Chapter 15

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Any person who tells me about how cool life was in the magical Middle Ages, I'll have to bring him to this very town. And I'll have to take him to the places, so that he'll get into the spirit of the era, so to speak. All these beautiful landscapes, polite and noble people, universal humanism, and the triumph of the spiritual over the physical.

Putting aside the sarcasm, I can responsibly say that this town resembled an enormous garbage dump combined with a prison and a latrine. And there was really a lot of shit here - enough to fertilize a large part of the area. Of course, the farther into the city the cleaner and richer it got, but the slums and poorer neighborhoods were drenched in sewage, and the rats there seemed to be grinding levels of people who had broken away from the crowds.

Yelling and screaming.

The howls of the smeared children.

A constant confrontation free for all.

Occasional dead bodies.

To tell you the truth, I had a sudden urge to get the hell out of there and never get out again. Fortunately, it was already much cleaner in the craftsman's quarter, though it smelled just as bad. But it was more the stench of leather and charcoal than the ubiquitous shit. It was here that I decided to make my first home base. Simply because there were regular patrols of guards in the wealthy quarters that I didn't want to meet, and the average level of the inhabitants there was higher. And why would I want to get into trouble? No, I love them, and they love me, but not enough to lose all discretion.

The large workshop, where six men worked with wood, making decent tables, chairs, and other furniture, was an almost perfect fit. The first floor was occupied by the workshop and its products; the second floor was used as living quarters for the master and his apprentices, as well as for the support staff (almost entirely represented by the master's relatives, judging by their resemblance), but the attic was untouched. I suppose that at first people were too lazy to drag all sorts of garbage into this room, which they were sorry to throw away, although it was garbage, and then they forgot about it altogether.

A rather large room, with creaking floors, in the middle of which stood pieces of furniture that were many years old. And that was no hint of the antique value of the interior there. These old, crumbling pieces of furniture evoked an involuntary urge to burn them for firewood. They were dragged in here to sell them to some idiot, but they were never sold. Apparently, there was no idiot.

In general, the place was comfortable, unattended, dry and warm, but very dusty. But I didn't care much about the dust after my adventures in the swamps.

The first thing I did was to change my clothes for one that wasn't so dirty. At the same time, I tried to scrub the mud off of it. I wasn't afraid of being heard from downstairs; there was a lot of noise down there, and with my stealth skills I could dance a ballet here. Not one creaky floorboard would creak unless I wanted it to!

Obtaining normal clothes, preferably ones that didn't stand out in the crowd, was a vital, though not very unnerving, matter. Yes, it was necessary, but I could do without it. There was still the question of whether I should buy the clothes or just steal it. Against the first speaks my greed and lack of money, against the second is the remnants of conscience and common sense. The likelihood that someone will recognize the stolen clothes is very small, but, with my luck, I am guaranteed to get caught.

Although the thirty thousand or so inhabitants of the city (I estimated it by eye, based on the readings of the sphere of shadows) gave a reasonable guarantee that no one would look for the stolen goods. Especially if the theft occurs on this day when the fair was attended by an unusually large number of the inhabitants of the surrounding settlements.

My timing was perfect, I can't say anything about it.

It didn't take long to find a place of sale and manufacture. The sphere really is a miracle, helping me to navigate in an unfamiliar area even better than the native inhabitants of it. I rejected the first shop because they were already selling some very poor designs. I had to go a little farther, straight into the shopping district, and there I grabbed a perfectly usable suit.

It was dark in color, made of coarse fabric, but sturdy and completely inconspicuous. It was the kind of thing you could find in poor neighborhoods and in the shopping district itself. I stole a raincoat with a hood, too, to hide my face if necessary. And it helps against the rain, considering a lot of people here wear them.

I wasn't lazy and watched the trade to roughly estimate the price of all this "splendor". If you take the average value, such a creation sold for four or five silver coins. Still, I chose simple and inconspicuous, but high-quality clothes. The cheapest one costs about eighty copper coins and looked just right for the price.

In an act of chivalry, I left three silver coins (in coppers) as payment. I underpaid a bit, of course, but let's just assume that I haggled like a god. Or, at the very least, like a Jew in Odessa.

The money I had left could have paid for my trip to one of the two brothels I had seen. The only thing was that these brothels were located in such depressing neighborhoods, and with such people and workers, that it would be better to fuck Ygra! At least you wouldn't catch STD, but seeing some of the "clients" whose noses didn't just fall off made me want to stop... everything. I don't want to do anything.

Anyway. Once I got away from the ring-modified ogre, I lost a fair amount of my lust, so I decided to at least get something better to eat. Meat is good, but now I'm ready to kill someone for normal porridge with butter and a loaf of bread.

