We won. I suppose I should be happy; for instance, I feel pretty good. A wonderful feeling. This is the smell of victory.
I woke up in the morning, stretching in my bed. I realized I had clearly been carried into it from the street. It feels so good, especially after that month with the Rangers! I've learned to appreciate a comfortable and soft bed. So I am sincerely content and grateful for such a good thing, so there.
Of course, I could be accused of selfishness, but… I generally did what I could. The attack, thanks to the triggered mine, was noticed in time. The mines gathered as many trolls as they could. What else could I have done that the Magister couldn't? And by Elven standards, I'm still just a teenager, which means there won't be questions like "why aren't you doing anything" and "isn't it time for children." No, it's not time.
On the contrary, the fact that I was away from the chaos is good.
While I lie here, I remembered yesterday. I'm still trying to feel some kind of negativity from my actions or emotions. But no, I don't feel guilty, and I see no reason to. Perhaps it looks rather selfish, but I actually didn't see much damage. A dead master, nothing more. Well, and a bit of destruction, but there I was more bursting with a sense of power—I wanted it, and bang! Everything froze. In general, maybe it will hit me later when I can't find people I know and realize they're gone. But for now, I feel good and I don't see a problem with it. Maybe it's the elven childhood psyche, I have no idea.
After lounging a bit longer, I decided to look out the window. How wonderful! The sun is shining and warming, elves are walking about. The block of ice is melting on the site of the master's house, spreading waves of cold. The snow has mostly melted already, which is why the streets are incredibly filthy, though elves can often levitate. A faint scent of burnt buildings and cold dampness lingers in the air. But also fresh wood, paint, mortar, the squelching of footsteps, and the rhythmic thumping of tools. Work is underway.
Less than a day has passed, and the village is Recovering. Not all at once, but the streets are being cleared, golems are tidying up, and in some places, buildings are being restored. A loud crash. It seems a house was torn down; they're going to rebuild. Everything is fast, precise, and done with the help of magic. A few more days will pass, and the only reminders of what happened will be the dead and a somewhat thinned population. And nothing else. My mother's voice rang out:
"DaVi, are you awake? You have a visitor!"
"No, Mom, I'll be right there!"
With a smile, I slipped into my dress and flew downstairs—literally flew. My mood is excellent; energy is overflowing. I should eat something and then do something. And see who has come to visit. Not a gram of negativity; I am remarkably stable, or so it seems to me. And I'm still grateful they didn't harness me to clear the aftermath but gently tucked me away to sleep, covering the room with a spell. I appreciate that.
Anyway, I go downstairs to see who the cat dragged in. And there... Venidan. Sitting at the table, back straight, barely moving, as if on parade, slowly eating soup. Looking at the pastries with hidden suffering. It took immense effort not to laugh. But sympathizing was easy, yes. I have a suspicion that soon there will be two of us like this. I don't want to quarrel, so I just waved:
"Oh, hi, what are you doing here?"
Venidan finished chewing, set aside her spoon, nodded, and only then spoke.
"Hello, Midget. I brought herbs for new mines, to replace the ones you wasted on the trolls. They were praised, by the way. Well, your mines. They said quite a few trolls were blown up by them; those who didn't die, many didn't get away. Those mines ruined their escape, in short, which everyone liked very much. And anyway, you didn't think that when the attack started, we didn't move out to help? It's just that by the time we arrived, it was all over," she spread her hands apologetically, "it's a common thing, really. Whoever is first, wins. Speed is everything here."
Is that so? Well, I'm not surprised, actually. It's clear that if the trolls attacked and knew we had a Ranger Patrol camp nearby, they needed to be distracted. And the fact that this grumpy girl is praising me is pleasant. I won't deny it.
"A diversionary maneuver, yeah. And the mines, yes, they're good. I'm a good girl. And who praised them, by the way?"
Venidan glanced at my mother but answered anyway:
"Well, even though our squad was late, we helped a bit with clearing the area, so in the process, we talked with the guards, with your mages. Saw the traces of the explosions. And your people appreciated it too, remembering some 'shitty little war' that happened a couple of months ago. What was that, by the way? Sounds not very cool."
