Classroom, 8:00
Igi stood behind the lectern. His staff leaned against the wall and his hands were loosely folded before him. Today he didn't pace the room. Today he stood in place — which meant the topic would be serious. "Today I'll mention something about the System that few people know," he began without preamble. "Or more precisely — something most people ignore because it seemingly doesn't concern them. Until it does." He paused, his gaze passing over all five. "You can live forever. But you cannot be unkillable."
The silence in the classroom was different from usual. Not tense — curious. Even Peter, who usually drilled his gaze around the room, sat still. "As in the beginning—" Igi started. And stopped. It was only for a fraction of a second. Shorter than a breath. A word that slipped out — not from carelessness, but from habit. The kind of habit built over decades that cannot be erased by a single decision. Igi sighed. Quietly, softly, but in a classroom where every sound resonated off stone walls, it was like a gunshot. And Diana already had her hand raised. Behind her — a second later, but just as quickly — Hazela's hand flew up as well. Elven ears
pointed forward like antennas. Igi froze behind the lectern. Beneath the hood, where no one could see his face, he realized the mistake. Small. Tiny. Almost imperceptible. But it was too late. The most intelligent had noticed.
Igi was quiet for a moment. Then he slowly nodded — not at Diana, not at Hazela. "Yes, Diana?" "You were there at the beginning," Diana said. Not as a question. As a statement. Peter looked from Diana to Igi in confusion. "What beginning?" The classroom went silent. Diana slowly lowered her hand, but her eyes — cold, blue, calculating — didn't leave Igi for a second. Hazela did the same, her elven face an unreadable mask behind which gears of deduction were turning. Igi leaned against the lectern. Long fingers tightened around the staff, and for a moment it seemed like the room grew slightly cooler. "I'll say only this," he spoke at last, and his voice was calm, but with an edge they hadn't heard before. "I am old. Very old." Pause. "We all have our secrets. Perhaps someday." Nothing more. No explanation. No story. Just six words hanging in the air like smoke — "I am old, very old" — and each of the five filed them in a different place. Peter in the "interesting" drawer. Kaelen in the "dangerous" drawer. Hazela in the "useful" drawer. Diana in the "investigate" drawer. And Jana? Jana didn't file them anywhere. She just left them where they were — in the air between her and the man who had saved her life. One more secret. Another one for the collection.
Igi straightened and continued as if nothing had happened. A professional reset. The wall dropped and the teacher was back. "And yes — you will spend ten years of your life here. For some, that's nothing. For others, it's plenty." He turned to Hazela. "Hazela. Elves live three hundred years and more. Ten years is one breath for you. When your contract ends here, you'll still be young." Then to Peter. "Peter. Humans live a hundred and something years. Ten years is a tenth of your life. Not negligible." "Diana,
same case. Kaelen — half-orcs live shorter than humans. Seventy, eighty years. For you, ten years is even more precious." Kaelen simply nodded. Nothing changed in his dark eyes — but the muscles in his jaw tightened. "Jana — beastkind of the wolf line lives roughly the same as humans. A hundred, a hundred and ten years. Similar to Peter."
Igi moved to the blackboard. The chalk lifted itself and began to write. "But we are in a world of magic and miracles. And since almost nothing is impossible, there are ways to get around time." The chalk wrote on the board: YOUTH POTIONS "Youth potions can be bought in the God Shop. They work exactly as they sound — they rejuvenate you. They return years your body has lost. Twenty years of aging? The potion gives them back." He raised a finger. "They are expensive. And like everything in the System — the more you buy, the more they cost. The first potion will cost you a lot of points. The second even more. The third? A price that will make your head spin. The System doesn't want you to live forever for free. It wants you to keep paying. Always." Peter raised his hand. Igi nodded at him. "Can they be crafted?" "Yes. Like everything in this world. But they're costly — ingredients are rare, the process complex, and it requires a high Alchemy level. It's not something you mix up in an afternoon. But it is a path." Diana made a mental note. Her blue eyes narrowed for a moment — the calculation of an alchemist already running numbers.
The chalk wrote another line: Halting aging — time will no longer bind your life. Immortality is often spoken of, but in this world everyone must be killable. "Then there's the second option. Not rejuvenation — immortality. Complete. Permanent. The end of aging, the end of natural death." Igi paused and let the words hang in the air. In the context of what he had just inadvertently revealed, they took on a different weight. Everyone in the room was aware of it. He's talking about immortality. And a minute ago he said he was very old. Nobody said it aloud. But the air in
the classroom thickened. "Two paths are best known," Igi continued, as if he didn't feel their gazes. VAMPIRE "First — become a vampire. Vampirism is real in this world. A vampire doesn't age, doesn't suffer diseases, and regenerates at a speed that would horrify most of you. In return, it depends on blood, sunlight weakens it, and certain spells — light and holy magic — damage it many times over." LICH "Second — become a lich. The necromantic path to immortality. A lich stores its soul in an object — a phylactery — and as long as that object exists, the lich cannot be permanently destroyed. The body can be killed, but it will regenerate. The price? Loss of everything that makes you alive. No food, no sleep, no touch, no feeling." Igi turned back to them. "There are surely other paths as well. I won't go through them all — books will help you. There's an entire section in the library. Whoever wants to can read up. I'm just telling you that the options exist."
Chapter 2
— ✦ —
Igi tapped his staff on the floor. "Today will be short." He turned to Jana. "Jana, you're coming with me." Jana straightened. "Where, sir?" "Out. Beyond the gates and to the capital city. The rest of you — go train." He headed for the doors. At the threshold, he paused for a moment — not because he wanted to add something, but because he felt the gazes. Five pairs of eyes. One pair was animal, three human, and one elven. And all five had just committed the same sentence to memory: "I am old. Very old." Igi went out into the hallway. Jana followed. The foursome remained in the classroom. There was silence for a while. Then Diana stood, walked to the window, and looked at the city below. Without turning around, she said: "At the beginning. He said — as in the beginning." "I heard," Hazela replied. "The beginning of what?" asked Peter. Diana finally turned. There was no answer in her blue eyes — only another question. "The beginning of everything," she said quietly. Kaelen stood and took his axe. "That's what books are for. And we're here for training. Move." Peter sighed but stood. Some secrets don't reveal themselves in classrooms. They reveal themselves in time. And time they had — for now — plenty of.
Fenix City
Jana and Igi moved to the teleportation circle. It was carved into the stone floor of a small square in Elysium's inner ring — a perfect circle of dark stone in which runes glowed with such faint blue light that during the day they were nearly invisible. "As you've surely discovered," said Igi, pointing his staff at the locked symbol in the center of the circle, "it's locked." Jana nodded. She and Peter had tried it two days ago — Peter stood in the circle, nothing happened, and he spent the next ten minutes cursing at the System. "I'll open it for you to the capital city," Igi continued. "From now on, you can all use it — but only during free time. Not during training hours, not during a dungeon. And remember—" He raised a finger. "The teleportation circle, as you learned from the books, is a link between major cities. It costs points and a Mana Core Crystal. For each teleportation, you must have a crystal from monsters with you — you place it in the circle and it consumes the energy for the transfer. It's not cheap. So don't go back and forth every time you feel like ice cream." Jana instinctively reached for the small pouch at her belt, where she had three crystals from the rats in the Sewers. Her entire fortune. Igi stepped into the circle. A short flash of blue mana burst from his palm and seeped into the runes. The symbol in the center unlocked — the locked circle split into
two halves, and between them a map glowed with pulsing dots. "Capital city," said Igi, tapping one of the dots with his staff. "It's a city where low-level players can live under the System's protection. Up to level fifty, you have free entry. After reaching level fifty, your access closes — the System assumes you're strong enough to take care of yourself." Jana blinked. "So the strong can't go there?" "They can't live there. Visit, yes, but not permanently. It's protection for the weak. Sensible design."
Igi paused and looked at Jana. Under the hood, his expression was unreadable, but his voice changed tone — it became more matter-of-fact, harder. "But we're not going to the capital city today." Jana raised an eyebrow. Her ears pointed forward. "We're going to Fenix City." The name meant nothing to Jana. But something in the way Igi said it — without emotion, without coloring, with surgical precision — told her this place was not neutral. "It's dangerous there," Igi continued. "So stay close to me. And you needn't worry — thanks to the collar, I know where you are. Anywhere in the city, at any moment. If something happens, I'll be there." Jana swallowed. "What could happen there?" Igi looked at her. "Everything that happens in a city run by people without rules." He placed a crystal in the circle. The runes flared. The air around them thickened, then tore apart — and the world vanished.
They appeared on a similar circle. But everything else was different. The noise hit her like a wave. Not the noise of a forest — that she knew. Not the silence of Elysium — that she was used to. This was the noise of thousands of people, crammed into a space not built for so many bodies. Merchants shouting, metal clashing, hooves pounding, laughter, curses, music from some tavern, a child crying, birds chirping in cages — everything at once, without pause, without mercy. Jana stood on the teleportation circle as if frozen. Her eyes widened, ears pressed against her head, and her tail instinctively tucked between her legs. Her nose was
bombarded by hundreds of scents — sweat, spices, frying fat, leather goods, horse manure, perfume, beer, blood from butcher stalls — and each one screamed for attention. Fenix City. Enormous. Alive. Loud. Beautiful and repulsive at the same time. The buildings were taller than anything she had seen — three, four, five stories, of stone and wood, with banners of guilds, shops, and guildhalls. The streets were paved but crowded — wagons, horses, people in armor, merchants with carts, children running between adults' legs. And above it all — lighting. Magical lamps on poles, emitting warm golden light that gave the city a feeling of perpetual twilight, even when the sun shone outside. "Breathe," said Igi calmly beside her. "You'll get used to it." Jana forced herself to inhale. Slowly. Deeply. Then again.
