, becoming just night, a little chilly and cold, and on the ground breathed heavily the sharply seated man, looking at the circle of a rope drawn on the ground, in the depths of which was id a rope. It seemed that Knoss had regained full feeling in his legs and had not run out of sight only because of weakness.
"That's it, he's fine," Stepan spoke calmly and very tiredly, trying to seem much more broken than he already was, because there was no better time to not pay him back, but no one fell for the feigned weakness of a shaman who had spent only half of his reserve. "Now sleep, plenty of drink and food, rest, and preferably not go into the forest for the next couple of weeks. And I, to be honest, I'm tired, I want to sleep."
"Yes, I'm tired, too, though I haven't done a thing." Gozb nodded in agreement, wiping sweat from his forehead with a trembling hand. "Your teacher taught you well."
It seemed to Stepan that he had been initially considered not as cool as he had shown himself to be, which made it awkward for the headman to call him "you" again. It was uncomfortable to switch to a respectfully subservient attitude. In principle, he could be understood, because it was one thing if the headman of a rge vilge, and even located on a trade route, spoke on equal terms with a weak gifted vagrant, who only knew how to light lights on his fingers. He has his own gifted woman in the vilge, and for so many years he must have gotten used to it. But with that shaman, who calls for such terrible shit, it won't be possible to behave like with a self-taught vagabond, who has such a meager gift that only vagabonding is left.
The young traveler between worlds was about as concerned with these matters as the sheriff was with the problems of the negroes, that is, not at all. He went to the room in the inn, dragged his belongings there, set up a protective-signaling totem, and immediately went to sleep on a primitive and hard bed. Then, however, he woke up instantly, briefly invoked the spirit of bug death, and then y back down. Sleep didn't come, so he y there for a while, staring with his eyes at nothing, looking at the smoldered and long-uncleaned ceiling. The system message, which Stepan had initially taken for a level increase, turned out to be in fact a newly mastered knowledge, also taken right during the performance of the call.
Received: "basic techniques of countering curses"; increased affinity with the dark sphere; increased probability of acquiring knowledge and properties of the branch of Maleficism.
The acquired talent is added to the overall Pyer Status.
What's funny, this knowledge was based on a shamanic foundation, but it also touched a very significant yer of cssical magic. Yes, shamans can curse, that's a fact. Even those very love charms, be damned, were also a form of cursing, but cssical magicians curse no worse, just in a different way, which makes it very difficult to counteract curses without understanding them, even for shamans, who can repce academic knowledge with na?veté, intuition, and depth of understanding of the world.
This knowledge strengthened the same love charms quite significantly and allowed him to use his talents more fully, to create more persistent and calibrated calls. He already had the basic skills of cursing an opponent and had even successfully used them in the battle against the guardian beast that had nearly killed him. But now, he could do it better and more subtly, not just ordering a spirit to eat a piece of aura but to cast a full-fledged curse of withering or madness. It wasn't that he wanted to become a dark mage, but he couldn't give up such a boost in efficiency, could he? As Stepan now realized, in a cssical Malefic, counteraction, and curses go hand in hand, and the former cannot be mastered without being able to work masterfully with the tter. But with shamans, everything is different. For them the skills of cursing and countering curses are not completely separated, they overp, but at the same time, they do not merge into each other completely.
For a while, the boy was poking around in the corners of his new memory, noting details and organizing what he had found. At the same time, he was trying to figure out the type and specifics of the curse he had just cured, trying to figure out where he could have caught such a curse, which made it seem to him more and more likely that the hunter who had been saved from death by the fierce Knos was, in fact, no ordinary hunter. Yes, it was possible to catch a random elemental curse, if, for example, to get to a pce where a rge number of living creatures had died, or to dig up an old grave, but this was a different case. And he was sure that somewhere near the vilge with the sonorous name of Maya Ronna, there was some burial ground or crypt, where the vilger went to mistake or on purpose but no one told the magician about it.
A real isekai had to make a stand right here, get on the trail, and loot this burial ground, getting trophies, valuables, experience, levels, fame, and honor. Stepan just noted this detail and did not change his pns - tomorrow afternoon he would walk around the vilge a little more, he would visit the "heartless hag" (according to the headman's wife), who was a herbalist, and then he would leave this hospitable pce, though not forever, but for a very long time, but rather forever.
At the st moment before going to bed, he had habitually gnced at the task graph, expecting to see either a simple css-profile task or another joy of wonker from the Autogoddes, but was wrong about almost everything, except for the fact that the assignment belonged to the Big Milf branch. First, the assignment was no longer "tiny" but "small. " And second, the reward was very generous indeed, including a material item. The guy was even driven from sleep for a couple of minutes as he wondered how he was going to get the item delivered to him in the first pce. Would it be teleported to his head?