I think I blushed. That act, from the height of experience, looks very stupid and childish. And I don't want to brag about such things. Yet back then, I was completely satisfied with the vengeance achieved. Khem.
"N-n-nothing. Forget it," I urgently needed to change the subject, "luuuisten, do you want to see how the new mines are assembled? With your herbs—thanks, by the way—I can start the machine right now."
Mom nodded (Venidan was eyeing her for some reason, something I missed), and the Rogue exhaled in agreement.
"Yes, that's interesting. I take it you've automated this business?"
I waved my hand toward the stairs.
"Yep. I'll show you now."
Our conversation was interrupted by a stern demand from the direction of the pot:
"Soup first. Breakfast, both of you!"
And a threatening clang of the pot, promising a double portion to dissenters. We both reacted synchronously.
"Yes, Mom."
"Yes, ma'am!"
We looked at each other. And at that moment, a fourth, unfamiliar voice intervened in our conversation:
"If you don't mind, I would also like to take a look at your creation, young lady."
I turned around. On the other side of the window stood a High Elf with sharp cheekbones, a cold gaze from golden eyes of heightened blondness—ashy, even. In a rich robe, with rings on his fingers in purple gloves that made my strings just ripple. A shield surrounded his body, making him less visible in the magical spectrum than in the real one. A Mage, draped in magical items with a capital M.
I was taken aback, struck by the realization of who had come at such an early hour.
"And you are..."
Venidan clearly threw tact to the wind:
"Excuse me, with whom do I have the honor?"
Mom, clearly surprised as well, only managed:
"Hello, Magister."
The elf nodded, but the cold remained in his eyes. He turned to me.
"Greetings, young lady. I am the Magister of this settlement, Aldanos Dawnwalker. I will be brief: I have heard of your successes; they pique my interest. And it seems you have already assembled a machine for assembling golems. I would like to evaluate your creation," and he looks in such a way that a "no" is not expected at all.
Fu... I have a mouth, but I really want to scream. Can't, it's impolite.
***
Two weeks have passed. I sit and intensely strain my brain. It's not working.
The Magister was pleasantly surprised by the machine, and as soon as he saw how the poison is mixed, loaded into the capsule, and a spider-mine is formed from the molds, how a control scroll is inserted, how Arcana hits the golem, and it, already functional, steps off the pedestal, he said:
"I am intrigued. I admit, Lady Davilinia, I expected less. Simple spells combined by an equally simple one into a more complex system, and those into an even more complex one. And all of this works in a single rhythm, without the use of complex control constructs. Simple, at the level of your knowledge. And effective. I like it."
Venidan, who was with us (along with Mom and Dad, who had joined), kept her enthusiasm to herself. But at the very least, Veni was obviously interested, watching the precise and sparse work of the mechanisms like a cat. Mom was definitely proud of me, as was Dad.
I, however, felt compelled to ask:
"But there's nothing particularly complicated here."
The Mage, continuing to watch the assembly process, standing as still as a monument to himself, replied:
"Exactly, young lady. The concept is simple; any apprentice who has performed the Enchantment of a broom could have done something like this. All your fallen colleagues could have. But no one did. Why? Why did you do it, and they did not?"
Because I am a product of a mass-production society and I know what an assembly line is, and how much that device overturned the world. And I know what a robotic machine is too. In general terms, but enough to understand and recreate the principle from memory. But I can't answer an unfamiliar Magister like that, can I? Seriously, it's the first time I've seen him. The very first time! This character buried himself in The Tower and set up a real magical imageboard with other such Hermits! I need to answer differently.
"Because, probably..." I thought, and anyway, why are you all staring at me! I'm embarrassed! "they were quite satisfied with the possibilities that magic provides."
The elf measured me with another cold look.
"And for you, one must assume, that is not enough?"
Ah, the barn's burnt down, might as well burn the house too.
"No, Magister. It is not enough. Perhaps in five hundred years, I will be able to do all this on raw magical potential and willpower alone, but right now, where my magic is insufficient, I discover the world through Mechanics."
