Chapter 10

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I answered the question without even turning around or raising my head. Well, you know, just to keep the conversation going with a polite interlocutor. Because as long as they're talking to us, nobody's going to tear us to pieces, eat our hearts and livers, feed our souls to some demons, raise the undead out of us, and a thousand other good things that a high-class undead person talking to us might as well do.

Why the highest?

No one else, as far as I know, is unable to make polite conversation. I think that's what Hans said when we first began our journey through the dark tunnels. No, there is a lot of higher undead who can't - or won't - speak at all. But it's like the old quote about gays and fagots - not all high-class undead talk, but all talking undead are high-class.

I did not doubt that the creature above us was capable of wiping the floor not only with us but also with the creature from the pond, all at the same time, without getting too tired. The crushing sensation of the stranger's presence almost knocked me to the floor. Hans and Losius couldn't keep their feet. It was a miracle I didn't fall to my knees. In the presence of this monster, without any clairvoyance, I could sense antiquity and ashes, thousands of deaths, and thousands of years gone by.

So I was all for a conversation with such a prominent person, as long as I didn't have to fight him.

"Understand and forgive?" I quote a phrase I've heard somewhere, while simultaneously shifting my gaze to my interlocutor.

It looked much nicer than the water dweller - like an ordinary ghost, dressed in a heavy ghostly robe, wrapped in ghostly chains. The creature had a very interesting face, too - there were no eyes, no nose, no ears. But it had a mouth, and an impressive one, more like a maw. It was half a headlong, with several rows of needle-like teeth, and no lips. It was as if someone had first cut the head open like an apple, then stuck sharp needles in the incision points, and then sewed it all together with a harsh thread. And all this with slight transparency of ghostly flesh, only adding to the creepiness of the overall picture.

Even though the creature's appearance did not evoke overwhelming revulsion, along with infernal terror, it was still incredibly alien. The sinister valley effect in all its glory.

"Maybe I should give you some gold for the journey, and teleport you to the inhabited lands. Since you're such good guests, why not?" He didn't seem to be at all annoyed by my phrase, and it even added a little cheerfulness to his voice.

"Would you?" Against my will, I lit up with hope for a peaceful resolution of the conflict. Maybe it would be the notorious "good dark wizard", who in many isekai works is just waiting to share his wisdom, knowledge, and wealth with a lucky isekai, who, no doubt, won his heart by the absence of fear and incredible impudence, for which such as he usually kills with a special cynicism.

"No, of course not." Immediately my dreams were crushed into ashes, and I prepared to die with dignity, or, better yet, to escape from here. By "with dignity," I mean "with no suffer," not an epic battle, in case you were curious. "However, I'm sure you have ways of solving your problems without an armed conflict with me."

The last phrase brought back hope for the best, making me quickly and decisively come to full readiness for anything. They might give me a quest to find a thousand elven virgins, and I'm not ready!

With a quiet rustle, the aura of the powerful undead that pressed on my body and brain vanished, and the ghost itself disappeared from all but the visual spectre. It was as if I were standing in front of some cunning hologram, rather than the most dangerous creature I'd ever seen in my life. I tried unsuccessfully to sense the monster with the shadow sphere, but all I found was nothing.

And behind me, my companions were gradually coming to their senses, able to move again, not just tremble with fear. I bet my share of the gold against the paltry copper that it was not only a feeling of raw power but also some incomprehensible skill. I want very much to turn back to my comrades, but I can't afford to lose sight of the monster patiently waiting for them to join in the conversation.

"Why is there so much shit in this world that just wants to put a bunch of crap in my head?" Losius, white as chalk, asks rhetorically, looking directly at our interlocutor and, apparently, also the captor. Hans is silent at all, only glancing around hysterically as if he is looking for ways out in advance.

I didn't answer, silently continuing to watch and activate my Gaze to understand the nature of the creature hovering before me. I was expecting something creepy, causing my hair to turn gray and my pants to turn yellow-brown, but, to my surprise, I was wrong. The Gaze showed the creature in exactly the same form as in reality, only even more transparent and ghostly. And something tells me it's still an illusion, hidden beneath some kind of disguise that would deceive even a novice Lord of the Shadows.

"So, I suppose you've come to your senses?" The creature asked again, keeping its polite, almost lively tone. But its mouth remained perfectly still, and the words seemed to come from all corners at once.

