Chapter 3

* * *

Have you ever tried to read a book on the go while trying to stay in stealth mode? If you have, you will undoubtedly understand, but if you haven't, I would advise you not to even try. Otherwise, even being oriented in space by shadowsense, I still almost caught my eye on a sharp bough, twice.

Maybe it would have been wiser to stop, but the incomprehensible something behind me, which had raised the sense of danger by five points simply due to its presence, forced me to increase the distance between us as quickly as possible. To increase it at any cost That's why I suffer from reading my status on the move, so I don't have to spend a second reading my logs.

The logs, by the way, pleased my eyes. This night was not only dangerous, but also very fruitful, giving me two levels and a significant increase in skills and characteristics. The latter was even better than the levels, in my humble opinion.

Name: Konstantine

Race: Human

Level: 8

Titles: Hero; Silent Assassin; Night Master

Characteristics Points: 35

Class Points: 2

Characteristics (standard):

Strength: 23

Dexterity: 37

Endurance: 20

Perception: 39

Concentration: 21

Energy: 34

Characteristics (class):

Shadow: 9

Dreams: 1

Inspiration: 2

Class: Lord of Shadows

Rank: 1

Basic characteristics: shadows, dexterity, perception.

Abilities:

Shadow Control: 3/5

Allows you to masterfully control shadows in your field of vision, giving them tangible physical embodiment; shadows can freely take solid form and are of limited suitability to create obstacles and barriers; range and speed of control are increased.

Shadow Sense: 2/5

Allows you to sense all shadows within a small radius; gives you the ability to sense the movement of shadows and their belonging; allows you to control shadows even outside the field of direct vision with extreme concentration.

[undisclosed]

Bonuses:

Shadowborn: stealth skills grow five times faster; in case of danger, shadows will shelter you as their brethren.

Dexterous: Dexterity grows faster.

[undisclosed]

Class: Master of Dreams and Reflections

Rank: 1

Basic characteristics: dreams, concentration, perception

Abilities:

Create a dream: 1/5

Allows you to control the dream you are in, with limited influence on the passage of time.

Send a dream: 0/5

[undisclosed]

Bonuses:

Dreamer: social and magic skills associated with the class grow five times faster; no one has power over your dreams but yourself.

Undeterred: the concentration grows faster.

[undisclosed]

Class: Mystic Alchemist

Rank: 1

Basic characteristics: inspiration, perception, energy

Abilities:

Creating a compound: 1/5

Allows you to create alchemical compositions from available reagents by instinctively understanding the creation process

Reagent breakdown: 0/5

[undisclosed]

Bonuses:

Understanding of the essence: the ability to see and, with reservations, understand magic in things and reagents; all craft skills related to alchemy grow five times faster.

Attentive: perception grows faster.

[undisclosed]

Special:

Limit of Excellence (from the title ‘Hero’): raises the maximum limit of natural characteristic growth to 50 (Now: 60), accelerates trainability and increases the amount of experience gained.

Hero's Will: Thought-affecting skills ranked below your class have no effect.

Hero's Gaze: allows you to see a certain amount of information about others; depends on your level.

Mythic: Limit of characteristic development raised by 10 (Now: 60), allows you to choose three classes at once.

Silence in the hall (rare; from the title ‘Silent Assassin’): an active skill that completely mutes sounds in a small area. Duration and area of effect depend on the user’s level and energy value.

Night Master (rare): You have, voluntarily or involuntarily, met the standard for the title of a professional assassin. Proving that you have this title will get you a job in any shadow guild. If you can survive the interview. Effect: +5 to dexterity; +2 to all characteristics except class.

Skills:

Provocation: 4 (apprentice)

Running: 6 (apprentice)

Stealth: 37 (expert)

Swimming: 5 (apprentice)

Alchemy: 25 (journeyman)

Herbalism: 18 (journeyman)

Fishing: 14 (journeyman)

Spear Mastery: 3 (apprentice)

Infiltration: 14 (journeyman)

Danger sense: 12 (apprentice)

Deathstroke: 19 (journeyman)

Dagger Mastery: 29 (journeyman)

Hand-to-hand combat. 7 (apprentice)

Controlling of energy: 3 (apprentice)

I've gotten pretty good - my stats have increased so much that I now have a chance of destroying those goblins who came to visit me in the very first camp, even in direct combat, not to mention stealthily eliminating them.