System assignment (small): to part with bodily innocence during the stay in the settlement of Small Ronna, but not ter than the third day from arrival. It is permissible to use charms and other gifts of Liarat si Merrinal, the Lady of Gifts and the Giver of Gifts, loyal servant of Innes Inney.
Reward: closing the current level; a random talent as a gift; a small chest with css tools and supplies.
The temptation was considerable, but he didn't have enough strength, not exactly reserve, but moral willpower, and in general, such approaches were a slippery slope. He had seen a couple of pretty girls, mostly very young and not beaten by hard bor, but he also saw that they were all part of the vilge family and saw each other all the time. In theory, of course, you could try, but in practice, you would not have to get married (or fight your way through a crowd of angry men with pitchforks), and that was not the extreme that Stepan wanted.
Having made his decision, he finally drifted into sleep, still without pressing the rejection of the assignment.
The night wind howled outside the inn, and to the sleeping shaman, its whispering sounded like ughter.
THE STATUS OF STEPAN THE NORMAL AS OF THE END OF CHAPTER THREE:
Name: Stepan
Level: 5
Css: Shaman
Characteristics: (free: 0)
Talents (free): 0
Constitution: 1
Sensitivity: 5
Power: 4
Control: 1
Source: 3
Spirit: 7
Resistance: 1
Knowledge acquired: speaking and writing: Free Cities, academic Neirat, Isnd Kingdom; advanced basic shamanic practice; advanced fundamentals of spiritual dialog; wilderness hermit; basics of working with healing spirits; advanced basics of casting shamanic charms (GIFT); basic techniques of dream-inducing and dream correction (GIFT); basic practice of combat calls; basic techniques of interaction with magical sources; basic techniques of countering curses
Minor knowledge: contract with an elder spirit: Sleepwalker (GIFT)
Obtained properties: blessings of health and long life; toughness of spirit; resilience of subtle bodies
System modifiers: peaceful development I; issuance of system assignments I (GIFT)
Special: Blessing of Liarat si Merrinal, Lady of Gifts and Giver of Gifts, loyal servant of Innes Inney: likely to grant additional talents as you level up; grant specific system quests with increased rewards; hidden effects
* * *
Also, here's a little bit of lore about the world:
Ranks of mages (taken entirely from the Word of God of Brinar the Almighty): Apprentice - Adept - Master - Magister - Archimagister - Archimage. The protagonist now considers himself somewhere between the first and the second, but in reality it is more likely to be the second, solid and strong, although still far from mastery, but now and in the future very broadly erudite - the benefits of the system pumping, which evaluates its "talents" at the highest rate, giving the maximum erudition and breadth of knowledge. It is typical for an ordinary Adept to have one or two advanced basic knowledge to be qualified as an Adept. Three or four, it is a talent, if not in the power of the gift, then in the ability to dispose of it. Therefore, one should not be surprised that a system adept of a certain level and rank can use his gift very widely, even if this gift is not so strong. First from the Story of the Hero of the Elf Queen was not surprised. But he is not surprised by anything at all anymore.
Stats in the version of Stepan's system are very valuable and each point above the previous one gives very noticeably more. Therefore, if between the unit of the Source and two the difference is not colossal, although very noticeable, then between nine and ten lies a gap of many years of hard work, self-development, accepted alchemy, and meditation on the sources of power.
It's also important to keep in mind that any mage's (almost) aura will take on a look appropriate to his methods and specialization, so some characteristics will be purely secondary, while the main one will inevitably stand out.
More on stats and ranks:
Above zero but up to a three: weak and untrained gifted, but still talented, especially if closer to a three. Yes, some characteristics can be above zero or even one and formally ungifted, but still such anomalies are dispyed in the aura and clearly indicate the character's extraordinary qualities.
Three to five: a full-fledged Apprentice who is directly trained and can do something, although he is far from a full diploma. Able to throw a couple of magic arrows, heal a small wound, draw a rune, or give diarrhea. Most often only one or two of the list and all of them are bad, but still.
From five to eight: an Adept, that is, a normally certified specialist who can use a fireball to the face and healing to the ass (but it depends on the specialization, of course). You can't expect mass resurrections, head reattachment, or rains of fire from such people, but they deserve their diplomas.
