Classroom, 8:00

  Igi was already standing behind the lectern when the last of the five crossed the threshold. Today he didn't wait for them to sit down. He spoke the moment the doors closed. "Today will be short." His tone was different from usual. Not strict — he was always that. This time it was quiet. And a quiet Igi was more dangerous than a shouting one. "I know you have problems among yourselves." Nobody moved. But Hazela slightly pressed her lips together, and Peter crossed his arms, trying to look indifferent, but his shoulders betrayed him — they were hard as stone. Igi pierced them with his gaze from under the hood. "I won't pretend to be surprised. Where there are people, there are conflicts. That's normal. But what is not normal—" The staff struck the floor. The sound resonated through the classroom. "—is an attempt to kill a fellow combatant in a dungeon." The silence was so thick you could cut it. Diana looked at Hazela, then at Peter. Kaelen just clenched his jaw.

  "Hazela," Igi said, his voice smooth as ice. "In the Crypt of the Damned, you fired an arrow toward Peter. Not at a skeleton. At Peter." Hazela lifted her chin. There was no shame in her eyes — only stubborn elven defiance.

  "That human—" "I didn't say you could speak." The words cut her like a whip. The collar on her neck briefly glowed blue, and Hazela fell silent, though her eyes burned. "As you've noticed," Igi continued calmly, "the arrow didn't hit Peter. Not because you aimed poorly — an elf at that range doesn't miss. The collar blocked your shot. It's one of its functions that I didn't tell you about, because I hoped I wouldn't have to explain it." He paced before the blackboard, his staff tapping stone with every step. "The collars prevent you from harming each other. Outside the Arena, you cannot use any attack against a fellow guild member — physical, magical, poison, none. The System simply won't allow it. If you want to fight each other, that's what the Arena is for. A safe place, controlled environment, no permanent consequences." He stopped before them and crossed his arms. "But the fact that the collar prevented you from causing harm doesn't mean nothing happened. The intent was there. And intent concerns me more than outcome."

  Igi leaned against the lectern, and his voice took on a tone they didn't recognize. Not strict, not cold. Threatening. "So now I'll tell you what will happen next time someone among you starts thinking about attacking another." He paused. He let the silence do its work. "You will strip. Completely bare. Both of you. And for the next seventy-two hours, you will be together. Sleeping, eating, training, living — from morning to night, twenty-four hours a day, without a single second of privacy. No walls between you, no doors, no refuges. The collar will see to it." Peter's eyes widened. Hazela froze in her seat, fingers clenched into the wood. "And there's nothing you can do about it," Igi added in a light tone, as if discussing the weather. "Until you realize that you're in this together. That each of you has their own problems, their own pain, and their own reasons for anger — and that despite all of it, you must function as a unit."

  Peter raised his hand. Igi looked at him. "Yes?" Peter smiled — that nervous but bold smile of his that he always pulled out when trying to lighten the mood, even when his knees were buckling. "I don't have a problem with our beauty, master. And I'll gladly accept the punishment. I'll sleep with her." The classroom fell so silent you could hear Diana hold her breath. Kaelen looked at Peter with an expression that said: You just signed your own sentence. Igi tilted his head. His expression couldn't be seen under the hood, but something in his posture suggested he was — perhaps, just perhaps — amused. "Hmm," he murmured. "What punishment do you deserve..." Peter stiffened. The smile slowly froze on his face, as if he'd just realized he'd walked into a room full of explosives carrying a lit torch.

  Hazela raised her hand. "If you want to set the punishment," he said to Hazela, "you don't have to bother. I already know." "For the next forty-eight hours, you won't be able to talk to Hazela. At all. She will only answer if I ask her. Otherwise — silence. And you can't get within five meters of her." Peter opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

  [SYSTEM NOTIFICATION]

  Penalty activated: Peter

  Translation — Lines 1001–2000 Penalty activated: Peter Duration: 48 hours Conditions:

  Prohibited from addressing player Hazela (exception: answering a direct question) Minimum distance from player Hazela: 5 meters Violation: Automatic pain punishment via collar.

