Chapter 19

* * *

Came in.

Made it.

And left.

That's how it would be...

... If only I were smart enough not to look for trouble on my own, as long as they didn't hurry to fall on my head. One of these days I'm going to get in a lot of trouble, I can tell you for sure. I felt as if I had a big awl in the back of my mind that would start twisting my caution on its base if the prospect of fun coming up.

During the operation I was in a state of wild tension, expecting at any moment another nasty thing that would make me save my skin again, chopping everything that moved and cursing loudly. But nothing happened, except the first tavern brawl I encountered. A very, you know, clichéd tavern brawl, but outside the tavern itself. In my humble opinion, moving the epic battle outside the four walls only added colorfulness to the spectacle.

I should have passed it by, but my troll nature kicked in, and I decided to make a small joke. It was at this point that I almost got myself into trouble, only to be pulled out by the same wand of stealth. Anyway, that's not what we're talking about now, but a little bit about something else. So, the fight.

The heated and ruthless battle involved two large groups and loners who did not affect the overall statistics. The squads of brave warriors were represented by heavily intoxicated hunters and artisans, steadfastly holding back the attacks of generally drunken guards. Despite the numerical superiority of non-combatants, the presence of full combat experience and leather armor greatly helped the defenders of the homeland, despite the much higher degree of alcohol in the blood.

Especially bad was some young guy in his twenties, who had had his face smashed into a toothless panda, but had not been given enough kicks to knock him out once and for the rest of the morning. Therefore, the brave warrior got up on trembling legs, and then with a staggering gait went to bring kindness to the masses. He would walk to the next kick, punch, bump, slap, poke, or beer mug that came to his head. To be honest, I felt pity for the guy - such courage and such fighting spirit must be properly rewarded, otherwise, something is deeply wrong with this world.

That's when I started to act.

Now, of course, I realize that I was stupid, but on the other hand, I managed to get a lot out of my idiocy, so I'm even a little at a loss as to how I feel about my behavior.

Let us back up, however, to the story.

At first, I wished for a trivial wrap of my shadow around the boy under his clothes, which should have allowed me to control his body as if it were a game character. Any hussars who wished to make a rainbow-colored joke could go to hell, for I was not myself.

I was even beginning to get something, at least enough to block the blows received by the future hero of the whole village, but no more. And the control was out of the question - the weak pumping did not allow me to overpower the reflex resistance of a man who did not shit himself out of fear only because he had a couple of drops of blood in his alcohol. To pump more energy was a murder attempt, for such a concentration of shadow would surely cripple the poor man, as liquid nitrogen poured down his throat.

After kicking the haphazardly twitching body for a while, the two guards tossed him into some cellar, where they left him to regain consciousness. His morning promised to be terribly painful and filled with the shame of defeat. Luckily, a factor of chance in my person intervened, after which we could count the successful transformation of the banal and textbook tavern brawl into a fucking farce.

My attempt to raise the drunkard's body was unsuccessful - I couldn't control such a puppet properly. It wasn't even that I couldn't gather enough strength because the drunkard's body was tired, it was the lack of skill. Then I let go of the shadow in anger, making it normal and flat, and then on bare instinct I put in a good quarter of my reserve, but not by squeezing the world, turning the shadow into a hungry breach, but as if pulling it to my position.

It was like an icy needle was sticking in my head, drilling into my not-so-smart brain, making me think that I was even dumber than Ygra at times. And then it was as if I began to feel this particular shadow... a different kind of feeling. It wasn't the usual sense of control and volume that shadow blades, whips, and other forms bestowed on me. Nor was it a full-fledged Shadow, possessing its own mind and evil will, hungry and thirsty. I could feel the thing being grabbed as if it were a piece of wispy, easy-to-tear fabric, something unspeakably thin, like a spider web wrapped around my arm.

Again my instincts kicked in, helping me where my brain failed. I reached for the shadow again and simply wrapped it around me, covering myself with it, feeling that my every movement could suddenly tear the thing off, tear it to shreds, and bring it back to where it had been taken from.

Rejecting the new sensations, I open my status and see a new message indicating that I have taken the first point in a long-forgotten ability. I didn't even remember it, because the usual shadow steps, whose grinding I preferred to do, were enough for a constant spend of the reserve. The system message almost made me howl in despair and punch my face in the face with an enormous, Canadian sequoia-like facepalm. If only I had known about these prospects of use, I would have just put a spare point in it, without the slightest regret for the lost stock.

