To summarize, the master of artifactory, Lerach, was a universal dilettante. In knowledge, he could possibly pull for a magister, and in magical powers for an apprentice, and only weakness in magic and the absence of a masterpiece, as well as, as I suspect, indifference to titles and unwillingness to pay a larger ilkum, that is, tax, prevented him from officially obtaining this rank.
Being the son of a magister, he was more interested in magic itself, and what they called him was irrelevant to him, whether archmage or student. Such a peculiar person.
Due to lack of strength, Lerach got out as he could, translating word magic into rituals. Yes, it's much more complicated that way, but it was precisely this that allowed him to create artifacts that not every archmage would create. Because not every archmage is an artificer.
And the masterpiece, which never saw the light, judging by the fact that the records end after his death, turned out to be quite entertaining and, of course, extremely complex for me. Nothing less than the creation of a living artifact from a human body, or more precisely from the mage himself. At the intersection of biomagic, spirit magic, ritualism, artifactory, potion-making and a dozen other disciplines, the mage transforms his body into a living weapon, into a living staff and wand in one person, which itself absorbs hot ether from the surrounding space and converts it into its mana, has enormous strength and power, and also differs in the increased number of spells embedded in memory at the same level of strength and development compared to an ordinary mage.
This was exactly the solution Lerach found to the problem of the weakness of his soul and magical potential.
However, what interested me was not this — I still have to grow and grow to such heights of mastery, but completely different things.
First, the ritual of severance, that is, any part of the body loses connection with the mage and through it he can no longer be found or cursed. I hope this will help me.
And secondly, in the course of achieving his masterpiece, Lerach found a way to continue his research in case of death — a mark from part of the mage's soul was placed on a pregnant woman, which merged with the embryo and created from it an ideal vessel and anchor for the soul. The ritual is extremely painful, because the pain of the soul is many times stronger than the pain of the body, and immoral, for obvious reasons, but I simply saw no other way out.
No, there were other options, for example, to go to another world or summon a demon for my protection. But for them I lacked both strength and knowledge, and summoning demons is like summoning an enraged tiger to protect against a cat. Either this, or die and go to reincarnation without memories. That's if they don't stuff me into a staff for torture and as a battery, of course.
Fortunately, I reached my Nous, because I had motivation for seven. Although this was not enough, because only two weeks remained until the end of the stipulated term, and I could neither wave a wand, as taught in textbooks from Diagon Alley, nor embed charms in memory, nor pronounce spells of word magic. However, this was not necessary. It's enough that I can use mana — one of the most important advantages of rituals is that they can be filled gradually, and Lerach built in a system of passive recharging from the background.
---
To begin with, I decided to prepare for the future ritual, which took a seventh part of my fortune. The most offensive thing is that even in money Gont deceived me — I was almost arrested by goblins for slipping them transfigured pounds, and only my sincere bewilderment and the absence of a wand allowed me to prove that I was a victim of deception, not a criminal. Fortunately, I had already exchanged most of the pounds for real money, but it's still unpleasant, especially the insulting statements directed at me from the shorties. And I saw that the bills differed from the real ones, but didn't attach importance to this, because I didn't know what the difference was, externally the bills were the same.
Besides a large amount of potion that replenishes blood, I also needed more specific ingredients, like bones of the dead and "dust of citrus." For the first, I had to become a desecrator of graves, because they weren't sold in ordinary shops of Diagon Alley, and to climb into the black market, which was bound to exist — there are easier ways to die. And the second cost me a sixth part of my savings, this is a flower with an unpronounceable name in Sumerian — Outalamos; it grew only in places with a strong magical, or in Sumerian, ethereal, background and was quite rare. Fortunately, it could still be officially bought.
And then, mixing crushed bone with my blood and flower juice, it was necessary to draw a complex geometric figure in the form of an octagram, whose edges consisted of many runic Sumerian symbols. The empty spaces of the octagram were also filled with circles of symbols, and as a result, a figure four by four meters was obtained. Here I was glad for my experience as a restorer and my practiced hand, thanks to which drawing the figure was difficult, but not impossible.