  Peter looked at the system window, then at Hazela, then at Igi. "That's..." The collar on his neck buzzed faintly. Peter fell silent and sank back into his chair with resignation. Hazela straightened with a victorious expression, but Igi immediately knocked her back down. "And you, Hazela

  — don't look so triumphant. You fired an arrow at a member of your own group. Peter said stupid things. You nearly killed. Which of you two is the bigger problem?" The elf lowered her eyes. Her ears pressed back against her head.

  Igi walked back behind the lectern and pointed his staff at the entire group. "Stop with the stupid arguments. This city is big enough that you don't have to get on each other's nerves. If you can't stand someone — keep away from them. Peter and Hazela, that goes especially for you. Once the penalty expires, keep your distance and only make contact when training or a dungeon requires it." The staff struck the floor again. Period. "And now, today's program," Igi continued, his voice shifting — strictness replaced by an instructor's matter-of-fact tone. "Originally, I wanted to take Jana beyond the city gates today. Show her the surroundings, then take her to the capital — so she could see the world we live in and understand why we train." Jana lifted her head. For a moment, hope flashed in her wolfish eyes. "But since we have a problem with a certain elven archer," Igi casually gestured toward Hazela, "plans change. Today we're going for a walk. All of us. Me, Hazela, and the rest of the group." Hazela blinked. "A walk?" "Yes. Outside the city. Into the forest. I'll show you what lies beyond the gates. What awaits you. And maybe — just maybe — when you see what truly lurks out there, you'll understand that shooting arrows at your own people is a luxury you can't afford." Igi headed for the doors. "In the coming days, I'll rotate you — each of you will go with me individually or in a small group beyond the gates. And then, when you prove to me that you can hold together upon first contact with the wilderness, you'll earn the chance to go to the capital city. Alone. Without my supervision." At the door he stopped and turned his head toward them. The shadow of the hood seemed a shade deeper. "That is a reward you must qualify for. And qualification starts with not shooting arrows into each other's backs." The doors closed behind him. The enormous gates of Elysium's outer ring opened with a deep rumble that

  Hazela felt in her chest. They were massive — three meters high, of dark wood reinforced with metal bands on which faded protective runes glowed. Beyond them spread a world they had known until now only from Igi's words and the maps in the library. Forest. Not a park, not a grove. A real, old, deep forest. Trees grew so densely here that their crowns formed a continuous canopy, through which light penetrated only in narrow streams. The air was different — thicker, more humid, saturated with the scent of pine needles, moss, and something wild that stirred Hazela's elven blood in a way she hadn't been prepared for. Hazela's heart clenched. This forest was not her forest. It was not the elven woodland where light danced between silver birches and song drifted through the air. But it was a forest. And that was enough to pluck a string she had been trying to keep silent since the moment she put on the collar. Igi walked three steps ahead of her. His staff tapped roots and stones in a steady rhythm. He didn't look back. He let her breathe. Igi was quiet for a while. Then he spoke, and his voice was different from the classroom. Not softer — that wasn't in his repertoire. But calmer. As if he had removed one layer of armor. "Be yourself. Open. Direct." Hazela looked at him. In her green eyes — the color of forest moss, the color of home — distrust mixed with something she didn't dare name. Perhaps hope. Perhaps just the exhaustion of constant battle. Igi leaned on his staff. "My first question is: What do you want?"