Stealing of the Shadow: 1/7

Allows, with a significant waste of reserve, to take someone else's shadow, thereby taking the form of the stolen one; with high concentration allows you to pass off someone else's shadow as your own, deceiving weak status assessment abilities; with a sudden movement, the stolen shadow can unfold; with excessive use of shadow manipulation, the shadow can unfold; under the influence of enemy skills, the shadow is likely to unfold.

That's a lot of text, considering how little information was given at the first rank of other abilities. The bad thing is that, in this case, most of what's written is solely about the weaknesses of my disguise. But damn it, Carl! I have a normal disguise! Even before I came out of the goblin woods, I had one! I didn't know what the hell I was doing when I could have just put on a disguise and not bothered with the whole status-reading thing. Now I knew exactly what I was going to be grinding for in the near future, not giving a damn about anything else.

Perhaps I should also thank the poor and battered fighter, who helped me to acquire such a useful tool. For example, by giving him a reputation and taking revenge on the guards who had beaten him (and a couple of "comrades" had kicked him, too). This cannot be forgiven, there is no way to forgive it.

Carefully, trying not to damage the cobwebs of the alien appearance I was wearing, I descended from the roof and climbed into the nearest window. The owner of the room is also busy watching the fight (just looking out another window). I slowly walk over to the water barrel, where I see my reflection. Or rather, not my reflection at all.

A smashed face, battered teeth, bruised eyes and a mangled nose, a swollen and puffy face... Yeah, my donor had fought a hell of a war. I was a lot more worried, though, because the reflection was not completely static. Now and then, it would let in some interference, and then my real face would look out of it. A flash of intuition drives another nail into my already migraine-crippled head, making me realize that such interference is only seen in reflections. An undocumented weakness of my ability. Just as the undescribed power of my teleport allows me to discard the effects of all sorts of brainiac things, shadow stealing doesn't completely hide reflections. Or rather, only at the initial level, and then it will be much cooler, even without clairvoyance I have no doubt.

I went back into hiding again, without exposing myself to the owner of the room, who was passionately commenting on the fight. I climbed out of the window and crept toward the same closet where the beaten and defeated owner of my appearance now lay. It's time for a rumble!

After all, I had to take part in an inn brawl, like a decent isekai, didn't I? And it must be so that it would be remembered for years, if not generations, by the regulars of that tavern!

I sneaked into the closet and covered my double with some bales and baskets that were stored there. I saw to it that he did not suffocate under their weight. It was crucial to my plan that my deception not be discovered by any living soul. Having finished my preparations, I crunched my knuckles, then removed the stealth effect and stepped outside, flashing my injuries like a sparking transformer box.

It's time for heroic deeds.

"Hey, bitches!" I'm trying hard to imitate the absence of half of my teeth. "It's time to fuck you up!"

Alas, the crowd paid almost no attention to my appearance. Or even almost none at all. The guards had already put most of their opponents to rest, and almost without loss of their own, and they paid no attention to the degenerate who had risen to his feet in some incomprehensible way. A big mistake.

I approach the outermost guard, who is already stretching his fists, glaring unkindly at me. I can't act at full speed, just for fear of blowing the damn cloak, but even my artificially low speed doesn't prevent my reaction and perception from preparing a picture of the battle in advance. And I can still move much faster than my opponents, even with such a sudden handicap.

I dodge a blow to the ear, and then hit my opponent in the chin with my forehead, somehow managing to reduce the force of the attack and not kill the guard, limiting myself to a fractured jaw. It's all right, the rest of them will be a lot worse off.

The others had finally taken notice of me, attacking me in groups of four, no doubt to avenge their fallen comrades-in-arms. The four of them were also taken down by me. I spent strictly one punch on each of them, though I had to take a few kicks for blocks. With my endurance and strength, it felt like they were just trying to tickle me.

Quite quickly it became clear to those around me that there was a dramatic change in this fight, which threatened their teeth with considerable thinning. I had no choice but to play the part, continuing the one-actor theater that I had created with my own efforts.

"You can't stop me, mortals!" And hit with hands, feet, head, elbows, knees, and once even my own ass in a fall with a twist.