I can also congratulate myself with my new title.

The title, of course, is questionable, and I'm not going to change my profession, but pluses to the characteristics are not superfluous, so I can not particularly strongly resent. I'm not like that, it's life, and I'm white, fluffy, and cuddly-cutie. I don't feel the slightest bit sorry for the goblins I killed, it's true.

But I was a little stressed about my nighttime... well, not craziness, but certainly mildly insane. The point of my anxiety is that I don't usually do this kind of horror in real life, and I don't do it to the rhyme lyrics. Let the result of my temporary inadequacy be generally positive, but I don't want to go to a house with soft walls. Especially when considering the lack of mental hospitals in this world, along with the presence of many people wishing me a quick death.

I want to go home or even back to my home office, to turn over my papers and not worry about anything. I'm sick and tired of this nonstop shit show. Seriously, System! If you don't want to send me home, at least give me a hot bath and a set of new clothes!

I passed the former camp without stopping, only having time to look around curiously. The goblin corpses were gone, but there were traces of a huge campfire and a mountain of chewed bones. Apparently, there had been a lavish goblin funeral, combined with an equally lavish meal.

These days, I don't even get too sick of the spectacle of cannibalism. I guess I'm getting used to it.

I stopped only after sunset, barely finding a suitable glade between trees. I made the fire as inconspicuously as possible, having dug a hole in the ground with a dagger and picked up a lot of dry twigs. Only when I had finished and looked at the work of my hands, I realized that when I reached the rank of master in stealth, the skill began to extend even to such things as camping.

It's easier for me, thank you, System.

The night workout was canceled because after a whole day of continuous running with occasional transitions to brisk walking, even my high reserves of stamina were slowly exhausted. The strength for more push-ups, jumps, and squats was simply nonexistent. But my magical reserves were almost full, which allowed me to exercise at least them.

I, on second thought, gave up on the idea of trying to take a new promotion in the shadow class's abilities. Judging by the fact that such a promotion only occurs at the moment of peak stress, it is better not to try. It wouldn't work anyway, and it would only make me tired.

Instead of working with shadows, I tried grinding alchemy. All the more so because the stock of the compounds was slowly running out. And if I can still live without the essence of the Philosopher's Stone, but without the disinfectant composition, I can die. So get to work, Kostik, get to work. You do half an hour of work, and then you can go to sleep.

The alchemy was quick because I had learned the recipes for the most necessary compounds long ago. I wish I had a normal laboratory or at least a set of glass test tubes.

An anti-cold, an antibiotic, a cleanser, a poison, a poison again, a strong poison, another antibiotic, something incomprehensible, but probably also a poison... The reagents were quickly running out, and the emptiness inside me was increasingly asserting its rights to my guts. When I reached the point where further magical manipulation becomes painful, I stop working and put aside the last of the mixture. A few deep breaths, and now I am engaged in a completely non magical packing of the resulting concoctions.

I wrapped the pills in leaves, and the powders, mostly poisons, also, but much more carefully, so as not to mix and crumble. I had to pour out a few of the resulting mixtures, just for the lack of containers.

With the sorrowful sigh of Uncle Izzy from Odessa, I take out a small baked fish and proceed to a late supper. Work, as people say, is work, but dinner is always on the schedule. That's what my father used to tell me, and he won't say shit!

The next day I walked leisurely. Whatever creature had come to smell of blood, it didn't follow me. That made me glad, of course, because I had a feeling that the unknown fucker wouldn't even choke on me.

Without coming out of stealth and paying attention to my shadow perception, I realize that earlier the noise of my movements must have frightened away most of the forest's wildlife. In the last couple of hours alone, I encountered three hares, a fox, a lone wolf, and even a full-fledged moose that had come to the watering hole. I thought about making myself a moose shish kebab, or at least a hare shish kebab, but I wanted to walk a little farther.