They hadn't taken three steps from the circle when two guards blocked their path. They were tall men in polished breastplates bearing the emblem of Fenix — a fiery bird with golden wings. They had swords at their sides, but their hands weren't on them. Their expressions were professionally blank — not unfriendly, but not friendly either. Businesslike. "Entry to the city is one silver per person," said the first guard, his gaze moving from Igi to Jana. It stopped on her. On her ears. On her tail. Jana felt that gaze like a physical touch. She recognized it. It was a look that said: You don't belong here. "Beastkind and non-human races are permitted only as slaves," the guard added matter-of-factly, without emotion, as if reading from the rules. Jana froze. Her heart pounded in her chest and her hands clenched into fists. The collar on her neck pulsed with cold — it was reading her vitals, knew her pulse had quickened, knew she was on the edge between fear and anger. Igi spoke before she could do anything foolish. "That's not a problem," he said calmly, pointing at Jana's neck. "You can see she has a collar." The guard looked at the black metal on her throat. The runes gleamed dully in the light of the magical lamps. He nodded — superficially, without interest. Problem solved. A slave. Permitted. Jana clenched her teeth so hard it hurt. In her head echoed a word she hated and
which defined her in the eyes of this world: slave. And the worst part was that this time, the word protected her. "And what do you have to declare?" asked the second guard, eyeing their luggage — that is, Igi's staff and Jana's empty pouch. "Nothing," Igi answered. "In that case — one silver for entry." Igi reached into the folds of his robe and pulled out two large silver coins. He placed them on the guard's palm. "For both." The guards glanced at each other. The same expression appeared on their faces — a smile that wasn't friendly, but mercantile. A man who pays without haggling and even tips. A good customer. "Where will you be staying?" the first guard asked in a slightly friendlier tone. "Need a tavern recommendation?" "The Blind Bull," Igi answered without hesitation. The guard nodded. "Good choice. Straight road, third turn left. Enjoy your stay." They left.
Jana walked beside Igi, trying not to show how badly her hands were shaking. "A slave," she said quietly, her voice vibrating. "Permitted as a slave." Igi didn't answer immediately. They walked through a crowded street, passing fruit stalls, weapon shops, a workshop from which the banging of a hammer echoed. Only when they were in a quieter alley did he speak: "Yes. This is the reality outside Elysium. People in this world don't consider beastkind as equals. Nor elves, nor half-orcs, nor anyone who doesn't look like them. I wanted you to see it with your own eyes. Not from a book. Not from my words. In person." "Why?" "Because when you know what Elysium protects you from, you'll understand why we're there." Jana was silent. Her tail was still pulled close to her body, but her ears were slowly straightening. Not because she had stopped being afraid. But because fear was being replaced by something harder.
"How about we eat first," said Igi, turning toward a wider street. The market. Jana stopped at the edge and her breath caught. She had never in her life seen so much food in one place. Stalls stretched in rows, one
beside the next, the length of the entire street and around the corner. Vendors shouted prices and praised their wares, buyers argued, haggled, sampled. Scents blended in an intoxicating cocktail — roasted meat on a spit, freshly baked bread, fried fish, spiced sauces, sweet honey cakes, dried herbs tied in braids, pickled vegetables in enormous barrels. And it wasn't just food. Neighboring stalls offered goods — leather belts, iron knives, wooden toys, jewelry of colored stones, cups of blue glass, fabrics of every color, potions in small bottles, scrolls with spells, glowing runes carved into stone tablets. Jana stood and stared. Her wolfish eyes wandered from one stall to the next and her nose quivered when it caught a new scent. For a moment — just a moment — she forgot about the guards, about the word "slave," about the collar on her neck. For a moment she was just a girl at a market, overwhelmed by a world larger than she could imagine. Jana followed him. Her tail — slowly, cautiously, as if deciding on its own — began to rise. Not high. Just a few centimeters. But in the language of wolf body, that meant something Jana didn't feel very often: Curiosity that was stronger than fear.
Igi bought two skewers of roasted meat and handed one to Jana. The meat was spicy, fatty, and hot — drops of grease ran down the wooden skewer and sizzled on the pavement. Jana bit in. And closed her eyes. For a moment — just a moment — she was somewhere else. Not in a city full of prejudice. Not in a slave's body. Just in a taste that was good. Simply, uncomplicated good. When she opened her eyes, Igi was already walking on, chewing his meat and pointing his staff at the buildings around them. "That's the Adventurers' Guild — main branch. That's where quests for the whole region are registered. Next to it is the bank — that's where you store your gold, if you ever have enough to worry about."
The Shadow Side
He looked at Jana. The wolf-woman stood beside him, tail still slightly raised from the curiosity of the market, nose still full of the scent of spiced meat. She didn't know what was coming. And Igi knew he had to show her. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "For what I'm about to put you through. But observe. What you see, why you see it, and what it means." Jana tensed. The smile that had appeared at the meat stall moments ago vanished like a candle in the wind. "Follow me."
They took side alleys. With every step, there was less light. No magical lamps here — just the occasional torch stuck in a rusty bracket, more smoldering than illuminating. The pavement was broken, moss grew between the stones, and dirty water trickled from an unknown source. Jana noticed the disorder first — broken barrels, garbage, scraps of cloth. Then the smell — not the aromas of the market, but a stench she knew from the forest after a storm, when something decayed beneath the leaves. Only here it wasn't leaves. It was people. They stood in strange poses. Some against walls, leaning back with heads drooped to their chests. Others sat on the ground, legs stretched before them, eyes open but empty. They
didn't move. They didn't visibly breathe. They looked like puppets whose strings had been cut. "Igi," Jana whispered, instinctively drawing closer to him. "Those are..." "Addicts," Igi said matter-of-factly. "On fentanyl. It's a powerful synthetic drug — alchemically produced, cheap to make, lethally effective. It gives them joy. It takes their future. The first dose is free. The second costs a copper. The tenth costs everything they have. And the twentieth?" He pointed his staff at a man lying in a corner with open eyes, motionless. "The twentieth costs them." Jana forced herself to watch. Not look away. Not close her eyes. Watch. Observe. Just as Igi had said. One of the motionless men moved slightly. His fingers twitched, his mouth opened and from it came a sound that wasn't a word — just an exhale, like a final breath before a sleep that never ends. Jana was trembling. Not from the cold.
They went deeper. The streets narrowed. The buildings here were lower, walls cracked, windows boarded up. And then — Children. They burst from around a corner like a pack — five, six, maybe seven small figures in tattered clothes, with faces dirty from dust and eyes too large for their gaunt faces. They surrounded Igi and Jana like fish feeding on crumbs. "Sir! Sir, food! Please, money! Just a copper, sir, just one!" Little hands reaching out, fingers grabbing Igi's robe, tugging at Jana's sleeve. One little girl — she couldn't have been more than six — grabbed Jana's tail and pulled it with an urgency that had nothing to do with play. Igi tossed a handful of copper coins behind him. They clinked on the pavement three meters away. The children immediately turned and ran after the coins — screaming, shoving, falling to their knees and picking metal from the dirty ground. By the next building stood a woman. She was emaciated, in things that had once been clothes — now just scraps of fabric clinging to her body more by habit than function. Her hair was matted, her eyes irritated, and on her hands were bruises that Jana recognized all too well. When she saw them, she stepped from the shadow and cried out — not aggressively, but desperately: "Sir! Do you need services? Any kind! I'll gladly serve for
a copper!" Igi didn't stop. He just reached into his robe, pulled out a silver coin. "No, thank you. I don't need anything." Igi continued forward. Jana behind him — silent, ears pressed to her head and tail tucked between her legs. Memories pressed to the surface like bubbles from the deep — the forest, the mercenaries, the ropes, the helplessness. That woman by the building had the same eyes. The same bruises. The same empty gaze of a person who had stopped fighting.
"Listen carefully," Igi said when they turned into another alley. "Never go into neighborhoods like these when you're weak. And never throw money around where people can see you." "Why? After all—" "You'll see in a moment." He didn't have to wait long.