Fighting in this state was hellishly difficult - too powerful a blow to me could tear the canopy stretched over me, as could my own attacks. But my opponents, unlike the good me, were not about to restrain their talents. And they didn't come up one at a time, either, trying to pile on, topple me to the ground, and stomp me to the ground.I had to maneuver desperately, to keep myself from being surrounded, to demonstrate Matrix-style evasions, and at the same time to keep my disguise on, not forgetting to insert the next "humorous" shout. The last one, I think, was the most difficult.

"Beat him up, boys!"

Dodge, arch my back, and slap him in the face on the backswing. A slap isn't a fist to the eye, but it's even better with my performance. I watch distractedly as a few teeth fly out of the knocked-out man's mouth, and then have to block several attacks from his colleagues.

"He's fucking crazy, man!"

I grab the jerk by the arm and, after giving him a kick in the butt, force him to make a little pile-up with two other comrades eager to scratch their limbs against me.

"Why did you pour for this fa**ot?"

You'll answer for that faggot, you scumbag!

I bend sharply and, in one motion, tear a boot off the just knocked out, fat man, and throw it into the forehead of the talkative observer. Why the fuck is he standing there, calling names, but not getting into the fight himself? I don't know about the concussion, but the bump on his forehead is just gorgeous, as is the footprint on his face. Well, when he regains consciousness, he'll find it.

"Ahhhhhhhhhh!!! Bitch, it hurts so bad, **** *** ***** ***** ***** *****!!!

And what did you want, my dear, when you reached for your knife, eh? Here you are, darling, a dislocated limb fracture, and be glad it wasn't your neck. It's just that I'm under a pseudonym today, so I can't comfort the likes of you forever.

I tossed up some flowerpot that stood near the entrance to the tavern (someone's pet cactus, maybe?), and then kicked it in the direction of someone's head. I overextended myself, however, barely keeping the image on me. I had to retreat briefly under the enemy's onslaught, so as not to ruin the whole show.

"What the fuck are you doing? It's a pot, not a fucking ball!" The highest-ranking dude, almost two meters tall and, oddly enough, almost sober, commented.

"Sport is life!" I responded to his complaint and kicked him in the muscles of his supporting leg, causing him to cramp up, then finished him off with an open palm to the forehead. It sounded like I had struck a bell!

Actually, my style now resembled that of a drunken master. Both for camouflage purposes and because the unpredictable and drunken movements helped me avoid the encirclement. And my speed against this background is not so noticeable, because those around me think that I just dodged due to the sudden change of direction, not because of the superiority in stats. In reality, I only pretend to have this style, and my elusiveness and invulnerability are the results of my perfect coordination, allowing me to control every blow down to the millimeter.

After a few minutes, as my antics drew more spectators, half of whom were cheering me on and the other half encouraging the attackers to kick my drunken face even more, the opponents simply ran out.

Then the new, sober guards, who did not like my treatment of their brethren in beer mugs, stepped in. And from the point of view of the law, they would have been better off if they had calmed down a man who was a violent and unaccountable man and who might have been a serious danger. He had beaten up a lot of people, which is impossible for an underclassman.

No shouts of "surrender," just the senior guard, who had a whole sixteenth level, sharply applied the dash skill, about to hit me in the head with the shaft of his halberd. It wasn't the speed that saved me, which I couldn't use to the fullest, but the shadow sphere that allowed me to prepare for the attack, and the same coordination that gave me the opportunity to do the number.

At the moment of the attack, I almost fell, but I managed to miss the shaft above my head, and then grabbed it and snatched it out of the guard's hands sharply. And then quickly turned in the opposite direction, "not noticing" how I slammed the respectable man in the forehead with his own weapon, reliably turning the poor guy off. I had a feeling this day would be remembered for a very long time.

"Ick! Who the hell are you? I didn't call you! Get the fuck out of here!" I suggest you guys settle up peacefully.

I'm not kidding, by the way, about the peace. There's a good chance that I won't be able to defeat so many armed opponents without removing my disguise. And I can't take it off, otherwise, it's unsporting!

"Josef, you stupid head, what have you been drinking?" He asked, apparently, some acquaintance of my double, and then added in a much quieter voice, but still audible to everyone. "I want some, too..."

"What the hell, **** **** and your **** and her ***** ***** ***** ***** for three *******, I want!" Apparently, the deputy of the knocked-out supervisor intervened. "Josef, you better not fuckin' bring it on, or I won't fuckin' guarantee anything!