My mother's look promised a difficult conversation, but the Magister remained as calm as a boa constrictor. And he even seemed pleased with the answer.
"I see. Perhaps the Gnomes of Gnomeregan hold a similar mindset. Interesting. And if I offer you knowledge, as much knowledge of magic as you wish, will you give up Mechanics?"
The answer is simple and obvious.
"Completely? No. I would prefer to combine them. I believe the result will be better. More reliable."
The Mage chuckled, but Mom let out an indignant:
"Davilinia, we..."
The Mage silenced the woman with a single gesture.
"It is alright, lady. If I wished to hear anything but the truth, I would not be standing here now. Ultimately, the mines that gathered enough trolls are your daughter's creation. What is truth, if not theory confirmed by practice?"
I, still not quite understanding what was going on, bowed respectfully and even gave a curtsy. What the hell is happening here?
"Thank you, Magister."
Venidan is also looking on with wide eyes but remains silent. And only then did the Mage move to the purpose of his visit.
"Your approach intrigues me, young lady. It is unusual, curious. You were the apprentice of my late apprentice, correct?" I nodded, "Then the best I can do for a fallen comrade is to finish his work. I offer you training under me. Before you agree, take note. I see the potential for a versatile specialist here. And I will demand accordingly. Versatilly."
Naturally, I agreed. Who wouldn't in my place, right?
My gut feeling wailed almost immediately, because the Magister gave me an assignment and told me to bring it to his office in the Tower of Magic within two months. On the third floor, at the end of the corridor, ask the servants if anything. Nothing complicated. Perhaps incredibly difficult tests await me, since the deadline is a whole two months? Rare data that I'll have to search for by digging through The Library?
I opened the assignment and was stunned. It's just basic material! Nothing complicated, essentially a test. With my memory, I solved everything in an hour; I didn't have to look for anything. And for three hours after, I sat and thought: where's the catch? Excuse me, I don't believe the Magister didn't realize how simple these tasks were. Why two months? There must be a catch, there just has to be, it can't be this simple! I don't believe it!
Well, I went to The Tower, covered in shields and clutching my staff, using magical vision; Mom cast Arcane Brilliance (she knows how, I'll have to learn later). In short, I walked in as if going to battle. Not for nothing. I was beaten by brooms immediately after entering. Well, that is, ordinary brooms that sweep the street.
These wooden contraptions suddenly showed extraordinary aggression, a Magic Shield of a level I could only break along with the wall (I suspect that's a bad idea), and fencing skills at a level unreachable for me! And also the ability to hit exactly on the backside.
Okay, I passed the brooms—Cone of Cold and done. These things can't teleport. Five meters later, a bucket of ice water was dumped on my head. The bucket teleports, a candelabra throws burning knives, a teapot and cups—some kind of sticky sludge.
In short, I only managed to escape thanks to magical vision. That's when the realization hit—this pointy-eared parasite turned the path to his office into an obstacle course!
Actually, for these two weeks, I have been slowly and stubbornly paving a way through many, many golems of all sorts and kinds (yes, suits of armor armed with nets and capable of moving at the level of a good Warrior too).
Traps, and not so much "step-and-it-triggers." On the contrary, there is a room where you have to step on the correct panels about the history of Quel'Thalas so the door opens and you don't get frozen. There is a "ceremony room" where you have to behave correctly in front of golems if you don't want to run into a fight against a crowd of enemies. Hold a tea party, or engage in polite conversation. Good old tripwires, activating on my golems, which I sent ahead for demining. Actually, to thin out my clay cover.
A modest homework assignment, yeah. I have to remember, think, and react. I'm already doing this on pure stubbornness because I can't stop. But here, I've hit a wall. What's the problem? At the end of this obstacle course stands a boss. A real mother-flipping boss. And I've been stuck on him for a week, unable to go further. The jerk challenges everything I can use against him. I just... I just don't know what to do next! This scoundrel refuses to die.
"Clank."