Tomorrow I'll look for brothels in the rich neighborhood. The local moneybags had to have fun somewhere, preferably so they wouldn't leave with a huge bouquet of crap, right? That's where I'm gonna look, and I'm gonna make some money too. The local thieves are afraid to steal from the really powerful, but I don't give a fuck about them or their wrath.

It wasn't hard to choose a tavern - where it smells good, not rotten and sour, that's where you go, Kostik. It's a good way to determine quality, and my perception of these smells is as good as that of other sommeliers. Another point in my dislike for the local slums and their delightful ambre.

The inn (or was it a tavern, since it was inside the city walls?) bore the sonorous name "Bearded Moose," which told me two things at once. One: the owner has a strange imagination. Two: I can read signs in the local language. Another System twist, or something similar? I get the feeling that everyone speaks some separate language, understood simultaneously by all the locals, even the dumbest goblins. I wonder if there are separate languages that need to be learned in.

All these thoughts were knocked out of my head by the luxurious smell of buttered porridge, which hit me in the face as soon as I entered the room. I glanced around the room and realized that no one cared about me, as long as I wasn't standing in the aisle. I walked calmly and confidently to one of the few available tables, and sat down at it.

I was well dressed - I don't stand out from the crowd. The crowd itself, by the way, consists almost entirely of local artisans and workers, along with the visitors who have come to the fair. No mysterious personalities in black cloaks, no lonely girls who are molested by drunken company, no company of tipsy noblemen. An ordinary tavern, no fighting, no lying around under the benches.

No, there was one who rolled under the table, but his company didn't notice the loss of a soldier. I look away from the men drinking for some obscure reason and focus my attention on the rather pretty delivery girl. She had slightly reddish hair, a nice figure, and the fucked-up look of someone who works in a diner on a bad day when it's almost full.

"What do you want?" No particular politeness, no disdain, just simple communication.

I noticed that the delivery girls here were nice, for the most part, but nobody touched them. It was either they weren't drunk enough yet, or the crowd was polite, or the two big bouncers working here at once added to everyone's peacefulness, tact, and understanding.

"Porridge of some kind, meat, if there is poultry, it's better... Is there any bread and milk?"

"Yeah. And poultry and milk, and we cook porridge with it." The delivery girl nodded her head. "Would you like a drink?"

I was about to demand alcohol, too, but when I remembered that with my endurance I wouldn't get drunk, I changed my mind. No, if I really drank a barrel, I would get drunk. But I'd be too greedy to spend that kind of money. Besides, I want to eat properly now, not get drunk.

"Nope, still busy today. Just to munch." I answered, careful not to show how unused I was to talk to people.

"Thirty-five coins." The maiden states the price and then does not wait for my answer and adds. "Today is the fair, so everything is more expensive, I can't help it."

"All right, bring it on." Immediately I agree. Just because I believe in the truthfulness of her answer.

The food came pretty quickly, and it was exactly how I wanted it. Warm, but not hot, fresh, and delicious. After nearly two months of wandering, it was food ecstasy, literally. How hard it was for me not to eat it like a hungry savage, only I know. However, when I had satisfied my first hunger and looked around, I realized that my efforts at decorum had been for naught, for the people around me were munching, in no other way could it be said.

That's how you reveal yourself, Kostya.

Fuck it!

I spent the rest of the meal frankly enjoying the taste of home-cooked food and the quiet noise of the entertaining crowd. Fucking hell, I missed it all! I wanted to let a man's tear down my cheek.

Everything went surprisingly... normal. Just came, ate, sat, and left. No pub fights (two conflicts between drunken people were resolved by peace, kindness and frowning faces of bouncers), no adventures, even to pick up a waitress and that did not succeed (and I did not try). I could have rented a room here and hit on the girl in earnest, but I was just lazy.

Somehow fatigue and moping came over suddenly: a typical situation after achieving a goal. I had existed in constant tension for so long that when I found myself in the middle of a peaceful and calm environment, I was confused and did not know what to do next. The main thing is not to let myself fall into boredom, and any active activity is good for that.

When I left the tavern, I immediately went into stealth, after which I went up to the rooftops and jumped there. I felt like some kind of superhero (optionally a supervillain), bringing vengeance in the name of the moon. The buildings were close enough to each other that even jumping was infrequent. And the creaking and brittle shingles posed no problem for my high stats. This sort of easy walk combined with watching the incredibly clear starry sky. The latter is one of the few things I'm willing to love this world for. You will never find such beauty in dusty metropolises.

I crossed paths with a small group of three lurkers, just like me, using the rooftops to get around. At first I even stuck to the back of the guys in a hurry. But they weren't going to and from the job, so I didn't learn anything interesting. I only figured out one of the local criminal hangouts. It would be good for the future, in case I ever wanted to play Batman.