Especially since now I was confident that I had the skills to catch my own prey. I'd have to learn how to carve it up so that I didn't turn into a runaway slaughterhouse worker.

Already thinking about how I should eat the nearest rabbit, but hearing the enthusiastic howl of the goblins within earshot, I interrupted my dreams of fried meat instead of fish. There, far away, was someone fighting the goblins.

Of course, it could easily have been goblins fighting each other, but I wanted to believe in my heroic exceptionalism. There had to be a runaway princess with DD-cups and a couple of maids! And that they were immeasurably grateful to me, yes! And a couple of mythical artifacts or at least legendary. The main thing is that it should not be like my ring of a bungler harem builder.

A measly kilometer, for my stats, it wasn't even an easy run, but rather something from the category of "stroll to the store for a beer”. And I was in a hurry for my first adventure, like a fanboy on the release of a new model of his shrine.

And as soon as I looked out from behind the wall of trees, my Napoleonic plans to enthrone the rescued princess were cut short in a gruesome squirm. For the goblins had indeed attacked the humans, and the humans were far fewer in number. That was where all the coincidences ended, as a trio of armored cutthroats multiplied the remaining goblins by zero without much trouble. There were ten in all - no, eleven, there was another half lying over there, which, with such a difference in class, guaranteed victory for the humans.

No one among the greenlings even had a chance to escape, let alone take a human head. The humans themselves, by the way, were quite high levels for goblins: two at the tenth and one at the thirteenth, which left the greens no chance at all. My gut was pretty sure I could beat them all one on one, even in a straight fight without magic or stealth. The three of them together, on the other hand, could be dangerous, especially at close range.

"Fuck." Proclaimed the leader, whose face was the only one hidden by the bucket-shaped helmet. "I *** hate this world! Fucking bitch! Why the fuck did I agree to this!"

The others only nodded approvingly at the clever sentence, and then they turned in the opposite direction from the dead goblins and headed for the river. I listened attentively to the foul-mouthed conversations, sifting through what was unnecessary and building a picture of what had happened.

If you set aside the general rudeness and incompetence that made this trio the spiritual brothers of the old milling machine operator Mikhalvanych, the situation turned out to be funny. These three were part of a scientific expedition into wastelands. And no, don't snort about their level of intelligence, because these guys are not scientists themselves, but mere guards.

Anyway.

There was an expedition and a pretty good one. And there was also some old hill, which they thought was a burial ground, and decided to loot. In fact, that's why they invited such a bunch of armed thugs to the "expedition," so that they would have someone to deal with whatever came out of the burial ground. It was not the first such operation for these guys. Well, or I failed to interpret correctly the phrase "we used to be able to do everything without fuck ups, for fuck's sake".

Scientists were quite adept at assessing the condition and antiquity of the mounds, as well as the possible dangers lurking in them. So no one touched the most dangerous places, except (my guess) the Heroes. But this time something went wrong, and instead of the undead, some incomprehensible spells came out of the opened grave, instantly killing most of the expedition, and transporting the rest to a distant f*cking place. That means, to my house.

Of course, I didn't get that from just one conversation, because the three of them weren't going to recount their adventures in detail specifically for the individual listener. I had to hang around their camp for almost two days. It didn't upset me at all, though; it was more likely to make me reasonably happy.

But first things first...

A trio of warriors led me straight to their camp, which was, logically, near the river. It was a decent camp - about two dozen men, normal tents, campfires, a boar roasting on the fire, and porridge boiling, the smell of which nearly drove me mad.

It was the presence of real, normal food that made me stay near the camp. Well, other factors like information about the world and just contact with people also played a role, but it was the food that was the main argument. Call it idiocy, but I'm not going to listen to opinions from people who haven't had to eat shitty cooked fish for almost a month.