I smiled. The mine clearly noticed the target; it just doesn't have the order to detonate. Yes, I found a solution on how to track her. I'm a good girl. And aloud I said:
"Alright, time to check the assembly module. By the way," I formed an icicle, meeting the eyes of the Rogue sneaking up from behind, "hello, Venidan."
She and I see each other quite regularly. Apparently, the Magister made an arrangement with the officer, and a small group of Rangers patrols the area around the village in case the trolls return. Well, and Venidan brings me herbs for poison, not forgetting to pick on me in the process. Fortunately, the mine helped with detecting the brazen girl. She straightened up quite unperturbed, as if it were meant to be, and I noted that she had indeed taken off her shoes. Last time, because she tracked in dirt, I threw a water bubble at her. Because there's no need for that here. Apparently, she took them off at the entrance and then climbed the wall. For agile types, that's not hard. The Rogue waved, smirking.
"Well hello, kid. Still wasting away over books? Aren't you tired of it?"
I made a draft anyway; I have no desire to smell the aroma of elven footwraps at all. And yet... Subtlety! Now that's an idea. It might work, really. If only I could persuade her. I made my eyes as pathetic as possible:
"Listen, Veni, if I ask you very, well very, very politely to help me a little, how would you feel about that?"
The Rogue looked suspicious.
"What's the catch?"
I spread my hands, continuing to look as pathetic as I could.
"Oh, nothing complicated, you just need to take a homework assignment to the Magister, who, after that time he visited, is now my teacher. And I'm afraid to go alone. Well, pleeeease! Go with me, huh?"
Venidan narrowed her golden eyes. She crossed her arms over her chest, exuding suspicion.
"And? What are you not telling me? DaVi, I won't agree until I know what I'm signing up for. So either spit it out faster or forget it right now. I won't crawl into troll ruins without reconnaissance, there are plenty of traps there, you know."
Ah, fine. I don't like you, but when you're not acting like a fool, you can be worked with. I'll risk it. I handed her the paper.
"The Magister turned the path to his office into an obstacle course. I've passed most of it, but I can't break through the boss; he's too well covered. And it seemed to me that your Subtlety skills would help us pass."
Venidan raised a finger, reading through:
"So, traps, golems, knowledge room, more traps and golems, gargoyles, etiquette room. Brutal. And you went through all this? Impressive."
I nodded.
"Yep, read further. The boss. He's just impenetrable for me. I could bury him along with a section of the building, but I don't think that's a good idea."
The very core of it. I don't know where chess came from in Azeroth, but it exists. The Magister decided that a chess boss is fun. I think he's a bored pointy-eared sadist with nothing to do. The Ranger grimaced:
"A chess king summoning golems for defense and attack. And the mines didn't help?"
I just spread my hands.
"No, I tried. The pawns are weak, like my spiders, only they don't explode; you can freeze them. The bishops are worse, racing across the arena, knocking everything over. Freezing helps here, but you have to time it right. The knights fly, like gargoyles. Dangerous, but as a Mage, I can shoot them down; they're clumsy. But the rooks and the queen, they're the trouble. The former are full-fledged magic towers, covering the king with a shield and attacking with magical arrows. The Magister set the shield; I won't break it without smashing the whole Tower in the process. And those rooks hit aerial targets quite well, very accurately and strongly; you won't be able to fly past. And then the queen, who possesses the skills of all the other golems. Turrets, knight, bishop, pawn, everyone. She is universal, stays on defense, covering the king with a shield, magic, and melee weapons. You can't break through head-on; I'm not sure even an army of golems would pass here—the room is narrow, after all."
Venidan pondered, reading the more detailed operation schemes of all these pieces, the formations, and my actions. This boss of yours is a rare piece of nastiness. I tried to shower them with mines, cover and bind them with ice, reach the king with magical arrows. Nothing works; the boss reads my actions. Or rather, the Magister, who prepared the boss, taught it to counteract my attacks.
Golems didn't help because the towers cover nearby targets from mines with a shield. Whether by air or over the surface. Freezing doesn't work because the ice crust in no way prevents the queen and towers from shooting; they protect the king too. The queen has high combat skills and is armed with a staff and clubs (yes, she doesn't have two arms, but ten, with two crossbows, clubs, and staffs). She knocks out everything that reaches her. A stalemate.