"Not much." I am answering for everyone at once, ready to move from conversation to action at any moment. "I would be very pleased to hear from you the way in which we can resolve our situation, as you put it, without conflict"

I had outdone myself in elegant language, I might as well start teaching etiquette. I have to remember to wash my mouth with soap and water, or, better yet, with alcohol, to burn out all the remaining particles of mannerism.

"Oh, it's very simple!" It answered immediately, almost clapping its hands. I would have believed the sincere joy in its voice if it hadn't been for the unmoving face that was pointed right at us, despite the lack of eyes. "Behind me, in the corner of this hall, is a teleportation mechanism capable of sending a man to the frontier of the human kingdoms. I can't be 100% sure, because I've never been there myself, and it's been a long time, but if you believe the data I get from the artifact, that's how it's going to be. At least you will be able to get out of the forest."

"So far, everything looks too good to be true." I don't let myself relax for even a second. "What's the trick?"

The guys behind me were breathing heavily, but they stayed out of the conversation. Either they gave me complete leadership in this negotiation, or they are too shy to even talk to this piece of shit.

"Oh, there's a trick, how could there not be?" Now it's starting to reek of creepiness again. "If you want me to let you use this thing, you'll have to defeat several of the my constructs. It's not hard, is it?"

A second of silence, and then my nervousness takes its toll.

"What the fuck do you need it for?"

Strangely enough, it's ignored my rudeness again, and even answered the question I asked. It seemed to me, to be honest, that the creature had expected such a reaction in the first place.

"Do you, alive, have you any idea how boring it is to be here alone? Day after day, year after year, century after century. Any company, even as unpleasant as living humans, will be extremely interesting to me, and any entertainment will be remembered for many decades. It's simple, alive, it's all very simple. Boredom is the worst enemy of the immortal."

And you know, gentlemen, from this heartfelt speech, spoken with longing and even a little bit of grief, soaked through with sarcasm and anticipation of at least some kind of spectacle... This speech made me feel completely crazy and swept away all the shorelines.

"Don't give me a [bleep]!" I could have sworn my comrades and even the ghost itself flinched at the harsh shriek. "You're fucking undead! What fucking pacts with the living? If you wanted to have fun, you'd certainly have found a much more fun way to torture the mortals who entered your chambers, instead of holding some fucking contest. I fucking want to know the real reason why you haven't killed us yet, why you're even talking to us."

Now all the ostentatious cordiality and tranquility of the man - and I'm sure he was once a male - was gone like a cobweb caught in a vacuum cleaner. The savage hatred of the undead hit him with a pounding fist, mingled tightly with impotent rage.

"You're asking for trouble, alive." Still, the monster spoke softly, not even attempting to attack me, which only served to convince me that I was right.

"I don't think so." I grinned so that my smile threatened to get wider than my interlocutor's. "If I'm still alive, then somehow you can't attack us. Directly. As if you needed permission to fight us, or to set your creatures upon us. So I'll say it again: what's your reason, transparent?"

I thought for a moment that he was going to attack me, tear me to pieces. There was enough hatred in him to take out an entire platoon of angry marines. But he didn't, instead, he nearly roared back, his voice still coming from every direction, changing from almost childlike and crystal-clear to a hoarse bass, a high female squeal, and a thousand other variations.

"Damn you all! Priest, hateful, vile, vile True Priest, be he forever forgotten and buried, Kaarea! The God of trades and competitions was never strong, I left his servant for last, a strong soul, strong would be undead, I hate, I hate, I hate!!! He did something to the whole dungeon, vile, vile, vile priest! I can't leave it, I can't, hundreds of years have passed, I can't, damn them all!!! I can't, I can't, I can't kill you, devour you, devour you alive, I can't! Only offer a contest and only one in which you have a chance to win. I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!!!"

Now I believe it, I really do. Even if he lied about the fact that he can only set against us those whom we have at least a theoretical chance of defeating, he did not lie about the impossibility of attacking us. We're still alive, aren't we?

"Then why are we even standing here?" Almost laughing. "We can just leave, and you have no right to stop us, do you? That's why you lure us by the portal, promising a lot, just to get formal permission. And "a chance to win" can also be interpreted differently. The ratio of one to one hundred, for example, also fits into this framework."