I went down from the roof in a small courtyard of some trade guild, next to a full-fledged well. I decided to use it to rinse my face and body properly. The shadows, of course, clean up dirt, sweat, and anything else by dissolving it, but it didn't feel right. But the ice water is the best for the tired and rushing mind of an isekai. All worries have quickly washed the fuck away!

I use the sound-amplifying ability, so as not to wake up the sleepers, who might not like my use of their possessions. I use it at least once, so I didn't get it for anything.

I washed and dressed again, and wandered around the city, trying to ignore the shadow sphere, trying to detach myself from my surroundings as much as possible. It was a kind of meditation.

I crossed paths with several patrols of guards and didn't want to show my face in front of the scowling men. To hell them, and I'll just keep wandering. At least I'll make a map of the city. Too bad there aren't any underground catacombs, with the obligatory treasures and cultists hiding there. Or better yet, cultists! I'm in a cheerful mood now, so I'd go and explain to them how to summon Cthulhu properly.

It looks like I'm starting to look for adventures in my ass.

Am I used to it?

I didn't want to go back to "my" attic. It was peaceful, but it was dusty, and I was not at all happy about the prospect of brushing the dust and cobwebs off the clothes I had just bought in the morning. This is not the surface of my skin if I try to dissolve in the shade, with a high likelihood of damaging the clothes themselves. I've got a weird thing going on - when I do shadow steps, the clothes aren't damaged, but simple shadow energy damages and corrodes the fabric quite noticeably. I'll have to test to see if I can use the teleporter to clean myself of all kinds of dirt.

That's exactly the good moment.

I activate the skill and quickly fall into Shadow, immediately taking an intangible form. A dash at breakneck speed and I find myself within the confines of the rich neighborhood, passing through the inner wall. It was much better enchanted than the outer wall, though it looked much more modest, there were gaps in it, too. And not just any gaps, but whole "de-energized" sections. They cut it off for nonpayment, or what?

After catching my breath and shivering from the chilly aftertaste of another realm, I continued on my way. This time the steps were really much easier. The pressure on my mind is there, of course, but it's nothing compared to what I experienced when I entered the town. It was just a light whisper on the edge of my consciousness, and the cold claws that got under my skin were fucking unpleasant, but no more than that.

And the dirt does disappear if you are willing to leave it in the Shadows without taking it back to reality.

I wandered around the local sights, forced to admit that they live quite well here. Stone mansions are surrounded by high fences, often enchanted, green spaces, and individual gardens in many of the manor houses. Even the guards wandered here more high-leveled and better equipped. Anything above the tenth level and even a couple of fifteen-plus is already pretty cool for this world, especially if they, so badass, go in simple patrols.

I circled avoiding the patrols and noticed a drunken man in more fancy camisole (an even fancier than Losij wear), who was being dragged along by two guards-servants. The third, meanwhile, was lazily surveying his surroundings, serving his duty rather than looking for any danger.

No, that's a lot of impudence, really! My sense of beauty simply states the need to replenish finances. It is unpleasant, of course, to do such a thing, but the loss of his wallet would not cost him his life. I slipped under the gaze of the sole observer as an inaudible shadow, quickly cutting off the wallet and then walking away.

I'll leave this place, I guess. Even though it's easy for me to discern all the signal spells surrounding this place, even without using my Gaze, I still don't want to take any unnecessary risks. One more step through the shadows allows me to sneak back into the shopping district, and then I start looking for a place to stay for the night. I found one without too much trouble because there were plenty of empty rooms.

The attic I'd chosen was much more comfortable and regularly dusted, but it was still empty. There was even a huge double bed, even if it was missing one leg. In short, there was a place to sleep.

I had already laid down and tucked my cloak under my head, so I decided to look at the contents of the wallet. The contents of the wallet were pleasing, and it was enough for a long time to overcome the financial problems in my life. Four and a half gold pieces, even in silver, would be enough for a month of my life. And enough for a brothel - oh, my dream - also.

With a contented smile, he sank into a dream.

Tonight I still have class training to do, so don't relax!

The dreams of ordinary people were a hundred times easier to access than those of Ygra. And that's not an understatement-it was as easy to enter their dreams as it was to walk through an unlocked door. If the ogre consciousness required a wild expenditure of reserve every time I tried to exert influence, here I managed to get by with the least amount of effort.

The dreams of ordinary people were a hundred times easier to access than those of Ygra. And that's not an understatement-it was as easy to enter their dreams as it was to walk through an unlocked door. If the ogre consciousness required a wild expenditure of reserve every time I tried to exert influence, here I managed to get by with the least amount of effort.