Venidan sighed and sat on the table, looking down. She thoughtfully tapped her finger on her cheek, sighed.
"Alright, you've intrigued me. Do you have a plan?"
Yep, just came up with it.
"I'll distract the golems. I'll freeze the pawns, draw the rooks and the queen into a fight with the mines, and shoot down the knights. I can generally do that; nothing particularly difficult. Your task is to sneak past them all while I lead the battle and poke the king with a knife. You hide perfectly; I think you can do it. If you act quickly, the queen won't even have time to react, busy with the golems."
Venidan snorted.
"My services are expensive. The most responsible position, I should note. And this is a very difficult task. Very difficult. And if a certain Mage wishes to hire a Ranger of my level, the reward must be appropriate, don't you think?"
Yeah, I guessed as much. Although I'll be doing most of the work. And anyway, you're showing off again. But I really do need help, so I'll have to give in.
"And what do you want?"
The Ranger pondered, still looking at me from the height of the table. This question seriously puzzled her. It seems that behind the pretentious phrases, she simply hadn't thought of what to order. Easier for me.
"Well, pastries—your mother's are excellent. Also, for one moon, you will address me as 'O Great One' and nothing else. And fulfill my wishes..."
I snorted.
"Don't overdo it. You're important, of course, but no wishes, you pervert. The rest... so be it, I agree."
She burst out laughing, swinging her legs and continuing to sit on the table.
"Grow up first, Midget. So, no objections regarding the pastries?" I shook my head, "Well, that works. Pastries, and you address me as 'O Great One.' And then you have an agile one for this job. I'm even curious if it will work or not. A test of my strength! I am the Shadow! I am the embodiment of Subtlety! I come in the night to punish the unworthy! I am the embodiment of Project Retribution! No one shall escape, no one shall hide from punishment! Guards and high walls will not protect you; the punishing hand of justice will reach you!" Venidan, posing on the table, deigned to look at me and inquire, "What do you say?"
I want to sink through the floor. Truly.
"It suits you very well, O Great One."
Only because I have to do this. And for no other reason. This is terrible, just terrible. Good thing Mom can't hear; we're in my room.
I don't want to do this. And honestly, I'd rather see all this hassle in a grave. But the fact is, I really don't know how to break through the defense. The Magister definitely set it, and in his Tower of Magic, those shields won't be broken so easily. Except the shield there is Antimagic. Though in the case of golems, that won't help, because the damn queen will solve any problems. A bunch of arms with weapons, a personal shield, and even a magic tower with an anti-air function. Literally everything needed to counter my skills.
I lack the knowledge to create a more complex golem, as well as to cover them with protection that the queen won't break. Or rather, there will be a shield, but it won't withstand more than five to seven shots without me personally maintaining it.
But using a cloak-and-dagger fighter who would solve my problems for me... why not, I ask? No one forbade me from asking for help. Yes, asking my mother to bring my homework for me would be a bit strange, but Venidan is another matter. She's arrogant and all, but as a partner, she's proven herself well. She has the skills; that much can't be taken from her.
"So then, 'O Great One,' when do we move out?"
Venidan smiled broadly, pleased.
"In the morning, of course. Tomorrow morning. There are plenty of other traps besides chess. Need to rest, replenish the golem stock, and move toward new achievements with renewed strength."
Moving toward new achievements right away didn't work out. No matter what we agreed on, Mother had her own plans. Yes, she also shows me spells and such. After all, she is a classic War Mage. So we were driven to training. Both of us. And helping around the house, can't do without that.
I did ask my parents about the past. It turned out quite as expected. Father is a baker, who just studied to be a swordsman for variety. In our parts, the ability to hold a weapon isn't redundant. Mother is a War Mage, one of those "what do you want, honey?" types. She knows how to cast Polymorph too; she just doesn't usually apply it. Well, after getting married, she mastered a civilian profession of the same profile as her husband. It's simply cheaper to have one versatile workshop than two.