The problem with the premises was solved the same way as most problems in our world — with money. I rented a small warehouse in the port for a couple of weeks, and I don't need more, if it doesn't work out — I won't need it anymore.
The main problem, as expected, was with the pregnant woman. A term of less than two months was necessary, because otherwise the soul would already be born — and the emblem would simply dissolve in his aura. But that's half the trouble, the girl must also be magically strong herself, otherwise she simply won't be able to bear a child enhanced by the emblem. Not to mention that if I die, then she, and therefore I, might not survive the transfer.
Choose a mage's woman? Yeah, very funny — charging with a bare ass at a tank: probably even a first-year student would twist me now. And I have nothing to attract a sorceress with, I don't have such money for a strong witch to bear me a child.
This is also the problem of seeking help from mages: they'll tell me "Thanks for the book, well done, here's a memory charm as a reward." Or they'll immediately cut off my head so as not to leave traces.
The solution was found when I remembered magical creatures. I already said that they're treated like cattle? Actually, everything is even worse. Vampires are killed on the spot, werewolves and centaurs have no right to work, or rather they supposedly can, but in practice no one takes them. Goblins, although they fought for their place under the sun, however, you won't see them outside the bank, which shows the real attitude toward them and the reason for goblin uprisings.
And veela... not only are they, like all the above-mentioned, oppressed, but they also became hostages of their beauty. Yes, they have natural charms of seduction, similar in action to the subjugation spell, Imperius, mixed with an aphrodisiac and working by area. However, anyone can come to the most run-down shop and buy themselves an amulet of protection from these and similar charms.
Otherwise, veela would rule the world now, because the natural inclination to create fire without concentrators, transformation into half-birds-half-women, plus considerable innate magical power. I'm not even talking about their charms — all this makes them stronger than most mages, and only the small number and inability to reproduce themselves limits them. Although there are quite a few people who don't succumb to their charms, they are either strong in will and magically, or... women, gays and, maybe, impotents. However, some women still succumb to these charms, lesbians for example.
So, poor veela in England are practically forced to become prostitutes or concubines of rich and influential mages. For some time there was even a fashion to necessarily have a veela mistress. And those, in order not to die of hunger — we remember that they're not given work and are kept in reservations, and also in order not to completely die out, agree to such humiliation.
It was precisely to the veela reservation that I went, not forgetting to buy a remarkable amulet, so as not to become a slave to magical beauties. As they say, I feel sorry for them, but my own skin is dearer.
---
The veela coven was located in Wales, in a magical forest, fenced both from the invasion of ordinary people — the word "muggle" is offensive to me, and from the escape of the girls themselves, who, on top of everything, wear collars.
And in case of escape attempts, they are quickly found and brought back, not being shy about the means. On the other hand, any mage can calmly come and choose a "girl" for the night or even for permanent "use." This is not particularly spread about, but it's not hidden either.
Officially, such a purchase is called "guardianship" over a dangerous magical creature, as if you're buying a dog in a pet store. For me, such open slavery is wild, but right now this is possibly my only way out. It's enough to show my magic wand, which I calmly bought at Ollivander's shop. I had to "clean" it afterwards with a purification ritual, from all sorts of nastiness. I don't know what it was, but considering that this didn't affect the functionality of the instrument in any way, most likely some government beacons or something similar.
"Good afternoon, I'm Ida, head of the veela coven. And you, mister..." — greeted me a charming blonde with luxurious forms in a rather frivolous, by mage standards, of course, outfit: a red dress just above the knees, a black corset and a deep neckline in which you could drown. The face was only slightly decorated with cosmetics to emphasize the girl's natural beauty.
We were on the first floor of a three-story wooden house in Victorian style, more resembling a dormitory, and it most likely was exactly that, combined with a brothel. Girls who passed by looked at me with interest. Some of them liked me, and they made eyes at me, others paid no attention, some were dressed the same way, or even more frivolously than the head, and some, on the contrary, quite modestly and covered, but what united them was that they were all natural blondes, insanely beautiful and similar to each other like sisters. Small, snub noses, blue or green almond-shaped eyes and plump, seductive lips.