Dreams are a peculiar reflection of people's personalities, I'm sure of that now. The simpler a person is, the simpler and more primitive the dreams are, the easier it is to control them. And if you listen to the desires of the sleeper, if you embody his thoughts, it is easy to understand what kind of person you are. Just by wandering through his dreams, recreating his memories, you can understand whether he is a holy paladin or a complete asshole. The latter is much more common than the former - an empirical observation.

The old and lame servant who cleans the yard dreams of the days when he was still young and full of strength, when he saw all the roads before him, sincerely believing that he could pass through them. He also dreams, over and over again, of the nightmarish creature (apparently a mutated wolf) that crippled the aspiring seventh-level hunter and forever broke him, throwing him to the side of history. The creature was killed by his comrades, but they were unable or unwilling to support his depressed comrade-in-arms.

So the old man dreams about the same unfortunate day that decided everything for him. And I, with a little effort, erase the nightmare that is so ingrained in his very essence, erasing it from the old man's dreams. Giving him instead dreams full of sun and wind and warmth.

Happy dreams.

It's quite unusual, but the nightmare I destroyed took a lot of effort to disintegrate. It was almost like Ygra, which is quite surprising, because the old man was still the same seventh level, having not risen a single grade since that hunt. I also had a vague sense of something in this nightmare. Not my mind, but rather my bare instincts, just beginning to kick in.

An unsettling feeling, but not with my power and skills.

Whatever creatures live in dreams, I'm stronger than them for now. And I'm smart enough not to go where more dangerous nightmares will reside. Which cannot be destroyed by desire alone, multiplied by the power invested in it.

One of the guards of a large building belonging to a rich family was only a ninth level, but he was as arrogant as an old hunter in his youth. He also liked to torture, surprisingly, more morally than physically. You wouldn't expect such a thug to have such a high sense of aesthetics.

What he liked best right now was one of the maids who had been patronized by a relative. The patronage was ephemeral, which made it easy for the bastard to get off on her. No, he hadn't raped her... yet. Just found out about a couple of misdeeds on her part and began blackmailing and pressuring her into committing new ones. Soon, very soon, she would be ready for anything, simply because rejection would be a burden she couldn't bear because he would only have to whisper a few words to whoever needed it.

He is an amazingly intelligent man, who is also a naturally gifted psychologist. If he had been born into a better family, he could have become a very famous intriguer, but it did not work out. And his current plan also will not work out, despite all his confidence, because in his dreams and dreams of owning a completely submissive and intimidated maiden there was an unaccounted factor.

The slight impact, the image invested, and the cost of concentration, after which I begin to weave an individual nightmare for one particular person. Also, in a way, a "training video". This is where that quote from the great educator about the head and the ass comes in handy. After all, much more can be accomplished with a kind word and prolonged bullying than with just a kind word.

Time after time the guard sees short scraps of dreams, with one single idea.

He starts to abuse the same maid again, and everything seems to be going on as usual, but then... Then everything changes, turning a pleasant wet dream into the most nightmarish of nightmares.

The girl pulls a knife from under her dress, driving it into her tormentor's body time after time, literally piercing it like Swiss cheese. The screams, pleas, and threats do not help, nor do the far more advanced characteristics compared to the maiden - I have invested enough strength, and now this dream is all mine.

The girl throws the goat into the well (in this dream they are standing next to this structure), where it breaks its legs and slowly drowns under the indifferent gaze of the murderer. There are fewer threats this time, but more pleading and tears.

The girl turns into a monster and eats him alive, starting at his feet and up. For some reason, the monster does not die of blood loss but faints from painful shock.

The sadist wakes up in his bed from a knock on the door. He gets up, opens it, and sees the same maid. He is frightened, followed by a flash of rage for his fear, which causes him to punch the maid in the face. Except that the maid deftly dodges and in a few indistinguishably swift strokes cut his tendons in all his limbs. He dies under her indifferent gaze, with which she skinned his face.

Waking up in bed again and the same scenario, only now she breaks his spine and slowly squeezes his eyes and then his brain through his eye sockets.

Time after time, scenario after scenario, he dies at the hands of his victim. Toward the end, he resists his sadistic urges and impulses, so I have to force him to follow the script. The energy expenditure increases a little, but the lesson is learned even more strongly.

After I finally give him a dreamless sleep, I am absolutely certain that he will not lay a finger on this beauty (she is indeed beautiful), even if he is threatened with death.

The Head of a large estate, standing literally in the best part of the commercial district, was the widow of a very successful businessman. After her husband's death, this woman quietly took over the reins of the mercantile business and kept it going. Had it not been for her background, she might have moved even into the nobility's neighborhood. Even now she could if she paid enough money.