Alas, it would be foolish to go to the jail now. What if they find the original asleep? So I just hiccuped, almost fell to my feet, leaning on my halberd and leaning my face against the shaft, and then I said I didn't agree.

"Spice must flow!"

I fought like a lion! I didn't surrender to the last man, far better than Varyag! I kicked like Jackie Chan's bastard child and Chuck Noris' favorite granddaughter! But at some point, after half a dozen guards knocked out, I realized that either I had to run away, dropping my disguise, or let myself be catched, or I would have to maim and kill my opponents. With the restrictions imposed on me, neither reaction nor perception helped, nor the occasional use of shadows that caused enemies to stumble. There were up to fifty of them! Looks like all the guards of the village and a handful of other men who came to their aid.

In the end, the whole community just piled on top of me, literally burying me under a pile of guards who were completely freaked out by what was going on. I could have continued my pranks, but I suddenly remembered there was such a thing as brains and decided, purely for fun, to use it.

My brain said something suspiciously resembling "Get out!" and then sent me off to pick up some flowers. I, in turn, sent my brain to the same place, and immediately used shadow motion, spending a fair amount of my reserves to crawl under the ground and crawl out of the pile of yelling guards. Who, by the way, didn't stop punching and kicking "me".

I spit on all the business and risks, and just settled into the same position as before, watching this fun activity. The kicking and punching each other went on for about twenty minutes until the pile gradually began to dissolve. Everyone froze, awaiting the arrival of the hero of the occasion... and almost started a knife fight when they realized that all this time they were just beating each other up. I, to be honest, almost fell off the roof with wild laughter. And no, I wasn't worried about my secrecy - I couldn't shout down the roar and noise that was going on in the open space in front of the tavern.

Finally, the guards came to some conclusions, after which they began their search for me. Naturally, they found "me" exactly where they had left me - in that very room. But they couldn't get answers from the inadequate, beaten, and clueless man. As a result of a short but heated argument, they chained him in specially brought and seemingly even enchanted shackles, tied him with a rope, almost turned him into some kind of doll, sprinkled some powder, and even invited two priests to scan him with something. They didn't find anything suspicious, so they dragged the new star with all due honor to the jail. And with such a guard as if an elite high-ranking guard had been arrested.

I feel the man's morning is going to be very colorful.

What else can I say?

Well, oops...

On the way out of the village, I never stopped giggling stupidly and maliciously. I was laughing and giggling again and again on the way back. Even Ygra began to look at me with undercurrents of concern. Well, let her! But I was getting very close to turning green myself, much more so than the ogre.

All the way to the nearest relatively large border town, where there was a constant influx of new people and plenty of openings for a promising alchemist, we spent the whole trip in a cheerful and upbeat atmosphere. Even my pet's stupidity was no longer annoying, which is saying a lot.

Our speed was very high: we were going as fast as if we were riding damn horses, and we were accelerating them almost to the max. This was certainly to our advantage, though it was annoying. And while the ogre, with her endurance, didn't give a damn if it was just food, I was slowly getting tired. When, after a few days, we were near the border town, I was a little relieved.

Then I went to sleep.

Lately, I've managed to train Ygra a little, despite the constant fatigue and the regular waste of reserve to work with the new ability. But, I admit, it was the new branch of shadow class development that occupied all my time and energy, as the most promising opportunity to mimic my surroundings.

Stealing a shadow allowed a lot even at the first level, even if it limited the combat capabilities of the one who used it. It was possible to steal almost any shadow, not only a living creature. And pulling on shadows from inanimate objects, like rocks, was the easiest thing to do. The disguise was not ideal, for the same Ygra found me rather quickly, even if not immediately. But when I used the stealing in conjunction with stealth, it was a funny synergy. The poor ogre searched all over for me, but couldn't find me.

It was a little more difficult to pretend to be all sorts of trees and animals. First of all, because the shape of the object was too different from mine. When I was standing still, I could still pretend to be a deer or a young oak tree, but when I moved, alas, I quickly lost the illusion. Separately, too large shadows, as well as too small ones, were much harder to hold, to the point of being completely impossible. Also as expected.

Ygra herself clearly enjoyed this fun game, which made her happy as a child, twisting my brains out with the sight of a huge and extremely happy green woman.