I hadn't lost my brain from hunger, though, and I was in no hurry to go out to those guys. They had a distinctive look on their faces: crooked, scarred, unencumbered by the stamp of intelligence. I took them for bandits at first, until I heard the opposite.

And how much they were scientists and how much they were trivial grave robbers, hiding behind some "royal grant" to do their business, even the scientists themselves probably did not know. And their warriors did not ask such questions at all.

I didn't go out to them because I was afraid of being hacked to death, of being put in a slave cage, or of being identified as a Hero, with all the obvious consequences. It was only much later that I realized that some incomprehensible spell had thrown the rest of the squad somewhere deep into the countryside, where no one but monsters and various goblinoids was present.

Roughly speaking, they found themselves in the same situation I was in - no way home and no way to go, plenty of problems, and evil savages roaming around with spears, determined to eat human flesh.

The same problems, however, did not mean that we would become friends with them. Maybe it was my inner hiki talking, but I preferred to wait to go out and observe.

And the worst part was that besides the goblins, their elders, like the Orcs, could also visit. The latter differed from the underdogs only in their high combat performance and tolerable intelligence, fully sharing their love of sawing down anyone who wasn't green. I don't even want to think about ogres, trolls, and other zoo creatures, because those guys would get in trouble even me, let alone desperate humans.

There were twenty-three people in the camp, all of them men. I knew there were some girls among them, but they had either not survived the attack of hostile magic, or had managed to escape the moving charms. So they were a tough bunch, and if any of them found love within the group, I'd be very disappointed in them.

People were nervous, by the way, frankly. Goblin patrols were becoming more frequent, and it was not always possible to cut them off completely. There was a high probability that the greens would gather in one crowd and run over the humans. If I were a goblin, I wouldn't mess with such tough company, but that was me. Several of the experts said that goblins didn't give a damn about their lives and that it was instinctive for them to crowd in and kill people.

Among them, the highest nineteenth level and the rarest class was some pompous brat, who even now never parted with his colorful cloak and court sword. I am almost certain that he was an aristocrat and not the noblest. Why not? So the really important nobles would not be in this situation. And his class was very telling - “Duelist”.

What such a pal had forgotten in such company, I honestly do not understand, but the fact, as they say, beats in the face. By the way, it literally hits, because the pal is now beating the crap out of the thief who stole his portion of wild boar meat.

He really did steal it quietly so he could eat it in secret. It was not from hunger, but, apparently, for love of art, as they had enough fowl. The beaten man had the class of a thief and knew how to hide quite well. I would have given him an apprentice rank in skill, but no more. I, at least, could not be fooled, but the opposite was easy.

Well, he stole the meat.

And I, in turn, stole from him while he left the fatty, juicy meat unattended. He didn't make a fuss, simply because he was afraid of getting punished for what he'd done. And to make sure he did, I planted the bones next to his bed. Which turned into a beating.

He seemed to have all the missing food for the last three days pinned on him. The fact that he was missing porridge once, too, he was deflecting suspicion! Yes, I was hungry. And no, I am not ashamed at all - he is not killed. He could use a good beating, you can be sure of that. I only stole food, but the man was not averse to privatizing expensive, but compact things. If you quietly stole it and left, it's called finding it.

I would have given up my tracking a long time ago, or just walked out to the camp, no longer hiding, but the stealth had grown quite noticeably, albeit slowly. Well, you don't have to compare an apprentice skill to a master skill. At those ranks, even one point means an inexpressible amount, so I didn't hesitate to use the barely-too-cultured bandits (which I now had little doubt about) for training.

I also practiced controlling shadows, both those that were very far away from me and those that were completely out of sight. I was exhausted, but I didn't give it up. If class abilities did not want to grow, then the obscure skill of controlling external energy from my manipulations with the shadow grew quite noticeably, reaching already the eleventh level.

I can't say how much it helps to do my witchcraft, but it certainly does, especially in the opposition against emptiness. No, the exhaustion still depends on the energy level, but the unpleasant sensations come later and later as the skill increases. If before I was already bleeding from the nose at half of the reserve, then with the level of an apprentice in the new skill I feel quite normal, even giving out two-thirds of the reserve.