They came around a corner and the road was blocked. Five men. Three stood in front — rough, with scarred faces, in tattered but functional armor. Two of them — Jana recognized them instantly — were the guards from the gate. The same ones who had politely recommended a tavern an hour ago. Polished breastplates with the emblem of Fenix. Swords at their sides. Now they weren't smiling. "Well, well," said the largest of the three civilians. A mountain of a man, with a scar across his entire forehead and hands like shovels. "An old man with a full purse and a pretty little fox with a collar. Guess what we want." "Everything," said the second, licking his lips. "Money, gear, and as for the little fox—" he looked at Jana with a gaze that hit her like a punch to the stomach, "—we'll take her too. It doesn't have to be long, beautiful. Just until we've had our fill." Jana froze. Her body locked in place. Images exploded in her head — the forest, the stench of sweat, the sound of tearing fabric, the voices that laughed while she screamed. Her fingers dug into her palms so hard that her nails broke skin. The third man grinned. "What say you, old man? Hand it over willingly, or—" "Jana," Igi said calmly. So calmly it was unnatural. "Do you see? They think they can take whatever they want. As long as they're
stronger." He looked at her, and though she couldn't see his face, there was nothing in his voice — no fear, no anger, no tension. Just the calm of a deep lake. "Don't be afraid. Everything will be fine." Then he turned back to the five and said — aloud, clearly, with an authority that had nothing to do with physical strength: "Sleep."
One word. Jana and the three gangsters collapsed at once. Not slowly — instantly. As if someone had pulled their plug. Knees buckled, eyes closed, and bodies slumped onto the wet pavement with the dull sound of impacts. One of them knocked over a barrel that clattered and rolled into the darkness. A second later, a quiet, steady sound filled the alley. Snoring. All three gangsters lay on the ground sleeping — deeply, peacefully, with expressions of such bliss that their waking lives probably never granted. Jana lay beside them. Her tail lay limp on the pavement, ears drooped, and her breathing was quiet and steady. The sleep spell hit her the same as the others — Igi hadn't had time for selective targeting. The two guards stood. Their eyes were wide, but not with panic — shock. For a fraction of a second, they were frozen in indecision. Then professional training took control. Both drew swords simultaneously and with a battle cry charged at Igi. Igi stood in place. He didn't move. He didn't dodge. He just tilted his head slightly, as if evaluating the angle of their attack. "Hmm," he murmured. "They must have some immunity. Or level. Maybe an amulet. Pity." Then he said — not to the men, not aloud, but inward, to something that was inside him: "AI, take over. I don't like violence. I'm leaving this to you. Don't kill."
Igi's body changed. Not visibly — not right away. But something in him shifted. His posture straightened. Shoulders broadened by a centimeter. Fingers on the staff rearranged — from a comfortable grip to a combat one. And the movements that followed had nothing in common with an old man in a gray robe. The first sword struck him in the stomach. The blade
plunged deep — to the crossguard. The second sword struck him in the side. Equally deep. Igi didn't move. He didn't flinch. He didn't fall. He stood like a pillar with two swords protruding from his body, looking at the guards who still gripped the handles. "What the—" one of them began. They tried to pull the swords out. They couldn't. The blades were caught — not in flesh and bone, but in something that moved beneath the robe. Something that tightened around the steel and refused to let go. Igi — or what was controlling Igi's body — struck one guard on the head with the staff. The blow was fast. Inhumanly fast. Precise as a surgical cut. The guard took the hit to his temple and his eyes rolled back. Then the second — same angle, same force, same result. Both guards stood on their feet for another second — stunned, with empty eyes — then their knees buckled. Before they hit the ground, Igi's hands moved. From the robe, he drew a small vial — a sleep potion — and in one fluid motion poured a few drops into the first one's mouth. Then the second. The stunned state turned to sleep. Hard, deep, the same as the others.
Igi — or his AI — stood and looked at the two swords still protruding from his torso. He grabbed the first and pulled it out. The sound was not the sound of torn flesh. It was a metallic sound — quiet, resonant, like drawing a sword from a sheath. Where the blade had pierced the robe, there was no blood. No wound. Beneath the gray fabric, liquid metal flashed for a fraction of a second — silver-gray, mobile, alive — and immediately returned to shape. The robe sealed. The torso sealed. As if nothing had happened. Second sword. Same sound. Same liquid metal. Same healing. Igi stood in the middle of the alley with two strangers' swords in his hands and five sleeping bodies around him. Beneath the robe, everything was exactly as before — gray fabric, no trace of the attack. Then something changed. Movements slightly slowed. Shoulders dropped. The posture returned to that old-man, nondescript shape that everyone knew. Igi froze for a moment — as if readjusting to his own body. Then he blinked. "Ah," he murmured, looking at himself. "Combat
log." He opened the system window, scanned it. "Sleep potion... encounter... hmm." He closed the window. "Let's go. Quickly."
He searched the bodies. Quickly, efficiently, without emotion — the way you search loot after a dungeon. A few coins — mostly copper, some silver. Two swords — usable, nothing exceptional. One amulet on a guard's neck — that explained the immunity to the sleep spell. Nothing special. But something. Everything vanished into Igi's inventory. Then he bent down to Jana, hoisted her onto his shoulder with one hand — with an ease that didn't match his elderly appearance — and set off. He passed through side alleys back to the market. Twice he was stopped by guards — city patrols, not the corrupt ones — and each time he pointed at Jana's collar, said "slave, she got drunk," and they let him go. Nobody inquired further. An old man with a drunk slave on his shoulder. A common sight in Fenix's back alleys. When he reached the main market, where it was busy and safe, he sat Jana on a bench by a fountain. He whispered in her ear: "Wake up."
Jana came to as if from deep water. A sharp inhale, widened eyes, arms shooting out to the sides — she searched for danger, searched for attackers, searched for ropes. They weren't here. She was on a bench. In the sun. At a market, where people walked past and from a nearby stall came the laughter of buyers. "What—" she blurted, looking around. "Those men — the swords — I was—" "Sleep, I said," Igi explained, sitting beside her with one leg crossed over the other, as if he were on a Sunday stroll. "Sleep spell. It hit you too, because I didn't have time for selective targeting. I apologize for that." "And those men? The guards? The big one with—" "Sleeping. All five. They'll wake up with a headache and empty pockets." Jana stared at him. Her heart was still pounding. "They stabbed you. I saw it — before I fell asleep — I saw them drive swords into—" "Yes," said Igi calmly. "How did you—" "That's a longer
conversation. And not here." Jana fell silent. But her eyes — those wolfish, sharp, unforgetting eyes — fixed on the place where moments ago she had seen swords pierce Igi's body. On the gray robe, there wasn't a stain. Not a hole. Not a trace. In her head, a voice sounded — not from the System, but her own. Quiet, logical, relentless: He is not what he appears.
Igi stood and brushed off his robe. "Now I'll take you for cabbage soup, as I promised. And on the way I'll explain what you saw and why." They walked side by side through the market. Jana was quiet — she listened. "What you saw today," Igi began, "is reality. Not Elysium. Not training. The real world, where people live beyond our walls. Addicts, begging children, women selling the only thing they have left, and men who take what they want because nobody stops them." Jana was silent. "The guards who were supposed to protect you were part of a gang. In this city — and not only this one — authority is not protection. It's a tool. Whoever has power uses it. Whoever doesn't, suffers. That is the order of things." "And you want to change that order?" Jana asked quietly. Igi didn't answer for a moment. Then he said: "Not change. Create something better. Elsewhere. For those who have no place here." Jana looked at the collar on her neck. Black metal, cold and constant. Today that collar had protected her — not from swords, but from questions. In this world, the symbol of slavery was her only ticket. "Why did you show me this?" she asked. Igi stopped before a tavern with a sign showing a bull with blindfolded eyes. The Blind Bull. "Because when you know what the world is like, you'll know why it's worth building something different." He opened the door. Warm air spilled out, carrying the scent of cabbage soup and muffled conversation. "And now come. Eating after a walk like this isn't a luxury. It's a necessity." Jana went in. Her tail was still pulled close. But her eyes — those were different. Sharper. Harder. She had seen the world. And the world had shown her why Elysium existed.
What She Saw
It was late evening when Jana returned to Elysium. The teleportation circle spat her out onto the stone square of the inner ring and she stood for a while in place while her eyes adjusted to the silence. After Fenix — after the noise, the stench, the lights, and the shadows — Elysium was like plunging into cold water. Clean. Quiet. Empty. Safe. A word that had previously sounded like a cage now sounded different.
She found them in the kitchen. All four. Kaelen sat at the table, sharpening the blade of his axe with slow, rhythmic strokes. Diana stood by the window with a cup of something warm in her hand, blonde hair still wet from the shower. Peter sat backwards on a chair — straddling it, chin resting on the backrest — and was telling some story that apparently nobody was listening to. Hazela sat alone in a corner, legs tucked under her, holding a small bundle of herbs that smelled of the forest. When Jana walked in, they all turned. Peter stopped mid-sentence. Diana lowered her cup. Even Hazela looked up from her herbs. Jana looked different. She wasn't injured. She wasn't destroyed. But something had shifted in her — visibly, tangibly. She stood straighter. Her tail was low but not tucked —
more heavy, as if carrying something it hadn't carried before. And her eyes — her wolfish, glowing eyes — had something new in them. Something that hadn't been there this morning. Peter named it first, though he didn't know exactly what he was saying: "What happened to you?" Jana sat down at the table. She was quiet for a while. Then she began to talk.
