*****
The awakening was, to put it mildly, not very pleasant. If yesterday everything hurt, now something I didn't even know existed hurt.
Opening my eyes, I realized how tired I was and how little rest I had. I wanted to close my eyes again and forget about everything: goals, problems, undertakings - everything in general. However, a voice in my head decided otherwise and treacherously whispered about the importance of these matters for myself.
Having gotten up with a groan and done my morning warm-up (unexpectedly, it was able to bring me to my senses, albeit not for long), I headed to my patients. Lately I have had plenty of practice, not only on people, but also on representatives of other races.
After examining the fighting trio, I was finally able to breathe out calmly. There were no complications, all three are recovering. Og could have woken up at any moment. Having finished with them I went to breakfast.
In the middle of the meal, a dwarf came out of the tent where the three wounded were. Bloodshot eyes, giant bags under the eyes, tousled hair, a crumpled beard, and drool flowing from the mouth. If I had not examined him literally twenty minutes ago, I would have decided that he had become a dead man.
"Food..." he croaked in a weakened voice, staring at our plates and, with a speed unprecedented for his condition, rushed towards the fire. Taking the lid off the boiling pot with his bare hands, he was not afraid of the heat, and, transfiguring a giant spoon out of thin air, began to devour the food.
I just watched this with giant eyes. My companions reacted to this with truly titanic calm.
After five minutes of gluttony, the pot, cleaned to a shine, fell to the ground with a metallic clang. Having looked at us with a look that was still filled with madness, the dwarf shouted:
- Booze! — I jumped on the spot in surprise. He shouted too loudly.
Then a bottle of something "flammable" flew at him from the side. Following my gaze, I saw Flitwick looking at his comrade with a knowing smile.
Having torn off the cork with his teeth, Og drank half a bottle of strong drink in one gulp.
- Fuah! Good job! — a healthy blush began to appear on the face of the recently ill gnome. There was no more madness in his eyes, but only boundless love for this beautiful world. - How to be born again! I haven't felt this bad for a long time! Since the grand drinking party at Vebra's wedding. Ha-ha-ha, we really got into a row then! - the dwarf said in one breath, and then laughed infectiously.
It seemed that at the end of this production in the theater of utter absurdity, I knew Zen. Nothing can surprise me anymore. I have already seen everything in this world. Even the "resurrection" of a half-dead gnome, who first got drunk, in both senses of the word.
- And how often do you do this? — somehow distantly, as if into emptiness, I asked the elves sitting next to me.
"Often," nodded the Fox. — He often got so drunk that he couldn't even tie his lips...
- Hey! — Og, offended by her statement, was indignant.
- ... but the next day he seems to come to life, after just one bottle. And where do tens of liters of alcohol go? — not paying attention to the gnome's cries, the Fox finished.
- Ha ha ha. It's nothing, little one. You haven't seen Ed and I get drunk yet! —here he fell silent, as if he had just noticed the vampire's absence. Looking around the camp, as well as the surrounding area, the dwarf asked: "By the way, where is the fanged one?" Is he really sleeping?
Having asked this, he immediately fell silent, noticing the shadow that flashed across the faces of everyone present here. Poor Sol. She just started to leave, but when she heard about the vampire again, she ran into her tent in tears. Looking at us guiltily, the Fox left after her.
"You see, Og..." the professor began introducing the gnome into the current situation. I, without listening to the words of the half-goblin, went to my place. I need to look at what's going on with my shells, and with my body at the same time, in more detail.
Having sat down more comfortably, out of habit, I fell inside myself. Looking around, I breathed out a sigh of relief for the umpteenth time today. There were no injuries, only depletion of almost every membrane. Whatever you say, I did my best over the last 24 hours, be healthy. The best thing is for development, but the situation is not so great for a healthy life. And for life in general. Yet development and danger go hand in hand. At least that's the case with magicians.
Coming out of the space of the soul, I leaned my back on the bed. I stretched out my hand in front of me and concentrated.
A moment later, in magical vision, mana began to flow from my body, light blue in color, almost white. It thickened and took the form of a ridiculous looking dragon. One paw is larger than the other, part of the ribs have fused into a single plate, and it's not worth talking about the incomplete set of teeth.
Having examined my creation from different angles, I clenched my fist and scattered this figurine to the wind. Hmm, and this is my attempt to recreate yesterday's dragon. Yes, if someone saw her, they would laugh at me. We need to train more.
Extending both hands this time, I closed my eyes and concentrated again. I'll try something simpler this time.
A light blue glow illuminated my face, shadows danced on the walls of the tent...
*****
The next week was not memorable. Training, meals, and examinations of patients.
Our battle gnome, having heard the full story of our switches, intended to go and save his comrade at that very moment, but as soon as he thought a little more about the current situation, all the battle fuse died down. Not lost, no, but hidden until better times. He had to wash down his grief with alcohol, and eat to boot.
On the third day of our stay in the new camp, Croco also came to his senses. His awakening was not as memorable as the gnome's, but the emotions that I experienced with him will shine in my memory for a long time.
The pain that permeated his body, as well as his friend, the mental pain that followed the story about the kidnapping of a vampire. Sadness, desire for revenge, disappointment, and also pain. I also had to experience this whole cocktail. Who would have thought that our dragonite would take it so hard. True, his emotions were slightly unusual, as if they were directed not at the current situation, but somewhere at another time. To the past. Although it might have seemed like it to me.