She was sorry for the money, so she did not move, preferring to develop the business left by her unloved but loyal spouse. As already said, successfully, so that the maintenance of servants was not burdensome for her. The servants themselves, however, she only persecuted in this way, despite the quite decent pay for their labors.

It was a special torment for one of her assistants, the adopted son of her husband's dead brother. There was no reason to throw him out, for he worked well, and he knew his way around the books. But he annoyed her. First of all, his puppy love for a beautiful forty-year-old widow. Suffice it to say that she was endlessly irritated by his feelings, which made her feel free to humiliate and trample on the poor man. For her to be able at any moment to vent her anger and irritation on an innocent but pre-agreed to everything victim was almost invaluable. It was comforting, you know, which, with the most brutal under*satisfaction and complete immersion in the work, greatly increased the morale and mood of the tired trader.

She paid well, though - by the fact of a job well done. And for sure her helper would have left after another moral flogging, and even publicly. Well, it is not the way of the local men to put up with such a treatment! And even falling in love will not help. Except that the young idiot himself liked to suffer humiliation at her hands, even if he didn't realize it himself.

This masochistic tango on the rake would have gone on and on if my inner troll had not decided to solve this situation. One way or another, it will be solved now, I guarantee it.

The first thing I did was to get into the dreams of this "milf of his dreams," and then I began to create individual dreams and scenarios. The work was meticulous, far more complicated than in the case of the sadist guard. And the scenarios themselves were much longer and more complex, requiring perfect control and concentration.

Every dream began the same way - she was once again reprimanding her eternal victim for another screw-up (his or someone else's, it didn't matter). He behaved, as usual, staring faithfully into her eyes and begging forgiveness. And then suddenly he said some gibberish, quite irrelevant to the topic of conversation ("raspberry jam, for blue wine" - I made it up myself). But only, instead of going over the speaker's intellect again, the dream abruptly changed the subject.

The woman, who had lost control, was having all the fun with the guy and pleasuring him, while still scolding him for his faults and mistakes. At the same time, everything seemed obvious and understandable to her in her dream, as if it were just the right thing to do. The only thing that didn't change was the phrase the boy had said - and only him - and the fact that they were alone at the time.

The code phrase and she rides him in a horsewoman's pose, slapping him now and then. For allowing himself to stare at her bouncing breasts, which are by no means to be groped, because "I am a decent woman, what do you allow yourself."

A code phrase and the saleswoman gives him a blowjob, combined with tit-fucking, occasionally letting his cock out of her mouth and not stopping to crucify the poor man in every possible way. And god forbid if he loses focus.

After one more phrase, she pulls down her dress and lies down on the table with her breasts, demanding that he take her from behind, without interrupting his report on the expenses of bribing the guards.

And after the next one, she rests her face on the expensive carpet, getting her ass as high as possible. This time she gives out important tasks and explains where and on what to spend the money intended for the purchase of goods.

Another scene in which she gives the lovesick idiot a quick blowjob in the closet then proceeds to discuss the prospects of another deal as if nothing had happened.

The trigger now has her feet fondling the poor man sitting at the desk with her and sorting out documents, she literally growling at him if he's distracted from his work.

Or now, when she sits on his lap in the same situation and fidgets on him with her very pleasant and voluminous, despite her age, ass, to the complete satisfaction of the young growing body.

And all the time, every time, every scenario brought pleasure to the businesswoman. The kind she had never had in her life, literally driving her into a frenzy. The result is quite obvious - with a high probability, even in reality, the repetition of the trigger will cause the same reaction as in the dream.

Moreover, in the morning the woman will not remember her dream adventures, waking up with no memory of the dream, but with the clear conviction that she had a good night's sleep and that she had a great time. Not suspecting anything until the behavioral bomb was activated.

In the case of complete success, she is not even aware of what is happening, considering the action of the trigger to be her own decision, not the least bit strange and even normal. It is not worth even thinking about, let alone questioning itself about its naturalness. And over time, the attitude toward the hopelessly lovesick helper will improve. Just by regular and pleasurable sex for her, after which they may even play a new wedding. And that she is older, so let the guy work better to earn rejuvenation from healers!

For the poor lovesick man, I showed the same dreams, only with a slightly different effect on his perception, and I did not overwrite his memory. The best he could do was to reflexively repeat that phrase every time his sweetheart started to get on his nerves.

Aren't I a goddamn cupid?

I don't know if cupids are green. Maybe I am the first representative of a new kind of messenger of Love itself! If I had a body now, I would have laughed like a horse, but now I just look at the entertaining couple that I managed to put in the same dream, and quietly rejoice in my success. I can bet that in reality, I have a new class skill upgrade waiting for me.

Good deeds, however, are rewarded!