I do my best for a reason.

I noticed the humanoids surrounding the camp much sooner than their watchmen did. In fact, their sentries hadn't noticed anything, which automatically guaranteed a night of carnage and feasting for the savages.

I was not happy with that, of course - why would I spend so much time here if the source of my progress and my own lulz would get eaten up by a bunch of green faggots? That's not the way to do it! Especially since this is the perfect time to show up on the wings of night. The murky guy who helped you fight off the attack will be believed far more readily than just the murky guy.

I quickly changed position, climbing down from the tree, and picking up a couple of lumps from the ground, tossing them at the heads of the men on duty, one of whom even seemed to be dozing off. In the meantime, I use my shadow and, with a minimum of effort, punch through the foot of one of the attackers.

A wild howl of beastly rage and pain told me that the goblins that seemed too big for me were not goblins, for they didn't scream like that at all. And that shriek had awakened and alarmed the whole camp, and they were already standing in some sort of fighting order, throwing stacks of brushwood into the smoldering fires, lighting themselves and break the goblins, and the orcs as well, night vision.

Now let's see what comes out of this adventure.

Immediately after my "sabotage," I change my position, approaching the [censored]-skinned order from behind. I'd also say that the goblins show quite a bit of skill under the orcs' guidance. They've shown themselves to be far from the idiots they're made out to be before, but now they show an entirely different level of discipline.

I, for one, didn't even know there were archers among them! And the orcs themselves had a few archers in their ranks, and they started the fight, taking advantage of the surprise effect. The arrows whistled, and the first cries came from the camp, more from surprise than from actual mortal wounds.

I jumped up on the branch and leaped lightly behind the orc with the bow. Healthy, smelly as a soccer player's underwear, and far less ugly than a goblin, he was still a scary fucker. I should point out that archers look even somewhat frail in comparison to the rest of their kin. It's not a reference to the muscularity of the archers, but to the true size of the "standard" orcs. The biggest ones had fucking necklaces of severed ears around their necks! In the dim light of the bonfires, my perception is enough to realize this detail.

I don't even try to break the seventh-level orc's neck, for I'm not too sure of my strength, but I take out both goblin daggers and stab them into his throat from both sides. At the same moment, the green gang emits a synchronized battle cry, so that my actions go entirely unnoticed.

I move on, slicing open the belly of a goblin shooter and breaking the neck of another. I went straight for the three orcs, and not the shooters - these guys were driving the goblins along, making sure none of them decided to run away from the fight. They didn't notice me, and I didn't give them time to do anything.

A step forward and to the side, and the whole trio whizzes past me. I stand in place until the third orc is equal to me, and I drive both blades into his back. It doesn't kill him instantly, as it's not always fatal for an orc, but I don't give him time and spread the blades apart. In the noise of the advancing "horde," the only one heard his comrade's dying scream, and he got a blade in his eye socket.

And then the knife - the other one - breaks into shards, leaving obsidian chips in the skull of the murdered orc. And I realize that the value rank of "trash" is a very adequate definition.

Bitch!

This is so bad timing!

The third one snarled and attacked the hesitant me, but with my dexterity his strike seemed slow and sluggish. I twisted and cut the tendons in his cudgel-clutching hand with my knife, and then drew closer. I'm almost dying from the stench, so I drive the knife under his chin and, wrenching it away, roll to the side, avoiding the goblin spear.

The goblin's deceptive feint was enough, and now we were apart - he, me, and the fountain of blood from his throat. The problem is that I've already been spotted, and several goblins and a couple of orcs are already rushing to kill me. I can, in general, rush upwards with a shadow, but I have to try my strength at some point. And pissed, pissed, pissed these things! Just on an instinctive level, they piss me off!

I'm literally running up a tree, doing a somersault, swinging the blade of my knife as I fall, slicing open another orc's throat, and mentally wishing I had a longer weapon. The obsidian knife isn't bad for killing, but it's too hardcore to fight with it in hand.