The treatment, if you can call it that, proceeded very quickly. Literally a day later, Crowo fully regained consciousness. Just at the same time, the dwarf also came to his senses completely. The effects of exhaustion disappeared, leaving behind only memories.
On the fifth day, two days earlier than expected, the necromancer also came to her senses. On this occasion, Alistair, out of nowhere, got four birds with one stone, and we had a barbecue in the open air, surrounded by the dead. Hmm, but don't judge us. We haven't forgotten about the vampire oh no.
By the way, Susan accepted the news about the vampire's abduction almost neutrally. At first sight. Of course, her emotions said otherwise, but she did not have the same violent reaction as the others.
Having told Crystal about her condition, I expected a lot, but not that she would be back to normal literally the next day. It took me a long time to recover from the shock that had taken over me. By all accounts, she was completely healthy, and the wounds that should have taken several weeks to heal had completely disappeared. As if a month and a half had passed for her, maybe two. But this can't be true, right?..
Today is the seventh day from our move to the new camp. Hmm, I said that as if I was keeping some kind of chronicle. Should I really start keeping a diary? No, I think it will be unnecessary.
The first training in the technique of hiding assassins should begin today. Can not wait.
*****
Me and the professor. One on one. Behind us is the camp. There is nothing around except the ubiquitous snow. The half-goblin is thinking intently about something, and I look at him expectantly.
Finally coming to something in his thoughts, Flitwick created a thin book with a wave of his hand, I would say even a notebook. Brown binding, leather cover. It doesn't look too thick, about twenty sheets, maybe a little more. But what the magical world taught me is not to judge a book by its cover.
"Here," he handed it to me. - Read everything that is written here and say what is not clear.
My skeptical gaze fell on the face of the processor. This is all? Seriously? The Assassins' Secret Technique Put on Paper? These are the emotions I tried to put into my look.
Not giving in to my gaze, the half goblin only glanced sideways at the notebook. Shrugging my shoulders, I took it in my hands and, sitting down where I was standing, the pillow itself appeared under the hood, and began to read.
So, what do we have here? The technique was created by some assassin... Designed to merge with the world... Main method of application: proper circulation of mana... Changing the spectrum of mana... Giving certain properties... Using small channels of mana... Improving control and mana capacity of the body... Complete disappearance from...
Having finished reading, I stared thoughtfully at the cover of the notebook. Not everything is as simple about it as it might seem at first glance. The first thing to understand is that it requires control on an incredible scale, more precisely for the last stage of technology. There are four of them in total. The first is the ability to hide from ordinary people and weak magicians. The second is concealment from most of the magicians, seers, and also the dead. The third is from the grandmasters of seers, specializing in sensory. Well, the fourth is hiding from the sensors of archmages, as well as the Gods. It was the last one that surprised me so much.
Comprehending the first two levels is not something difficult for magicians with decent control. The third level is the prerogative of talented people. Fourth - geniuses
Reading the description of the technique, I wondered. Why is it possible to hide from the dead already at the second level? I found the answer in the same book. The dead, due to their nature, can only feel prana, as well as living Mana, which the intelligent ones produce. At the second level, the assassin completely masks Prana, as well as the Mana emerging from him. On the first there is only prana.
Why are the dead so limited in their sensory abilities? Deformation of their source. Due to the high concentration of death mana, most of the sensitivity is cut off, in exchange for strength, of course.
What is the way to use this technique. As mentioned earlier, control is very important at the first levels, as well as affinity. With the latter, it is much easier for a magician to tune into a certain spectrum of mana. The book mentions the mana of space.
You need to circulate prana along a certain path in the body (at the first level), and also create the spell of the vestment of mystery: "Stolam mysterium". And this is only at the first level, but what about the second, third, and fourth?
"You overestimate me," I finally expressed my opinion to the waiting professor, without lowering my head from the sky. — This technique is very complex, I would say insanely complex. I have never encountered such demands for studying in my life. It will take me at least a few more years to master it. And besides, I still need to reach at least the second level, and I don't consider myself talented in order to achieve results in a week or half a month.
After listening to my statement, a toothy grin appeared on the goblin's face.
"Of course this is difficult for you," he began. — If you study using this "guide," then it will take at least a year, or even more, to achieve any results. But you're lucky, with a teacher it's much easier to comprehend this technique, and I, oh Merlin, what a surprise, I master this technique at the second level," the professor laughed.
— Do you have abilities in space magic? - I ask the professor with bated breath. If this is so, then he one hundred percent noticed my training at this school.
"No," he shook his head negatively. "I was given the opportunity to learn it in similar circumstances, only then the manaphone was filled with the mana of the wind," raising his hand in front of him, the professor created a mini tornado with just one desire. "At that time, I had just reached an apprenticeship in the school of wind," he grinned again at the end.
This is what he was leading to. Perhaps if I had said that everything was clear, he would have been disappointed in me. Still, learning something like this at a glance is quite difficult, especially for an ordinary apprentice.
"Teach me, professor," I asked, bowing my head.
- Fine. Since you are so responsible about this, I will teach you. But just know this," here his grin became more sinister than ever. "I will teach you the same way I was taught." And this is not nearly as easy as you might think. And it's certainly not painless.
So what did I sign up for this time? But there is no turning back. I need this technique both for survival and for development.
"I will not go back on my words," I said confidently, looking into the professor's face.
"Look, he didn't regret his words," the promise of the most sophisticated torture could be read on his face.
Well, okay, where did ours not disappear? Right?
And why am I not confident in my words?