A few brief checks on my endurance, by the way, showed that the effect of her sticking ability... didn't weaken, but rather began to gain effect at a much slower rate. I would have spent another evening testing my endurance again, but I was too tired after mastering the disguise skill and was afraid of not being able to hold myself together.

The only thing I could do with dreams was to make the sleep and shutdown trigger a little more complicated so that I wouldn't accidentally blurt them out in conversation. It was a lot harder than setting them from scratch, but it helped that the path to my ward's dreams was already paved, and she was used to this kind of training herself. On that note, I considered my duty in practicing dreamwalking done and turned back to the shadows.

I hadn't forgotten about the alchemy, but the lack of reagents made it impossible to do it properly. I was having a lot of trouble gathering it because I told you about the speed at which we were moving. I was able to find something, of course, but it was just crumbs. A few flowers, the claws of some randomly nailed monster, a few roots, that sort of thing.

Despite my best efforts, I couldn't get a new rank in stealing shadows. I've probably very clearly outlined the possibilities of the first rank, somewhat reduced the huge energy consumption, and terrible limitations on all my stats, but I haven't changed anything basically. It's not all in the bag, not all munchkins get a free boost.

I think if I decide to practice on the shadows that belong to sentient beings, then my chances of development will increase. But that will be after I get to the town. Which I might not get into tomorrow.

It makes no sense to leave my green wonder next to the gate. It would be much better to go around the city, to leave the ogre in uncharted territory. Yes, she could easily run into some adventurers there, I couldn't argue with that. But there's more prey there, and she seems to have learned her lesson about not killing people just out of hunger.

We will survive.

And if not, we'll run away.

The city was noticeably larger than Ostmark, and the quality of population and infrastructure was much better. The sturdy stone walls were much thicker and taller than those of Ostmark, but that was not the main reason for the excitement, but the more powerful and thorough enchantment that shrouded not only the walls but several meters above them as well.

The guards at the gate were all of a class, and their equipment didn't seem like junk that had been centuries old, hardly the wind knocking it apart. The gate wasn't exactly suggestive, but it was the other side of town. Only humans could come from here, not creatures. On the other side, though, the gate was a structure, clearly designed to withstand all sorts of things.

I sent Ygra to the woods, and I was relatively calm about her condition. She is already a big (in every sense) girl, she can take care of herself and will not get lost in my absence. And it was time for me to do the boring and mundane social stuff, which was getting on my nerves before it had even begun.

It's not a problem for me to get into the city - my stealth, shadow steps, and high stats are enough - but if I really want to settle down in the city, I'd better get tested by the guards. My sense of danger is silent, and my clairvoyance tells me that my skills are more than enough to fool the check. In fact, the checker, at his current level (seventeenth) can only know the race, level, and, with luck, class of the person being checked, as well as the approximate level of threat. That is, exactly approximate: "not dangerous," "dangerous," "very dangerous," and so on. In my case, he will not see even that - I'm higher level. At most a race and no more, because even the level of danger is likely to be hidden. The problem is that the very fact that I cannot be read is enough to get me noticed. Or not, but I don't want to leave it to chance.

There was good news, too. First of all, not everyone is scanned at all. Only the most suspicious and murky ones and the rest are just let through.

My main trump card was my recently discovered ability to steal someone else's shadow without changing my appearance. That is, remaining myself, but deceiving the scanning. That was exactly what I had planned to do when I stole the shadow of one of the men entering the gate.

When it was my turn, I strained all my control over the shadows, but still managed to stabilize the disguise veil as much as possible, exposing it to the scanning skill. It felt like a warm breeze, harmless for the person, but not so much for the cobwebs that wrapped around his body.

Luckily, my skill was enough to fool the tired and obviously fucked up warden into showing him instead of me... here I glance over at the system message box that popped up.

Race: Human

Level: 9

Class: none (city dweller)

Not dangerous.

It was for the "townsfolk" label that I had to choose my target because most of those who wanted to enter the city were peasants, and there weren't many townsfolk at all. I could have dragged the shadow out of the city itself, but I didn't want to see how much of the magic within the walls would be disturbed. I didn't sense any danger, but just in case.

"Three coppers for the pedestrian entrance." The steel-armored guard hummed. "Do not delay."