The creature stopped moving at all, like a frozen image on a computer, becoming a completely static and motionless image, a monument to itself. And again the monster spoke, but now there were no feelings or emotions in its voice, only the age-old calm, and indifference of something that had long since died. Somehow it was more frightening than the inhuman anger radiating into space:

"You won't leave. You can't. I can't stop you from leaving, but I'll collapse and block all the passages except the one that leads to the central reservoir. And there it will make no difference whether you fight my puppets or the Necroshogot you awakened. This is my place, my fortress, and only I decide when it can be left."

The attentive look in his absent eyes didn't leave me from the very beginning of his answer. I also realized that if this thing ever got free, my destruction would be somewhere near the top of his kill bill. Maybe not number one, but definitely in the top ten.

Jokes and speculation aside, the unpleasant reality is that he fucked us. I don't even doubt that this thing can really block our path. Maybe it doesn't have the power to hunt us down with the undead, but it can break the tunnels. He sounded too sure about that. And yes, I refuse on principle to consider that shit like a man, no matter what it thinks of itself.

"Okay." I try to add more doom to my voice, and then hide it as best I can. "Bring out your rubber dolls, see what we can do with them."

He did, opening a secret passage right in the wall, through which the opponents, who he thought was fair enough to give us a chance, entered the hall. Yeah, one in a hundred, you're not wrong.

"Tin, Hans." From behind me spoke, almost forgotten Losius. "Know that I am proud to have known you, and to have fought alongside you. Those were probably the worst, but most exciting days of my life."

"Uh-huh, mate. You acted like an asshole at times, and you dress like a queer, and you, Tin, are a secret bastard but know this, men, you are the coolest fellows I've ever met." Only Hans can combine a touching farewell and the communication style of a medieval gopnik.

"Okay." I interrupt the flow of pathos, which, according to all canons, should be followed by a heroic death. "You see that one over there, the one on the far left? Well, you can tell him fairy tales, dance, and give him an asshole, or anything else you can think of, but you take care of him. I'll take care of the rest."

My finger was indeed pointing at the farthest opponent, a heavily-armored dead dude who was a troll even before he became undead. The huge carcass was extremely heavily armored, but, as my clairvoyance suggested, it was still very clumsy for its thirtieth level.

I was left with two smaller but more dangerous creatures for dessert: a huge eight-armed cadaver without any armor, but with a blade in each limb, some piece of fat on column-like legs and without a head, but with a huge mouth on its belly - also a level thirtieth. And then there was Him. A fucking, nearly three-foot-tall dead knight of level thirty-nine, between the slits of his armor I could easily see a gray mist filled with green sparks.

Isn't that a fuck up?

"So generous, my honored one... Tin, I addressed you correctly, didn't I?" With a pallid, almost childlike voice sang the ghost that hovered above us, again intangible and completely disappearing from my perception. "What heroic self-sacrifice, what a proud death! I am inexpressibly proud to have met such a person! It's just..."

I didn't even let him finish, buying myself time, nor did I let my comrades argue that even my strength was insufficient to keep such a squad of high-level foes under control. It was true. I couldn't even cover myself against that many enemies in a duel, simply by virtue of my superior strength and armor. How could I possibly defend my weaker allies? Only one thing this ghost of communism was wrong.

I'm really not a tough enough fighter to withstand that kind of onslaught. And he knows that from observing my fighting style... even through the eyes of the lich we met at the top of the dungeon. The problem is that I'm not only a fighter, but I'm also a mage, albeit a very unusual one. Yes, I don't argue, I haven't yet demonstrated anything with magic that's really massive. Rather, I was just helping myself with short and maximally effective attacks, supporting my dagger strokes.

The monster might have thought differently if he had been watching us in the hall with the pond, but there were certainly no trackers there - he was probably wary of the underwater inhabitant himself.

That's why I was fairly confident that not only did I have a chance of winning, but I was even more confident than the ill-fated hundred to one that the enemy was preparing for us. Ten to one, let's say. Not great either, of course, but not suicidal either.

"No, transparent, that's not self-sacrifice." Some reckless mirth erupts in my voice against my will, and all my senses are frozen by the cold touch of shadows. "This is my mockery of you. You'd better get your portal ready, and put some more gold for the road."

"First, you survive, alive, and then I'll give you everything you've got. Even some gold." He was not at all impressed with my boasting. He assumed, quite legitimately, that I'd just caught the thrill, wanting to get away in style. A foolish alive who had let his feelings get the better of him, who couldn't even hold on to his mask of indifference before he died.