She talked for a long time. About the teleportation circle. About how Igi unlocked the portal and explained the costs — points and a Mana Core Crystal for each teleportation. About the capital city, where levels up to fifty could live under the System's protection. About the fact that they didn't go there. Then she talked about the guards at the gate. About the entry fee — one silver per person. About how they looked at her when they saw her ears and tail. "Beastkind and non-human races are permitted only as slaves," she said, her voice flat, without emotion — not because she didn't feel, but because it was the only way to say it without falling apart. "The collar was my ticket." Hazela stiffened in her chair. Her elven ears perked up and in her green eyes flashed a fire that Jana recognized — the same one that burned in her. "Go on," Diana said quietly.
Translation — Lines 2001–3000 Jana talked about the market — the scents, colors, the masses of people and goods. Peter smiled for a moment when she described the food stalls. Then he stopped smiling when her story turned into the side alleys. She talked about the fentanyl addicts. About the motionless bodies against the walls, the empty eyes, the people who looked alive but no longer were. She talked about the children — five, six small figures begging for a copper and fighting over coins on the dirty pavement. "One little girl grabbed my tail," Jana said, and her voice trembled for the first time. "She couldn't have been more than six." Kaelen stopped sharpening his axe. Then she talked about the woman by the building. About what she offered for a copper. About the bruises on her hands. The kitchen was silent. Just Jana's voice and the occasional crackle
of wood in the stove.
"And then they attacked us." Peter straightened. Diana put down her cup. Kaelen raised his head. "Five of them. Three gangsters and two guards — the same ones who recommended the tavern at the gate. They surrounded us. They wanted money, gear, and..." Jana stopped. She pressed her lips together. "And me." Hazela closed her eyes. Her fingers dug into the herbs so hard the stems snapped. "Igi said one word. 'Sleep.' And I fell asleep. Along with three of them. But two guards — they had some kind of immunity, an amulet or level — stayed standing." Peter leaned forward. "And what happened?" Jana hesitated. This was the part she had been thinking about the entire way back. The part she had seen only for a fraction of a second before sleep swallowed her. "They stabbed him. Both of them. Swords into his stomach and his side. I saw it — I saw the blades go in." "What?!" Peter jumped out of his chair. "And when I woke up," Jana continued, her voice now quiet, precise, as if describing something she herself still didn't believe, "there wasn't a stain on him. Not a hole. Not a drop of blood. Just the same gray robe. As if nothing had happened." Silence. He looked at each of them. "That he wants to teach us to survive. And after what Jana saw out there today, I'm starting to understand why."
Jana took a breath. Something remained — the most important thing. What Igi had told her to pass on. "Igi told me to relay three things to you." Everyone listened. "First — the portal is open. To the capital city. Starting tomorrow, you can all go there during free time. It costs points and a Mana Core Crystal, so save up. The capital has the Adventurers' Guild, shops, banks, and quests. For levels up to fifty, it's a safe zone — the System protects the weak there." Peter exhaled. "Finally. At least something normal." "Second," Jana continued, her voice strengthening. "You don't need to think about escaping." Peter fell silent. "Not because you have nowhere to escape to. You do. The capital is safe, there are guilds that
accept newcomers, there are jobs. But the collar—" she touched the black metal on her neck, "—the collar won't let you leave. I tried. Not today — before. Every one of us has tried, even if they won't admit it. The collar knows where you are. It knows what you're doing. And if you stray too far from Elysium without permission, it will remind you in a way you won't forget." Silence. Kaelen nodded — he knew. Hazela knew too. Diana had probably verified it first. Peter opened his mouth, then closed it. "And the third thing," Jana said, and for the first time all evening, something appeared in her voice that was neither fear nor anger. It was understanding. "It's not better out there. Not for us. Not now." She looked at Hazela. "An elf with a collar is a slave in that city. Without a collar, she's prey." At Peter. "A human without levels and a guild is lunch." At Kaelen. "A half-orc is an animal to them." At Diana. "And a woman — any woman — is merchandise." She pressed her lips together. "Igi didn't give us a choice when he offered the contract. But today I saw what that contract protects us from. And it's not Igi. It's the world."
For a long time, nobody spoke. The fire in the stove crackled. Outside the window, stars shone over the quiet, empty, safe Elysium. Peter finally leaned against the table and with unusual gravity in his voice said: "So the plan is — stay, grow stronger, and one day be strong enough that the world can't hurt us." "That's been the plan since day one," Diana answered. "Yes," Jana nodded. "But today I understood it." Hazela rose from her corner. She walked to the table, sat down with the others — for the first time since arriving in Elysium, she sat among them, not apart — and placed the bundle of broken herbs on the table. "Tomorrow I'm going to Green," she said. "And I'm starting the Nature tree." Nobody asked why. They all knew. Kaelen took his axe and stood. "I'm going to train." "Now?" asked Peter. "It's almost midnight." "Exactly." Tomorrow would be another day. More training. More dungeons. More points. But today — today they knew why. And that was the difference between slaves and students. PROLOGUE — FENIX — Something Is Changing
The first signs came slowly. So slowly that most people missed them. Igi didn't.
It started with the taverns. Not his tavern — that was still a quiet island of order in a sea of growing city. It started with the taverns around it. In recent months, three new establishments had opened near the guild hall — not NPC operations placed by the System, but player-owned. They were run by people from Fenix, mostly officers or their friends, and at first glance nothing seemed off. Beer flowed, food was served, people had fun. But Igi listened. A cook behind the bar hears more than a general behind a desk — that was a lesson he'd learned long ago. And what he heard, he didn't like. Conversations about "fees" for better quests. Whispers about "protection money" for market stalls. Names of officers appearing in contexts where they had no business — at gambling tables, at shops dealing in dark potions, in deals that nobody recorded in guild books. One night, a group of four men came into his tavern. They were loud, drunk — not on his beer, that was clear — and acted as if they owned the place. One of them knocked over a chair. Another threw a glass at the wall. A third grabbed an NPC waitress by the wrist and wouldn't let go. Igi came out of the kitchen. He didn't even wipe the flour from his hands. "Out." One word. Quiet. The four looked at him — an old man in a gray robe, with flour on his hands and a ladle tucked in his belt. They laughed. Ten seconds later they were sitting outside on the pavement and the tavern doors were closed. None of them knew exactly what had happened. Just that their heads hurt and one had a bump on his forehead in the shape of a staff. Igi went back behind the bar and continued chopping onions. But he knew this wasn't the solution. Throwing four drunks out of a tavern is easy. Throwing a rotten system out of a guild — that's a different thing.
Then he began noticing the poor. Not that he hadn't seen them before. He had. But before, they were part of the background — people on the margins, low levels, unlucky newcomers, old men without a profession. Now there were more of them. Significantly more. On the street corner where one beggar used to sit, now three sat. In the alley behind the blacksmith's workshop, ten people huddled under one tarp at night. At the market, vendors appeared offering "special elixirs" for a few coins — cheap, fast, with an effect that lasted an hour and left an emptiness that lasted days. Drugs. Igi recognized the composition — he was an alchemist experienced enough to identify what was in those bottles. It was a mix of stimulants and synthetic mana, blended to give an instant stat boost — Stamina up, pain down, euphoria up. And the side effect that nobody read on the label: permanent reduction of maximum HP. The first dose by one point. The second by two. After the twentieth dose — if you were still alive — your HP maximum was as low as a beginner's and your body was falling apart from the inside. Igi bought one bottle. Analyzed it in the workshop. The composition was simple — but effective. Someone with at least a mid-level Alchemy was producing it en masse, and distribution was organized. This wasn't an accident. This was business.
And then came the thefts. Igi had a garden behind the tavern — a small, fenced space where he grew herbs for the kitchen and the alchemy station. Most were ordinary — thyme, sage, lavender. But in one bed, protected by a rune barrier, grew three plants that were not ordinary. Moonpetal — a silver flower that bloomed only at the full moon and was a key ingredient for advanced regeneration potions. Market value of one bloom: twenty gold. One morning Igi came to the garden and the bed was empty. The rune barrier had been breached — not by brute force, but with a precise, delicate strike. Someone who knew what they were doing. Twenty gold. Three flowers. Sixty gold — gone. Igi stood over the empty bed and felt something he rarely felt. Not anger. Anger was for people without a plan. What he felt was a decision. From that day on, he left a golem in the
garden. A small stone guardian that sat among the beds like a decorative statue and came alive at night. Nobody stole again. But the problem wasn't the garden. The problem was the system that allowed stealing to happen.
Igi waited for the right moment and went to Draxer. Not at night. Not privately. He came during the day, during regular guild hours, and requested an audience — the way every member did. No special treatment. No old friendship. Just a guild member who wanted to speak with the guild master. Draxer received him in his study. The room was larger than Igi remembered — the desk more massive, the armchairs more comfortable, maps and banners on the walls. Draxer sat behind the desk with the expression of a man who has too many things to do and too little time. "Igi. What do you need?" Igi sat down. "I need you to look at something." "At what?" "At your guild."