Turning on the clairvoyance was inappropriate, for I was still wearing a disguise, but who was going to ask me? But I did learn that the guardsman is wildly annoyed by his too hot armor because according to another stupid decree, it is necessary to stand at the gates in ceremonial, not ordinary armor. And the specific skills and abilities to wear heavy armor like a cloth jacket, he did not possess. He was so tired that he didn't even check up on me, though if he had, he'd have found something else to charge me. At least for my briefcase full of all sorts of things, among which was extremely unresolvable. And the kind that would have sent me straight to the mines, or even to the gallows.

I calmly counted out the money, cursing myself for the trouble I was about to cause. I could have guessed that such a collection of exotic and not so exotic poisons and combat cocktails could not be legal. Congratulations, Kostya, you almost screwed up again! I was still going to question the guards, but with such a load I'd better get out of here and pester random passersby.

For a second I was afraid that my compounds would be detected by some kind of scanner system in the gate, but apparently, there were no scanners installed here, because I got inside unhindered and quietly throttled away from the danger zone.

Smile and wave, smile and wave.

"Hey, good man, are you lost, or are you looking for something?" I was asked by a not very law-abiding-looking brat, after half an hour of wandering around the city.

I almost didn't even look at the beauties, creating a three-dimensional map with shadows, so I would know where to run if anything happened. The first order of business was the preparation, the rest later.

"Yes, I'm looking." I obediently agree while I check out the deserted alley I'm in. "I'm looking for a proper inn and the local alchemists' guild. Can you give me a hint, good man?"

It seems dangerous, but my gut doesn't even twitch in response to his presence. The threat level was just too low. I even involuntarily turned off the stealth, so relaxed was I.

"Perfect!" This guy smiles even more cheerfully, showing surprisingly clean speech as for people of his specialty. "How about this: you give me the contents of your pockets, and I'll give you the answers."

"I can ask someone else, too." I turn on the fool only out of interest and reluctance to hit first. Well, and there is a desire to troll too, how can it not be?

"I can take it myself." The unfortunate burglar immediately loses all goodwill.

Instead of the next phrase that almost slipped off my tongue, designed to gradually bring him to a boil, I folded my palm in a boat and thrust my fingertips just below the solar plexus, making him choke on the threats he'd prepared. The images of clairvoyance still flashed in my head, and I silently grabbed the unbalanced bastard and dragged him to the darkest and most unattended corner, and then left the alley fast.

Somewhere behind me, a murderer with a completely ruptured diaphragm was panting slowly and painfully. He can't even take a breath, despite his best efforts, and is gradually losing consciousness, falling into oblivion, from which he will never recover. And the townswoman with the little five-year-old back-stabber, who accidentally took a wrong turn, whom he raped and left to freeze in the cold night, was avenged.

No, he didn't rape the child - he wasn't some kind of monster. He's a normal and honest guy, a street and back alley fighter! He just brushed it off, who knew his head was so fragile?

Fuck!

Clairvoyance, bitch!

At this pace, I risk becoming a misanthrope! How much crap can you pour into my head that is solely and exclusively crap? Can't you give me some positive visions of a children's party?

I wouldn't regret the life or death of the freak, but I'd have a headache for twenty minutes. I want a pie. And make sure it's warm and has a cherry in it.

T.N. No, Kostyk, noooo..

Distracted from my thoughts, I begin to assess the city from a purely aesthetic point of view. And, I must admit, I am extremely satisfied with what I have seen. This place is much livelier than Ostmark. Not better, because there is even more dirt, stench, and shit, but much more crowded and bustling with life. It's really easy to lay low in this city and find shelter. And to surface from that same bottom, re-creating your personality and presenting it to the public, is also much easier. The main thing is not to float upside down, and the rest will follow.

The first word that comes to describe this place is probably "international". Here all the colors of the spectrum are combined amazingly, mixing into a huge puddle of color. I met people of all kinds and colors - [cenored], mulatto, Asian, Caucasian, and who knows what else.

It was as if the sentient ones from all over Alurea had flocked to this haven of adventurers, seeking better fortunes, glory in battle, and higher levels. No doubt the whites were the bulk of the locals, but the bright colors of the outsiders added a great deal of color to the locals.

Well.

My person will not attract attention here.

"You say you know how to create medicine?" In the most disgusting voice, asks the stooped old man behind the registration desk. "Let me see what you can do."