Pathetic, pathetic little man.

I didn't wait until the ghost ordered the six opponents to attack, wiping out the three of us with a single ramming blow of crushing power.

Instead, I burst into action, beginning to tap out on the perfectly clean marble floor, clicking my semi-erased soles audibly and further assuring him (and my allies, too) that the man had gone insane from worry.

On the last movement of the dance I had just invented, I clap my hands with all my might and with a sharp movement put them to the floor, which makes the clap sound even more loud.

And the shadows come in motion, executing my will.

I do not doubt them, I believe, I know that they have no power to disobey me, that it is not in their might, not in their power, that today and now I am no longer human. That at this moment I have the right to command.

The shadows executed my will, and it was as if the secrets granted by the skill of clairvoyance had been nailed into my mind, revealing to me other people's tragedies, other people's lives, and other people's grief.

The fatty with the mouth on his belly disintegrated into pieces of rotting meat as his own shadow entered his body, chewing all the energy from within, drinking to the bottom the essence of the hundreds of creatures he had killed during his non-life. Those of whom there was not even memory left, only dust and bones, which became, like himself, slaves of the ancient ghost.

With a low rustle, the bones of the cadavre crumbled to the floor, sliced in half by an extremely fast and thin blade that leaped from the shadows of its own blades. Those blades had taken many lives, but they would take none more - to bind the enchanted steel to the bone monster, the monster had to be assembled from the bones of its former owners. Now there are no more owners, and the old weapons have become mere steel pellets that could only be melted down.

The two Wights, who even in life had been brothers, used to fight in pairs like a single machine, finally found peace. Brothers not in blood, but spirit. They fought to the last man, they fought to the last man, and even the coldness of death could not squeeze out their unflinching loyalty to one another. A huge shadow enveloped them both, shrouding them in a burial shroud and draining every last drop of magic from them. It wasn't the funeral they would have wanted for themselves, but it was all that one unwanted isekai could give them.

The only other enemies left intact were the big, clumsy dead man, and the equally big, but much more nimble and skilled Knight of Death. I didn't even waste energy on them, for fear of ending up with an empty reserve against someone I still couldn't finish.

I wipe the blood trickle from my nose with my sleeve and, ignoring the ghost, frozen in shock (if that's even a term for undead), turn to Hans and Losius: "The one on the far left. Don't mistake it."

I'm not sure what I'm supposed to be doing, but I am. It's a powerful beast, full of power and magic, and I barely have a third of my reserve, and the emptiness in my chest is tearing at my heart. A nearly forty-level creature, capable of slaughtering an entire city in a single snout, against one tired fighter, specialized in assassination.

Not a chance, you say?

I don't care about chances.

I'm a fucking Hero, and defeating all kinds of evil fucks with little or no chance of success is my goddamn specialty.

Level thirty-nine is very, very cool.

The creature was almost as fast as I was but clearly better than I was at wielding a blade. When you consider the small fact that the knight was using a two-meter rail as a blade, so saturated with death that its mere presence in the cemetery would be enough to turn its inhabitants into a small army, then things were getting very bad.

I didn't even try to duel with him at blades - I hadn't yet become so sure of my awesomeness, and I still had a lot of brains left. Even if I'd clashed with the creature, coming so close to it that it couldn't use a sword, I could hardly penetrate its armor with my daggers, not to mention the evil spells that just overwhelmed those old bones.

So I went in with my trump cards, mercilessly using up my remaining reserve, just to win the fight. The shadows were obedient, and I prepared to either bend or be bent.

The knight didn't even try to ram me, and he was instantly transported behind me in a flash of ash and green sparks. The sword, glowing with a deadly light, collapsed on me like a grave slab. Only my over-pumped dexterity allowed me to leap forward with my back, missing the cursed steel, but the knight was more dangerous than the mere undead.

The creature stepped forward, which, with the width of its stride, was quite a sight, turning a chopping lunge into a stabbing one. I swiveled into a roll, managing to evade the attack and even break the distance somewhat while stepping into the side of the slightly flawed opponent, whose mass played against itself.

Fighting style of MC

https://youtu.be/4gAxcGkAY2I

I don't even have time to think about an attack before he turns around, swinging his blade, and a ghostly green blade flies off his weapon, capable of cutting through several of my kind altogether.