  Hazela blinked. "What do you mean, sir?" "Exactly what I said. What do you want to achieve? What troubles you? Where do you want to go after the contract ends?" Nobody had asked her that before. Not in this world. Not since they caught her, not since they sold her, not since she put that accursed metal on her neck. The questions she received were always orders in disguise — What can you do? How much can you endure? Why are you rebelling? But "what do you want" — that was a question that assumed her answer mattered. Hazela straightened. Her long pointed ears perked up and in her eyes blazed the fire she had kept under a lid in the

  classroom. "Kill all humans," she said without hesitation. "And escape to my elves in the deep forest." No stutter. No apology. No softening. Pure, uncompromising truth, delivered with elven grace and human brutality. Igi nodded. "Direct. Without hesitation. Thank you. But indiscriminate killing and killing innocents — I can't allow that. It's not right. If you go down that path, I will end you. Defending yourself, not attacking — defending your home and the people you love — that is right, and I will help you with that." "Do you realize," Igi continued in a matter-of-fact tone, as if discussing the weather, "that right now you wouldn't survive an encounter with an average human? Your level is low, your combat talents are in their infancy." Every word was like a needle — precise, quiet, and painful. "But," he added, slightly raising a finger, "you will have a chance. A chance to reach your people. A chance to defend them. A chance to be useful to someone instead of just being an elf full of anger and without means." Hazela was silent. The wind ruffled her long hair, and somewhere above them birdsong thundered. "Ten years," she said at last, almost in a whisper. "Ten years is one breath for an elf." "For an elf, yes. For a slave, it's an entire world." Igi let the silence do its work. The forest around them lived its own life — rustling leaves, cracking branches, the distant call of some creature that could have been a bird or a predator. Then he transitioned to the next topic as smoothly as moving to a new point in a meeting. "Peter annoys you the most." It wasn't a question. Hazela answered anyway. "Yes." A single word, loaded with venom. "Why?" "Because he's loud, undisciplined, thinks he's funny, and looks at me the way a dog looks at a piece of meat. He's everything I hate about humans, concentrated into one annoying body." Igi nodded. "And what about Diana?" Hazela hesitated for a moment. Her expression changed — from open hatred to something more complex. "Diana is a woman," she said slowly, carefully, as if picking words from a thorn bush. "And terribly quiet. I have a feeling she's imagining all of us burning." Igi tilted his head. "Interesting observation." "And maybe," Hazela added, a hint of dry humor appearing in her voice — the first Igi had caught from her, "without the collar, we would be burning." "Maybe," Igi conceded, and in his voice

  there was something that, with great imagination, could have been a flash of amusement. "Then challenge Peter to the Arena." Hazela raised an eyebrow. "What?" "If he gets on your nerves, challenge him to the Arena and enjoy it. The collar won't stop you there. Put an arrow in his knee, his shoulder, wherever you want. The System will pull him out at one HP, healed and humiliated. And you'll have peace — at least for a few days, until his ego grows back." Hazela stared at him as if expecting him to take it back. That it was a test, a trap, another lesson on self-control and elven nobility. Igi just waited. "Fine," she said at last, and something changed in her eyes. It didn't soften — Hazela didn't soften. But it shifted. As if something inside her clicked into place. "When we get back, I'm challenging him." "If you can handle it," Igi corrected her mildly. "Peter is a rogue. Fast, evasive, and surprisingly tough. Don't underestimate him just because he says stupid things. Most people who say stupid things do it to divert attention from what they actually know." Hazela processed that. Then she nodded — this time without defiance, just with the cold efficiency of a huntress accepting information about her quarry. "Good. Let's focus on why we're here." He headed deeper into the forest. Hazela followed, this time not three steps behind him, but two. The forest thickened, light thinned, and the air changed — heavier, more humid, saturated with energy that Hazela felt in her bones. This was not the border zone beyond the gates. This was the real forest. Old. Alive. And not empty. Igi suddenly stopped in the middle of a small clearing where a mighty oak cast its shadow over soft moss. He raised his head and called up into the treetops: "Green! You can come out." Hazela tensed. Her hand automatically flew to the bow stave, but stopped — she had left her bow in the city. Her elven ears caught the sound before her eyes: a quiet scraping, as if something large was sliding along bark. Then the cracking of a branch. And then — From behind the mighty oak trunk, a figure stepped out. Hazela forgot to breathe. It was a young woman — or something that could only partially be called a woman. From her head grew two elegant, slightly curved horns of dark green color, arching backward. Behind her, a long reptilian tail covered in fine scales swayed lazily, touching the ground