It was me who came to get a place with the local alchemists. As cautious inquiries and overheard conversations showed, it's a very common practice. The local potionists only hire the very best with a lot of contractual clauses, but they allow quite a lot of people to sell their products. Just know to pay a regular tax - a clear amount, not a percentage of profits, by the way. The latter is not surprising, because it is unlikely to prove how much and what that alchemist sold. And this will be a guaranteed coin with the mandatory payment. Well, if the newcomer begins to earn a really great deal, you can always offer to go to a full contract in the guild.

The latter, by the way, is not only extra taxes, but also better quality ingredients, experience exchange, guild laboratories, and guaranteed trouble to anyone who gives you a hard time. Far more often, however, talented newcomers were either enslaved, recruited, or put to death, but coming to success was also a viable option. Especially if one sought influential and somehow adequate patrons beforehand.

"Mm-hmm." I nod. "I can."

"What can I do? He can do it! Show me, come on!" I have a strong feeling that this guy was put here solely to test the nerves of the new candidates. And for mockery's sake. Or maybe it's in the hope that someone will finally kill this asshole.

I silently hand him the two standard healing potions and a couple of pills and antibiotics - my "best," as I try to convince others, work. I almost wince at the sensation of someone else's touch on my skin. Against my will, I cover my hand with a shadow and dissolve the stranger's touch in the cold. There was no poison in it, just too nasty a sensation.

The old man is justifying his class as an alchemist, wielding his equipment, which stands right there next to the counter. I can sense that he's itching to poke at something, but he can't. The formulations are too simple for me, so I'm sure of the quality of the end product. However it may, on the contrary, turn out to be too high quality. I am, after all, cosplaying a talented middle man, not a young genius.

"It's frog shit, but it'll pass." The stooge can barely squeeze it out of himself. "What's the world coming to when people like you have to be given the third rank. Pay the tax and go to registration. That'll be one and a half coins in gold."

The third rank is good. There are only five, but the fifth rank is for simple herbalists and healers who can make, God bless if only a couple of poultices. Such often do not even register, unless as students of someone from the guild. And they charge the very minimum taxes, because they simply have nothing to trade, except for themselves and a couple of neighbors.

The fourth rank is the relatively normal guys who have class and can make marketable potions. The lion's share of local registrants is in the fourth rank. The third rank - these are already very skilled alchemists, able to work in their own laboratory and have the right to arrange it. They are allowed to sell quite serious concoctions if they choose to make them. They are even accepted into the guild, but only on their own recognizance and infrequently.

The second and first ranks are already members of the guild and the elite. I don't know much about them, except that they have a lot of money. The coolest reagents and pieces of monsters are brought to them, and most of the production going to the capital's districts is created by the guild's elite. I myself, if I show all my strength, can get if not the first, then the second rank with a guarantee, but I do not need such attention.

There are very few high-class privateers in the city who are not part of the guild. And they all go by the big shots: the magistrate, the rich traders, the adventurers' guild, and like that. And products either do not trade at all or trade a very small amount - all go into the business almost immediately. That's why they were hired, to provide their people with potions from first-hand.

So the third rank is good.

Everything else, however, is not.

First of all, the guild must register me - that's what I pay them my hard-earned money for. Secondly, the fee for registering myself as a private alchemist with the right to own a laboratory and sell third-class goods is one hundred and twenty-five silver coins. And this schmuck not only doesn't want to run himself but also demands a bribe, without intending to do anything about it.

It's impertinent, but for him, it's quite moderate. I'm nobody yet, and I have no rights, and my joining the guild depends on him. I can, of course, make a scandal, but he has more connections, and I, as I said, remain a nobody. Besides, I'm relatively young (craft classes take levels slower than combat - a kind of safety fee) and a newcomer. It's a sin not to get ripped off.

Or I can go the other way.

"I know the real cost of entry and the duties of a guild registrar," I answer calmly, and even with a touch of pity, which infuriates him even more. "Give me back my stuff, and I'll come back tomorrow to talk to your replacement."

The replacement would probably be just as brazen, but I needed a formal reason for further action. And he gave it to me right away, without even forcing me to cheat or twist. Everyone would be so predictable.

"What stuff, you idiot? You just walked in." And he's got a smile so happy it almost cracks. He doesn't care about the stuff itself. It's not very valuable to him, though he'll get a penny for it. What's more important is the opportunity to humiliate and mock the young upstart who dares to assert some rights. And if he could even bring me to the brink, that would be great - then he could charge me with insult or even assault on a public official.