Was I ashamed of what I had done to the local shark of capitalism? Not really, to be honest. First of all, she owed a lot to her assistant, because she consciously took advantage of his feelings to amuse her ego and calm her nerves. Where else will find a completely loyal employee, which can be accessed to any documents and contracts, while ready to break down for her and put up with all her shenanigans? That's right, nowhere.

And finally, if she had any internal aversion to this outcome, I would have sensed it, even if it was easily overcome. But she was leading the sentient dreams almost by herself, subconsciously really wanting to fuck the young fool properly. If she hadn't been such an aggressive bitch, fixated on the trade, he could have gotten her into bed himself, without the troll-cupid involved.

Now the main thing is that this masochistic hero-lover doesn't go nuts when he gets power over his boss. However, he seems to be a decent man, and his feelings are quite sincere.

Damn, I need to wake up and laugh quietly, because I'm already losing my concentration!

I woke up at the very dawn, with a third of my total reserve, a slight headache, and the pleasant exhaustion in the body that happens after a long exercise and a good run. Only not physically, but energetically. I should do it more often, to develop my skills and learn new tricks.

There was a skill upgrade dangling in the logs, which I was quite pleased with. It was not unexpected, though, because even during my night work I realized that I had stepped up to a new level of ability. So I read the new system massage without much surprise.

Sent a dream: 3/5

Allows you to instantly put yourself into a dream, as well as clearly understand the boundaries of reality and dream; allows you to easily enter the dream of an intelligent being located near you, if it is asleep; allows you to collect information from other people's dreams; allows you to know the nature and thoughts of sleeping beings; With a sufficient application of power, it allows you to seize control over another's dream and keep the sleeper in the dream world without letting him awaken; it allows you to limit your influence on the sleeper's subconscious by inserting the necessary ideas and behavioral matrices; it allows you to create shared dreams for several sleepers with the application of power.

And then I looked at my stats, which had also grown considerably overnight. Or rather, one particular characteristic - Dreams, but a class characteristic.

Characteristics (standard):

Strength: 70

Dexterity: 115

Endurance: 80

Perception: 86

Concentration: 100

Energy: 114

Characteristics (class):

Shadow: 53

Dreams: 26

Inspiration: 7

Characteristics are very, very good, especially the class feature with Dreams, which makes it a lot easier to work with dreams and penetrate those dreams. And, in general, everything related to dreams! It's not for nothing that this characteristic is a class characteristic!

The dreamwalker class itself... Well, what can I say?

I had realized before how dangerous and treacherous this class could be, but now I was only convinced of my assumptions. At the beginning of my adventures, I had assumed that this branch of development would be analogous to combat magic. To my surprise, it was the Shadow class that was the combat branch, but the Dreamwalker class was the perfect tool for stealthy influence and terror. That's why it was given to me during my class selection: so that I could not only fight and hide but also influence the course of events without showing my face in the battle zone.

From this point of view, I should throw all my energies into grinding this class. So that I wouldn't have to leave the comfort of my own home at all, killing my enemies in their dreams or pitting them against each other.

Nasty class.

Wicked, that's probably the right word.

The shadows became really dangerous towards the end of the first skill rank, but I don't like the dreams already. And then there was that encounter with the lame old man's lingering nightmare, which seemed almost alive to me. And knowing the shitty nature of this fucking world, the possibility of encountering the same shit in the depths of my own and others' dreams as I do in the depths of the Shadow seems obscenely high. It's not for nothing that they added a reference to the power over "reflections," whatever they mean and whatever they are, to my class name as well.

Do I have to cover the mirrors with rags so nothing can get through?

But that's just me panicking because right now it's more important to get out of the hospitable house. I'd like to eat in an inn, at least, and then I could look for a normal brothel. I don't feel much discomfort after a night's work (no body, no problem), but I don't see the point in giving up on my decisions and desires.

But breakfast first, entertainment later!

This time I chose a different, more expensive inn. The method of choice, however, was the same as last time - where it smells good, there we eat. I ordered everything and more, but again without a drink because I was too afraid of not being able to help myself and get drunk to the point of piggish shrieking. And I didn't want to do that in an unfamiliar town.

I paid one and a half pieces of silver for my meal, and the waitress (who is also pretty, by the way) looked at me alone in a strange way. Naive! My credo in life is to nibble on even the inedible! And certainly, with my endurance and the body's expenditures in restoring reserve, I can still eat more than that. Well, in theory.

The cliché didn't work again. I was disappointed because I didn't see any adventures, not even a little pub brawl! Should I go look for a worse tavern? To be sure to find trouble on my own head?