The shadow infuses the dagger to its maximum, turning it into a [censored], light-absorbing cut on the body of the universe. It is with it that I parry my opponent's blow. Surprisingly, the seemingly enormous blade flies away from the insignificant dagger in comparison, twisting and crumbling into ghostly shards. Behind me, it flies away in the usual cloud of greenish ash.

In one motion, I finish the swing of the dagger, and the shadow that imbued it materializes, continuing the blade itself. This time it wasn't even a sliver, but a long straight blade, like a real sword. The too rapid metamorphosis gives the knight no time to react or use a defensive skill. The shadow blade enters the junction between the pieces of his armor, injecting shadow energy into the gray haze of his insides.

I'm getting ready to infuse the knight with even more of the destructive power of the shadows, but he's not a sissy. With a wave of his steel-clad hand, he breaks the fake blade (though I suppose it would break even more easily if it were real), while he applies some kind of stunning roar, combined with paralyzing terror.

The horror slips off the heroic title like a sea wave off a rocky reef, but the purely sonic aspect of the skill makes me recoil as far as possible, trying to clear my head from the ringing in my ears. It's an opportunity the undead don't miss, kicking me in the sternum like a soccer player kicking a crucial free-kick. The shadow silhouette in front of me explodes with smoke, but only a fraction of the impact power reaches me. And I managed to redistribute the chest-crushing blow into a regular jolt, dispersed throughout my body.

Instantly realizing that I had outsmarted him again, the knight applies the skill again, exhaling an entire stream of dark gray ash on me. I don't even want to know what the effect of ingesting such crap inside my lungs will be, so I force the shadow to hug me gently, creating a kind of spacesuit. It's not very powerful: you poke it with your fist and it crumbles, but the particles of the poisonous exhalation simply dissolve on the dark surface of the second skin.

Without thinking about the risks, I stepped right into the cloud, walking blindly through it. The knight, who had just finished exhaling, was already finishing creating another ghostly blade flying in my direction, under cover of which he himself was probably about to go in for a close encounter. If he hadn't been undead, he would have been surprised by my sudden appearance, but he hesitated.

I roll under the fast-flying projectile, feeling the hair on my asshole, near where the projectile flew, turn gray. And I attack myself with a shadowy whip, forcing my opponent to defend his legs. Without difficulty breaking the whip with his sword, the knight is forced to fend off an attack from me and my two silhouettes, clamping him in a pincer.

I repeated the trick that had worked so well against the orc I remembered, making one a material silhouette and the other a regular shadow. The first, struck by the cursed steel, literally wrapped itself around the blade that struck it, and the second was already simulating an attack on an open enemy, forcing it to react exactly as I needed it to.

Death flowed down the blade, washing away and dissolving the shadow that wrapped it, but too slowly, and so the Death Knight kicked the second silhouette, infusing it with even more of his evil magic. And, naturally, he falls forward, barely keeping from falling and reflexively drawing aside his blade.

I infused both daggers with shadow again, almost bleeding my nose a second time, and lengthened them again, cutting off the left arm with a kind of scissors and severely injuring the prominent forward leg. I underestimated my vicious adversary, however, and was rather deceived by his massiveness. The giant steel-clad figure rolled unnaturally smoothly into a roll, nearly running me over in the process.

I manage to stab both of my materialized swords into the side of the foe that rushes past me and even pierce its armor. But a jerk and inertia break the shadow blades, preventing them from filling the creature's insides with all-consuming shadows again. Finished rolling, the undead gets back to its feet, but now it has to hold its blade with one hand. The monster's eyes flashed with a grave glow, clearly designed to discern my next shadow trick, and a cloud of stone-eating ash erupted from its severed arm in a broad front.

I created a thin and fragile "icebreaker" out of the shadows, splitting the dangerous but very light cloud in two. And when the knight who repeated my trick stepped right through his own attack, breaking the barrier, I attacked him with four whips at once, splitting them at the end as well, and immediately jumped out of the ash-covered area.

He used a defensive skill that made the armor flare up and the shadowy lashes scatter, then immediately teleported behind my back, trying to cut me off in a leap before I found my footing. I press my own shadow against his legs and push away from it, evading the swing of his blade. The knight paces after me, preparing to finish what he started, for I can no longer keep up with his next move. The wound on the stump of his arm is seething with ash and green sparks, gradually repairing the severed bone as well as the deep cut on his supporting leg. He can already walk comfortably, though he has to protect his leg much more thoroughly.