I jumped and kicked the goblin in the chest, breaking his rib cage, and rolled again - the dying orc showed great resilience, managing to hit me with the last of his breath. If the goblin with the broken ribs had a chance of surviving, the blow that came at him sealed the fate of the goblin.

I no longer see it, only perceive it through the shadows, as well as the massacre that has begun in the camp. So far, the men are holding out through better individual training and equipment, and my help, but that's only so far. And if I want any of the human tribe (including me) to meet the dawn, I'll have to do my best.

I emerge from the roll and immediately grab the goblin by the arm, wrenching his spear and shoving the limb behind his back. A stab to the heart and a kick to the other two, stripping them of their equilibrium. My hand reaches into one of the few pockets left on my clothes, pulling out a poison powder, and I toss the compound into the orc's face, but Ш don't have time to finish it, having to dodge a shot from his companion. I recognized the shooter not so much by the shadows as by my flashed sense of danger. The arrow whizzed by, but I still went behind the foamy orc's back and did another somersault with my back to the tree trunk.

A somersault and two more dead goblins, a dash, and a dodging maneuver took me away from the second arrow so I could get closer to my opponent and attack. This was almost the first time one of these guys had shown some considerable skill, causing my strike to pierce the void - the orc stepped back in time, and threw his bow at me. While I was dodging a heavy club tied with a string, the bastard tried to get a regular club, but just didn't have time, such was the difference in dexterity. Two dagger blows to the liver, and a hilt to the temple. I was not just pure muscle power, but a numerical value, and my strength were not low at all.

I went around the tree, hiding behind its trunk, and then immediately went into hiding, disappearing from the gaze of the crowd already rushing toward me. I won't be able to kill them one by one. They'll attack altogether, and my song is done. I manage to get out of their circle and even poke the farthest orc between the vertebrae, but I do not dare to finish him.

It's time to help the people because they're getting crushed out there.

By the time I arrived on the main stage, less than half of the people were left, and they were gradually being pushed down. Although they managed to chop up a lot of greens, I can't argue with that. The aristocrat, in particular, was a standout, next to whom there was now a mountain of green bodies. The man is strong, even though he dresses like a faggot.

Combat faggot!

In a single blow, I slit the throat of an orc a little to the side and begin my reaping. My stealth, my speed, and, most importantly, my enemies' unpreparedness for back-stabbing allow me to slaughter the [censored]-skinned inhabitants of this world with impunity. I don't even always kill them, but leave bleeding wounds-more often than not, I have no time for individuals. If I stop, I lose the initiative and the advantage of stealth. And after that, it would be very bad for me.

I waited until a few enemies had spotted me, and then I retreated back into the woods, toward the straggling orcs and goblins that were about to join the main mass. The ones who had caught me earlier.

And I'm cool!

If you count these and those who ran after me, I actually split the enemy gang into two halves in one isekai face and thinned both of them out pretty badly. Yet the title of Hero is power, as is the mythical class.

A few more minutes of cat-and-mouse, during which the number of goblinoids got lower and lower and the mouse remained elusive, and then I almost died.

I finish the goblin off with a palm strike to the nose, driving bone and cartilage into his skull, and immediately dodge the blow of a massive club. I try my usual counterattack on my opponent's face without even turning mine toward him, and I'm already planning the direction of my next attack. Only high agility and a flash of danger sense save me from death when the opponent easily and even somehow lazily moves his throat from under the blade and almost flattens me with the backward movement of the club.

I do a somersault, breaking the distance, and then have to do a second one, because the uncharacteristically fast and massive orc was already hitting where I landed. I pirouette away from another attack, catching the occasional goblin and pushing him back under the attack of an overly fidgety orc.

It sputtered like an industrially pressed tomato, and I finally met the gaze of my opponent. This orc was different - big even by their standards, dressed in the full armor of beast skins and skulls, but most importantly, calm. No growling, no grinning, no foaming at the mouth. Only confident overwhelming power and vast experience expressed in innumerable scars on his face and hands.

