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.

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  "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