The rest of my actions were dictated by my diligent rumor-gathering, combined with at least some of my clairvoyance. I may have taken a risk, but I had nothing to lose, and I could have walked away without even bothering. No one would have stopped me, by and large.

"The one I'll go and start selling right now for a penny a bottle." My words cause legitimate surprise because the price of my work is much higher. "After which I will gladly pay all the fines and sob on the guards' shoulders for the fact that, alas, my work has not been assessed as existing. Solely through the efforts of one Patric Cossi."

His name is written directly on a small plaque on the registration board. As practice and another twist of the System showed, I can read perfectly well in the local language - probably a consequence of the fact that I myself am literate (illiterates, obviously, cannot read, excluding system messages and their own status). But about the writing, I'll have to check it out.

However, my interlocutor is not concerned with the System's plays with the perception of written language right now. He's almost bursting with anger at what I told him. Yes, I will be fined a lot, but after the guards deal with the fine and assess the quality of goods, they will ask a specific question to the guild, and the guild will ask him.

No one at the top gives a shit about his machinations, but only as long as they do not escalate to the level of official papers and complaints. No one gives a shit about them either, but if the next redistribution of influence happens, it will be papers like this that will be the reason for the confrontation. In short, they will clamp down on him just for the sake of punishing someone.

No, if he were a big shot, all my tricks, except maybe a dagger in the liver, would be of little use. Except that a big shot wouldn't be put in that position. And since he's standing here, despite his level (fourteenth) and his obvious skills, he has no patrons, or he's not that important to them.

"You'll get yourself in trouble, puppy." That's all he could mutter.

"Should I go?" Still kindly, which makes him even madder, I ask.

"Pay up, come on! And wait." By some miracle, he still restrains himself and his bile.

"Only after I get my copy of the contract," I add maximum friendliness to my voice.

In response, silence and shuffling steps. Grandpa went to prepare the documents. Let him run around, I don't mind. Especially since they have their couriers, just to run to the magistrate and certify such contracts, and then go back. It will have to wait, of course, but I can afford it.

The last three days have been very stressful. During the day there was a constant gathering of information through other people's conversations, which I listened to through the shadows. At night, it was scrolling through other people's dreams, causing a sagging reserve and a headache. I found out, by the way, that I could get into anyone's dreams within a couple of blocks, if not the whole city, but the further away the sleeper was, the more energy I spent on treading the path and further creating dreams. Roaming charges, no less.

In short - I don't mind sitting and snoozing in the visitor's chairs at all. Service, though! On the other hand, there are no visitors here in the early morning, and it must be crowded in the afternoon.

I'm just going to sit here and find out.

It took until lunchtime and then afterward, so I was sure that my assumptions were true - there were a large number of people. Fortunately, it wasn't necessary to have an alchemist to listen to most of the visitors; the usual secretaries were enough. I felt like I was going back to the clinic or the housing department, and not to the fantasy alchemists' guild.

They brought out my certificate of credentials. Everything was as it should be - the wax seal, with some kind of magic marking, a beautiful red cloth bow, and even a certain reverence in the voice. The latter belonged not to the old man, but to the man handing over the diploma. He gave me an apology of sorts, under the hateful stare of the asshole: "Forgive me, sir, but Sir Cossy is in a bad mood today." And a benevolent expression on his face with a completely cold stare.

So if I still try to complain, I have only myself to blame. However, this time the old man overdid it with his rudeness and impudence, otherwise they would not "apologize" for him.

"Yeah, whatever." I agreed, and then, on a hunch, I answered with a phrase that came out of my mouth. "It's just that he's old and tired, and he looks at the young and cocky me and realizes that this youngster still has everything ahead of him. And all he has is age and a registration desk. I can choose how and where I live, and he hasn't for a long time. That's why he's mad."

I smiled straight into the eyes of the hate-filled asshole and walked away, not even fearing a stab in the back. He won't risk it, he's not the type. He won't swear either, because one of the trolls' straightforward speeches made him fucking speechless. At least until tonight. But he will try to fuck me up, which is not good news.

Fuck!

Kostik, you weren't going to get yourself in trouble! So why the fuck does every important milestone in your life turn into some incomprehensible fuck-up?

But his face was worth it.

It absolutely was worth it!

* * *