"My name is Viktor Orlov," I kissed the air above the extended hand. This is exactly how etiquette requires greeting ladies, not slobbering on the hand. Plus, who knows what Ida did with this hand? However, the eyes of those around showed confusion, apparently mages usually behave much worse. "And I came to buy one of you."
"Is that so?" she asked, looking at me and her hand. "You understand that this will cost you three thousand galleons? Do you have such a sum? And forgive me, I would reduce the price, but we don't set them, the Ministry of Magic does."
"Of course I do," I smiled, trying not to show displeasure. Because after selling the apartment and everything in it, plus Gont's money and my savings, I earned only seven thousand gold coins, which are actually not made of gold at all, but of its enchanted alloy. Another thousand went to the flower for the ritual. Somehow it's expensive, but I'm buying a person after all... or not quite a person. Although my conscience tormented me for this, only the instinct of self-preservation sent it far and for a long time. Choosing between morality and my own life, I'll choose the second. Especially since if the girl fell into the hands of some sadist, it would be worse for her than if I buy her for a "one-time action."
"Call everyone who wants to get at least relative freedom."
"What do you mean?" Ida was surprised.
"I need a girl only for conceiving a child. You see, I was struck by an ailment that even St. Mungo's hospital won't be able to cope with, and I don't know how long I have left to live." I said sadly and with a seemingly hidden anguish.
Thus, now I look not like a slave owner or pervert, but like an honest desperate person. And if they possess empathy, which they supposedly should possess, then they'll feel the same. Because I'm really desperate and ready for anything. The last month was like a race with death, I slept three hours, translating the text or thinking up ways out of this ass. For the first time I felt such powerlessness and promised myself that if I survive, I'll become so strong that I'll never experience this feeling again.
"Here, here are all who agree to your conditions, Mr. Orlov," Ida pointed to about five dozen girls of different ages. Did she bring them all? However, I'm not complaining, choice is good, especially when voluntary.
I activated true sight, and again I had to get used to the brightness — such a number of magically strong creatures created a considerable glare, I had to wait until my eyes, tearing from pain, got used to it. Looking at the girls seducing me with gestures or poses, I looked not only at the strength of the aura, but also at its purity, at the absence of rot or any defects. Until I found a girl pushed into the back rows in a white calico dress, whose face was covered with a veil. A very clean and warm aura attracted and beckoned the gaze. Still, many here were prostitutes — and not all could avoid falling into darkness or rot, and such purity stood out like a gold ingot in mud.
"Sir, I must warn you," seeing who I was looking at, Ida told me, "that the girl you're looking at... has a defect."
"Really? Is this related to the veil?" I suggested, however, without particular interest. I'm not choosing a permanent mistress for myself here, but my possible future mother. Somehow that sounded perverted in my thoughts, considering what happens before conceiving children.
"Yes, exactly so. Once a client chose her, but Ariel refused him, for which she paid with a disfigured face. Since I can't reduce the sum, I advise you to choose another."
"No," I shook my head. "Appearance is not important to me, the human soul is much more important, and I like hers."
Well yes, it's precisely the soul that's more important to me, as well as the body, and the face? What about the face? A minor healing spell, translated into a ritual, and she'll be like new. Therefore, having paid, I took the girl with me, bringing her to my rented apartment.
***
Ida terribly envied Ariel, looking after the departing man. At first she thought that he was simply lying, trying to show himself noble and romantic, but in reality the same sadist and rapist as the rest of the mages. But he really chose the ugliest of the beauties. And her innate empathy said that he was really in despair and wasn't lying that he valued the soul.
For the first time, Ida regretted that she couldn't leave with the client, leaving her girls to the mercy of fate. After all, she always protected them and didn't tell the mage that from the one who disfigured the girl, who was only fourteen at the time, only ashes remained afterwards. Let the mages drive veela into such a situation, no one dares to mock them against their will! Even if death follows this.
After all, there's no one more terrible than a person who has nothing to lose. And only responsibility to ancestors in continuing the race of their species prevents predatory bird-girls from showing their true nature and raising a rebellion, trying to take as many enemies with them as possible.