Over time they got used to it, got into it, so when their daughter (not me yet) showed a significant Magical Talent, no one considered Mother as a potential teacher, not even herself. But reality changed.
I won't say she's bad at baking things. I suspect Venidan hangs around partly because she gets fed treats here. And the Rogue (I know she's an agile one, it's just more convenient for me to call her a Rogue) is perfectly fine with a little help around the house in exchange for that. She's used to labor, which isn't surprising, living in a field camp.
"Speaking of which, O Great One. Where is your family? Well, if it's not a secret, of course."
Venidan grimaced as if she'd eaten a lemon. But after a minute's pause, she answered.
"Not a secret, it's just that we haven't communicated for about fifty years, and I don't intend to do so in the future. They tried to set me up as a mistress to some Silvermoon official, for the glory of the family's welfare. I decided I liked the army better."
So that's it. I won't say I fully understand, but it's her choice.
"I see. Sorry."
Veni waved it off.
"Oh, forget it. It's better here than there; I don't regret anything."
The hedonism of Silvermoon's inhabitants isn't that well-known, but I wouldn't be surprised. Elves live a long time; getting satiated with pleasures must be easy. I assume there are plenty of perverts there.
Well, the next morning we set off to deliver the homework. It was a long four hours. Traps and golems, a quiz. Venidan was hissing by the end but endured.
"I wasted so many years just to NOT deal with all this. Kid, only because you're cute... it's annoying!"
I even gave a curtsy. And without any sarcasm, I said:
"Thank you. Truly. This means a lot to me."
"Let's just go," the Rogue grumbled, "we've passed, the faster we get through, the faster we'll be home. What surprises me more is that you, living here, know all this."
I'm cramming all this myself; I can imagine what torture it is for an elf without enhanced memory to remember all these rules.
"The mentors really wanted me to know all this."
The two of us rolled over the chess. Everything went according to plan, surprisingly enough. Entering the arena, I raised a shield. Then I took a shot at the boss, forcing the pawns to leave the protection of the queen and rooks to attack. The bishops burst forward, flying madly back and forth and ricocheting off walls and pawns like a giant pinball. Then flood it all with ice, fixing the pieces.
"Freeze! Just like that."
All this under the flashes of the rooks' volleys. Heavy, hindering movement, and killing any desire to crawl out from under protection. And then there are the flying knights spitting glue. This was definitely thought up by some junkie, I'm sure. And to distract the queen, a crowd of mines rushed past her toward the king. Both as decoys and golems carrying a heavy shield. Spider-mines also went for the breakthrough. Against which a single queen emerged. The queen is indecently brisk and precise, which is why this delegation began to openly corner me. One strike—one golem. And explosions don't bother her, thanks to the shield. But that's exactly what I need, so that the queen has no opportunity to retreat and protect the king from the blow.
And then Venidan finally reached the target. The chess king was openly bored but suddenly turned around, raising his hands. Near him, a figure in a ghillie suit appeared and poked him with a knife. Again and again. The clay figure of a man clutched his stomach and began to portray an agonizing death. The other pieces froze, pointing in horror at the king, who, as if in an Indian movie, just wouldn't die, pointing at the holes in his body and wordlessly portraying suffering. I was overcome with sadistic joy—how much blood this king had drained from me over these days! Our turn.
"Poke him a few more times!" I suggested, but this god of Indian cinema just kept slowly and painfully demonstrating death throes.
The agile one obeyed, dealing new blows.
"Yes! Die! You! Already!" Venidan demanded. Finally, the king was finished and the door opened, "Twenty-eight strikes. Tenacious."
I laughed.
"Well, you acted for sure. Let's go."
And we moved to the stairs through the door that opened after the victory over the chess. There, at the top, in his office, Magister Aldanos Dawnwalker was waiting for us. The elf stood facing the window, hands behind his back, looking at the city below him. Pathos.
"So, you have succeeded. Slower than I expected, but better than I assumed. Excellent. You may leave the assignment," the elf turned around, boring into us with a cold gaze, "I was not mistaken in either of you. Now, let us begin the training."
***
Read early on Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/Granulan