Draxer leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. On his face appeared the expression Igi recognized — defensive. The wall he hid behind when he sensed someone was bringing problems. "Speak." "Thefts in the city have doubled in the last three months. At least five market stalls are paying 'protection' to your officers. On the outskirts, synthetic elixirs are being sold that destroy people's health — and the composition matches someone with access to your alchemy workshop. Someone personally stole Moonpetal worth sixty gold from me, and whoever did it knew exactly where to look and how to bypass a rune barrier." Draxer didn't answer right away. He drummed his fingers on the desk — slow, even rhythm. "And what do you want from me?" "An investigation. Transparent accounts. Officer oversight." Draxer stopped drumming. "Igi. Do you know how many people are in Fenix?" "Two hundred and thirty-seven. As of today." "Two hundred and thirty-seven people. And each of them has their own problems, their own complaints, their own demands. I can't solve every stolen flower and every sold elixir." "I'm not talking about one
flower, Drax." "And I'm telling you these are side effects of growth." Draxer stood and walked to the window. The view from his study was imposing — the whole city, from the guild hall to the walls. "Every city has crime. Every organization has corruption. That's not failure — that's statistics." Igi said nothing. "Look outside," Draxer continued, pointing at the lit streets. "Thousands of lights. Hundreds of homes. Shops, workshops, training arenas. I built this. We built this. And you're telling me it's worthless because someone steals flowers?" "I'm not saying it's worthless. I'm saying it's starting to rot." Draxer turned. There was anger in his eyes — not at Igi, but at the truth he carried. "Everyone is the architect of their own fate, Igi. Those people on the margins — nobody forced them to take those elixirs. Nobody forced them to steal instead of work. In this world, everyone has an equal chance. The strong rule, the weak adapt. That's the order." "That's the order of the jungle, not civilization." "We are in a jungle!" Draxer slammed his palm against the windowsill. "This isn't Earth. There's no government, no police, no courts. There are guilds and strength. And Fenix is the strongest guild in the region. If that's not enough for you to be satisfied—" He stopped. Took a breath. Igi watched Draxer try to pull himself back — like a raid leader realizing he's screaming at his own healer in the middle of a fight. "Fine," Draxer said more calmly. "Fine. I'll send more patrols to the outlying districts. And I'll look into things myself. Satisfied?" "No," said Igi, and stood. "But it's a start." "Igi—" Draxer stopped him at the door. "I appreciate what you do. Really. But sometimes you need to look at the bigger picture. Not every problem can be solved with soup and a potion." Igi didn't stop. "No. But most can." He went out into the hallway and the doors closed behind him.
On the way back to the tavern, Igi thought. Not about Draxer's words — he had expected those. Drax wasn't a bad person. He was just a person who had grown accustomed to power, and power had changed his perspective. What he saw from above — from the window of his study — was not the same as what Igi saw from below — from the kitchen. More patrols. He'll
look into it himself. Maybe that would be enough. Maybe. But Igi had a bad feeling. Not specific — no evidence, no event. Just that quiet, persistent signal in the background telling him: Something is changing. And not for the better. Drax looks at the city and sees success. Igi looks at the same city and sees cracks. Cracks through which darkness seeps. And cracks don't repair themselves. He needed to prepare.
At night, when the tavern was closed and the city slept, Igi went down to the cellar. Not the regular one — behind it, behind a false wall he had built himself, was a small, secret room. His real laboratory. Here stood his main alchemy station — not the one in the garden that everyone could see. This one was fully equipped — three distillation apparatuses, shelves of ingredients, a smelting cauldron connected to a mana crystal, and on the table — notes. Hundreds of pages of notes, diagrams, calculations. Igi reviewed them. Months of work. Years of theory. And today — today he had to try. He opened the shelf and pulled out ingredients. He arranged them on the table in precise order, as dictated by a recipe that existed in no book — because he had written it himself, based on what the Artificer had told him and what he had supplemented with his own research. First ingredient: Mana Core Crystal — large, from a monster of at least level thirty. The energy core for the process. He placed it in the smelting cauldron, where it glowed with blue light. Second: Mercury dust — a rare mineral from deep mines. The basis of fluidity. He poured it into the cauldron and the metal began to melt. Third: Alchemical essence of stability — his own invention. Six months of distillation. A liquid that gave the molten metal "memory" — the ability to return to its shape after deformation. Fourth: A drop of his own mana. Binding the construct to its creator. The cauldron bubbled. The liquid inside changed — from orange to blue, from blue to silver-gray. Igi stirred with a wooden rod — not metal, metal would contaminate the process — and counted seconds. Temperature had to be exact. Time had to be exact. Mana concentration had to be exact.
[ALCHEMY] Attempt to craft: Liquid Metal (Changeling Alloy)
Difficulty: Expert Success chance: 34% Igi ignored the number. Thirty-four percent was enough. In a raid, you sometimes go at a boss with worse odds. He stirred. Counted. Breathed steadily. His hands didn't tremble — they never trembled, not in battle, not while cooking, not now. The cauldron hissed. The liquid inside settled — silver-gray, smooth as a mirror, perfectly still. No bubbles. No movement. Just a surface in which Igi's reflection stared back. He slowly dipped a finger. The metal was cool — not hot, as it should have been after smelting. Cool and smooth. And when he pulled the finger out, the drop of metal on its tip didn't move. It held on. And when Igi focused — when he sent a faint mana impulse into it — the drop changed shape. From a drop to a sphere. From a sphere to a cube. From a cube to a miniature finger — a perfect copy of the one it sat on. And when he squeezed it, it was hard. Solid. Steel.
[SYSTEM NOTIFICATION]
Alchemy — successful craft! Item created: Liquid Metal (Changeling Alloy) — Small Sample Quality: Good Quantity: 50 ml
[GOLEM MASTERY] New material unlocked: Changeling Alloy Note: Creating a full Changeling Golem
requires at least 20 liters of alloy and Golem Mastery Level 25. Current level: 19.
Igi held the small vessel of silver-gray liquid and looked at it in the light of the mana lamp. Fifty milliliters. Enough for one golem hand. Not for a
whole body. Not for a face. Not for a changeling. But enough to know that it works. He placed the vessel in the safe, locked the false wall, and went upstairs to the tavern. Dawn was breaking outside. The city was waking — the first voices, the first footsteps, the first sound of a hammer from the smithy. Igi tied on his apron and began chopping onions for the morning soup. Outside, in Draxer's study, the lights were probably just being lit. More patrols. He'll look into it himself. Maybe. And down here, in the cellar beneath the tavern, in a safe behind a false wall, a vessel of liquid metal that remembered shapes waited. Igi didn't think about when he would have twenty liters. He knew it would come. Time was on his side — it always was. And in the meantime, he would cook soup, mix potions, and listen. Because a cook hears more than a general. And what he was hearing told him that soup and potions weren't enough. He would need steel.
Classroom, 8:00
Igi stood behind the lectern. Today he didn't have the staff leaned against the wall — he held it in his hand, drumming it on the floor in an irregular rhythm that betrayed impatience. Or excitement. With Igi, it was hard to tell one from the other. "Today I wanted to go deeper into how dungeons work." "But there's something more important. And serious."
The five straightened in their chairs. When Igi said "serious," it meant the words that followed would carry a weight they'd feel for a long time. "I've decided to accelerate your training." Kaelen slightly raised an eyebrow. Diana crossed her arms. Hazela tilted her head. Peter smiled uncertainly. Jana pulled her ears back — her body reacted to the change in tone before her mind did. "Time is running out," Igi continued, and an urgency they hadn't heard before appeared in his voice. "And your levels are still low. Too low for what awaits us. You're not bad — you're slow. And I've been too patient. That changes today." He paused and pierced them with his gaze. "Today you'll learn more about my project. About Elysium." He turned toward the classroom doors. "Any moment now, four ladies will come to us. They will train you. With their knowledge and experience,
your talents will skyrocket. They'll advise you on stat investment, what items are best in the Shop, combinations, synergies, and everything else. Everything I didn't have the time or expertise for." Peter raised his hand. "What ladies? Where from—" The classroom doors opened.
Peter fell silent mid-word. Four entered. The first was Green. Hazela immediately straightened — she knew her from the forest. A young woman with two elegantly curved horns of dark green, a long reptilian tail covered in fine scales swaying behind her like a snake in grass. Her hair was alive — not green by dye, but green by nature itself, moss and grass interwoven with tiny flowers. On her shoulders, hips, and legs, green scales glistened, fine as leaves. Her chest and groin were covered only by living leaves, fused to her skin, breathing with her. The second was Red — Red. And Jana forgot to breathe. If Green was spring and forest, Red was fire and battle. Same build — horns, tail, scales — but everything in shades of glowing red and dark crimson. Hair cascaded over her shoulders like streams of molten lava, eyes blazed orange like coals in a blacksmith's forge. Her tail was more powerful than Green's — lizard-like, covered in harder scales that scraped against stone with every move. Slung across her back was an enormous two-handed weapon — a broad sword whose blade seemed to shimmer with heat. And her body — where Green covered herself with leaves, Red covered herself with lava. Literally. Her chest and groin were covered by plates of liquid, slowly rotating red stone — magma that was solid enough to conceal and liquid enough to move with her. It must have burned to the touch. The third was Black — Black. And Kaelen instinctively tensed. Because Black was not a person. She was an absence. A silhouette of a woman — horns, tail, body curves — but filled with pure, absolute darkness. Not shadow — darkness. As if someone had cut a woman-shaped hole in reality and behind it was nothing. The outline was clear — they could see the shape of horns, a long tail, shoulders, hips, legs — but inside there was no color, no texture, no skin. Just blackness, denser than night, in which two points of light occasionally flashed. Her eyes.