Or better yet, I could rent a room somewhere in a decent part of town and work with my ingredient collection there. I have accumulated quite a few reagents myself, and I have a suspicion that some of the herbs extracted from the marshes are worth more than their weight in gold. I could sell them, but I would either be robbed or even killed and buried. And where should I bury them afterward, such a clever people?

I met my eyes with the patrol coming my way, and then calmly walked toward them, not even showing excitement. The sergeant, who looked at me indifferently, apparently did not find anything to pick on, so he met my question without negativity.

"Greetings. I come to you with a question, as people who know the town well." I don't even know its name, by the way. "Can I ask you a question?"

"А-ah?" My attempt to be polite seems to have confused the poor man. "Well, you can. Go ahead."

The other guards only glanced at me tiredly, not even trying to demand a bribe or rob me surreptitiously. Either they're scared, or I don't look like a worthy victim.

"I had to stay here for a while, and I'd like to ask you about inns that are not too expensive and have good food and comfortable rooms. It is desirable that there is no fear of bedbugs and lice."

"Lame Donkey, two streets down and to the right." The soldier answered smoothly, seeming to have calmed down a bit. "There's his sign, you can't miss it. Good evening."

Did he take me for some kind of inspector? He was too nervous when we talked. I would have suspected him of possessing a status-reading skill (and then I would have killed him), but my gut was silent about it, so he must have mistaken me for someone else.

The place I was recommended was a bit more expensive than the "inexpensive" place, but the food was really good, and the rooms were... acceptable. The lock is such that I would have broken it open even with my bare hands, but it was, at least.

The room itself cost quite a tolerable amount, and its price also included breakfast and supper, but no dinner. A bed, a small table, a chair, rough sheets, and a blanket. The mattress was stuffed with grass, not feathers, but still bearable. I didn't need the mansion.

Yet.

"Can I get you anything else?" The maid looked at me with a distinctly suggestive look, and not without interest. I wondered if she was more interested in me than in the contents of my purse, but I had a feeling it was about the same.

I'm not that good-looking, but I'm more of an average guy. The only thing that makes me stand out is my clean body, which, thanks to the shadows, is easy to get rid of all kinds of dirt.

I looked at the girl with an appraising glance. She's not much of a beauty queen, but she's a solid four out of five. Actually, it's a ridiculous situation, really. It's hard to get into a good, proper brothel, where you don't have to worry about "gifts". The only noble establishment in an affluent neighborhood looks more like an invitation-only elite club than a brothel. No, if I come all dressed up and just throw my huge and thick purse on the counter of the madam (you are thinking about something else now, right?), then I will also be received with all due respect. But then they will ask me "what neighborhood I am from," because everyone knows everyone. And if I had successfully robbed some rich Pinocchio before that, then I, such a suspicious one, would be turned in with a high guarantee.

The brothels were also in the middle price range, so to speak, but I didn't want to go there anymore. It was my sudden squeamishness or my intuition, but I didn't want to go if you had to shoot me with a grenade launcher!

The option of using the ring, or repeating what I'd done with the trader whose name I'd never learned, was perfectly acceptable, but... It wasn't even about morality, which I don't care about. What fucking morals? I come from fucking 4chan! Except I won't have any respect for myself after that stunt! So I can't even pick up a whore (let alone a normal girl) on my own, without any magic or shit?

In short, it wasn't inspiring either.

No, if some chick tried to kill me or at least rob me, it would be quite an interesting option, but, as it turned out, there were no such badasses. Except to walk through the trashy neighborhoods, and see if I meet anyone other than evil and smelly men who work unrighteous jobs.

"Let's start with a barrel of hot water, and then we'll think about it together, okay?" I make my smile as disarming as possible, and then I watch the girl's similar smile.

A five... out of a hundred, but that was enough, yes.

She left after dawn, though I'm sure she was originally going to get laid and run away quickly. Alas, high endurance may not make you a hero-lover, but it does add a lot of stamina. Including in bed, in which I have exhausted the poor girl a little.

The girl was, to be honest, quite a match for me. She had a nice figure, white breasts about a size B+, a nice, good ass, and general cheerful energy. The young lady is the kind of girl that bachelors always want to get acquainted with, and they don't want to get involved with if it's a serious relationship. In short, the young lady just liked to get laid, especially if she could also get paid for it. She did not, however, stoop to overt and blatant prostitution, choosing only those she liked.

She seemed to be able to charge me for the night, but I could see that she was a little uncomfortable - at first, she babbled, and then she was so fond that it was even embarrassing. I didn't wait for a hint, but just silently pointed to the pocket of her outfit. She was surprised to find a dozen silver coins in her pocket (very generous of me, no funny stuff), and she smiled as silently and contentedly as she did, and went out the door.

Such a dialogue we had without words!