It is in the wound on the leg that my nearly dispersed shadow strikes, forcing the undead to stumble back and rest the blade on the marble floor, only to not fall flat. I took advantage of the time I'd gained, attacking with a single but highly concentrated shadow lash, cutting into the helmet, and digging into the junction between his neck and shoulder. I wanted to blow his head off, but the bastard reacted in time to move his skull out of the way, getting away with a dent in his helmet.

With a roar - also an active ability - he got to his feet and immediately launched three blades at me. My reserve is too close to exhaustion, but victory is also close, so I take my chances, trying to push the wounded, but not exhausted opponent.

His movements are restricted because of his injuries and the shadow energy in his body, which has caused some kind of debuff, but he himself is full of strength. I let him recover from the onslaught, and I can bury myself in peace. As they say: cover yourself with a sheet and crawl slowly toward the cemetery.

I'd use my dexterity to the fullest and slip between the blades flying at me, managing to shadow-strike the injured leg again and finally knock the shoulder pad off. I'm not sure how I feel, but the helmet is still on his head, despite the change in design.

With a quiet crunch, the leg broke at the point of impact, holding the rest of the skeleton only by the still intact armor. I dodge another roar, striking blow after blow, making full use of the shadow for maximum destabilization of the enemy's abilities. A sense of danger flares up, allowing me to dodge a blade strike and a wave of green sparks sent simultaneously in all directions. I rest my foot on the crumpled helmet and hover for a second over the knight, thus avoiding a ground attack. I prevent him from taking advantage of me by wrapping a shadow ribbon around my opponent's throat and fitting my entire body into his back, thrusting shadow-soaked daggers into the articulation of his armor.

I'm more aware, by clairvoyance than by a sense of danger, that my enemy is about to use some suicidal enhancing skill - the sparks inside his skeleton are flickering faster and brighter as if preparing to turn into a full-blown flame. I drain almost my entire reserve, forcing the shadows to destroy the undead, ready to break into the final assault.

With one last attempt to activate the roar, the knight wheezed something unintelligible and finally fell to the ground, and the green flames in his eyes flashed one last time, then went out. The creature's story was finally over.

Mine has not yet.

I wish I could catch my breath, but I don't have time to, because my allies are probably already being eaten! I straighten my back and turn toward the sounds of battle. To my surprise, the guys are doing quite well.

Both men had specialized dexterity classes, while the Necro-Troll himself, despite his enormous height and monstrous survivability, was extremely clumsy. With his weight and strength, this was not his problem at all: sooner or later, the men would just get tired. But so far, things weren't going badly at all for the living representatives of humanity.

Add to that the fact that the humans themselves had had plenty of time to level up, and the fact that they did not intend to fight, but only dragged out the time, waiting for the most convenient moment to attack. The undead themselves had no active skills that could change the situation. To be honest, I even think the guys could do it on their own.

Hm.

That's not a bad idea! I had barely a fifth of my reserves left - enough to help my fellows, of course, but not enough to feel normal afterward. But it would be nice to watch the warriors in action.

I was not mistaken, for they did it! They were exhausted like dogs, nearly died a couple of times, forcing me to intervene with shadows to get them out of danger, but they did it. Simply by calculating the algorithm of the rather stupid (rather, extremely stupid) mountain of dead meat, and then struck one measured blow.

Unlike ordinary dead things, this one wasn't dried out, but rather resembled rubber: soft and pliable, but hard to puncture or cut. The few scratches it got were as bad as a bite, so Locij had to hit it in the only place it was vulnerable: its eyes.

Waiting for the moment when the creature would bend down and lure it to the wall, the aristocrat simply ran up it, activated the skill, and plunged the blade shining with magical light straight into the skull of the dead man who was roaring in pain. It was either luck or maybe it didn't have the same durability on the inside as it on the outside, but the result was exactly what I wanted it to be: a killed undead, a tired Hans, and a stunned Losius.

Done.

The game is over.

"Oh, sure, I can send a winner to civilization at any moment." The ghost grinned happily. "But only one."