  with a soft swishing sound. Her hair was long and alive — not green by dye, but green by nature itself, as if moss and lichen interwoven with fine blades of grass grew from her head. Her eyes were the same color — deep, radiant green, like a lake in the heart of a primeval forest. Her body was humanly shaped, slender and strong at once, but decidedly not human. On her shoulders, hips, and legs, scales glistened — not rough and coarse, but fine, almost translucent, like leaves in morning light. Her chest and groin were covered only by leaves — living, green, as if fused to her skin and moving with her breath. She was not naked and she was not clothed. She was part of the forest, the way bark is part of a tree. Green stepped closer. Her gait was fluid and soundless — not even the moss beneath her feet cracked. "Yes, sir," she said with a slight bow of her head toward Igi. Her voice was strange — soft, but with an undertone that resembled the rustling of leaves in the wind. "At your service."

  Igi turned to Hazela. "So. This is Green. Hazela, meet your trainer." But Hazela wasn't listening. She stood as if nailed to the ground, eyes wide, mouth slightly open. Something ancient pulsed in her elven veins — instinct, memory, something that could be neither learned nor forgotten. Elves were children of nature. And the being standing before her was nature itself. Then it hit her. Hazela dropped to her knees. Not from the collar's command, not from fear. From reverence. She bowed her head so deeply that her forehead nearly touched the damp moss. "Lady of the forest," she whispered, her voice breaking. "It is an honor to meet you." Green looked at her with those green eyes. An expression appeared on her face that was not a smile in the human sense, but something closer to a blossoming — as if her features softened for a moment, like a flower opening to the sun. "Rise, child," said Green, touching Hazela's head. Her fingers were cool and smooth — the scales shimmered softly. "I do not kneel before those I will train. You'll need me on your feet." Igi observed the exchange from under his hood. When Hazela stood — eyes still wet, but back straight as an arrow — he spoke: "Hazela, Green will train you.

  You'll come here regularly. The forest is her home, and everything you learn here will give you a strength you'll never find in a classroom." Hazela opened her mouth. "Can I stay—" "No," Igi cut her off before she could finish. "You can't stay here permanently. For ten years you are under my command. You'll keep coming back here, but your place is in Elysium. Training, dungeons, cooperation with the group — all of that continues." Hazela's face contracted for a moment with disappointment, but elven discipline took control before the emotion could fully manifest. Green stepped closer to Hazela and swept her gaze from head to toe. Her green eyes narrowed for a moment. "A pity," she said at last, "that you chose the bow and wind talents." Hazela stiffened. "Why a pity?" Green circled the elf in a slow, evaluating arc. Her tail swayed behind her and the scales on her shoulders shimmered softly in the streams of light that penetrated the canopy. "You have a lot of anger in you. And it's justified — I can feel it. The whole forest can feel it. I hope that for your next tree you'll choose Nature talents. Nature isn't just healing, child. Nature is also poison. Also thorns. Also roots that drag you underground and never let go." Hazela swallowed. Then she slowly nodded. Igi tapped his staff on the ground — his customary period at the end of a paragraph. "Hazela, you will obey Green. What she tells you, you do. And every time you come here and every time you leave — bring some catch. Anything. From plants to prey — meat, hides — to Mana Core Crystals. Everything is always useful. The guild needs raw materials, and the forest has plenty." "Yes, sir," Hazela said automatically, but her voice was different. Not defiant. Not broken. Something in between — something alive. Igi turned toward the city. "From now on, you have access to the forest. The collar will open the gate for you anytime. Just return before dark — at night the forest changes, and you don't have the level for that yet." Hazela said nothing for a moment. Then something moved in her face — something Igi hadn't seen in her before. Spontaneity. Elven discipline loosened for a second, and Hazela leaped forward and hugged Igi. "Thank you. Thank you, thank you—" Her shoulders trembled. Igi stood motionless — not because he hadn't expected the embrace, but because he didn't know what to do with it. In the end, he

  just waited patiently until she let go. Green watched them with an expression of quiet contentment. "Great," said Igi dryly when the elf finally released him. He brushed off his robe where she had left a damp spot from tears. "Don't forget the duel with Peter." Hazela stepped back, wiped her face, and in her eyes blazed that elven fire — this time not from anger, but from something sharper. Competitiveness. "Yes, sir." PROLOGUE — FENIX — Steel That Changes Shape