The sun had long since risen, and I had time to go out for breakfast and wandered around the city. I had no idea what I was doing, no sense of purpose. Of course, I needed to rest, but it was time to do something. I had already eaten in the taverns, relieved the tension, though not in a brothel (somehow I have no luck with them), and it's time to finish with the entertainment. Start developing Dreams in earnest, rather than wasting money on obscure things.

And now, sitting in some deserted alleyway, chewing a still hot cherry pie, which I bought a dozen of, all I can do is sigh longingly and ask the universe the eternal questions to which it never succeeds in getting answers.

Who am I?

Why am I here?

Where are my bells... I mean, where are my heroic adventures?

It's not that I'm so eager to engage, but the current situation is causing a kind of crisis in my soul, one might even say that this crisis is existential.

By classics eternal question is: "Who's guilty?" and What to do?"

Except, despite all kinds of crises and other bullshit I've made up on the fly, I shouldn't be pulling fate's whiskers and demanding adventures for myself. Because they might fucking appear!

In a jiffy, the alley was filled with three muddy guys in hooded cloaks (in clear weather!), followed by a dozen high-ranking guards. And by high-levels I mean the very cool fifteenth or twentieth, led by the trio of twenty-five-plus.

And then something very strange happened as if the world split in two for a few seconds. It wasn't split, but two sets of memories appeared in my head at once. In one of them, the fleeing trio remained in place, huddled in a corner, completely frozen and seemingly not even breathing. In the second, they jogged sharply past me and disappeared to the opposite end of the alley, dodging several thrown attacks and even one classic fireball.

The guards (if they were really guards) ran after the latter, while the real ones remained motionless in the corner, cloaked in some sort of disguise. The shadows sensed them clearly enough, and the high perception allowed me to discern the fugitives hidden under the spell, albeit with some vagueness.

They have a cool skill, though!

Manipulation of memories, on an extremely high level, and combined with some kind of averting of the eyes! Not bad, especially when you consider my other opponents' lack of "heroic" resistance to brainwashing.

Adventures?

Go to hell, adventures!

I chewed my pie quietly, not even paying attention to the illusion-hidden strangers. No, I could, of course, nobly offer to help them, to keep them company, to share their problems. Blah-blah. But I'd rather have some more downtime than this kind of bullshit. Adventures pass, but pies last forever!

The Truth is unknown to the sacrilegious, and so one of the figures lunged forward, thrusting a dagger at my head. To her credit, it was a hilted blow, so I was going to be quietly knocked out so I wouldn't make a fuss when the disguise was over. If I called the guards and all their efforts would be for naught.

Except I wasn't about to let myself get hit, especially not in the head, whether the blows were lethal or not. I tilted my body slightly to the side, shoved the rest of the pie into my mouth and clenched it tightly with my teeth, then intercepted my opponent's rather swift attack, put her hands behind her back, and put her dagger to her neck.

It's because there's no fucking way you're encroaching the pies!

"Who are you! I didn't call you! Get the fuck out of here!" I argue my point of view to my opponent, and all I get in return is a completely stupid look on their face.

https://youtu.be/qn9FkoqYgI4

"Excuse me, what exactly did you want to say?" The question is posed by a sturdy, well-groomed man in his fifties, clutching five throwing needles in his hands.

His appearance, clothing, and mannerisms are like those of the textbook and prim butler from the anecdotes about British lords. Behind him stands a young lad of about sixteen, clutching an obviously ceremonial dagger in his hands until his knuckles are white.

And in my hot embrace was quite a woman, quite a shapely one. She must have thought I was distracted enough to use some skill that made her transparent, like the wind, allowing her to flow through the grip and the dagger blade on her neck.

Actually, I could have let a shadow into the blade, or just stabbed it before the ability was activated. But she didn't try to kill me. So I didn't want to make things worse for no reason. I unclasped my arms, letting my opponent slip away, stand in a fighting stance beside the butler, and give me the hunted, angry look of a murderous ferret. She's beautiful, isn't she? Dark skin, slightly slanted eyes, and slightly pointed ears. She wasn't Elf, but she must have a bit of their blood.

"Perhaps you could tell me what your demands are, sire?" As if he hadn't just "distracted" me, the butler asks again.

Yeah, that makes sense. They estimated my speed, as well as the likelihood that they could eliminate me silently. And noise is death to them. So they're waiting for my reaction and the quoted fee for silence.

Except I'm getting inadequate again.

I chew the rest of my pie and indignantly ask this company: "Are you (bleep) out of your (bleep) mind? What fucking demands? I was sitting here eating goddamn pies until you showed up intending to introduce my skull to the handle of some goddamn iron! Now you're asking me what I want? I just want you to get the fuck away from me!"

Was it just an impression, or were these guys a bit embarrassed?

* * *