I could easily sense his hatred, his anger, and his primal rage (the latter is uncharacteristic for the undead). It was humiliating for him to negotiate with the three of us, humiliating to meet our demands, but he had to do it. And, no doubt, he tried to screw up wherever he could.

In response to my eloquent silence, he only shuffled his foot innocently in the air, grinning even wider at his mug. There was no fear; there was a healthy amount of anger and fatigue that even the crushing presence of such a mighty monster couldn't shut up.

"I am, of course, willing to pay off the other two with gold and valuable stones. I would offer artifacts, but they are not suitable for living. Not suitable at all. And the portal is too old and unreliable, which is why I can't transport your trio. Alas, alas, what a pity, I am so ashamed. And yet I can still keep you out of here, yes, such pity-pity, just the incomparable sorrow of all sorrows, isn't it, my dear ones."

"Is there any way to transfer more people?" I'm interrupting his wiggling. "To transfer them alive, unharmed, healthy, and to the right place, not two kilometers up."

"I could transfer two, but then one of you, yes, one of you, would have to sacrifice himself." And then he waved his hands as if to justify himself. "No, you can try to convince me to get by with just the artifact charge, no sacrifices. But since the damage to my property from such overloading would already be too great, I'm within my rights to refuse, yes, within my rights. Hee hee hee! The treaty doesn't bind me that much, but you'll be sure to ask diligently."

I suppressed the rising irritation, forcing myself to be calm and not to let my comrades-in-arms behind me panic. I continued questioning the ghost, who was enjoying the situation.

"And why don't you fix it? The teleport artifact, I mean."

"It's nice to be held in such high esteem, but alas, alas." He says even more cheerfully. "I'm a spectre, not an archlich, to do such things. It is not in my power to fix such complex constructs, and I do not want to lose them, not at all, I do not want. So choose, choose. Who you sacrifice, who you get the gold for, you choose. And I'll look and I'll look and I'll laugh, I'll be the last one to laugh. I always laugh last. " The creature sang like a bell.

"I'm ready." There was a calm, even slightly bored voice from Losius. "I let you all down by grabbing that trap, and I'll pay for it. All I ask is that you deliver my share of the gold to my ancestral home. I know it's a bit impertinent of me, but I'd at least like to pay off some of my family's debts with my death. Also, tell my father that..."

And at that point I got mad.

It was as fucking intense as it had ever been in my life. It was so completely frozen emotion, so faded vision, so heart-wrenching hatred. And the boy indifferently signing his verdict, along with the specter shining with sincere joy (and this with a completely absent face!), brought me to the edge of madness, beyond which only madness.

The turn.

The swing.

A punch to the ear, tossing the Losius into the arms of the gloomy and self-decisive Hans, who seemed to be about to do the same thing I had done.

"Sacrifice, you say?" I asked, and every single shadow in the room repeated my question. I've used too much of my magic here, and the shadows have become too thick, too deep, never fully dispersed. "Well, I'm willing to sacrifice myself. Not to you but for them."

I pointed to my feet, making the undead lose some of the angry joy he was feeling. And then he shuddered, glancing back at me.

"You're insane and stupid." The undead answered in a normal voice, hoarse and growling. "What's in it for me? I have time to get out of this place, and the Shadows won't follow me too far. They are, you know, attached to the one who summoned them. You and your companions are far more interesting to them than the nice, pleasant me. And I can bite harder, too."

I'm just laughing, dry and joyless, like the rustling of a frenzied shadow. I almost burst into laughter as I stared at the stupid ghost who thought he was smarter than all the other fools.

"Who's talking about you, you silly flying bathrobe! In this room are your teleporter and your treasure." I'm making a hunch. "Magical artifacts that can be eaten, too. I won't even send them after you, I'll just order them to gobble up everything in here. You value your treasures, don't you, bathrobe? Otherwise, you can't attack anyone without it-no reward, no fight. And then all you have to do is watch the goblins and orcs prowling around your dungeon, and all you can do is talk politely to them."

Again, it froze, obliterating any signs of humanity it might have had. It was as if it were the scariest flying blanket in the universe.

"You and your friends will also die. Will you risk their lives too, after all? Give them to those who come to your call? You bluff, you bluff, you bluff, you can't help bluffing!!!"

And I was on fire.