White and glowing. The fourth was White — White. And Diana froze. Similar to Green and Red in build — horns, tail, scales — but everything in shades of icy white and translucent blue. Her hair was like a cascade of delicate ice crystals that shattered and reformed with every movement of her head. The scales on her body were white as fresh snow, with a pearlescent sheen. And what covered her body was ice — thin, elegant crystalline structures that formed and changed in real time, veiling her chest and groin in an ever-shifting pattern. Light reflected off her skin so that she seemed to glow from within. All four stood in a line before the lectern. The classroom instantly changed — the air thickened and strangely contradicted itself: warmth from Red on one side, frost from White on the other, the scent of forest from Green to the right, and from the left — nothing. Absolute absence of anything from Black.
The five sat in mute awe. Peter's mouth was open. Literally. His jaw hung so low an entire bread roll could have fit in it. Kaelen had clenched fists — not from aggression, but from instinct. Every cell of his half-orc body was telling him the beings before him were predators. Predators on a level he had no concept of. Hazela was trembling. Not with fear — with excitement. Her elven blood reacted to Green like a compass to north. Diana had narrowed eyes and was watching White with an intensity that betrayed she was currently recalculating mana, power, and danger. Jana had flattened ears and a bristling tail. Her nose was working at full capacity — and what she smelled terrified her more than anything in the dungeons. These four beings didn't smell like humans. They didn't smell like elves, orcs, or beastkind. They smelled like power. Pure, uncompromising, primordial power.
Igi stepped up to the four and began introductions. "Lady Green — Hazela already knows her." Green slightly bowed her head and smiled — that inhuman smile of hers, reminiscent of a flower blooming. Hazela
instinctively bowed her head in return. "Next we have Lady Red." Red did not bow her head. Instead, she crossed her arms before her chest and measured the five with a gaze that was hot in both the literal and figurative sense. The air around her wavered with heat. "Lady Black." Black said nothing. She just stood — a silhouette of darkness, in which the white points of her eyes slowly moved. "And Lady White." White smiled gently. With that smile, tiny cracks formed in the ice on her face, which immediately froze back.
[SYSTEM NOTIFICATION] Player Igi (Guild Master) invites to guild ELYSIUM:
Green — ACCEPTED Red — ACCEPTED Black — ACCEPTED White — ACCEPTED
Guild roster updated: 10 members.
Igi returned behind the lectern. "They will train you. Each of them has a different specialization, and you'll go to whichever helps you most." He pointed his staff at Green. "Lady Green. Forest, nature, herbs, poisons, healing, animals. Everything that grows and breathes. You'll go to her in the forest." At Red. "Lady Red. Fire, but also swordfighting and close combat. If you want to know how to cut off someone's hand or burn them — she's your address." At Black. "Lady Black. Shadow, darkness, necromancy, debuffs. Everything that weakens the enemy, everything that hides and kills quietly." At White. "Lady White. Cold, ice, slowing, battlefield control. Freezing spells, barriers, and everything that takes your enemy's speed before they take your life."
Peter raised his hand. This time he waited for Igi's nod. "Sir... what exactly are they?" The classroom went silent. All five wanted to know — Peter just said it out loud. Igi looked at the four. Green smiled slightly. Red
snorted. Black didn't move. White tilted her head slightly, making the ice crystals in her hair clink softly. "They are dragonesses," said Igi. "Currently in human form."
The uproar that followed shook the classroom. Peter jumped out of his chair. "Dra— dragons?! Real dragons?!" Kaelen froze and his hand automatically shot to where his sword would normally hang — today it wasn't there. In half-orc culture, the dragon was the apex predator. A being you didn't fight — you ran from. Hazela trembled — this time unmistakably with excitement. In elven mythology, dragons were primeval beings, guardians of the world, with whom elves shared the ancient forest. To sit in the same room with one was an honor ballads were sung about. To sit in the same room with four was something for which no word existed. Diana didn't visibly react. But Igi noticed that a fire rune had activated on her hand — a subconscious defensive reaction. The sorceress in her recognized a power against which her fire was a candle before the sun. Jana had her tail completely down and ears pressed to her head. Every instinct in her wolf body screamed: RUN. Because these weren't predators. These were the predators of predators. The end of the food chain.
Red took a step forward. The movement was fluid and dangerous — like a sword blade moving. She measured the five with a gaze that burned them more than any fireball. "Calm down," she said, her voice deep, raspy, with a vibration they felt in their chests. "If we wanted to eat you, you'd already be eaten." Peter sat back down. Slowly. Igi tapped his staff on the floor. "The dragonesses have the right to give you orders for training purposes. And for that purpose also to—" he paused slightly, "—provoke. Cause pain. Motivate you in ways I don't have the temperament for." Red smirked. Fangs — real, sharp, white fangs — flashed in the classroom light. "With them, you'll start enjoying the training," Igi added, and in his voice appeared a hint of something that could have been pity. Or
amusement. With Igi, you could never be sure.
Peter raised his hand again. Igi nodded at him. "Sir... why are they so..." Peter gestured with his hands in the universal gesture for "dressed," while trying not to look directly at any of them and simultaneously unable to look anywhere else. Igi paused for a moment. Then he said — dryly, matter-of-factly, without a hint of embarrassment: "A small note. If you're wondering why they're wearing so little — clothing tears during transformation. When a dragoness transforms from human form to dragon form — and back — anything she's wearing is destroyed. Several sets of torn garments a day isn't practical. So they wear only what nature or magic provides. Leaves, lava, ice, shadow." He looked at Peter. "And they're not ashamed of their bodies. Why should they be? They are dragonesses. Shame is a human concept." Red crossed her arms — a movement during which the lava plates on her chest slowly rotated and rearranged. "If that bothers you, boy, I can transform into full form. Then you'll be looking at scales the size of your head instead of—" "No!" Peter blurted out too quickly. "It's — it's fine. Completely. One hundred percent." Green giggled — a sound that resembled the rustling of leaves. White smiled softly. Black said nothing. But the white points of her eyes narrowed for a moment, which could have been her equivalent of amusement.
Igi tapped his staff one final time. "So the assignments. To Green — Hazela and Jana. To Red — Kaelen. To Black — Peter. To White — Diana. That's the foundation. You'll rotate as needed — each will teach you something different and over time you'll pass through all of them." He looked at the four dragonesses. "Ladies, they're yours." Green stepped up to Hazela and Jana with a smile that was warm and green. "Let's go to the forest. We have a lot of work." Red caught Kaelen's eye and pointed at the door. "You. With me. Training ground. Now." Kaelen stood without a word, but a fire flickered in his eyes that hadn't been there before. Black
simply moved — she shifted to Peter like a shadow changing owners. Peter visibly shuddered. "Um... hello?" Black didn't answer. She just pointed toward the doors and vanished through them. Peter followed her, because the alternative was worse. White approached Diana and tilted her head. Ice crystals clinked. "You have fire in your blood," she said in a soft, cool voice. "I'll teach you that ice is stronger." Diana looked at her without blinking. "We'll see about that." White smiled. "Yes. We'll see."
Within a minute, the classroom was empty. Only Igi remained standing behind the lectern, staff in hand, silent. On the blackboard, the names from the last lesson still stood. The chalk lifted itself and beneath them added four new ones: ZELENÁ — Nature, Forest, Herbs, Healing ■ERVENÁ — Fire, Earth, Sword, Close Combat ■IERNA — Shadow, Darkness, Necromancy, Debuffs BIELA — Cold, Ice, Slowing, Control Below that, in smaller writing: DRAGONESSES. IN HUMAN FORM. Igi looked at the board. Then he turned to the window and looked at the city below — at the training ground where Red had just drawn her sword and Kaelen had gone three shades paler, at the forest gate where Green was leading Hazela and Jana into the thicket, at the shadow moving across the rooftop with Peter in tow. "Well," he murmured into the empty classroom. "Now it begins." And in his voice there was no threat. It was a promise. Classroom 800 — Dungeons and Choices ... Igi tapped his staff on the floor and the chalk on the blackboard erased the previous diagram. In its place appeared a drawing — a circle with a pulsing core in the center and a network of corridors branching in all directions. "So, dungeons," Igi began, pointing his staff at the pulsing dot in the center of the drawing. "Every dungeon has a core. Dungeon Core. It's the heart of the dungeon — a mana source that creates monsters, traps, corridors, everything. Without the core, the dungeon doesn't exist." "A Dungeon Core can be purchased in the God Shop. It costs points and it's not cheap. But if the AI permits you to found a new dungeon, you can build it wherever you want. The second way — end an existing dungeon and obtain its Core." He moved before the board and
chalk began drawing arrows leading from the core in three directions. "When you complete a dungeon, you have three options." He raised three fingers. "One — take the Dungeon Core. Which destroys the dungeon. It's gone, forever. But you have the core and can found your own dungeon elsewhere." "Two — leave it. The dungeon will regenerate over time. Monsters respawn, corridors repair. You can come back to farm again and again. The dungeon grows over time — higher level, more complex, more dangerous. But also more profitable." "Three —" Igi made a long pause. His voice took on a grave tone. "— and this is very important — become a Dungeon Master." The classroom fell silent.