As it was said in the Word of God: "Such a mage can cure a disease of medium severity, or not to give an instant death from a severe disease and give a chance to reach a more expensive healer. Heal a fracture, an open wound. Will support a band of adventurers in battle. Knows how to purify water, weave a signal net, put up a barrier, etc. They are the ones who produce magical goods like lighters, mps, simple arms, etc. That said, adepts also come in very different ranks." - In fact, somewhere in this rank, the hero is at the moment.
From eight to twelve: Masters of magic, already directly acknowledged specialists, bastards who can really show the world and their foes the awesomeness of magic. Schools and specializations can be different, but within them, such individuals are very good.
According to the immutable truth from the Almighty: "Such mages are few, they are usually the top of the Guilds, personal Court Mages of the highest aristocracy, powerful shamans in rge tribes of orcs, etc. Such a one can already heal serious diseases and wounds, up to near-fatal ones. It can also rejuvenate, deying old age. Can help you win a battle against superior enemy forces. Makes very high quality and expensive artifacts, and craftsmen work on the order, not for sale". - Obviously, Stepan had yet to crawl and crawl to such a level.
From twelve to twenty, and preferably closer to twenty at least for the main css characteristics: Magisters, which for most mortals and immortals is considered to be the limit of what can be achieved, and the one who took this rank in just a hundred years will be considered a genius and talent of talents. They master one or two schools at an excellent level but can say and do something in many directions, just for general outlook.
The same Word of God describes them as follows: "There are very few of them, there may be one or two for a whole rge city. Such a specialist can really pull a sick person from the other side of the world by the ears. At least has a serious chance, even if the wound was really fatal and magical in nature. One master can change the outcome of a battle. If he sits in his tower - to repel an assault or endure a siege. If such guys make artifacts, then only to order, and the queue for their appointment is scheduled for years in advance. They are heads of the top guilds, de facto co-rulers of rge cities, or influential aristocrats of the level of the most influential dukes and their like. Or at least have the opportunity to say their weighty word there. And it is very likely that it will be decisive." - For a hero, it's like walking to Earth.
From twenty to forty, where the main attributes are closer to four tens, and about twenty around the rest (the most unnecessary for mages, like Constitution for all those who are not a warrior direction, can and noticeably lower): this is already Archimagister. In fact, this title will be given to those guys and gals who can consider themselves best of the best in their area, so that no more than one or two competitors for the whole world. Experts, elite, unshakable blocks, living not the first century and a couple of eternities more going to live. They can do a lot of things, and some individuals believe they can do everything.
Brinar the Almighty described them as follows: "Such humans (or non-humans) are living legends that children tell tales about. They are few in number, often no more than one or two per country. They are almost never hopeless patients if at least something of the body has been preserved. Assuming that the soul has survived. One such comrade can repce a small army and can single-handedly raze small fortresses to the ground. Storming a city with an Archimagister is a disaster for any commander. Unless he's the Archmagister himself. Then it's a mess. All their artifacts are masterpieces, made to order from the best materials, and to pce an order for them is a feat. If there is such a cadre in the country, he is in nine cases out of ten, if not the Gray Cardinal, then at least the deputy supreme with the right to sign and vote". - Without the System, the hero could not even dream of such a level, realism would not allow it.
Forty to fifty (in the primary characteristic and near auxiliaries, but even the secondary ones barely dip below fifteen to ten): an Archmage, otherwise known as the pinnacle of the pinnacles of a magical career for anyone. Someone who is spoken of as an immutable block of crushing overpowering personality from the paragraph above. Suffice it to say that they have all long since become factors not even political, but geographical, shaping the picture of the world and society.
A quote from God's Revetion, for understanding: "Such guys appear very rarely. One or two in an entire epoch may appear. Or they may not. And this is a force that even God has to reckon with. Because one of them can easily destroy a whole country or even half a continent". - The system, as a cheater cheat gives the hero a very good chance to become this one for an era. On the other hand, however, this particur era, as known to those who read the SOTEQ (Story of the Elf Queen) and those who read the SOTHOTEQ (Story of the Hero of the Elf Queen), in this particur world threatens to become very rich in such characters, but this is another story.
The main characteristic of a hundred: God, pray to him, and maybe he will answer.
It is also worth considering that this scale does not take into account the knowledge and skills of a mage, as well as his special properties, ancestral gifts, predispositions to certain types of magic, or certified contracts with otherworldliness. And it may well be that a talent born one for a generation may not even be an apprentice, but already have the characteristics of a weak adept. Or be a "divine child", literally from God and Angel conceived, which is why the aura at first, will develop faster than the ability to use it. All this should be taken into account, calcuted, and understood.
* * *