  The years in Fenix flowed like a well-oiled machine. Igi built a position that nobody envied, because nobody really understood what exactly he did. He wasn't an officer — too quiet for that. He wasn't an elite fighter — too few combat talents for that. He wasn't a politician — too little interest in people for that. He was a cook. An alchemist. A Golem Master. And a member who was always where he was needed, did what needed to be done, and never asked for recognition. Meanwhile, Fenix grew from a small guild into a kingdom. Draxer built a base that expanded like a living organism — walls, towers, marketplaces, barracks, diplomatic halls. The original group of players became a power with its own territory, laws, and hierarchy. The Guild Fenix had its kingdom, and Draxer was its uncrowned king. And Igi? Igi had his tavern.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  It stood in a quiet alley between the marketplace and the smithy — a two-story building of dark wood that he had bought with saved points in the first year. Above the door hung a sign painted with a steaming cauldron. No name. People who came here knew where they were going, and those who didn't know didn't belong. The ground floor was the tavern — six tables, a bar, a fireplace, and a kitchen from which aromas wafted from dawn to dusk, making people walk three extra streets. Igi's Cooking was at a level where his dishes gave buffs that others had to buy as expensive potions. Spicy goulash with wild boar meat — plus five to Stamina for an hour. Baked salmon with an herbal crust — mana

  regeneration thirty percent faster. Dishes that even the officers from the inner circle paid for. Behind the tavern, hidden behind a stone wall, was a small garden. Not decorative — practical. Beds of herbs, most of which were poisonous, medicinal, or both, depending on dosage. In the center stood a massive stone table with an alchemy station — distillation flasks, mortars, scales, and dozens of bottles containing liquids of every color that would poison, heal, or transmute anything they were applied to. This was Igi's world. Tavern and garden. Cauldron and still. It might have looked modest. It wasn't.

  He went on raid activities too, of course. Fenix was a combat guild, and every member had to contribute. Igi participated in dungeons, raids, expeditions into the wilds. His golems — by that time a solid trio of stone colossi — formed a reliable front line or reserve, depending on the need. But — and this was something Igi admitted only to himself, in quiet nights over a glass of his own wine — he took no joy in combat. Not that he was afraid. Not that he couldn't fight. But when others screamed with adrenaline, when a boss fell and the raid erupted in celebration, Igi only felt... relief that it was over. Crossing an item off a list. Done. Next. But when he served a plate of food and watched someone close their eyes after the first bite, forgetting the world for a moment — that was something different. That was joy. Quiet, modest, but real. And when in the alchemist's workshop he mixed the right ingredients and the distillate changed color exactly as he had predicted — that moment of perfection, when theory and practice met — that was happiness no raid ever gave him. Igi was a warrior by duty and a craftsman by passion in Fenix. Prologue — Igi, Fenix CONVERSATION WITH A GOD — Revised Version