Dungeon Master "Dungeon Master," Igi repeated, and the chalk on the board drew a figure's silhouette connected by lines to the dungeon core. "It's a being bound to the dungeon. The Dungeon Core becomes your heart. Literally. If they destroy the core, you die. If the dungeon falls, you fall with it." Peter nervously swallowed. "That sounds... limiting." "Because it is limiting," Igi confirmed bluntly. "You're movement-restricted. You can't leave the dungeon, or only very briefly and at great cost. You're tied to one place." "But—" he raised a finger, "—you have advantages no other player has." "Protection beyond your level. A Dungeon Master has bonuses within their dungeon that exceed their actual strength. It's compensation for not being able to flee. The dungeon protects you — walls, traps, monsters, everything works for you." "Control. You decide what the dungeon creates. What monsters, what traps, what rewards. You set the rules." "But," Igi raised a warning finger, "you must follow the System's rules. The dungeon must be within your level range. It must be completable. There must be rewards for those who finish it. You can't make a dungeon that's impossible to complete — the System won't allow it." "High levels can't enter a small dungeon," he added. "Protection works both ways. A level one hundred warrior can't enter a level five dungeon. It would be like an adult kicking a sand castle." Kaelen slightly smirked. For the first time during this lesson. "More on
dungeons can be found in the library," Igi concluded this section. "There are entire volumes on how dungeons work, what types exist, how they can be improved. Read up. Not today. But soon."
Diana's Request A short pause followed while everyone processed the information. Then a hand rose in the back row. Diana. Igi nodded at her. "Yes, Diana? What's troubling you?" Diana straightened in her chair. There was determination in her blue eyes — not uncertainty. "I want to change my focus," she said directly. "To ice. Lady White convinced me." Silence fell in the classroom. Hazela raised an eyebrow. Peter turned in his chair. Kaelen just gave a terse look, but his ears caught every word. Igi paused for a moment. When he spoke, his voice wasn't angry — it was disappointed, which was worse. "That could be a mistake." Diana stiffened but didn't look away. "Why?" "Because you'll lose a lot of points," Igi said matter-of-factly. "And ice is a combination of water and wind in the water tree. It's not a standalone element. You'll lose the time and effort invested in fire. All those hours leveling Fireball, fire runes, flame control — all of that will come at a cost. Changing focus isn't free." Diana nodded, but her expression didn't change. "Yes, I'm aware. But ice gives me the ability to defend. To slow the enemy. And fire destroys. Ice doesn't have to." The classroom was so quiet you could hear the magical lamps crackling. "I'm disappointed, Diana. A little," Igi said, weariness in his voice from having to correct mistakes that could have been prevented. "Why didn't you go to the library and look up tree synergy? If you had, you'd know that ice isn't just about what White told you. There's a whole system of combinations behind it." Diana went a shade paler. "I'm sorry, sir. I'll do it right away—" "Stop." Igi's voice was sharp but not cruel. "We're in a lesson now. And I'll advise you. But still go check the options." He moved before the blackboard and chalk began drawing a tree — literally, with a trunk and branches, where each branch carried a different symbol. "My advice is — fire and water and wind," he said, pointing at three branches that met at one point. "If you open the water tree, at its higher levels a fog option will
unlock. Fog is a combination of water, fire, and wind — it slows, reduces visibility, and if you combine it with fire, you get scalding steam that burns and blinds simultaneously." Diana opened her mouth but said nothing. New possibilities were flickering in her eyes. "It's a lot," Igi conceded. "But I'll allow it. On one condition." His voice hardened. "Nothing is free," Igi continued. "If you drop Alchemy. But in return, I want you to go hunting in the forest. Raw materials from the forest — hides, meat, herbs — that will be your contribution instead of potions. The guild needs to be supplied, and everyone must do their part." Diana nodded slowly. "Thank you, sir." Her voice was quiet but steady.
"And one more thing," Igi added, his gaze sweeping the entire group. "For all of you. Green balances the forest. If you start slaughtering everything without thought — she'll certainly come to explain to you what balance in nature means." A note in his voice that could have been respect. Or fear. With Igi, you could never be sure. Jana instinctively pressed her ears to her head. Her wolf senses caught something in Igi's words that the others missed — genuine respect for the dragoness. "Finished, Diana?" Igi asked. "Finished, sir."
Igi tapped his staff on the floor — once, firmly, with finality. "Lesson over. Diana — library. The rest — dungeon or training. Move." Chairs scraped against the stone floor as the five rose from their desks. Diana left first, walking quickly toward the library. Peter stopped at the door and turned to Jana. "Coming to the Crypt with me? Skeletons scare me less when I've got someone with a wolf nose by my side." Jana smiled slightly — just the corner of her mouth, but it was the first time any of them smiled without sarcasm behind it. "I'm in. But you go first." "Fair enough," Peter nodded and opened the door. Kaelen followed silently, axe on his back, stony face. Hazela slung her bow over her shoulder and without a word vanished toward the forest gate. The classroom was left empty. Just Igi
behind the lectern, chalk on the board, and silence.
On the board, the words remained: DUNGEON CORE = HEART OF THE DUNGEON DUNGEON MASTER = BOUND TO THE DUNGEON RULES MUST BE FOLLOWED NOTHING IS FREE Below that, in smaller writing, a new line had appeared: DIANA: FIRE + WATER + WIND (FOG) | ALCHEMY → HUNTING
Igi looked at the board. Then out the window — at Diana, disappearing around a corner toward the library. At Peter and Jana, stepping into the shadow of the Crypt. At Kaelen, warming up his shoulders on the training ground. At Hazela, vanishing among the trees. "They're learning," he murmured into the empty room. There was no praise in his voice. But there was no reproach either. Just an observation. And maybe — just maybe — something like hope.
[SYSTEM SUMMARY — LESSON: DUNGEONS & FOCUS]
Dungeon Core — heart of the dungeon, source of mana and monsters Obtaining Core: God Shop (purchase) or completing an existing dungeon After completion: Destroy core / Let it regenerate / Become Dungeon Master Dungeon Master: bound to dungeon, movement-restricted, protection beyond level, control Rules: dungeon must be within level range, must be completable, rewards must exist Growth: dungeon grows in level and complexity over time Protection: high levels cannot enter a low-level dungeon Diana: Fire + Water + Wind (Fog) | Replacement: Hunting in the forest
Prequel — Igi, Fenix — Silent Metal
Igi learned to be invisible. Not literally — not yet — but in the guild it meant the same thing. Don't get involved in disputes, don't show strength, don't stand out. After the confrontation with Drax, he understood that attention was a currency he couldn't afford to spend. Drax had promised reform. He spoke of rules, balance, a fresh start. Igi didn't believe a word. So he worked in silence.
His masterwork. The metal shuddered when Igi let a stream of mana into it. The surface rose like water in the rain. Shape began to form — first indistinct, then human. Without a face. Without a name. "Changeling," Igi said quietly. The golem responded. Turned its head. Knelt. Waited. The connection worked.
Igi closed his eyes and activated Mind Swap. The world flipped. Suddenly he couldn't feel his own body. Instead of the pulse of blood, he sensed the flow of mana. Every movement was precise, mechanically perfect. No fatigue. No pain. He opened metallic fingers. Clenched them. The liquid surface adapted like muscle. After a while, he returned to his own body. The return hurt — like gasping for air after being submerged too long. "You work," he smiled.
The changeling, however, didn't need constant guidance. It could act on commands. Complete tasks. React to situations within set parameters. That made it the ideal agent. Power was dual: Igi's mana — fast but exhaustible. Or, through a talent that allowed him, a mana core embedded in the golem's center — expensive but stable. In the golem's chest, a light softly glowed. The first core. Weak, but sufficient for a solo mission. "If they destroy you, it only hurts me," Igi said. "Not the other way around." He'd lose metal. Lose points. Lose time. But not life. And more golems would follow. Better. Stronger. More numerous.
The changeling's face shifted. The metal poured into a new form — an ordinary young man from the market. Nothing memorable. Perfect. In the city, tension was growing. People were disappearing. Gangs were testing boundaries. The guild ignored it, as long as only "insignificant" blood was flowing. But Igi saw opportunity. Not to be a hero. But to prepare the ground. "Go," he commanded. The changeling turned and walked out into the night. Quiet steps. No aura. No identity. Just liquid metal carrying out its creator's will. And the city didn't yet know that through its streets already walked something that could not be intimidated, bribed, or broken.
Morning in the City
Igi left the workshop before dawn. Fenix City woke slowly — first sounds, then light. The clang of hammers from the smithy, the scraping of wagons on pavement, the muffled voices of merchants setting up their market stalls. In the wealthy district, magical lamps burned all night. In the poor district, where Igi headed, the only light came from barrel fires.
ORPHANAGE The first stop was always the same. The orphanage stood at the end of a narrow alley in the poor district — an old building of stone and wood that nobody maintained except those who lived in it. On the facade, a church symbol was still visible — a golden circle with four rays — but the paint had long since peeled and nobody had renewed it. The orphanage functioned only thanks to church aid and the occasional donations from people who had enough conscience and enough coins to quiet both with a single gesture. Igi knocked. The door was opened by Sister Maren — a tired woman with sharp features and eyes in which wonder at anything had long since burned out. She recognized him. "Igi. Do you have something?" Igi handed her a small pouch. There wasn't much in it — a few copper coins left over from the tavern's evening take.