It seems that I was honored with the attention of the local boss.

Why don't you, Kostya, make a disgraceful faggot out of him (not in that sense, hussars!).

We step toward each other at the same time. He struck fast and short, giving me no time to recover, but I was already dashing behind him, trying to stab him in the neck. It didn't work, for he stepped as wide as two of mine and swung his baton in a U-turn. I ducked but missed the chance to attack. Especially since I had to deal with a couple of goblins and an orc trying to nail me while I was distracted.

As I thought all those clichés about orcish respect for strong warriors and the right to fight were as pure nonsense as my absent conscience. Goblin number one got a kick to the shin, breaking his leg and throwing him right under the orc's kick. As the big man shakes the unlucky runt off the short dart, I pierce the liver of the second.

Closer to the remaining one, and I barely managed to dodge the blow from the chief who had time to navigate the situation. A tossed handful of poison powder caused the other to fall out of the fight, but the veteran only deflected his body and sidestepped the poison cloud in one fucking stride, attacking again. This time his attacks have a very little swing, causing me to retreat and retreat, with no time to counterattack or break the distance and go into cover. And some little goblin is already approaching from behind. The worst thing is that in this situation, his attack could be fatal.

All right.

I don't give a fuck about fair frag and other nonsense, I admit that this particular orc is tougher than I am. Maybe one-on-one my newfound skills would be comparable to his, but not in this situation. Besides, I'm willing to bet that my opponent's skills are not just a gift from the system, but have been honed by hundreds of real fights. And I, a novice, could not compare to him in this area.

So don't give a fuck about a fair fight!

Instead of ducking once more, I lunge toward him, barely missing the blow of the club, and invest in a dagger strike to the eye. A very foolish blow, for the orc, would now dodge the too-short blade, and then easily finish off the one that had opened me. Except that at the last moment the shadow of the knife merges with the blade, lengthening it considerably and aiming directly at the orc's widened eyes with surprise.

He dodged it!

He arched his back, fell, and rolled away, nearly running me over in the process, but he ducked and got away with only a split cheek. I was not able to finish him, for I had to kill the goblin, unwilling to give up the idea of stabbing me in the back and then deal with the orc, who'd had time to recover from the dose of poisonous dust. I put all my strength into him and kicked him in the kidneys, then I put my hand behind his back and, thrusting the knife between his ribs, pushed him against the chief, who had managed to stand up.

The boss throws the dying away in a feeble movement, not even slowing down, let alone trying to help the wounded, and steps toward me. But I already attack, and the sharp shadow that continues the blade of the short knife wriggles like a snake, passing through all the defenses and blocks. But even so, the orc doesn't die, limiting himself to a couple of scratches. He moved to a deep defense, stopping to attack, but even striking from all, even impossible, directions the blade can not be guaranteed to hit vital points.

I strain even harder and force the orc's shadow to grab his legs, simultaneously surging upward and aiming my blade at the back of his head.

That's what touched him, gentlemen and comrades!

Really touched!

Forcing me to remind myself that I'm not the only one with special abilities in this world.

Just as I was celebrating my victory, the orc stomped his foot, sending the ground shaking in my direction and forcing me to jump up. Not too high, just so I wouldn't fall, but enough to lose my ability to maneuver. It would have meant nothing, for the shadow (which the bastard had clearly somehow sensed!) was already braiding its owner, preparing to strike, if not fatal, then decisive.

The orc growled a muffled word (the first time I'd ever heard him say anything besides heavy breathing), and in an instant his body burst into gray-green flame, literally spraying the shadow I controlled, and the orc, growling again, sprinted off in an incredibly fast (faster than me with my dexterity) dash. And this was the moment I was hovering in midair when there was no way I could dodge!

If he'd done that at the beginning of the fight, all I would have thought was "fuck," but now I was able to react to the danger by simply yanking myself out of harm's way with a shadow. The emptiness erupted in my gut, but I was on the ground again, ready to fend off the attack.