  One night — it was late, the tavern was closed and the alchemy station washed — Igi sat in the garden and thought. There was nothing unusual about that. Igi always thought. While cooking, while mixing elixirs, during

  raids, while washing dishes. His mind was a machine that never stopped — it only changed gears. Today it revolved around a single thought. He wanted to change. Not internally — there he was exactly who he wanted to be. But externally. He wanted to know how to blend in. To look like someone else. Walk through a market and be invisible — not because nobody could see him, but because they would see someone who belonged. A merchant. A guard. An old woman with a basket. Anyone. In this world, identity was a weapon. And Igi wanted to have more than one. He closed his eyes and let the thoughts flow. Changeling. Shape-shifting. Not illusion — illusions could be broken, dispelled, detected. True, physical change. Something you could grab, hit, and it would still hold its form. He imagined water. How it adapts to any container. Takes shape but has none of its own. Strong in mass, weak in detail. A water golem — massive, useful, but unable to pretend it's a person. Everyone can see it's water. Then he imagined metal. Steel under a blacksmith's hammer. How it glows, softens, accepts a new shape — and when it cools, it's solid. Unyielding. Sword, shield, horseshoe, chain — all from the same piece of metal. Only the shape changes. The essence remains. What if he combined both? The fluidity of water and the firmness of steel. A construct that could reshape itself — into a person, an object, anything — and yet remain hard, durable, real. Changeling golem. Yes. That was it. But that was only the first thought. The second came right after.

  What if he didn't have just one? Igi opened his eyes and looked at the stars. In his mind, an architecture took shape — not of buildings, but of existence. What if he had multiple changeling golems? In multiple places. One in the tavern, one at the market, one in the forest. Each looking different. Each doing something different. And he — the real Igi — could transfer his consciousness into any of them. Not duplication. Transfer. In any given moment, he would be in one golem. He would see through its eyes, move its hands, speak with its mouth. And the other golems? They would function on their own in the meantime. Driven by artificial

  intelligence — the same kind every golem had, just improved. More sophisticated. Programmed to fit in. So no one would recognize that behind those eyes there was no consciousness, but only a very good imitation. And when he needed to — he would switch. Consciousness from one golem to another. Instantly. No body transfer. No teleportation. Just a change of perspective. But — and here came the third thought, cold and sober — While his consciousness was in a golem, his real body was empty. Defenseless. Lying somewhere in safety, hopefully, but still — flesh and bones without a protector. An easy target for anyone who knew where to look. Solution? Another golem. A guardian. Something that sits next to his body and protects it while his mind is elsewhere. Not a changeling — that would be a waste. A plain, reliable combat golem. Stone. Or steel. Something that doesn't need to look human, just needs to be lethally effective. Igi assembled a list in his head: Changeling golems — multiple, in various locations, enhanced AI Consciousness transfer — mechanism for switching between golems Enhanced AI — so golems without consciousness fit in, act independently Guardian golem — protection of the real body during transfer Every item cost points. Many points. A changeling alone was an expensive construct. Consciousness transfer was probably an entirely new talent or ability. Enhanced AI meant investment into Intelligence and Golem Mastery at levels he hadn't yet seen. And a guardian golem was another load on top. The road was long. Complicated. But was it even possible? He didn't know. And what he didn't know ate at him from the inside. There was only one way to find out. He opened the System window. The [CONTACT GOD] tab. The list unfolded — dozens of names, domains, prices. Igi went straight to the one he needed.

  [GOD OF CONSTRUCTS — ARTIFICER]

  Domain: Golems, Summoners, Mana Constructs, Necromancers Contact cost: 50 points / hour Fifty points an hour. Not cheap. But Igi wasn't going for a casual chat. He was going with a concrete plan and