I suddenly realized a simple truth - that bastard couldn't attack me, couldn't kill me, couldn't assault me. Not anymore, not after our victory. And this means that it was as if our communication was transferred to the familiar Internet, where you can't just pick up and punch me in the face through the monitor screen. This is where we play by my rules because no matter how mighty the thing

is, on the Internets, it doesn't matter what your boxing belts and shooting skills are.

He doesn't stand a shadow of a chance in such a confrontation.

"You stupid rag, you didn't even understand the main point." Already openly mocking him. "My life is much less valuable to me than your junk. I don't have to sacrifice us all, because I know that you will agree to my demands anyway. You just won't risk placing that bet. For I, unlike you, am willing to sacrifice myself, and you only sacrifice someone. That's the difference."

Moment of silence.

And then the thing shrieked. It wasn't a skill, just a cry of desperate anger, of unexpressed hatred, of endless anguish at its loss. It was as if a thousand different voices were wailing and screaming, and the spectre itself was flailing around under the ceiling at such wild speed that we could only rejoice that it could not attack us.

With a low rustle, pebbles and dust fell from the walls as the ghost's claws left huge furrows in the stone walls. But it was just an expression of impotent anger. With a low thud, the bag of gold landed on the ground, spilling half its contents, and the ghost, perfectly still, hissed: "The portal will open in three minutes. The transfer site is safe, you can even make sure of that. And I can take the third one to the surface, right to the exit."

"It's fine." I said contentedly, disregarding the look that promised all the torment of the world."Losius, Hans, collect your gold and go to civilization. Don't waste my share, for I'll be back for it, and don't die yourself. And yes, just in case, I wasn't with you at all. I just never was, no matter how anyone asks you."

They're both going to say something, but I'm not in the mood for a long goodbye, so I don't let them say a word. They might still be able to change my mind. I am not at all sure about my decision.

"Don't argue, or I'll throw you into the portal. I'm not dead yet, and it will be much easier for me to get out of the woods alone than in your company. You'd better wait for me."

"We will wait. I give you my word and the word of my family. I don't know your goals, I don't know why you're here and why you're trying to hide, but I'll wait for you and keep your secret." Still, Losius couldn't suppress his pathos, but at least he didn't argue.

"And I'll fuckin' wait for you to come back and get you drunk as a piglet." Hans was less verbose.

Quick packing, during which I was left with almost all the provisions and water, and all the gold was packed in normal bags, and then, right in front of both men's noses, a portal opened. Through this window, I could see the harvested fields and some villages about three kilometers from the portal. From the looks of it, civilization, yes.

"The portal will not last long." It reminded me of itself on the Specter.

After a goodbye glance and, thank the tits, no melodrama, the two warriors stepped through the portal. After Losius, who stepped first, the portal rippled a little, and after Hans, it was as intermittent as a bad signal on an old TV set. With a quiet ringing sound, the portal dissolved, leaving me alone with the vicious and extremely nasty creature.

"Someday I'll be free." Said it. "And I will find you, your descendants, your descendants of your descendants, and I will devour them all."

"Good luck, bathrobe. You should know how many times everyone has promised to find me by I.P.!!!"

I did not have time to finish, as I was thrown backward to who knows where, and then even hit the back of something very hard, suspiciously resembling a tree trunk.

The sun was shining overhead, birds were singing, and the remains of the recent rain were dripping from the leaves, while I was looking up into the frowning sky, remembering the view of that village through the portal, and thinking a thought. So good a thought that I involuntarily voiced it:

I cursed long and pretentiously. It was very long and very brutal swearing. And very loud. Why the fuck am I such an imbecile?! Why the fuck, why the fuck, why the fuck? Why the fuck was I playing the hero? I could've just left that little aristocratic faggot in the woods, and I could've been out there groping country girl myself!!! I'm such a fucking idiot!

For a long time, there were such fierce cries, overflowing with real power and strength, from which even a few kilometers away the shadows trembled unpleasantly, that every living thing hurried to leave the place. Even a small group of orcs, supported by a young shaman, decided to turn quickly in the opposite direction.

After the Great Thunderstorm and the Packs that came with it, new monsters often appeared, hungry for flesh and death to anchor themselves in reality. It was a miracle that this group had not been torn apart by the Pack, and the last thing they wanted to encounter on their way back to the camp was something that could make the shadows come alive with a single cry.

Turning around, the orcs began to make a long many-kilometer detour, avoiding the danger, while somewhere far away one isekai continued to swear fervently.

* * *