Luckily, that instant dash was a one-time skill, or I wouldn't even have been able to escape. But even so, the orc accelerated, almost outgaining my own strength. And that's with all the difference in length of weapons and limbs! Add to that the flame that gathered at the tip of his club, and it would be a sad state of affairs.

It's time to move on to dirty tricks, Kostya.

I'm not waiting for the attack to continue, but I call out to the shadows again. The two flicks, weaker than a fist punch, try to touch his legs, but the new flame strips the shadows of their materiality. So the defense is not a one-time thing but probably activated by a conscious effort.

How about this?

I attack again, simultaneously making my shadow surge in another silhouette, attacking with me. The orc changes the trajectory of his strike, and the bludgeon of fire... passes through the intangible shadow, forcing my opponent to fall at least slightly. I take advantage of the moment, crouching in a low stance and attacking my opponent's thigh.

There's a dissection!

I try to cut the tendons under his knees with a backward motion, but the orc deftly, and even somewhat gracefully, bends his legs and bounces back, already dropping the club on my back. I use the shadow to push myself out of range and cringe at the growing emptiness in my chest. This has to be finished, and it has to be finished quickly. I can't get too distracted by shadow perception, but I do note that the remaining greenhorns are occupied by humans. Obviously, it is the outcome of my fight that will decide the fate of the camp.

A cut in the femoral artery is a guaranteed death for a mere human, but the orc appears to have a monstrous measure of strength and stamina, for the wound is barely bleeding and, it seems to me, has even begun to heal.

A fucking cheater monster!

I miraculously dodged a particularly tricky blow, feeling the air whistle next to my head, and then tried to strike again from a lower position. At the same time, my shadow again stands up as a second silhouette, but the orc no longer buys the old trick, walking right through the intangible barrier and nearly flattening me with its weight, the club missing for a moment, but I still tasted blood in my mouth as if I had crashed into a steel wall.

Dodge, another dodge, an attempted counterattack, and another dodge. Sweat poured into my eyes, and I felt like I was going to be dead. I couldn't stand the pace. And the orc hadn't even changed his breathing rhythm! How much stamina does he have?

I scoop up the rest of my energy and raise my shadow again, creating the familiar silhouette. Without even slowing down, the orc steps right through the shadow, already delivering a guaranteed death blow. A blow I no longer have time to dodge!

One moment and it was as if the enemy stepped into the viscous ooze, which turned into a very real shadow. Another moment and the sour cream pierced thin needles in the eyes of the enemy. But the orc manages to burn the shadow again with an outburst of incomprehensible flame, saving his eyes and shifting to a defensive stance in advance, preparing to repel several attacks before retaking the initiative once again.

And doesn't find me.

The bastard was focused almost instantly, beginning to fall forward into a somersault, but still "almost”. Using another tree as a support for my legs, I slipped behind the bastard, and in one motion plunged the dagger right into his uncovered ear. It went straight for the hilt.

He stays fucking alive!

He could have recovered in seconds, I assure you, but those moments of painful shock were enough for me to appear on his back, dodge the awkward attempt to knock me down with the club, and drive the blade into his brain to the edge with the hit on the hilt. The second blow of desperation did hit me if only by the very edge, throwing me from the shoulders of the staggering orc and seemingly breaking a couple of ribs. But the enemy himself was already dead.

I stood there for a few seconds, just staring at the orc standing there motionless. I'm almost religiously afraid that this terminator is about to pull a thorn out of his ear and continue the fight, but he's not that tough. Slowly, like a falling skyscraper, the orc chieftain takes an awkward half-step and collapses heavily on his side, still holding his weapon.

I didn't know his name, I didn't know his history, I didn't know where or how he had learned to fight, but I could tell one thing for sure: I would remember this warrior for a long time. And I wouldn't be able to despise him the way I despised his fellow Orcs and "little brothers," the goblins.

It was a long and hard fight, and we both deserved to win, but today luck was on my side, allowing me to celebrate the victory.

Also, the last portion of rabbit porridge stolen from the campers was clearly unnecessary, because I want to shit so badly.

* * *