  concrete questions. He tapped CONTACT. As soon as Igi fell asleep, the God of Constructs appeared to him in a dream. A bronze figure. Humanoid, but clearly artificial. A body of polished metal, joints of silver alloy, and a face — a set of movable plates that folded and unfolded, never quite human, never quite not. "Igi," said the Artificer. A voice like a tuning fork on an anvil. "The clock is running." Igi didn't waste time. "I have a concept," he began, sitting down across from the bronze god. "I want you to tell me if it's feasible within the System's rules. And if it is, show me the path." The Artificer's plates arranged themselves into a neutral expression. "Speak." "Changeling golem. A construct of liquid metal — not water, not slime. Something like steel that changes shape but retains its firmness and detail. Capable of looking like a human, an elf, anyone. Not an illusion — true physical transformation." "Continue." "Multiple such golems. In different locations. Each with a different appearance. Driven by enhanced AI that allows them to act independently — to talk, to react, to blend in among people so no one would recognize they're not alive." The Artificer tilted his head slightly. The gears above them momentarily slowed. "And the key thing," Igi continued, "consciousness transfer. I want to be able to switch — to move my consciousness from my real body into any of the changelings. See through its eyes, act with its hands. And when I'm done, transfer back or into another one." "And your body in the meantime?" "Guarded. Another golem. Not a changeling — a classic combat construct. Protection while my consciousness is elsewhere." Silence. The plates on the Artificer's face moved slowly, as if processing data. "Interesting," he said at last. The Artificer stood. His bronze body moved with the precision of clockwork. He walked to an imaginary board that materialized from thin air — a bronze panel on which schematics and diagrams appeared by themselves. "Let's break it down piece by piece," he said, pointing at the first diagram. "The changeling golem itself — possible. Liquid metal is a variant the System supports. It requires Golem Mastery at a minimum of twenty-five and Alchemy at twenty, because you must prepare the alloy yourself. No one will make it for you — it's bound to your mana." Igi nodded. He had expected that. "Multiple changelings," the Artificer

  continued, and a network of dots connected by lines appeared on the board. "This is where it starts getting expensive. Each changeling is a separate construct that consumes your mana. Maintaining one is demanding. Two — very demanding. Three or more — you need the Mana Manipulation talent in the Arcane tree, minimum level fifteen, to be able to split and manage the mana flow between multiple constructs simultaneously." A new diagram. "Enhanced AI. A standard golem has the intelligence of a dog — it follows commands, reacts to threats, but doesn't converse. You want something that passes the Turing test. That requires investment into Artificer's Blessing — a special ability I can unlock for you, but only after completing my quest line. Seven quests, each harder than the last." "And consciousness transfer?" Igi asked. The Artificer stopped. The plates on his face froze for a moment — the equivalent of a god hesitating. "This is the most complicated part," he said at last. "Consciousness transfer is not a standard golem ability. It's the intersection of Golem Mastery, Mana Manipulation, and something called Mind Transfer in the Mind talent tree. Mind Transfer will also require a long quest line, but that one is from the God of the Mind." "Which god?" "And then will I be able to transfer consciousness?" "Not immediately. Mind Transfer gives you the foundation. Then you must level it. At level five, you'll be able to share senses — see through a golem's eyes, hear through its ears. At ten, you'll be able to take control of its movements. At twenty — full consciousness transfer. Your body will fall into a sleep-like state, and you will exist within the golem until you decide to return."

  The Artificer summarized everything on the bronze board. The full picture looked like this: CHANGELING GOLEM — COMPLETE PATH

  Golem Mastery → Level 25 (for the Changeling) Alchemy → Level 20 (for the liquid metal alloy) Mana Manipulation → unlock + Level 15 (for multiple constructs) Artificer's Blessing → complete 7 quests (for enhanced AI) Mind Transfer → create a golem that exceeds its creator in 1

  stat → then level to 20 (for full consciousness transfer)

  Estimated points: 1,200+ Estimated time: 5–7 years at an intense pace Igi stared at the board. The numbers were brutal. Three to four years of pure work, alongside everything else — alongside cooking, alongside raids, alongside guild duties. Twelve hundred points, most of which he'd have to earn by leveling talents he hadn't even opened yet. "It is possible," the Artificer said, as if reading his thoughts. "But it is not cheap. And it is not fast. And at the end of that road, you will be something no one in this world has ever been — a man who exists in multiple places, in faces he chooses himself, while his real body sleeps in safety." "Or in danger." "You can never be immortal. A rule you know well: your empty body is destroyable, as is the golem you control. Don't forget." "Always in danger," the Artificer conceded. "Safety is an illusion. Even with a Guardian. But risk can be minimized. And you're the type who minimizes."

  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."