Sometimes it was more, sometimes less. Today it was less. "Thank you," said Sister Maren, tucking the pouch into the folds of her garment. Without emotion, without surprise. She was used to it. In this world, gratitude was a luxury few could afford. Igi looked past her, down the corridor. He heard children's voices — not cheerful, just loud. A small figure with bare feet ran through the door at the end of the hallway. Then another. And another. There were always enough orphans. Deaths from dungeons. Violence in the city. The dangerous wilds beyond the gates, where the careless vanished and never returned. And then there were the quiet deaths — men who went on a quest and didn't come back. Women who stayed home with children and slowly fell behind in levels because they had neither the time nor the resources for training. Children who had parents in the morning and didn't by evening. The men in this city were rough. Most of them believed levels gave them authority over others. The higher the level, the greater the arrogance. And women — those who stayed home — fell behind their men in levels every day. They weren't weak. They were just trapped in a system that rewarded fighting and punished caregiving. "How many do you have now?" Igi asked. "Thirty-seven," Sister Maren answered. "Four new ones came last week. One's father died in a dungeon. The other's mother..." she trailed off and shrugged. She didn't need to finish. Igi nodded. He didn't know what to say. He never knew what to say to children, and he didn't know what to say to the people who cared for them. He could only bring a pouch and leave. "I'll come in a week," he said and turned. Sister Maren said nothing. Just closed the door.
MARTA The second stop was different. Marta lived three streets further, in a small house with two rooms. The door was closed, but when Igi knocked twice — quickly, then slowly — she opened almost immediately. She was a young woman, perhaps twenty-five, with dark hair pulled back and tired eyes. She had flour on her hands — she was baking. From the room behind her came the voices of two children. "You came," she said. Not a question. A statement. Igi entered. On the table lay a small pouch —
heavier than the one he brought to the orphanage. He placed it beside a loaf of bread. Marta looked at it, then at Igi. In her eyes there was neither anger nor gratitude. Just the practicality of a person who had learned to survive. Her husband had died two months ago in a dungeon. Level 8, inadequate gear, no support. He went alone because the guild didn't provide groups for low levels. He left behind two children and a wife who was level 3 with no combat talent. The children needed food. Marta needed coins. Igi needed something that had nothing to do with mercy. It was a simple transaction. Quick. Without promises, without pretense. Marta knew what she was getting. Igi knew what he was taking. Neither of them pretended it was anything more. When he left, the children sat in the other room, sharing a piece of bread. They didn't know him. They didn't know who the man was who came to see their mother. And Igi didn't care. Not because he was cruel — but because he didn't know how. He had never cared for children. He didn't know what to do with them, what to tell them, how to look at them without seeing future orphans.
ESCAPE Igi walked back through the poor district, thoughts swirling in his head that accompanied him every morning. Escape. He kept thinking about escape from this ever-growing hell. Fenix City had once been a promise — Drax's vision of a just guild, a place where people protected each other. Now it was just a bigger cage with prettier walls. Rich on top, poor below. Gangs in the alleys. Officers enriching themselves. And Drax, who saw it and did nothing, because change would cost too much political capital. If only he could set things right. But he was too weak for that. Compared to other players — those with combat talents, those with levels in the tens and twenties — Igi was just a cook. Cooking 18, Alchemy 12, Golem Mastery 9. No combat tree. No offensive spell. In a direct fight, a level 15 warrior would wipe him out in three seconds. And this was the Q world. A world created for people with "character deficits." People like him. Controlling. Withdrawn. Quiet. A world that gave them power and waited to see what they'd do with it. Most did exactly what was expected
— abused it. Igi stopped at a street corner and looked at the city below. From this spot he could see both — the gleaming rooftops of the wealthy district to the north and the dark alleys of the poor district to the south. Two worlds in one city. Leave. Just like that. Take the changeling, some supplies, and disappear. Leave Fenix to its fate. Leave Drax's promises, Kira's watered-down potions, Sister Maren's orphans, and Marta's children. But where? The wilds beyond the gates were dangerous. Alone, at his level, he wouldn't survive a week. And even if he survived — then what? Another city? Another Drax? Another poor district with another orphanage? No. Escape isn't a solution. Escape is just postponing the problem. Igi looked at his hands. The hands of a cook. The hands of an alchemist. The hands of a golem maker. Weak hands. But in the underground workshop beneath the old warehouse, a changeling of liquid metal waited. A being that could be anyone. And in Igi's head, slowly, quietly, relentlessly, a plan was forming. Not a plan of escape. A plan of change. And for that, he didn't need strong hands. He just needed patience, liquid metal, and time.
Igi went into the tavern kitchen, tied on his apron, and began chopping onions for soup. The same soup as every day. But not the same day.
Night Shift
Igi decided to change tactics. Not himself. He couldn't change himself — he was who he was. Cook, alchemist, golem maker. A quiet man with a hood and soup. But his weapons could change. And his weapons were golems. The problem was simple: the changeling was clever but weak. It could shift, hide, follow commands. But it couldn't fight. It couldn't adapt to unexpected situations. Its AI was primitive — if it received a command, it executed it. If something went wrong, it froze. That wasn't enough. Igi needed golems that could fight. Adapt. Blend in. React to situations he himself hadn't imagined. For that he needed better talents, longer control, higher AI. And for all of that he needed one thing — levels. Levels in Golem Mastery. Levels in talents. And points to unlock them. And levels were gained only one way — through use.
DAILY ROUTINE He kept his daily routine unchanged. That was key. Morning: get up, check the pantry, cook. Soup for the tavern, special dishes for those who paid extra. Cooking climbed slowly — level 19, then 20. Each level brought better recipes, stronger food effects, greater efficiency. Points flowed. Slowly, but steadily. Afternoon: Alchemy.
Potions for the guild, nutritional supplements, regeneration brews. Nothing that would attract attention. Just standard production, the kind any decent alchemist would do. Level 13, then 14. Evening: the tavern. Washing dishes, conversations with guests, listening. Always listening. Who owes whom. Who's trading with whom. Who has problems. Who's disappeared. Igi was invisible. Exactly as he needed to be. But when the city settled down and the tavern fell silent, his real work began.
NIGHT SHIFT The changeling went out from the workshop every night around two. At first, these were simple missions. Reconnaissance. Mapping. Igi needed to learn to control the golem in the field — on rooftops, in narrow alleys, in shadows where every wrong step meant discovery. Then he moved on to real work. The wealthy district slept behind locked doors and guards. But the changeling wasn't the kind of thief the guards were looking for. It had no face. No identity. No aura that magical detections would pick up — it was a golem, not a living being. The System classified it as an object, not a player. The changeling could pour itself through cracks. Liquid metal had no fixed shape — it could become a thin layer that slid under doors. It could pose as a statue in the corner of a room. As a vase on a shelf. As a piece of furniture that had always been there. And when needed — as a person who belonged. A servant carrying linens. A guard on rounds. A guest who'd entered the wrong door. Igi sat in the workshop with closed eyes and saw the world through the golem's eyes. Every night a little longer — the remote control limit grew with level. One hour became an hour and a half. Then two. And the money came. Not much at once. Never enough for anyone to notice. A small pouch here, a few coins there. Igi never took everything — he only took as much as the wealthy owner wouldn't notice. Gold from a vault holding a thousand coins, ten fewer goes unnoticed. A gemstone from a jewelry box full of gemstones? A missing stone gets lost in memories of where I last saw it. The changeling stole from the rich. And Igi invested. Points accumulated. Golem Mastery grew. Level 10, then 11, then 12.
Each level brought new capabilities — better AI for golems, longer control time, more stable connection. And most importantly — the ability to create new golems.
AI The breakthrough came at Golem Mastery 14. The System unlocked a new ability: Golem AI — Adaptive Level 2. That meant the golem was no longer just a puppet on strings. It received its own decision-making capability — primitive but functional. It could react to environmental changes. If attacked, it defended itself. If chased, it fled. If given the command "return," it returned by the shortest safe route, even when Igi wasn't connected. And more importantly — Igi could now create new types of golems. Not just changelings. Simple golems. Expendable. Cheap. Stone golems at level 5. Water golems at level 8. Nothing special. Nothing that would attract attention in a dungeon. But enough to kill a rat, a skeleton, a mouse. And that was another source of points. Igi began sending golems into dungeons. He didn't need to go himself — the golems went in his place. They were slow, inefficient, died often. Every lost golem hurt — material, points, time. But while one golem fell, two others returned with crystals and experience. In the wilds it was the same. Simple golems hunted low-level creatures beyond the city gates. Igi monitored their progress through the system window while cooking soup. A multitasking golem master. Losses were high. But returns were higher. And the army grew.
YEAR. TWO. Time passed and Igi changed. Not outwardly — outwardly he was still the same quiet cook with a hood. But beneath the surface, a force was building that nobody could see. Golem Mastery 18. Changeling version 3 — faster, more intelligent, with longer lifespan. Remote control at four hours. AI at level 4 — golems could fight in groups, coordinate attacks, cover each other. Alchemy 16. Potions he sold on the black market through the changeling — under a foreign identity, of course. Nobody